Clara landed on the fire escape, folding in one wing while positioning the other over her head to get a good rain-free view of what was going on inside the unit. Elizabeth could have been asleep, but Clara suspected otherwise. Sure enough, Elizabeth was up, pacing back and forth while looking at her phone. At what precisely, she did not know, but Clara assumed it was related to what unfolded earlier in the day.
She observed for a few moments, looking out for nervous tics or any other signs that would hint at her being compromised. So far there were none. Her heart rate remained steady and, while elevated, it was natural for someone who was anxious or under duress.
Clara sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked on the window. It was time to see if her welcome was worn out; one way or the other, there were things she needed to get off her chest.
Elizabeth was clearly nervous. Learning about the existence of vampires, tended to make people skittish. The amazon turned around so fast that it nearly startled Clara, and the fact she was armed filled her with a sense of pride. Guns were not effective against all foes, but at least Elizabeth was taking her well-being seriously.
Clara remained in place—visible, smiling and most importantly non-threatening. This seemed like the best approach, and she wanted to avoid Elizabeth feeling threatened. Shoot first and ask questions later tended to be the mantra for anyone in Elizabeth’s state of mind.
Elizabeth recognised who was at the window, exhaled in relief, and ran over to unlatch the casement. Clara did the rest, lifting the pane from out of its seat despite the wood swelling from exposure.
“Where were you?” Elizabeth raced through the question.
Her eyes were wild, running over every detail of the scene. It had the potential to develop into a thousand mile stare, something that Clara had seen hundreds of times before. She prayed that her friend would be spared.
Clara did not immediately answer. Instead, she folded her remaining wing, hunched down, and stepped into the apartment. On the counter was the amphora, and Clara buried her desire to indulge in the sweet nectar. She may be a goddess or demi-goddess, but there could be side effects to prolonged use.
“How did you manage to find that?” Clara asked.
Elizabeth grunted and narrowed her eyes while saying, “Quit avoiding my question! Now where were you?”
Clara shrugged but did not smirk since the latter was too dismissive. Elizabeth was not happy, and Clara would need to smooth things over before getting any answers.
“I was captured. I then woke up in a secret interrogation room located in one of the city’s morgues,” Clara replied, having no clue if there were multiple morgues in the city.
“How did you get out?” Elizabeth asked, alarmed.
That question indicated that Elizabeth had followed the instructions to the letter. Hence, she ran off before the troops swarmed their position and captured her. Not knowing what happened easily explained her state of heightened anxiety.
Clara delved into the situation: the rapid progression of the interrogation, the ghoul, and how she broke free. She also described the brief interaction with Jane and detailed her escape.
Elizabeth listened intently, her eyes focused more on Clara as she calmed down. While news of a shadow group upset her, being in proximity to her guardian angel did much to smooth things over. That worried Clara, since it would make what she had to say a challenge.
“I managed to circle back to the dumpsters through the building,” Elizabeth said once satisfied with Clara’s response. “The cops were not interested in the alley. They were focused on what that red-head unleashed.”
“One hell of a distraction she put on,” Clara said with a grin.
Elizabeth chuckled nervously. It was clear that these particular memories left her feeling uneasy.
“Can anyone from your order even define the word subtle?” Elizabeth asked.
Clara broke out in laughter, saying, “Most can, but I was always the bull in a China shop.”
“You know they busted that?” Elizabeth asked. “Bulls run around the shelves, showing more grace than some dancers.”
“Really?” Clara said. “I really need to get started learning all of this trivia and slang.”
Despite the banter, Clara was acutely aware that Elizabeth was distracted by her chest. The white blouse was sticking to her clammy flesh and showed the perfect outline of her breasts. Fortunately, the bra provided enough padding to conceal her hardened nipples. After all, it was cold out there in the rain.
“I need a—” Clara said.
“You need a change of clothes,” Elizabeth said concurrently.
“That would be lovely,” Clara said with a smile.
Her eyes avoided the other’s outfit, or lack thereof. Elizabeth wore a bathrobe, and the longer she stood there without adjusting, the more her cleavage showed. Clara knew why she had these feelings. Unfortunately, that did not make this any easier to deal with.
“Head into the bathroom, take a warm shower, and dry off,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll find you something to wear.”
With that, Elizabeth made things easier for the both of them. She left Clara alone in the living room. She lingered long enough to shake any cobwebs loose from her mind before moving on to the next step.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Her encounter with Freyja happened at a critical juncture. Her eyes had once more been opened to the true nature of this world, and she disliked what she saw.
In her time, she had to contend with vampires, ghouls, werewolves, and all manner of things that went bump in the night. These creatures had always been there, existing in the edges of human awareness, and preyed on both mankind and their fears. Clara had lived through a renaissance of sorts. Ghouls had been dispatched en masse during the Great War, and werewolves were nothing more than an anomaly.
This world showcased a new order that grew from the loss of the Tower. Drusilla may have been stopped before fulfilling her mission to rise above the fray to rule the world with an iron fist, but her legacy of terror lived on. Clara cursed herself for not having killed that bitch earlier.
Clara needed allies, people she could rely on, those who were capable of indoctrinating her in the ways of the present day. Weapons may have remained largely the same, but other technologies advanced by leaps and bounds. She was a relic in fashion, language and know-how and, without assistance, would stick out like a sore thumb.
She knew someone who might help, but that meant abusing her kind nature. For now, it seemed necessary to set aside such concerns. In return, Clara would be sure to shield this woman from harm and, in time, develop a symbiotic relationship.
Clara stayed close to the rooftops in an attempt to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Fortunately, the streets were deserted for the most part, and she could risk exposure by crossing them. She kept a sharp eye for anything that followed, but luck was on her side.
“Allies,” Clara said.
The Tower had been the nerve centre for their order, but they were also allies to any who fought the forces of evil. Drusilla’s mayhem had stripped the world of an important ally by isolating, but not destroying, the Tower. Clara needed to reconnect with and, hopefully, restore the relevance to her order.
Now there was a conundrum. Without the Terminus, the nexus of gates that linked the Tower to sites around the world, the Tower would be near impossible to reach. Even if she could find a way to the Tower, what would she find once she got there? A tower of ivory that stretched out into the heavens filled with hundreds of hunters itching for a fight? Or a tomb?
The absence of answers confirmed that this plan would be executed over the long term. She needed allies now. Perhaps her thinking was a bit circular, but that was a response to the gravity of the need.
Elizabeth would be her first stop. From there, she did not know. However, Clara theorized that the line between friend and foe would blur, if not disappear altogether. That meant she needed to keep an open mind and sleep with an open eye.
Clara landed on a rooftop, then leaned over the ledge to look down. On the other side, Elizabeth’s building loomed out beyond the curtain of driving rain. Most of the windows were dark, save for one.
Clara closed her eyes and focused on her hearing. Eventually, the sound of applause caused by the rain was filtered out. She continued to focus, visualising the area in her mind, and heard one steady heartbeat within that unit.
There were others in the building which accounted for the neighbours. So far, there were no sounds to indicate the presence of a platoon of soldiers waiting for her. Considering the day she had, that was a good sign.
“Time to have a little faith,” Clara said. “In myself.”
With that thought, Clara leapt from the rooftop and glided over to the emergency escape. Every plan needed objectives, and it was time to see how the foundations of her plan would unfold.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
“Great”, Clara said. “What is it with me and nondescript hallways?”
One end of the corridor finished near the interrogation room with a door that had been secured using the same mechanism. In the opposing direction there was an ascending circular staircase, made of dull steel.
Clara walked casually to the stairs and noticed the lack of identifying features. There were no signs posted, no markings on the walls, and little to no variation in the consistency of the cement.
There was also nothing that stood out as being surveillance equipment. She knew better; the video feeds in the surveillance room made that pretty clear. So equipment had to be there, but it was either camouflaged or so small that she could not spot them.
Whoever was monitoring the situation was either unaware of her escape or did not care. Either way, this crossed a line and would alter this group’s behaviour. The next time they crossed paths, Clara would need to get dirty.
At the top of the stairs, she came across a solid steel door. It was heavy with no visible locking mechanism. To her left there was a panel with a video feed. From this display, she saw the inside of a room: steel drawers, metal tables, sinks, weights, and various medical instruments. Clara had been around this type of room before. When dealing with ghouls, morgues were the first places to check.
“Makes sense,” Clara said.
Based on the dim lighting, it must have been after hours. That meant she had been unconscious most of the day, if not more. Without pause, Clara swiped the card which brought up a keypad on the display. She typed in the sequence Jane provided and heard the hermetic seals break.
She pushed open the door and walked right into the morgue. The door closed behind her without being prompted and, upon closer look, she was unable to see any signs of the entrance. Deep down she envied the level of effort this organisation had taken to hide a dungeon. The fact that it was co-located with a morgue meant they had a convenient place to dispose of the bodies.
Clara looked around casually and pocketed a few scalpels. She loved nothing more than a good blade, and these might come in handy. After a bit more rummaging, she came across a series of Allen keys used to fine-tune the scales which she pocketed along with a few picks. While crude, Clara hoped they would work.
When satisfied, she walked through the double hinged doors and into a long and sterile corridor. She eyed the room names and saw an exit sign lit up in the distance. Clara continued to walk with confidence and determination, even if she had no clue where she was headed. Nothing caught a guard’s eye more than an unfamiliar face who looked lost.
The door led to a stairwell and the flight of stairs going down led to another door. It had been fitted with an audible alarm and probably opened on the street level. Clara barely glanced at it while she ascended and flew past the floors without a care in the world.
When the stairs ran out, she came across a door labelled Roof Access. She paused and examined the door which matched all others in the stairwell, except for the deadbolt. That gave her hope. A door that was secured against unauthorised access implied there was a chance at freedom on the other side.
Clara knelt, pulled out the picks and Allen keys, and began to fiddle with the mechanism. In her time, Clara needed very little time to pick locks, but things had changed. So much so, that she decided it was best to go with plan B.
She got back on her feet, slowed down time, and rammed the door. The door buckled under this initial effort, but the hinges and lock remained intact.
“Aww nertz!” Clara exclaimed.
This time, she moved away from the door to gain serious velocity and focused all of that momentum into her shoulder. In this attempt, the door gave way completely, torn from its hinges, and tumbled along the rooftop. It made an awful racket which was exactly what Clara wanted to avoid. Still, no alarms had been raised and all was quiet.
“So is freedom at hand?” Clara wondered.
She walked onto the roof and saw how the low cloud cover was lit up by the city lights. It was raining, and the cool dark rain instantly soaked her clothing. Invigorated, she dropped her light coat, and let her wings expand.
Clara stood there. Staring at the glory before her. The neighbouring buildings were taller; a few even dated from her era, since they featured those iconic water towers. Other buildings were tall and imposing structures made of steel and glass.
She turned around and, from here, noticed the darkened area that made up the park. Even through the thin slivers between streets, she caught flashes of blue and red lights. The police presence at the park was comforting because that meant she had not been out for more than a day.
“I was right,” Freyja said. “You would have been one of my best shieldmaidens.”
Clara kept her eyes on the park, choosing not to turn around just yet. The last time they met, Freya had been playing the role of Saint Peter. This evening, she had chosen an alternate persona for the confrontation. Clara flapped her wings for show. The black feathers were nearly invisible against the night sky.
“One would think that my wings would make me a Valkyrie,” Clara said.
“Never did care for them,” Freyja said with a hint of disdain.
Clara turned around and saw exactly what she imagined Freyja to be: the armour, the shield and sword, blonde hair, and blue eyes, not to mention how she towered over her, enough to leave Clara feeling a twinge of anxiety. Of course, there was no real threat, otherwise she would have been dead by now.
“So what brings you down to the mortal realm?” Clara asked.
“I’ve come to deliver a message,” Freyja said.
“And they sent down a god to tell me?” Clara guessed.
“Caught on,” Freyja said, and soon realised that she inadvertently answered Clara’s guess. “Did you?”
“The effect that ambrosia has on me and my golden blood? They were certainly eye openers,” Clara said. “You’re here because of Hecate, aren’t you?”
“You were always a bright one,” Freyja said.
“That’s why the Tower did not teach us about gods and goddesses,” Clara said. “They did not want Hunters getting involved in your affairs.”
Freyja nodded but did not elaborate on the matter. Clara had managed to figure it out easily enough—the dirty little secret that even those in her order were never meant to know. The truth should have left her with a deep sense of betrayal, and still might once the dust settled. For now, she enjoyed the natural high that she got from being right.
“She got in the way,” Clara said.
“It was not up to you to judge her,” Freyja said.
“So I can’t go back up then?” Clara asked. “Break some unwritten rule and I’m banned from the club?”
Freyja did not seem to react, but Clara knew the words struck home. Pushing buttons, after all, was one trait she excelled at.
“Of all the times to wish for a camera,” Clara thought.
“It’s that or kill you,” Freyja said in a tone that implied a preference for the latter.
“Oh no!” Clara said sarcastically. “Don’t leave me here. Free to live, breath, fuck, and make mistakes.”
“They will never accept you,” Freyja said.
“Men tend to accept anything with a nice pair of tits,” Clara said while looking down at her wet blouse. “I’ll be fine and, unlike Edith, I want to be here.”
“You are on your own then,” Freyja said.
Clara smiled, crossed her arms, and remained as such until Freyja faded out of existence. It seemed that some of their kind were free to come and go as they pleased. Clara loved having limits. Flaws, when overcome, became a source of strength. Clara would not have it any other way.
Clara felt a chill once the wind picked up and shook the excess water out of her hair. She bent her knees, flapped her wings, and unleashed a thick mist of water from her wings. As she cut through the mist to become airborne, Clara thought about being barred from Heaven and, in that moment, had never felt so free.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
It took a good twenty minutes for Jane to come to, more than enough time for Clara to secure the unconscious guard, strip Jane naked, and secure her to a chair. As a precaution, Clara used this opportunity to disable any panic buttons found in the room.
Clara walked towards Jane while wearing her outfit, a challenge, since she had to make creative use of the belt and bra straps to make it all fit. Still, Clara floated in these clothes which stripped her of that femininity she often took for granted. Wearing Jane’s glasses only amplified the effect, making her look mousy, nondescript and harmless. In itself, that was not a bad thing and might allow her to remain invisible to most that way.
“You tell me?” Clara asked in return.
Jane was confused by the unfamiliar voice and struggled to open her eyes. Just ahead, there was a bright light, surrounded by a halo. She noted the presence of a silhouette against the light, focused on that spot, and eventually made out Clara’s smile.
The sight of a prisoner looming over her drove Jane into a panic. She struggled against her bindings which only tightened their grip. Her breathing grew shallow, and that meant she would soon lose consciousness. For Clara, that was not a desirable outcome.
Clara smiled, reached down for Jane’s hands, and interlocked their fingers. Now was not the time to appear vexed or indifferent. This situation called for a legitimate dose of compassion.
“Shh. It’s okay. No one here is going to hurt you,” Clara said in a soft voice, the same she used to comfort dying patients during the war.
Jane eventually calmed down and relaxed, preventing the bindings from digging into her wrists. The tension still hung in the air like a thick ocean fog. Who would blame her? Most would be leery of their captor’s intentions.
“Better now?” Clara asked.
“A bit,” Jane whispered.
Clara chuckled before she said, “You know, I’ve had a really long couple of days. Setting aside all the shit I’ve dealt with, so far you’re the third woman I’ve seen naked.”
“Really?” There was a hint of excitement in the voice, so Clara assumed this one was now fishing for information.
“The first was a werewolf,” Clara said. “Feisty one, too.”
“Those don’t exist,” Jane replied.
Clara picked up on the change in respiration and heartbeat. She had been well trained, but not well enough to get a pass.
“You know they do,” Clara said. “How long have you been employing ghouls as interrogators?”
The woman stiffened at the mention of that word, causing her bindings to go taut once more. She winced in pain, paused, and calmed down.
“What are you talking about?” Jane lied.
Clara chuckled. She let go of Jane’s hands before sitting down. She opened up the woman’s purse, then poured its contents over the metal table. There was nothing of note, no identification cards, phone, or currency. Sure, there was makeup, which she applied to mimic Jane’s style. Besides that, there were tissues, a compact full of pills, and Trojan brand wrapped candy.
“Whatever happened to Hershey bars?” Clara asked nonchalantly.
Jane did not respond, but Clara was certain that this was no ordinary stockade. The fact this one knew about werewolves and ghouls meant that knowledge was no longer restricted to the few who were dedicated to eradicating them. For better, or for worse, this was the new reality.
“Make sense,” Clara said. “A ghoul can beat the information out of a captive and erase all memories of the event.”
Jane did not say a word, but her body language confirmed Clara’s suspicions. Of course, there was one question left, but she wanted to avoid asking it directly. That might establish her allegiances and give away her true intention.
“The Tower would never resort to such measures,” Clara said.
The mention of that name, did not alter Jane’s heart rate or elicit a physical response. Clara hid it well, but she was concerned. Ninety years is a long time to go dark. As a last minute thought, she searched the guard’s pockets. They were empty, save for a card, one that had an odd little hump in the middle while the other side was all black, except for the red border.
“Curiouser, and curiouser,” Clara said and found a matching card in Jane’s clothing.
That was the moment she noticed a panel near the door, one matching the hump’s colouring. It did not take much to figure out that these items might be related. She walked over to Jane and slid the cold card between her cleavage. Jane shivered and knew where this interrogation was headed.
“So?” Clara asked.
“Jane Jones, Alpha-One-Niner…” Jane rhymed off.
Clara had seen this sort of behaviour before, a sign that the interrogator was getting too close. Still, Clara had a few tricks up her sleeve.
“You know, it’s kinda funny. I had you pegged as a Jane,” Clara said. “However, I never thought you’d be a dumb dora…”
Jane continued to rhyme off that line, sounding like a politician avoiding any questions related to a recent scandal. Clara chose to ignore this broken record strategy, and attacked on a new front.
“So while you are here babbling like a baboon in heat, all bound, naked, and available,” Clara said. “You might want to consider what that ghoul will do to you when it wakes up?”
Jane showed no reaction to that threat. There was something to be said about working with monsters. It had a tendency to blind them to that creature’s particular flavour of evil.
“You know,” Clara said. “I have seen these things in action. Did you know that they love to peel back the face of their victim? They gingerly pull away at the fat, muscles, and veins. All so they can wear it like a mask… Do you suppose he’d feel sexy wearing your bloody—”
“Stop,” Jane said. She then paused, closed her eyes, and sighed before adding, “030702.”
“Thank you,” Clara said and walked away.
“Wait,” Jane said. “You aren’t going to leave me—”
Before Jane could finish that sentence, Clara was already out the door. Turns out she was right about that panel by the door.
“She’ll hate me for this, but at least that ghoul won’t be bothering her,” Clara said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
The first of Clara’s senses to return was her hearing. Her mind swirled in a drug induced haze, which made it all the more challenging to concentrate. Every sound was distorted, clipped, and focused on the lower frequencies. At first, Clara was not sure what to make of it.
Eventually, the reverberation lessened, and pitch increased enough so that words filtered through. Curious, she maintained her heart rate, measured her breathing, and kept her eyes closed. People had a tendency to loosen their tongues when they believed their prisoners were unconscious.
“What do you have?” some man asked from the other side of the wall and, since no name was used, Clara settled on John.
Clara’s ears perked up, so it was fortunate that her hair concealed the motion. She concentrated and found three distinct heart beats. The one who asked the question had just arrived, indicated by the footsteps and closing doors.
“Female, Caucasian, in her early-thirties,” a woman replied and, this time, Clara christened her Jane.
“Not what she seems?” John asked.
“Well, fingerprints came up clean, although there were matches to partials lifted from crime scenes in the Twenties,” Jane answered. “A search through our main databases came up empty; she is squeaky clean. A bit too clean…”
“What do you mean?” John queried.
“Queries through all of our secondary sources also came up empty,” Jane replied. “She has never visited a hospital in any of the Five Eyes nations or even within a NATO nation. Her facial and retinal scans tells us that she never travelled by commercial air, was arrested, nor ever had a picture ID.”
“Looks like she wouldn’t need to board a plane,” John said.
There was a slight snicker from the third occupant but nothing else. Since that man’s resting heart rate was so low, she figured this was the sentry.
“Noticed that, did you?” Jane asked. “A bit hard to miss, really.”
“Are those real?” John wondered.
Something slid across the table. At first Clara believed it to be a series of photographs, but this object was heavier and metallic. Nevertheless, when John gasped, she figured they caught on that her wings were not part of an elaborate Halloween costume.
“That threw the doctors for a loop,” Jane said. “No signs of surgery, and the genetic sequencing of those wings matches her own.”
“Mutation?” John asked.
“Doubtful,” Jane said. “All tests indicate that she is human and within normal genetic variance. There is nothing in her genes that would account for them or her blood.”
“What?” John pressed.
“Temporary,” Jane said. “The blood we drew from her looked like liquid gold but turned red after a few minutes.”
There was a pause in the conversation. Clara maintained her vitals steady in an attempt to keep up appearances. She even drooled a bit to put on a convincing show. Anyone from the Tower would have done the same. After all, subterfuge was an old friend to their kind.
“Alright,” John said. “I’m going in.”
Clara heard him grab something from the table. Judging from the sound of shifting ice, she guessed it was a water pitcher and with that, deduced the rest of his grand plan. A door opened and a set of soft soled shoes exited the adjacent room. Without surprise, his steps approached until a loud buzzer rang out and released the locking mechanism.
Before she knew it, that same pair of shoes was circling her position. Clara remained indifferent, as though she were still unconscious, a hangover from the drugs. Deprived of sight, Clara focused on her remaining senses.
That’s when she became aware of the fact that she was no longer wearing her black leather outfit. Whatever she had on, it was light, ill fitting, and airy enough for the occasional blast of cold air to run up her bare legs.
The chair they secured her to was metallic, which did little to keep her warm. Her ankles were pressed against a set of bolts, indicating they were anchored to the concrete floor. Lastly, her arms and legs were bound by metal loops affixed to chains, most likely handcuffed.
Her arms were bound behind her back, restricting her wings. To the uninitiated, a set of wings were harmless but, if a goose’s wing flap could break a grown man’s leg, then she was capable of inflicting far more damage. A shame that her wings were restricted, for now.
The footsteps remained constant and precisely paced. She easily imagined him marching with a pace stick, although the shoes hinted that this was an officer and not a sergeant major. She knew he was observing her, watching for any signs of consciousness, since she would have done the same.
John eventually came to a halt. If Clara wanted to end this charade, all she needed to do was wince in anticipation of what was about to happen. Still, there was no desire to prove his hunch correct, so she maintained the illusion of being comatose.
As though on cue, cold water was poured over her head, which ran down both sides onto whatever covered her. The wet material immediately clung to her body and gave her goosebumps. Still, she waited, adding an appropriate amount of time to account for an individual under the influence of drugs to react.
When she sprang into action, she made a spectacular show of it. Her head snapped up, which sent droplets of water flying everywhere. Her eyes opened wide in panic, and she gasped for air as though she were drowning.
“Bravo!” John exclaimed. “But the rise in your core body temperature confirmed that you were awake before I walked in here.”
Clara smirked, and settled down. While cold, she tucked away that discomfort in a distant corner of her mind. Meanwhile, the man appeared to be unfazed about her change in demeanour but did leer at her appearance in her wet attire. She focused on his heart and breathing. As suspected, both were rising, which was not surprising. This was a man after all.
“Name,” John barked.
Clara did not alter a single aspect of her face. If this man thought he could break her, he was about to be taught a lesson in humility.
“I said his name!” John exclaimed, sounding just like a sergeant major on parade.
Clara ignored him and focused on slowing down time. Doing so accelerated her metabolism and forced any remaining drugs to pass through her system. That would come in handy, since they wanted her drugged up to prevent an escape but coherent enough to extract information.
When John’s eyelids began to close in a slow motion blink, Clara looked around. To her right, there was a large mirrored surface and, behind that glass was the source of the other two heart beats. The rest of this room was concrete, cold and desolate; a place designed to demoralise and break the undisciplined mind. There were also four vents that she could see, but they were too small to accommodate her.
She was able to confirm that her chair was indeed bolted to the floor, locked in place with cotter pins. Her arms and legs were in turn secured to the chair using handcuffs. That meant she would need to get creative to break free. Not that this was her first time getting out of cuffs, either police issue or fur lined for an intimate setting.
Right behind him, there was a small table. The empty water jug rested atop the plain metal surface. She wondered how long it would take for John to pull out the tools of his trade.
Before his eyes were shut, she was already back in her initial position. Clara chose to hold onto this speed for as long as she could. That meant enduring another attempt to intimidate her, and this time, in slow motion.
Out of boredom, Clara casually glanced at this man. He had all of the traits expected of a military man: the short hair, clean shave, hardened features, impeccable dress, and spit polished shoes. She half-expected him to have a waxed moustache, but figured this was an anachronism from her time.
What she never expected was how fast this escalated. Interrogators tended to try to trick, threaten, or intimidate, all in an effort to dominate their subjects. This one was playing by a different rule book which was reason enough for Clara to be suspicious.
John first approached her from the left and hit her square in the jaw. To mask the extent of her strength, she relaxed and permitted her head to move freely with the punch. Honestly, she barely felt it, but that would change over time.
“Answer me!” John demanded.
Clara smiled, cocked her head to both sides to stretch out her neck, and narrowed her eyes. She focused on his eyes, to give him a glimpse of the fire that burned within.
“I’ve been hit harder by a nun,” Clara said casually. “Why don’t you reach down, grab whatever you have for balls, and make me feel it this time?”
All the while, she toyed with the wrist-cuffs until the links were locked in place. The strength in her arms may have been weakened due to her position, but she possessed a whole other group of muscles they failed to account for.
His impatience would cost him. The man actually twitched as though she hit a raw nerve. Had she been watching a cartoon, that man’s moustache would have straightened out. Wait? What moustache!
“Well, why are you giving me the absent treatment?” Clara taunted. “Afraid to hit a g—”
This time she expected the hit. While it came with more power, it was also grossly inaccurate. This punch landed nearer to her chin which sent her head snapping hard to the side. She used this opportunity to push against her cuffs and used those wings for an extra oomph.
Alas, the first attempt had not been enough to break the links, but he did manage to split her lip. She gave him the same look as before, while licking her lips, and realised that it had a mild taste of ambrosia. She spit out the blood, not aiming for his face but for the shoes with the mirror shine.
He looked down at the mess she made. The twitch on his face worsened, and his face flushed red with fury. Then he did something unusual. He went into a corner near the one way mirror.
While he pretended to reach down to clean his shoes, he smeared the mix of spit and blood onto his fingers to taste the combination. That show may have avoided additional scrutiny from those in the observation room, but her hearing registered his true intent.
When he turned around, she caught a red glow in his eyes. Unfazed, she let him see her big smug smile, pretending that ruining those shoes had been a victory. This time he did not dally. He made up the distance in two steps and unleashed a volley from both fists.
Her face flew from one direction to the other. His blind rage provided just the type of distraction she needed to rearrange the cuffs. On the second volley, she really let her wings push against her arms, so much so that she wondered if her shoulders would pop out of their sockets. How fortunate that the bindings gave out first.
He stopped after the volley, half-expecting for her to be unconscious. To his surprise, she again stretched her neck, feeling her muscles strain and vertebrae pop. Once more, she slowed down time as much as possible. With her hands freed from their bindings, she waited for an opportunity to remedy the remaining problem. Clara knew he was about to unleash another series of hits, but the blood on his gloves gave her an opening. When he sniffed her blood, she reached down to remove the cotter pins, then returned to normal.
For a moment, she wondered if he spotted the movement. Oblivious, he licked the gloves, shivered, and went back for more. This punch came out from his right and, unlike the others, this would have been a solid hit. However, she lifted the chair out of its anchors and pushed against the chair’s back.
This move yielded two results. One, she avoided this strike which left him unbalanced and ill prepared to defend against a counter attack. Two, the hollow tubes on the rear legs were pushed beyond their breaking point. The motion weakened the supporting welds, including those used to secure the outer cuffs. If the welds did not give out midway through her fall, they would after impact.
Clara curved her back and reached out. Once more, she slowed things down a smidge to help with her reaction times. Once her fingers touched the concrete, she let her arms bend inwards and brought her legs onto the chair seat. Finally, moments away from her head making contact, she pushed back hard.
The result was spectacular. Clara and her chair were rocketed towards the ghoul. She observed the impact and noted the dark stains appearing on its suit.
That thing managed to squeal during the impact but Clara was like a freight train. She flew on past and hit the wall with enough momentum to disassemble the chair, everything except for a foot binding and associated bar.
“Horsefeathers,” Clara said as she landed back onto her feet.
For the most part, she was free to move but would remain ineffective as long as this ball and chain remained. The presence of such an item was sure to make even the most lethargic of guards suspicious.
The ghoul stood tall nearby holding onto its side and, while hurt, it was not out of the game. So Clara got away from the wall, then twirled her restrained leg and jumped over the binding to get some speed. Oddly enough, it watched, mesmerised, even as the metal object was sent flying towards him with her leg in tow.
Clara followed the projectile’s trajectory to prevent any loss of momentum and realised why ballet dancing had been a core subject at the Tower. The steel bar hit that thing right in the forehead, penetrated the skull, and lodged itself into its brain.
Once she landed, Clara hesitated long enough to confirm if her restraint had been loosened or broken. Since it turned out to be the latter, she yanked hard to free the last handcuff, smiled, and made a dash for the table.
In the background, Clara heard the guard reaching for his weapon. She slowed down time for a fraction of a second, long enough to hurl the table towards the window. The metal object shattered the glass and struck the guard in the chest just as the pitcher shattered against the floor.
Fortunately, the man had been wearing body armour. While it helped to cushion the impact, Clara was sure he would wake up sore. The woman was not a concern. Jane sat there unaware, a side effect of staring into a ghoul’s glowing eyes too long.
“Time to get some answers,” Clara said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Eventually, she grew tired of watching Breanna decay. Her body was beginning to cool, and the blood settled. If they delayed much longer, they would forfeit the keys to the Georgian fortress.
“Can’t have that,” Evelyn said. “Can we, ma chère?”
Evelyn slipped away from her partner and off the bed. Breanna’s legs remained momentarily in position but soon flopped onto the bed. She giggled at the sight while sauntering over to the bedroom door.
She opened the door and found the silhouette of her impeccably dressed sire. He turned around, looked Evelyn straight in the eyes, but remained quiet. Despite Evelyn being naked, bloody, covered in someone else’s sweat, and sporting a large purple strap-on, he never made a peep.
“If you actually used that penis of yours, I wouldn’t need toys so much,” Evelyn said.
The tease had no effect, and never would. Yet either would be concerned if the other behaved out of character. Evelyn moved aside, letting Marc into the room to get started.
Marc would drain the body of blood, adding in an anticoagulant to keep the supply viable. Fingerprints would be harvested along with those delicate green eyes. Anything less would deny them access to the Georgian stronghold.
She sat down at the dressing table and stroked the purple appendage. Despite death being an old companion, Evelyn felt discomfort at the idea of witnessing what was about to happen.
“I need to wash and grab a quick bite,” Evelyn said. “Please treat Breanna’s remains with respect.”
Evelyn then walked out of the bedroom, her hips swaying alluringly. All the while, that purple phallus swung in the opposing direction. Marc never turned around to look. After all, there was work to be done.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara pushed herself against the outer edges of the tree trunk and stretched out her neck before opening her eyes. All around, there were signs of the carnage unleashed from Edith’s ascendance.
The ground that surrounded Edith’s last location was scorched black. All the vegetation within that radius had been turned to ash. When a breeze picked up, the ash became airborne, which created the illusion of a heavy grey fog. Through this fog, she noted that the statue of Alice had been deformed from the heat, looking more like a collection of ant hills than a homage to one of her favourite childhood stories.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said.
Her eyes lingered on the molten slag before moving further towards the centre. How she managed to miss this before, Clara had no idea, but she felt guilt to have overlooked it. In haste, she sprinted over to the quivering mass and kneeled beside Victoria.
What had once been a decaying corpse was now resurrected into the vessel of a mortally wounded woman. Gone were the signs of that parasitic creature. Still, the wounds were extensive. The temporal, frontal and zygomatic bones had all been shattered. Her jaw had been dislocated and her nose, eyes, and ears were little more than bloody craters.
Clara had served as a nurse in a combat theatre. She treated men riddled with shrapnel, others torn apart by artillery, and some were so badly burned that they begged for death. This woman had no ability to consolidate all of that pain, nor come to terms with her inevitable death.
Her fingers were bleeding profusely through what was left of her skin and muscle. Truthfully, if Victoria had been able to recover, what would that achieve? Condemned to a life of pain, but unable to find an outlet through which to express herself?
Fortunately, where God had failed to show compassion, man tipped the scales towards mercy. The wound in her back would ensure a swift death. Not even a skilled trauma surgeon had any hope of repairing her shredded spine. With such a wound, Clara could do nothing more than comfort.
She straddled Victoria’s head to steady her and caressed her hair. Clara then hummed a soft prayer, and while the words would never be heard, she hoped it would ease her transition. Victoria had been stripped of her right to choose eternal life for her soul; death was her only reward now.
A single gunshot rang out over the park, but Clara did not break her concentration. Victoria’s heart was beating strong for now. This was a young and healthy woman. Still a body could only take so much.
A helicopter swooped over the vicinity and pushed onwards to an open area big enough to accommodate its landing. Troops were sure to be headed her way, seasoned, and ready for war.
Clara did not care; she continued to comfort the dying woman. Even as boots with rattling drums of ammunition approached, she stood fast. Victoria’s heart began to beat harder, faster, all in an attempt to compensate for the blood loss. Her respiration grew more pained with every breath. Clara hoped that this poor woman was unconscious by now.
Before she knew it, the men had converged on the scene. They said nothing, yelled no orders, nor attempted to make contact. She guessed they had orders to neutralise any threats; after all, this was not her first dance with this breed of soldier. Besides, people feared the unknown, and Clara came with a very big question mark. Nonetheless, she was not about to abandon this woman.
Finally, Victoria’s heart stopped, exhausted and spent. Had this all been a dream, she might have lived a century or more. Now, she lay dead in a park with no ability to make peace. Victoria let out a gentle sigh, but the damage to her body coerced the sound to create something unearthly. Still, Clara knew that Victoria’s fight was over and hoped that her soul would move on.
Clara bowed her head in respect and said, “Amen—”
Before Clara could finish her prayer, there was a blow to the back of her skull. An impact powerful enough to render her unconscious; she was out cold before she hit the ground.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara set down near Edith, close enough to lend support but far enough to react if there was any lingering resentment. She loved these types of situations, yearning to fight against all odds while laughing in the face of the unknown.
“Finally decided to make your entrance, I see,” Edith said flatly.
Clara smirked before responding, “Figured I’d be the finale hopper and arrive just in time to claim all the glory.”
While Edith chuckled, Clara sensed there was still tension between them. One did not stab her best friend through the chest without a reason. Since they needed to cooperate, Clara tossed her a loaded pistol. While Edith appreciated the gesture of trust, she nonetheless checked the chamber and magazine.
“I’ll never forget what they taught us back at the Tower,” Edith said.
“Not even in death,” Clara said while pulling out the police issued shotgun.
“Quick recovery?” Edith said, although it was more of an observation than a question.
“Ambrosia does wonders for the body,” Clara replied.
“Ambrosia?” Edith asked. “That stuff only works on the old gods.”
“I know,” Clara said. “Kinda makes you think—”
“What is that?” Edith asked to get back on track.
Clara did not need to look at it because this was not the first time they had crossed paths. She last set eyes on one of these things inside an abandoned temple they had built under a ziggurat. Memories of the desert and that infernal heat returned to her. She had sworn to never return, and yet, a piece of that cursed place found its way here.
“We’ve met,” Clara said flatly. “Although that’s a new twist.”
Clara was referring to the corpse the creature had used as a vessel. The victim’s skin was ashen grey and blue based solely on what was not covered in blood. Her clothes were torn, and what remained left little to the imagination. That poor woman’s fingers were literally worn to the bone.
The face had lost all signs of humanity since the eyes, nose and ears were missing. Tentacles protruded from these orifices, and bone had been shattered to accommodate their size. This mutilation further distorted the face, an act of indignity that really bothered Clara.
Some of the tentacles were probing the area, gliding over every surface in search of threats, just like the last time. However, there was another group of appendages that controlled the corpse, manipulating the victim like a marionette.
It used the woman’s arms to caress a whimpering little girl. Clara sympathised with this child; she too had been exposed to such horrors early in life. She prayed that this one be spared the life of a hunter.
“Where did you come across that thing?” Edith asked.
Clara focused on the words, steeled her resolve, and said, “The assignment that got Father Allen killed.”
Edith did not turn to face Clara, but it was clear from the shiver that ran down Edith’s spine that she was familiar with the details of that mission. One important question remained: what could they do to counter this threat?
“A Mills Bomb only managed to annoy it,” Clara said. “Small arms fire had no effect.”
A tactical squad came thundering out from the woods, and Clara hoped that Elizabeth simply missed their approach. The creature’s reaction was fast and brutal. The first wave of tentacles flew out like javelins and pierced their armoured vests. The lead men never fired a shot, instead, the tentacles lifted them up in the air while their torsos bulged.
Clara heard fabric and Kevlar strain. She knew what was about to happen, so she pushed her wings forward just in time to block erupting blood and viscera. Fortunately, Edith had done the same and, since hers were invisible, the effect was far more gruesome.
As bits of men rained all around them, one from the group must have gotten a shot off. The bang thundered through the area and left a gaping hole in the corpse’s back.
“Bad idea,” Clara said.
Her instincts had been bang on. The damage to the body provided this creature with a new orifice, and a whole slew of tentacles poured out. The attack from these quickly decimated what was left of the team.
As that creature unleashed a wave of chaos, the child progressed from soft whimpers to wailing and tears. The victim’s arms continued to rock the child, but the carnage wrought was enough to upset even a veteran hunter. What chance did this child have?
“There, there, child,” Victoria said.
“Did you hear that?” Edith asked.
Clara closed her eyes and concentrated. There was nothing else other than the panicked child.
“What are you talking about?” Clara asked.
“Please calm down. You’re safe here,” Victoria added.
“She is trying to comfort the child,” Edith said.
Clara furrowed her brow, a rare lapse in composure. In this case, Edith needed to see that her confusion was genuine.
“She? That thing hasn’t made a sound yet,” Clara said bluntly.
“Your parents will be back shortly,” Victoria said. “Then you can be in your mother’s arms.”
“Someone left the child behind,” Edith said.
Clara’s eyes went blank and, for a split second, there was nobody home. For as long as they knew each other, it had been Clara who trusted her instincts. Edith was in contrast the diligent follower of rules. For her partner to take this leap of faith, it meant this was really happening.
“You can sense its thoughts? Can’t you?” Clara asked.
Edith closed her eyes before she let down her wings and sent all of that viscera flying off into the distance. She sensed that pull, that feeling that every action taken before now had been to prepare her for this moment. Seeing that Clara was right, she simply nodded.
Clara also brushed off her wings before heading towards Edith. She walked slowly, the sway of her hips moving like a pendulum, her face glowing with a suggestive smile.
“Please stop crying, child,” Victoria said, the words resonating within Edith’s mind.
“You’re lucky that I love you,” Clara said, while ensuring that her movements remained slow and deliberate, just in case.
Edith did not move back or try to stop Clara. She simply focused on that smile, and found it infectious. Her friend had always been mischievous but, for the first time in a long time, she was seeing Clara without her mask, nor any of that bravado.
“You probably won’t survive,” Clara said. She stopped once they were close enough to feel one another’s body heat and stretched her neck out enough to whisper into Edith’s ear, “We may never see each other again.”
Edith had no words to offer. Instead, she closed her eyes as the soft tremble of those lips sent a shiver right down to her soul. She bit her lower lip in anticipation of something that would never be.
“But,” Clara said as she pulled away just enough to lick Edith’s lips on her way. “This time, God has blessed us with the opportunity to say goodbye.”
Clara smiled, winked and pressed forward until their lips made contact. The effect on them was immediate. Clara’s inhibitions melted away, while Edith struggled to keep her knees from buckling. Their tongues met, and their breathing quickened in excitement.
“Please dear,” Victoria said.
That voice dragged Edith back into reality. Clara understood what had happened and would not beg or plead for Edith to stay. They were hunters. This was part of the job and, sometimes, friends did not come home from a mission.
“Go,” Clara urged. “If God is willing, we will meet again.”
Edith was once more faced with this constant in her life: ever the faithful follower of rules, despite God taking her Angela away from her but, would she have opened her heart to Clara otherwise?
Edith handed the pistol back, smiled, closed her eyes, and focused. She thought about all of the good things in her life, and how faith had carried her this far. Faith was her weapon, one she wielded in battle against Evil.
Clara watched from a distance as Edith marched forward. There was no sensuality in the motions, instead, there was that same dogged determination from earlier. Just like those men who climbed over the trench walls during the Great War, Edith was a soldier of God and willingly served as his instrument.
When Edith approached, the tentacles did not react. The absolute calm she exuded prevented her from being seen as a threat. Still, Clara kept the shotgun at the ready just in case.
Once a set of tentacles came into contact with Edith, every limb backed away. Clearly, this thing had not been aware of her presence and reacted like any startled animal would.
Eventually, curiosity drove it to resume probing the area and found that Edith was still there. The contact did not cause this creature to burn like Clara had hoped. While these things were integral to the creation of the vampires, it did not share their weaknesses.
The tentacles became emboldened and began to wind around Edith’s body. They slid over every inch of exposed skin, looking for something. Ultimately, their goal remained unclear.
Edith gasped as one tentacle slithered beneath her knee duster. It sensed that warm crevice between her legs. Without any notice, it rammed itself home and did so with shocking speed. Edith did not fight back. Her faith remained unbroken. In her mind, and she was fulfilling God’s will.
Soon, other tentacles joined the first under the skirt, but this time, and they found an alternate path. Clara watched from where she was, aghast, but would not interfere.
Even when a tentacle exited Edith’s mouth, Clara did not move. She remained stoic, unmoved, a pillar of strength for her friend. Despite the outward appearance, she prayed for God to intervene.
Like falling into a pit of pythons, the tentacles writhed, coiled, and tightened around her friend’s chest. Again, nothing happened, and Edith was entirely under its control. The only thing that gave Clara strength was the defiance shining through Edith’s eyes.
When two of the tentacles slithered up to Edith’s head, Clara knew it was now or never. If God chose to sit this one out, Clara would take action, even if it meant scorching the Earth.
Ultimately, Clara’s involvement was not needed. Before the tentacles’ tips transformed into flechettes, a bright light surrounded Edith. Despite her friend being no longer able to speak, she imagined the word amen had been uttered.
It was one thing to be inside that circle of light and wake up as a soul on the other side of the veil. It was another matter entirely to witness the ascendance first hand.
Clara shifted her wings to block most of the direct light. She backed away slowly while ensuring she had solid footing. In the background, she heard the wind pick up, one so potent that it became her world.
What caught her off guard was the shockwave that followed. Powerful enough to whisk her off feet, it sent her flying into a tree.
“Horsefeathers!” Clara exclaimed.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Given that all hell was breaking loose, Clara had no qualms about flying over the park. Since Edith had been in a foul mood, she expected to see signs of a fight. Oddly enough, it was all quiet on the western front, although there were still a lot of people fleeing. Those who lingered were further motivated to evacuate once they caught sight of a creature large enough to snatch a grown woman.
Eventually, all that remained were constabulary moving forward in teams, unsure of what was going on. That meant itchy trigger fingers which would make the earlier bunch look like mimes.
Clara purposefully chose to overshoot the scene and made sure to fly high enough to have a bird’s eye view. From up here, she made out Edith circling some sort of creature. She was not able to discern any details? Nor did she want to approach that thing either.
Elizabeth was beginning to show signs of fatigue, namely a rising heart rate. Despite Elizabeth’s legs being wrapped around her own, there were limits to endurance. Either way, Clara had no plans of dragging her friend into the fray.
Clara noticed a tall building near the periphery which was ideal as a lookout. Once they landed, Elizabeth took a while to steady herself; it seemed that her inner ear needed time to adjust.
“If you see any of the constabulary approach,” Clara said lightly, “Call me.”
Elizabeth was puzzled by the mix of terminology. Still, this request was impossible to comply with at this moment.
“Your phone’s battery gave out,” Elizabeth said.
“Horsefeathers,” Clara said. “Smoke signals?”
Elizabeth chuckled at the thought, but in all seriousness, they needed a workable solution. Nothing obvious came to mind, but while smoke signals were possible, they were hardly practical. Besides, she had no desire to attract the fire department since they might first run across whatever caused this mess.
“Your pistol—” Clara said.
“My gun—” Elizabeth said at the same time.
The girls giggled, and Clara took the opportunity to confirm that the rooftop exit was unlocked. The last thing either of them needed was for Elizabeth to end up stranded on the roof after discharging a firearm.
“Use it only if necessary. If you do, ditch the piece, then hightail it out of here,” Clara said.
As Clara took flight, Elizabeth scanned the area from behind the lip of the roof. From here, she had ample cover and a good view of most of the immediate area, a great place to keep track of the trouble going on in Wonderland.
“Just need to remember that I should act normal once I get off this roof,” Elizabeth said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
The cabby pulled over, confused about why they were back here. When he set the transmission to park and stopped the metre, the driver looked into his rear-view mirror and found a stack of twenties on the seat with the door wide open. He caught sight of her hightailing it down the sidewalk while holding onto an old piece of pottery.
After closing the door, he shifted into drive in time to watch a series of squad cars screaming in from around the corner with their sirens blazing. He slammed his fists against the wheel and shoved the transmission back into park. He would be going nowhere soon, considering how they cut him off at both ends.
“This is going to take a while,” he muttered.
* * * *
“I’m here!” Elizabeth yelled while running down the alley.
She saw a little girl dressed up like a nun standing in front of Clara. She ran to within a few yards, slowed, then dropped to her knees at Clara’s side.
Elizabeth was out of breath. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and clouded her thoughts. Why did this child seem so familiar? Perhaps she was a fragment from some long forgotten dream or a faded memory?
“Good,” Angela said. “Get ready.”
“For?” Elizabeth asked.
Angela smiled warmly, and reached for the handle of the knife buried in Clara’s chest. Meanwhile, she placed her free hand against Clara’s chest to get more leverage.
“This is not going to be pretty,” Angela thought.
“It will be alright,” Angela said to Clara. “Now I’m going to pull the knife out, and this nice lady will pour some ambrosia into the wound.”
Elizabeth was gripping the amphora with all her might. Clara coughed violently in response, which startled Elizabeth, who jerked out of the way. Doing so caused the glowing liquid to spill everywhere. Fortunately, after some adjustment, a large quantity of the fluid managed to seep into the open wound.
“Not very graceful,” Angela said with a giggle. “But it seems to be working.”
When smoke rose out from Clara’s wound, the damaged tissue began to heal. Her coughing transitioned to a light rattle, and before they knew it, her breathing was back to normal.
Clara’s eyes did not open. Instead, she slumped further onto the pavement. When her wing made contact with the hard surface, she grimaced in discomfort but did not wake. Angela took Clara’s hand, smiled, and watched her elder sleep.
“Those wounds were pretty severe,” Angela said. “So it may take a while for her to recover.”
Of course, fate had other plans for them. A police car stopped at the mouth of the alley, and two officers jumped out.
“Freeze!” One of the officers ordered.
“Just what we needed,” Angela said grimly, but a grin soon made her face shine. “I’ll go deal with the bulls. You wake her up.”
Before Elizabeth could object, the young one turned around, smiled, and faded out of existence. All that remained was her grin, an eerie homage to the Cheshire Cat.
“She was probably dying to do a bit of haunting,” Elizabeth said and was immediately filled with guilt for using the world dying in front of a spirit.
Despite their distance, Elizabeth noticed a measure of confusion on the officer’s face. A shame that it faded away so fast once his training kicked in. Meanwhile, his partner noticed the hesitation and approached. Since this one was armed with a tactical shotgun, the situation was not progressing as well as she hoped.
“Come on, Clara,” Elizabeth said.
When she tapped Clara on the cheeks, the officer trained the pistol in her direction. Apparently, the application of first aid to the wounded did not comply with this man’s definition of freeze.
“Freeze,” the officer repeated. “Hands where I can see them.”
Elizabeth thought about complying, but the commotion in the park was getting worse. That meant Clara was needed out there.
She slapped Clara harder, ignoring the armed men as best she could. Clara did not react, so Elizabeth wondered just how far this needed to go.
“Last war—,” The officer said.
Angela materialised just ahead of the officers and did so with the flair of an artist. At first, her bones faded into existence followed by sinew, muscles, fat, and skin. She remained partially translucent throughout, which had a profound effect on the nearest officer. He stopped breathing, his heart rate rose, and his hands began to shake.
“We heard you bulls the first time,” Angela said.
His partner, however, was not fazed by the show and brought his weapon to bear. He was about to bark out an order, but Angela turned to face him.
“You really don’t want to do that,” Angela said while her skin dried up, and shrank until she looked more like a mummified corpse.
When she smiled, the sound of that leathery hide crackling echoed throughout the alley. That would have been more than enough to scare the shit out of the average moviegoer, but it was her cackle that really sold it. Despite the special effects, the man remained steady and focused. He pumped the weapon one time to eject the buckshot and chambered a slug that would wreak havoc at this range.
“Come on, Clara,” Elizabeth said, now visibly shaking Clara.
Other than a brief interruption in Clara’s breathing, she appeared to be blissfully unperturbed by the impending storm. Elizabeth began to panic. She knew that the situation would only worsen and doubted the cops would understand her non-compliance once Angela ran out of tricks.
The first officer snapped out of it. Emboldened by his partner, he pointed the pistol at Angela who showed no concerns.
“Really boys,” Angela said. “Am I going to have to give you the high hat?”
Angela’s features morphed into that of a youthful child. Her hair then defied gravity, resembling that of someone submerged in water. While the effect did not phase the cops, the world surrounding them certainly reacted.
The air grew cold, and while it was autumn, the drop in temperature was sudden, and dramatic. Frost permeated from under the child’s feet, causing the pavement to freeze while it spread. Once the phenomenon reached the first cop, his breath turned to ice which forced him to back away.
“Clara!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and this time she followed through with a slap loud enough to echo.
The weather disturbance was starting to get the attention of other officers in the area. Some looked on in awe, while others radioed in the sighting, sure to bring in some reinforcements.
While the frost continued to spread, it also became more focused. When the second officer moved his finger onto the trigger, the weapon itself iced over. The metal became so cold that it forced him to drop his weapon.
“Come on,” Elizabeth pleaded.
Elizabeth knew this situation was about to blow. She sighed, which oddly enough alleviated her panic and was momentarily thankful for the small miracle. Without any better ideas, she leaned in and kissed Clara on the lips, unsure of its effectiveness or where that particular idea came from.
Angela began to laugh maniacally, which corresponded with an exponential growth in the disturbance. Anyone near the expanse was now actively trying to keep away from it, while those caught in its wake regretted their decision.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s kiss lingered on those lips until her partner reacted. Before she opened her eyes, Clara moulded her willing body against Elizabeth’s. The passion they shared grew in intensity, and for a moment, there was no one else in the world.
That’s when a frantic officer decided that brute force would solve this once and for all. He emptied a clip into the young girl, and while every shot hit home, her laughter only intensified.
Clara did not react. Such sounds were like old friends to her now. Alas, Elizabeth, fearing that the shots were meant for her, jerked back and in doing so, caused the broken wing to shift.
“Ouch,” Clara said before she smirked.
That reaction showcased how Clara and that girl were cut from the same cloth. From that, it was easy to figure out how Edith could have fallen for both. She also realised that Clara had been milking this…
“Milking this situation to get a kiss?” Elizabeth asked. “You’re an incorrigible flirt.”
Clara adopted an impish grin, then looked towards the spectacle. While the frost approached their position, she was not concerned nor worried. Once Clara spotted the amphora, she smiled, grabbed the vessel, and swallowed several mouthfuls of its golden contents.
“You know,” Clara said when she stopped drinking to get some air. “I’ve always liked men, but when I’m around you, I really have to wonder why I haven’t given the fairer sex a try.”
Elizabeth should have been concerned, but Clara’s demeanour had a calming effect. Those smart ass words disguised as flirting succeeded in getting Elizabeth to smile. Even though it was fall, she felt warm, desired, and certain that she could survive anything, including a nuclear winter. All she needed was this lady to watch her back.
“Watch this,” Clara said.
Angela’s eyes began to glow, while her voice rose in pitch until it shattered nearby windows. The banshee’s intense scream forced people to cover their ears. All the while, a solid wave of cold air pushed forward, enveloping vehicles and men alike. Once the wave dissipated, she was gone.
The immediate aftermath was a sight to behold. The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow, while more fell lazily from the sky. Anyone far enough away, would have seen something akin to a life-sized snow globe.
While those caught inside were less than appreciative, at least they were alive. Their skin and uniforms had turned white from the frost and appeared to be nothing more than breathing snow sculptures. Meanwhile those outside of the globe were left wondering what they should do next. Should they assist their peers or avoid drawing out that girl for another round of games?
“Carrots must have attended the same lectures I did,” Clara said.
Elizabeth stood up, while looking over the spectacle and gasped. By now, she was nearly numb to such acts of wonder. As judged by Clara’s demeanour, it would take a hell of a lot more than that to phase her.
She then grabbed Clara’s hand and helped her up. The other immediately brushed herself off and spread out her wings to their full size. Despite having seen them before, the sight of those magistic feathered wings.
“They taught you about ghosts?” Elizabeth asked.
Clara nodded, smiled, and said, “Professor Stephens taught us this subject as part of his second year lectures. I figured there was an awful lot of detail for something that was not supposed to exist.”
“But—,” Elizabeth tried to ask.
Clara anticipated the question and added, “He taught us about the creatures of myth and legend. Ghosts were noteworthy because of the depth of knowledge shown, along with the steadfast denial of their existence.”
That had been the professor’s way of toeing the line, while providing his students with valuable insights. Angela, just like Clara, had paid attention. It did not take much to figure out that a soul called down from the heavens was a ghost in all aspects but in name.
“She used up all her power with that stunt,” Clara said. “She will wake up in her own world in a couple of months once she’s had the chance to regenerate.”
Elizabeth wanted to ask a few more questions but thought better of it. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, and this was the perfect example.
Clara was surprised to see the conflict growing within and proud of how well Elizabeth was doing. Instead of saying something, she winked out of existence and reappeared holding a shotgun and a couple of police issued pistols.
She then proceeded to hand a weapon over to Elizabeth and chuckled when the other recoiled from the cold. The recipient briefly glared at Clara and stuck out her tongue in an effort to diffuse the situation.
“You ready?” Clara asked, extending an arm.
“What about the amphora?” Elizabeth asked, but then noticed it was already gone.
Instead of retracting her question, Elizabeth moved in and held on to Clara. With one swoop of Clara’s wings, they were airborne, heading towards the park. They did make an effort to avoid the snow globe, and despite their being witnesses, no one made an attempt to stop them. An angry ghost was more than enough for one day.
“Gabriel is not going to like this,” Clara muttered.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
