There was a secondary click as the signal was sent to the charges. This was followed by something that sounded like artillery fire at close range. Next came blinding light as the contents of this room were vaporising around her. 

Clara had once been enveloped by a moving wall of water, and remained unaffected in this form. This time there came a powerful push, followed by something reminiscent of uncontrolled freefall. Even with a brain wired for flight, her mind could not account for the rapid changes in pitch, roll, and yaw.

The surge in velocity soon caused her to black out entirely. The last thing she registered was screaming, unaware that she was the source.

“That’s where we found the tomb under that ziggurat,” Clara said.

There was a site in Mexico that she was intimately familiar with. These tracks filled in holes in the timeline that she formed in her head.

“That’s where they attacked the Terminus and sealed us off,” Clara said. 

The destinations lined up perfectly, and that included the thread ending at The Grand. 

“That’s where I died,” Clara said. “But that’s not where I was listed as missing.”

After moving into the centre of the room, she gazed upon the world map. Push pins were found throughout, some differed in colour but quickly figured out the meaning for some. The blue ones denoted known gate points, while those in yellow indicated sites with caches like this one.

“I received cables from at least nine of those cities,” Clara said, referring to her query on which gates were active after the Terminus was attacked.

There were more than push pins covering the map, that included pictures, newspaper clippings or cables. It was the combination of all this information that shed light on what happened to hunters after they were cut off from the Tower.

“I knew her,” Clara said while looking over the picture of a hunter stationed in France. “She’s the one who relieved me at the surgical hospital after I ran into Drusilla.”

She stopped at the dead centre of the corner, did a right turn as a soldier did in drill, and took what should have been seven paces. While that was true for male hunters, Clara always needed an additional half-step to reach the same point.

After making a left-turn, Clara faced the flawless brick exterior wall, but knew this was where she should be. She removed the key from her pocket, and a door appeared dead ahead. These doors were always concealed, courtesy of the Gerogians. I wonder what the Tower gave up for that tech?

She inserted the key into the lock and turned it until the locking mechanism made an audible sound. The door resisted her push, but with some elbow grease it gave way with a snap. Out of caution, she checked the frame and hinges, and while corroded, there were no wires or obvious trigger mechanisms.

Clara focused until time slowed to a crawl. At this level, she could not speak. Even uttering a simple word like ‘hi‘ would take a minute of holding the note to make the first sound. I can’t stay in this state for long either.

From the padre’s point of view, the woman approaching the altar simply vanished into thin air. To further distract him, there came a breeze, followed by the door to the confessional slamming shut. 

The priest’s jaw went slack. After remembering to breathe, he did an all around search of the cathedral and came up empty. Instead of panic, he pulled out a black handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his glasses clean. It was easier to dismiss what he witnessed than ask uncomfortable questions.

By the time his glasses were back on his nose, Clara had already gone through a false door near the back wall. She was fortunate that the mechanism to open the door was still marked with a double-helix. Well… that was easy.

The nearer she got to the altar the more the padre grew curious. This man was ancient, replete with silver hair, black-rimmed glasses, and an impeccable garb. Those blue eyes shined with experience, and Clara guessed he knew how to read people.

While she was an expert at hiding her true intentions, he knew she was not here as a tourist, interested in a confession, or here to pray. Fuck, I’d be in there confessing for hours. How many Hail Mary’s would I have to do for fucking a vampire? So, what now?

Of course the last time she was in this cathedral, the altar had been facing the other way. That was when ceremonies were conducted in Latin. Everyone was subservient to God…

Incense permeated the air, as did smoke from the candles. Only a few were in here praying, the rest were tourists, marvelling at the beauty within. This place is more of a tourist trap than a house of worship.

As she approached, a priest came out from out of the confessionals. Clara averted his gaze, preferring to avoid him altogether. She had not showered nor changed since crawling out of those ghoul-infested tunnels. I didn’t even think of it… 

Clara should have known better. As a hunter, she would never come to church dressed like this, unless it was a matter of life and death. While this loosely applied, a voice inside her head taunted her for this slight. I don’t have time for this.

“Ghouls however…” Clara said.

Lesser monsters were open season even if their effect was difficult to quantify. Until recently, what harm had Ghouls wrought on humans? Carrion eaters prevented the spread of diseases. For all she knew, it was hunters who brought about the Black Death by thinning out the ghoul population.

Clara dipped her fingers in the holy water and went through the motions. Upon opening her eyes, she walked past the mostly empty pews on her way to the altar. The entrance to a hunter cache is always near there.