“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.

Today, society echoed her own faith. These grand halls saw a fraction of the worshippers. Many of the faithful never stepped foot within these hallowed halls. For others, religion was like ordering à la carte at a restaurant. It’s Friday, but I’ll have the chicken, anyway. Oh! Can you swap out the fries or a salad? It’s lent you know…

The Ten Commandments, and lessons drawn from the Bible were now mild suggestions. I think I’ll ignore adultery and embrace my covetous desire for thine neighbour’s wife.

Clara’s crises of faith stemmed from what she knew, not because she drifted away from the teachings of her church. Heaven was not as advertised and the Tower had concealed the truth from hunters about old gods and ghosts. Hunters were weapons, so Clara doubted it was an attempt to keep them safe. Someone didn’t want us hunting them.

“Ghouls however…” Clara said.

In her youth, the church had been a substantial source of comfort. However, the more light that was shed on the true nature of her order, the more her faith waned. I feel as though I’ve been cast adrift on a sea of uncertainty…

“What you call faith, others would call idolatry,” someone nearby said.

Clara turned to have a better look at the speaker, but his face was concealed by the sunlight. This was the second time she encountered this man. The first of which gave her the idea of reconnecting with her past.

“Maintaining faith is a challenge when one has seen the truth,” Clara countered.

Even through the blinding light, Clara made out a smirk. She was not sure why, since nothing she said would get a laugh at a bar… no matter how drunk they were.

“Your pistols don’t benefit from faith, misplaced or otherwise. A god…” the man said.

Just like the last time, he disappeared and left her staring up at the blinding sun. At least he vanished with a few parting words of wisdom. If only she could gleam something useful from what he said.