“The radio actually works?” Clara asked.

“It does. To be honest, I’m not sure why it does,” a man replied in the local dialect. “You’re the one who called earlier?”

“I am,” she said. “I’m Clara.”

“Joseph,” the man replied. “I have to say that you have peculiar tastes.”

“I know what I love,” Clara replied. “You said it shouldn’t work?”

“I had to replace the cord. I managed to turn the volume dial to power up the unit. Suddenly this thing started rhyming off numbers. Clear as day…” Joseph replied

“That is peculiar,” Clara said.

“Thing is, there are no AM radio stations in the area and nothing here picks up that signal,” Joseph said.

Before her, there were stacks of furniture, tools, outdated office equipment, books, magazines and even clothes. All of it was precariously stacked, and accessible through several winding paths. This man lives to collect the past, I bet every piece has meaning for him.

If not for the naked bulbs shining the way, Clara would have considered turning back. Although facing so much clutter nearly had the same effect. To think I’d been worried about the mine collapsing back home…

In the early forenoon, she found herself at a bistro near the water. While waiting for breakfast, she searched for antique shops. If this city was so in touch with its history, then she might find items from her past.

After some calls, Clara learned there was such a place just outside of the old city. With a destination in mind, she was free to take in the view while eating her fresh pastry.

Today, re-enforced how much she enjoyed hunting on her own. At night there was work to be done, but under the sun’s glory she was free to be herself and let go. She smiled when the server brought the bill, but he did not reciprocate. With her spirits riding high, she paid while wearing a smile and walked out like she owned the joint.

To be clear, Clara was not searching for personal effects. Like most hunters, she embraced a nomadic lifestyle. Besides, everything she owned ended up at a vampire resort called The Grand. I’m sure they took good care of my things when I died…

There were several antique shops throughout the city, but she was not interested in expensive decorations and furniture. Clara wanted to find a shop dedicated to the eclectic, owned by someone who longed for the past. I want someone who collects items because they are special and must be cherished. Not for their resale value.

“Don’t you fit into that category?” Ethereal asked. 

“What does that say about you three?” Clara pushed back.

After a night of revelling in rich food and a lot of drink, Clara awoke in the middle of the massive bed. The last couple of outings, starting with Dora, had done wonders for her mood. While guilt lingered, it was freeing to be out of hiding, even if only long enough to take a peek over the trench.

Her eyes flowed over the in-store selection until she spotted an assortment of dresses that made her swoon. 

“You have a good eye,” the clerk said in Parisian French.

“I haven’t seen such fashions like this outside of a—” Clara replied, reproducing the same accent to irk the clerk.

“Costume shop?” the clerk asked.

Clara smirked before replying, “I was going to say a museum.”

She had been tempted to answer ‘my closet.’ However, that would have set off several warning bells.

She considered indulging in room service. The image of her sinking into the tub with wings unfurled, while sipping on champagne excited the mind. 

“You can’t wash away your guilt,” Ethereal reminded her.

She decided against it; intent on enjoying the amenities of this hotel. Tonight, she would soak in the nostalgia, while gawking at the brass fittings, revolving doors, stunning chandeliers, and opulent carpets. This place brings me back to my time as a flapper.