• Home Is Where the Heart Is – Part III

    Angela needed to get home and collect her thoughts, or at least that was still her plan. She was not ready just yet, hesitant to enter a world that she shared with Edith for the better part of a century. This was their sanctuary, the one place they could be themselves without risking an inquisition. Even in paradise, there were expectations. Most of the dearly departed were free to do as they pleased, so long as it was contained within their pocket of reality. For lack of a better term, people saw and experienced what they desired.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    The fable about the Tower of Babel proved to be prophetic in many ways. People were often unable to see eye to eye, discord brought upon by elements that set them apart, and that ultimately sowed the seeds of conflict. Most chose to forgo the attempt at peaceful coexistence in favour of living within a dreamworld of their own making.

    Angela was just as guilty as the others, inhabiting a world where she was free to run through the halls of the Tower. She had been so young when she died that her idea of Heaven was playing hide and seek with other girls. For the longest time, that had been her whole reason for being: trapped in a world of fun and games, all the while, blissfully ignorant about the true nature of reality.

    It was Edith who opened her eyes to the truth. Being summoned to the mortal realm had been the lesson. For the first time since death, she realised there was a world beyond her own, beyond the veil of death. In a way, Angela had always known there was something special about Edith, since only true love could have summoned her from beyond the grave.

    When Angela set eyes on her love in her adult form, she knew immediately who it was. Ever since being summoned, she maintained a vigil over the mortal realm. Edith may have been thirty years her elder by then, but all of the signs were there: eyes with a gleam that never faded, the softness of those lips, and a smile that spoke volumes on how much Edith missed her.

    Edith never did learn the truth. Angela never dared to let it slip that she had been waiting for decades. Why risk hurting her? Who needed to know that in a bid to hang onto life, they also managed to reveal the depth of deception that surrounded their life?

    From then on, Angela shared her little world with Edith. It had been an adjustment at first because their love was considered taboo. For Edith, she was willing to do anything, including breaching the gates of Hell just to be in her arms. For better or for worse, Edith became her life, and neither had regrets.

    “Here you go, little girl,” a man said extending his hand.

    He was holding the largest cone of ice cream that she ever set eyes upon. It was a massive waffle cone adorned with at least five heaping scoops of ice cream. Her favouritest in the whole wide world too, vanilla, but dipped in caramel and covered with sprinkles.

    Angela had not realised that she had reverted back to her childhood form. She looked up at the man, and found that the view of his face was marred by the sun.

    “Thank you,” Angela said excitedly, so much so, that her hands were shaking.

    “The pleasure is all mine, child,” the man said.

    Even though he leaned towards her, the sun remained at his back. Angela eagerly grabbed the cone and eyed the confection with wide eyes.

    “Remember,” the man added. “You need to keep your strength up because you’ll need your wits about you.”

    Angela looked up from her cone to answer, but only the blinding light of the sun remained. There were no traces of the man anywhere which was unusual in itself. Outside of their own bubbles, souls did not possess the ability to manipulate their environment.

    “Did I miss something?” Angela wondered.

    She shrugged and continued to devour her ice cream. The creamy delicacy disappeared in chunks since she preferred to bite into the treat instead of licking it away. Gluttony may have been one of the seven deadly sins, but how could anyone turn away such a feast?

    She consumed the ice cream while she walked. When finished with her treat, Angela found herself facing the door to their little kingdom. Before the distraction, Angela had not been sure she would find her way here, her mind unwilling to face reality.

    Angela sighed, closed her eyes, and reached for the handle. Just as her slender fingers were about to grasp the knob, it opened from the inside.

    The sound startled Angela forcing her to open her eyes. She barely managed to focus before freezing in place and looking stupefied. She remained like this for a minute before collapsing to 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!


  • Editing – Loud and Clear

    She had fond memories of her leaping between rocks to get on the island, while wearing a cute dress, and a pair of rubber boots. This was her kingdom, a refuge from reality that it was time to grow up. It was sobering that she could cross the pond in one step now.


  • Home Is Where the Heart Is – Part II

    Edith had no idea what to expect once she crossed the threshold. That echo she experienced moments ago did a lot to fan the flames of her imagination. Surely, such an armed force would come as a response to an illegal operation?

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    So, imagine her surprise when she walked into a normal and mundane apartment, at least for someone who lived and breathed during Edith’s heyday. The living room contained a few pieces of tasteful art, and while expensive, they evoked no emotional reaction. On the other hand, an entire wall had been dedicated to a collection of books which impressed her, at least until a brief perusal revealed the truth: a lawyer lived here.

    Next to the fireplace, she noticed a simple wooden desk. On top, there was a typewriter, something she learned to use early on at the Tower. Women of the Tower were expected to blend in, and back then, secretary was a common profession for women.

    “That thing is older than I am,” Edith said while her fingers glided over the keys.

    Edith noted there was a distinct lack of technology here. She saw people walking around with tiny devices. There were storefronts that showcased bigger screens filled with vivid imagery. It all seemed to be universally available.

    “So why is none of that here?” Edith asked.

    That question slipped from her mind once she set eyes on a manuscript. She read the title, The Portrait, and made a note to investigate it later. At that moment, it seemed more prudent to finish searching this apartment.

    The kitchen was easy to clear, and as a bonus, Edith was able to secure a series of well-balanced knives, suitable for throwing. These were quickly secured around her thighs using sponges as sheaths and keep them in place.

    Since her dress flowed freely around her generous hips, their presence was nearly invisible. Sure if someone was paying a great deal of attention to her legs, they might notice them, but most would focus on her bust or behind.

    She also managed to acquire a few larger knives. Those were stashed away in her purse, enabling her to be more effective at hand to hand combat.

    While the master bedroom was straight ahead, Edith first stopped by a guest room. This room had been converted for use as a studio and reeked of paint. There were also other tools lying about, that she recognised for use in stone carving. All around, there were ample works to be found, and while some were quite good, others were better suited for the garbage chute.

    An easel stood in the corner, one covered by a white sheet. It appeared to be staged, even a bit contrived, so Edith became suspicious. None of her senses uncovered any hidden mechanisms connected to the easel, nor anything embedded in the walls. Given how low key the rest of this home was, she half-expected it to be a tableau mort. Edith learned long ago to never underestimate the ability of the quiet ones to unleash hell on earth.

    A portrait of a gruesome murder or the dismemberment of a corpse would have been easier to deal with. In the foreground, there was a woman of unimaginable beauty: long hair that was black as onyx, intense green eyes, sharp facial features, and a body that could have been sculpted by a master artist. The curves of her body were still there despite an attire designed to make her look boyish, just like any other self-respecting flapper of her day.

    There was also something suggestive about that girl’s smile, an invitation to take her hand and enter a world of pleasures people only dreamed of. Edith had always been drawn to women, desired them, and found it hard to resist the call.

    “Obviously,” Edith said. “She was more successful with you than I ever was…”

    In the lady’s wake, stood a woman she knew well. She was taller, sported a bobbed dark-brown coiffure, elfin ears and steel-grey eyes. Edith had spent many an hour committing every detail of that face and body to memory. She even recognised her trademark smile, the one used to advertise just how cocky she really was.

    Edith touched the canvas longingly, while a lone tear ran down her cheek before whispering, “Clara.”

    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!


  • Home Is Where the Heart Is – Part I

    “There are consequences to hiring disinterested staff,” Edith said while walking out of the store.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    The clerk never looked up from her phone, let alone to intervene. Edith harboured no guilt for leaving the store with an ample supply of munitions, toiletries, and a purse. Everything fit nicely within the latter, which simplified the matter of leaving through the doors unmolested.

    The cab was waiting, so she opened the door and boarded the yellow car. When the driver looked up at her through his mirror, Edith relayed the destination and they soon pulled out into traffic.

    This driver also had a demonic lust for his phone, or at least for whoever was on the other end of the blower. Edith did not mind this time; she had an opportunity to observe her surroundings in peace.

    The deeper they ventured into the city, the more built-up it became. Even at this time of night, there were herds of people waiting at the lights. While the city had been teeming with people at night in her time, the scale was unmatched.

    The gravity of changes to this city was clear once the cab crested over the bridge. At night, the city was awash in electric light, enough to make the cloud cover glow.

    The city had grown a great deal since her time. Sure, there were skyscrapers on the horizon when she lived, but they did not dominate the skyline as they did now. Edith imagined that she was looking at a multi-coloured mountain range. It made sense. The city needed to grow, and islands were boundaries that were hard to ignore.

    The closer they got to her park, the more certain she became that this was indeed the right call. Edith had always believed in the chain of command and put faith before reason. Those beliefs, for the most part, had only been strengthened in death, a by-product of having lived to see the truth.

    Eventually, the cab cut through a dense urban neighbourhood and drove into the park. Until then, the call of the piper had been so powerful, but it was nothing more than a faint whisper now. All she knew for sure was that the deeper this cab ventured into the park, the more the sensation of being pulled waned.

    Without saying a word, Edith closed her eyes and focused until the world came to a crawl. Every word the driver uttered over the phone grew deeper and more exaggerated, like a record being played at unusually low speeds. At that moment, Edith left the cab, cruising through the landscape in an accelerated state.

    As a precaution, she remained in that state until there was ample cover. From the driver’s point of view, Edith had simply vanished. She observed the driver’s eyes bulge and how he stared aimlessly into his mirror in an attempt to find his fare. Fortunately, he was paying just enough attention to the traffic, to avoid running into the cab ahead.

    Edith chuckled as she waited for the driver to disappear from sight. Now it was time to wander about. So she scanned the buildings built along the periphery, those that were located just beyond the wall. At first, she had no idea what she sought but soon realised that faith was directing her once more. Without any more to go on, Edith followed a random path until she crossed one of the gates.

    “There,” Edith said while looking at a building.

    It wasn’t the tallest in the block, but there was a certain charm associated with buildings dating back from the early part of the last century. The familiarity of the architecture and style evoked a strong sense of nostalgia, so much so that she nearly shed a tear when memories of that era came flooding back. Edith hated getting emotional on missions and would have been severely reprimanded for her inability to suppress these manifestations of humanity.

    Most of the girls from her group had looked up to Edith before the Great War. Most sought to emulate her, especially the ability to right herself in the worst of storms. Despite all of that strength in life, Edith found there was little left to draw from now. All she wanted, desired and sought was to find her way back to her Angela. This mission would never be done and over with fast enough.

    A doorman exited the building to greet a cab, and moments later, a tenant stumbled out and was assisted inside. Since the doorman was sure to be otherwise occupied, Edith was left with an opportunity. With clenched jaw, and resolve steeled, Edith crossed the street.

    Ingress was child’s play since Edith had no trouble forcing the lock to access the main foyer. From there, she was faced with a bird cage, one that featured a wraparound stairwell.

    A century ago, they would have indoor aviators on staff, someone in uniform who handled the elevator’s controls with a smile. Now, people did it themselves, unless they were too inebriated to do so.

    While the car climbed towards the upper levels, Edith was nudged to a stairwell that led up to a mezzanine. She shrugged and headed up those stairs just as the birdcage stopped at the top floor.

    The halls were wide freshly painted looking more like a high end hotel than a residential block. It even featured a thick red carpet to cut down on the sounds of pedestrian traffic. Edith found it hard not to feel humbled when surrounded by all this opulence.

    As she turned a corner, Edith stopped cold. Her eyes fixed on the scene, committing every detail to memory, just like she was trained to do. Ahead, there was a bullet riddled area, which brought back memories of the bombed out buildings she had encountered during the war.

    Extensive and sustained gunfire had left the wall riddled with craters. Blood splatter was everywhere she looked, a clear indication that these bullets hit their mark prior to impacting the wall.

    Run,” Evelyn said.

    Edith heard the sound of a trigger being pulled followed by the roar of a shotgun. Before any other sounds were heard, she was already low to the ground, poised to strike.

    She opened her eyes, looked up, and noticed that the walls were pristine. Gone were all traces of bullet holes, cracked plaster, or blood. The carpet even looked like it had been recently vacuumed.

    “So why am I still hearing gunfire?” Edith wondered.

    An all-around search revealed no signs of activity. The sounds and visual stimuli were completely disconnected from one another, like watching an out of sync talkie. So with no other signs of danger, Edith got back on her feet.

    Edith approached the wall and ran a hand over the surface. It was smooth, even with inconsistencies expected of a wood slat and plaster combination. She knew that this type of construction was difficult to repair on short notice and fixing it with modern materials required replacing the entire wall.

    What she witnessed might have been real. Her years of experience as a hunter taught her that there were phenomena throughout God’s creation that could not be explained. For all she knew, some old god had created this elaborate illusion simply to get off on her reaction.

    Satisfied that she was not in the middle of a warzone, Edith turned the corner and found a door at the end. Given the peep hole and brass number adorning this heavy oak door, she figured this had to be one of the units.

    All of her instincts urged her to move forward. Just beyond that door was her reason for being. Cautiously, she approached, listened intently, and then put her ear against the door.

    “Nothing,” Edith whispered.

    She focused until the hum of overhead lights dropped in pitch, then drove her shoulder into the door. The impact sent a shower of splinters in every direction but fortunately, did not draw any unneeded attention.

    While Edith was not armed, when properly motivated, any woman could be a weapon powerful enough to change the tides of war. This time, she had the element of surprise.

    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!


  • Afterglow – Part II

    Clara left the bathroom while Elizabeth was in the shower. Her friend was humming to some nineteen-nineties tune that Clara never heard of and given the length of her hiatus, that was hardly surprising.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    Clara paused when a draught of cold air ran up her towel. Her freshly shaved berry patch was more sensitive than normal which caused her to shiver, an unexpected although pleasant reaction.

    She walked deeper into the living room and let the towel drop into the floor. She immediately reached for her bustier and slipped it back on. The cool leather felt great against her soft skin and it invigorated her senses. Odd how these experiences made her miss these small pleasures of life.

    Paradise lacked all those elements in life that made people uncomfortable. Heaven was never too hot, too cold, too humid, or too windy. In return, the joys of kissing warm lips in the cold rain or running across the crinkly grass after a morning frost were absent. Until now, Clara had not realised just how much of that she missed.

    After Clara finished slipping on her leather pants, there came an applause from behind the kitchen island. As the clapping hands echoed throughout the apartment, the sound of running water abruptly stopped, along with all other sources of white noise.

    Clara had experienced this situation before, and was not looking forward to this particular reunion. She considered reaching out for the sawed-off shotgun, but figured she ought to be polite for now.

    “It’s been a while,” Clara said.

    She turned around slowly to avoid an early confrontation. The last time, these sisters had fed off one another’s delusions, which resulted in Clara taking a bolt of energy to the chest. Still, despite losing her life in that attack, Clara had managed to rid the world of a long-time foe. Not a bad way to buy earn her passage into Heaven.

    Sure enough, the sisters were sitting at the kitchen island. Just like last time, they wore contemporary attire, more feminine than what Clara was wearing. They all wore a long skirt that flowed down to their ankles, a lightweight, sheer, gauzy blouse, and jewellery to compliment the entire affair. In effect, the sisters were dressed to blend in.

    The silvery sister who wore a locket adorned with a key, marking her as the goddess of the moon, sat in the middle. Her face and aura reminded Clara of the moonglade and she doubted that effect was coincidental.

    The one on Silver’s right glowed blue as current flowed through her entire body. Sparky, so named because she glowed like a spark gap transmitter, wore a locket that bore the imprint of a lantern. This was the goddess of magic and judging from those glowing eyes, she was poised to strike.

    “Odd, they don’t seem to think I’ll play nice,” Clara said under her breath.

    The last one was the Ethereal sister, the one who looked as though she had one foot in the grave, the one graced with a translucent complexion. This one also had a lantern themed locket, but was a mirror image of Sparky’s. This was the goddess of necromancy and of the dead, forever the paranoid killjoy.

    “Well. Well!” Clara said. “Someone has been to the hen coop.”

    How fortunate for her that the Ethereal sister would not have much to say tonight, seeing how her sisters sewed her mouth shut. That in itself was both a blessing and a curse. After all, her over-reaction last time had been the linchpin of Clara’s plan.

    The look of hate on Ethereal’s face was priceless. If looks could kill, Clara would have dropped dead on the spot. Although Clara had to admit, that one time was more than enough.

    “Not surprised to see us?” Silver asked.

    Clara shrugged before replying, “No. You used the same parlour tricks the last time we met.”

    The hunter walked slowly, and deliberately towards the kitchen. The sisters had obviously witnessed her getting dressed, so they knew she was unarmed. Still, it was unwise to force a response this early in the game.

    “You thought you’d seen the last of us?” Silver asked.

    “To be honest, I never planned on returning,” Clara said with a smile.

    Sparky’s glowing eyes followed her every movement but she did not engage. Without Ethereal’s poisoned tongue, Silver had effective control over the group. Clara did not care for this new dynamic, since it worked in their favour. That meant she would need to sow some discord.

    From the island, Clara got a better view of the kitchen and the chaos unleashed prior to her exiting the bathroom. Right next to the stove, there were bodies, doppelgängers, one for each sister. Clara’s eyes quickly scanned the kitchen and saw how the fridge door was dented leaving a mess of blood, milk, and condiments pooled around the base. The stove itself looked as though it were singed, indicating that Sparky had a bit of fun earlier.

    The kitchen was covered in blood splatter, and Clara found it surprising how none of that was visible from the living room. Then again, it was also curious that she missed the odour of burnt metal and cooked flesh.

    “Friends of yours?” Clara asked.

    Silver scoffed, then snapped her fingers, which caused an amphora with four glasses to appear. The goblets had a golden hue and Clara recognised this as being ambrosia, a drink she had a passing familiarity with. She even remembered how just one drop of that giggle water was enough to diminish the most intense orgasm she ever had.

    “Not really,” Hecate said. “Abominations that were never meant to exist.”

    “Really?” Clara asked with curiosity.

    “We may have ruled this world as gods thousands of years ago, but that doesn’t preclude us from understanding the mechanics of space and time,” Hecate said before a brief pause. “One of your own once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

    “I must have missed that particular quote,” Clara said, as she grabbed a drink. “Being dead does tend to leave one disconnected from popular culture.”

    The three sisters emulated Clara but kept their eyes focused on her even while they brought the drink to their lips and took a sip. All except for the frustrated Ethereal, who once realizing there was no way to partake, she smashed her goblet against the floor in protest.

    This time, the flavour and associated sensations were subdued, almost mundane. Was this related to her ascension as an angel? Was her new physiology better able to handle ambrosia? That idea left her distinctly disappointed. However, it did give her an idea of where she stood in relation to the sisters. Clara was no longer the helpless human and hoped to play that to her advantage.

    Clara finished off the rest of the ambrosia in one shot and replaced the goblet before saying, “Similar to the Georgian’s ability to manipulate time, I suppose.”

    Sparky let out a giggle which led her to accidentally send out a jolt of energy, one that burned a hole in the couch. Clara looked at the damage and smirked just as the goddess of magic covered her mouth in embarrassment.

    “Funny that you mention them,” Silver said.

    “We suspect they caused this whole mess,” Sparky added.

    “What mess?” Clara asked.

    “You haven’t noticed anything odd since yesterday?” Silver asked.

    “Like a shockwave?” Sparky threw in.

    Ethereal sister tried to say something, but her words were muffled. She glared at her sisters then stomped her feet like a child having a fit. Clara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and despite the pain, she almost lost control.

    “Now that you mention it,” Clara said. “I did see a shockwave propagating over the Eastern seaboard before I fell. I also saw Edith…”

    The goddesses smiled before merging into one body. Unlike their last encounter, she did not cycle from one persona to another. Instead, she adopted her nondescript form, the one that permitted her to move freely amongst humans.

    Meanwhile, Clara shifted away from the counter and noted a knife block that held a few knives. Hopefully, Elizabeth was picky about the quality of her blades, and was keen to keep them sharp.

    “We are attuned to variations in space and time,” Hecate said. “We can discern elements that are not from this reality, failed paths that should have atrophied long ago.”

    “You’re talking about probabilities?” Clara confirmed.

    That question had a profound effect on the goddess; she broke apart so Sparky could ask, “How does she know?”

    The silvery sister grabbed her sisters’ arms in an attempt to draw them back. It was clear that none of this had been scripted and that it could escalate into another situation.

    Frustrated, Silver said, “Fools, she obviously met the Gatekeeper.”

    Clara had never heard of the Gatekeeper, although it did not take much to figure out that Hecate was speaking of Saint Peter, the one who kept a vigil over the gates of Heaven taking on the appearance of whatever form the soul was most comfortable with. Clara had hoped to meet Freya for what she assumed would be an awe inspiring opportunity to meet one of the Norse gods in full armour.

    When Hecate succeeded in dragging her selves back into a singular shape, she answered, “Alternate choices create a separate branch of existence. Normally, the paths not chosen will wither away over time while this reality forges on.”

    “Saint Peter told me that the ability to choose tended to wreak havoc on determining outcomes,” Clara said.

    Hecate nodded before she said, “We are more attuned to such disturbances because of our inherent ability to manipulate space and time.”

    “Obviously, and something drew you here,” Clara said.

    “Of course, the signs are everywhere. People going about their business, unaware that they died years back. Duplicates, like that rubbish, and structures that were torn down are now standing tall again, or fused in with a new construction,” Hecate said.

    The goddess took the amphora, refilled the intact goblets, and downed the precious ambrosia in a straight set. Clara was impressed, there was no time to come up for air.

    “So why would you suspect the Georgians?” Clara asked, even though several reasons ran through her own mind.

    “Who else?” Hecate asked. “The combined power output of humanity is insufficient to achieve this level of distortion.”

    Clara mulled things over: the abandoned boutique where she heard signs of Edith rifling through clothing and finding that abandoned truck. Could these occurrences have been the result of reality being shattered? This meant the effect had not been confined exclusively to the mortal realm.

    “So what brought you ladies here?” Clara repeated.

    A sickly grin spread from the edge of Hecate’s lips, one eerie enough to send a chill down Clara’s spine. This one was planning something and that meant it would assuredly be unpleasant. As a precaution, she slowed down time, just enough to heighten her reaction times and, with a bit of luck, the change would remain undetected.

    Clara watched as Hecate’s lips moved slowly, her voice now lower in pitch and stretched. So far, the goddess was not aware of the change.

    “We were curious,” Hecate said. “These three caught you on the news fighting that undead whore and became furious that their high priestess exposed herself to the world.”

    Clara nodded when appropriate her mind wandering as it often did when starving for information. Every movement needed to be planned, and executed with precision. At this speed, even an errant blink could appear unnatural, something vampires often failed to compensate for.

    “So, we followed them here and disposed of them while you were in the shower,” Hecate said. “Now we have all the time in the world to exact our revenge.”

    Clara’s eyes focused on the goddess’s hand. When her fingers moved to form a snap, Clara further accelerated her reaction time so that the motion was nearly arrested.

    She grabbed the knife with the largest handle. As the stainless steel chef’s knife exited the block, she noticed the fingers moving faster. This meant Hecate figured it out and was trying to compensate. Clara gripped the handle with her dominant hand and used her wings to provide her with a bit of a boost. With every passing second, Hecate’s movements accelerated.

    It was close but Clara managed to drive the blade though Hecate’s fingers until it reached bone. Normally the knife would have stopped there, but given her momentum, the steel deformed as it cut through until it broke apart, leaving a finger and thumb hanging by a thin layer of skin. Clara continued on past the goddess just as the blade exploded into a shower of shrapnel.

    Hecate’s muscles spasmed from the pain but her eyes continued to track Clara’s flight path. The shock and anger left a fiery inferno glowing in those eyes. The pain had been so overwhelming that all three goddesses mirrored the wince as they tore themselves from the whole.

    “What a shame that Sparky’s eyes are already aglow,” Clara thought.

    Unable to keep this up for long, Clara returned to normal speed and her timing could not have been worse. It left her with no time to react to the blue beam of magical energy that arced through the air and struck her right in the chest.

    Initially, her muscles contracted and relaxed at a ridiculous rate while the magical energy coursed through her veins. She should have been in a lot of pain, so much so, that her mind would shut itself off before going mad. Instead, the surge left her invigorated, all powerful, and feeling distinctly aroused.

    This surge of energy forced her wings to expand. As they swept through the room, they struck the side lamp and caused it to shatter against the floor. All the while, her feathers darkened, leaving her to wonder if they would burst into flame. Instead, they turned jet black.

    As her body and mind adjusted to this surge of power, she determined that it was not being channelled as much as stored. Clara opened her steel-grey eyes which were themselves aglow. While Clara did not fully comprehend what was going on, she thirsted for more.

    The closer she was to Sparky, the more she felt alive, even a bit randy. With her free hand, she grabbed Sparky’s arm to feed directly from the source.

    The effect was immediate. Sparky’s eyes began to dim but Clara did not care. Instead, she leaned in until their lips brushed lightly against one another. The electric charge that flowed over the surface of their skin made Clara yearn for more.

    When Clara pressed their lips together, a shockwave knocked down knick knacks, plates, and whatever was not secured within a radius of several feet. Clara moaned and with that, discovered that her partner had also surrendered to the passion.

    Their tongues intertwined and danced together in this exchange of passion. The act of gaining strength while the other weakened, made her feel invulnerable. This moment left her overwhelmed and Clara experienced an orgasm for the first time in ninety years.

    As Clara sensed that last stray volt leave Sparky’s body, she plunged what remained of the knife into her partner’s chest and pierced the heart. The metal may have been weakened, but with enough brute force, even a rock could penetrate armour.

    Sparky gasped. Her eyes grew wide in shock before they went out. Clara watched as Sparky coughed up golden blood which slowly transformed into a dark red, the same colour as a human’s.

    Clara turned around and let the corpse fall to the floor without care. The glow from her eyes illuminated the room, bathing the sisters in a ghastly light. The look of horror etched on their faces was plain as day and that only emboldened her.

    “I’m the avenging angel,” Clara said.

    Ethereal tried to reach for a knife but Clara reached out with her wings and pulled this remnant towards her. In a flash, the wings surrounded the translucent creature and before Ethereal reacted, Clara channelled all of that stored energy through her wings straight into her victim.

    Clara immediately caught the odour of burning meat, but her training made it a snap to block it out of her mind. With her lips sewn shut, Ethereal was unable to scream, nonetheless, the muffled cries of agony were horrifying. These pleas for mercy were ignored by the executioner, which served only to terrorise what remained of Hecate.

    The angel discarded the charred corpse just as easily as the last. By the time the body impacted the floor, all that remained were scorched bones.

    “A fitting end for that mustard plaster,” Clara said with a wry smile. “Now where were we?”

    Once those words soaked in, what was left of Hecate tried to bolt. Clara was ready for that eventuality. She simply swatted the woman with a wing and sent her on a collision course with the kitchen island. Hecate collided face first into the tile top, bounced off, landed on her ass, and slumped onto the floor.

    Clara walked over casually to the counter and picked up the amphora. Based on her last encounter, the amphora never emptied. She looked at the glowing liquid with glee and hovered it over Hecate. Without hesitation, she poured the fluid over the goddess’ mouth and nose.

    It took a few moments, but Hecate’s eyes shot open before she tried to sit up. Clara held Hecate down using her knees and kept the arms pinned down with her wings. She continued to pour while the goddess struggled and stopped only once the other was significantly weakened. Hecate gasped for air but that was followed by a coughing fit. Still, she never took her eyes off of that amphora.

    “Ready to talk?” Clara pressed.

    “You’ll pay—,” Hecate tried to say.

    Clara was not about to show leniency— not for her— and poured even more onto Hecate’s face. This one showed no mercy in the past, nor shared Clara’s concern for the carnage that Drusilla was capable of. She was an aberration, a crime against nature, and deserved to be culled. Clara was only fulfilling her role as a hunter but first, she needed answers.

    “Ready?” Clara asked.

    Hecate saw the amphora hovering above. Instead of actively fighting Clara, she opted for a passive aggressive response by nodding.

    Clara was not about to stand for that, she poured more ambrosia over the goddess for good measure. This time the goddess was more cooperative, effectively broken, and would do anything to stop further torment.

    “Yes!” Hecate pleaded.

    “Oh good!” Clara exclaimed in an overly cheerful voice.

    “What do you want?” Hecate asked faintly.

    “Simple,” Clara said. “You mentioned Georgians earlier.”

    “What about them?” Hecate hissed.

    The mere threat of sending down more ambrosia made Hecate cringe. Clara’s steel-grey eyes narrowed, serving as a warning that there would be no leniency.

    “Where are they?” Clara questioned.

    “Here…” Hecate answered.

    “As in, this city?” Clara pressed.

    “Y-Yes,” Hecate stuttered.

    Clara smiled. That was the first bit of good news yet. Seeing how someone owed her a favour, this might just be the way to collect.

    “Where are they precisely?” Clara asked letting a drop fall onto the goddess’ forehead as a reminder.

    Tears streamed down Hecate’s face, her eyes puffy and red from the emotional turmoil. Clearly these gods were not accustomed to being treated so harshly. Humans had been both tormented and tormentors of others for generations. Clearly they had outgrown their former masters in this regard.

    “I—I—” Hecate faulted.

    “You don’t know?” Clara prodded.

    Hecate nodded vigorously, erroneously filled with a sense of relief, one that followed when a captive believed their pain was about to come to an end. However, Clara was not quite done.

    “What use are you to me then?” Clara asked and followed through with a sick grin. “Unless you have insight into what happened to the Tower?”

    “Th-The T-Tower?” Hecate asked.

    “The order also known as the Tower,” Clara said. “The one I belonged to before you decided to interfere with my hunt.”

    The goddess broke down entirely, wailing as though she had suddenly grown a conscience. It was obvious that this creature knew nothing more but Clara was an instrument for God and would not show compassion. Without a second thought, Clara used her free hand to block Hecate’s nose and shoved the mouth of the amphora down her throat. At first, the goddess convulsed, tears streamed down those swollen cheeks, and guttural pleas filtered through those overflowing lips.

    It must have taken a good five minutes before the liquid poured freely out of Hecate’s mouth. Clara did not look at the body, nor at the sight of the bulging stomach. Instead, she closed her eyes and concentrated. The goddess’ heartbeat had been steady until now, but it was faltering, and worsened until Clara was met with a deafening silence.

    Clara sighed before she used the island counter to help herself up. She ignored the existing corpses while avoiding the worst of the gore in the kitchen to make her way to the sink. When sounds of the waking world returned, she began to vomit into the stainless steel receptacle. Her stomach may have been empty but brought up bile nonetheless.

    Clara had been a hunter all of her life and never experienced this type of reaction before. She set vampires aflame, decapitated her foes, shot them in the head, and even condemned a soldier to his fate on the battlefield. In those cases, she never felt a morsel of remorse. And yet?

    In the last moments of that creature’s life, she seemed so hurt, so… so human. Clara had made an oath to never directly kill or maim humans. Those who were guilty of collaboration were to be condemned by society itself, not members of her order. Somehow that brief glimpse of humanity evoked an overwhelming sense of empathy.

    She wiped the bile from her lips and washed away whatever lingered using the sink’s spout. Clara needed to overcome this turmoil since she had done the world a great service by killing Hecate. Eventually, these memories would fade, just like the trauma induced by witnessing Father Michael’s neck being torn open by a vampire. His death was the reason she became a hunter, and yet, she no longer remembered that they shared the same eye colour.

    Clara sighed, turned to face the bathroom, and marched right in. She needed to prepare Elizabeth for what would be witnessed once she walked through that door.

    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!


  • Afterglow – Part I

    Elizabeth woke up with a start. She snapped straight into a sitting position which caused the sheets to slide off those generous breasts and pool around her hips. The cool chill of the air immediately hardened her nipples and marked the moment she noticed her nudity.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    The memories of last night had dulled like they would for nightmares. Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair, fighting through the knots caused by cold sweats, tossing and turning. With every knot unravelled, she winced which further banished memories of that nightmare from her conscious mind.

    “A dream,” Elizabeth whispered.

    The sound of her voice was reassuring but her words rang with false hope. Surely, meeting a former lover who turned out to be a creature of the night was nothing more than a scene featured in a straight to video horror flick. The plot alone would rank amongst the worst in Victoria’s collection.

    The morning chill made her shiver, so she brought the duvet up to her chest. The warmth had yet to dissipate and for a moment she was at ease, scanning the room for anything out of place. Everything was exactly where it should be except for her clothes, an oddity, since they were neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

    “What?” Elizabeth asked herself.

    Elizabeth had always been a bit of a slob. It was her wife who kept order amongst Elizabeth’s chaos. At first, they had disagreements about their living arrangements but that soon passed when both seceded certain habits in the name of marital bliss. Hope began to swell from within that her wife was back, that is, until she looked into her overflowing closet and saw that Mary’s suitcases were still gone.

    “Mary is still on tour,” Elizabeth said under her breath.

    Sensing that her mind was playing tricks on her, Elizabeth closed her eyes. Paranoia took hold and every sound further fuelled her uncertainty. Fortunately, the fact that her tongue felt like the hair of a stray dog sleeping in a dumpster behind some seedy strip club, did much to bring her back to reality.

    “Oh right,” Elizabeth said just as her head began to throb.

    She must have had a lot more to drink than she believed, given how memories of that chat were a mangled mess. Elizabeth had more clarity when viewing an impressionist painting than she did from her own memories at the moment.

    The attempt to remember what happened only worsened the dull throbbing in her head. The young woman sighed and with one quick movement, cleared the sheets from her body. The cold air invariably made her shiver which motivated her to leap from the bed.

    “Cold!” Elizabeth yelped.

    She hurriedly made her way to the bathroom, passing by the darkened living room. The sun had not yet peeked over the cityscape, so only the dull orange street lights filtered through the windows.

    Without a thought, she sat down to pee and absentmindedly went for a drawer within arms reach to rummage for some acetaminophen. Elizabeth shook the bottle. No sound. Since it was empty, she did a thorough search until another bottle was found and this one was almost full.

    “Dammit!” Elizabeth muttered while she fussed with the child proof lid.

    Eventually, the cap popped off and flew through the air. Elizabeth made a note to fetch the cap later. With her head feeling as though it were in a vice, she popped three pills into her mouth and swallowed them dry. For once, she was thankful for not having a gag reflex.

    With relief delivered on both fronts, she left the bathroom, on the mend. Her eyes had adjusted to the reduced lighting, and she was able to traverse the obstacle course she called a living room.

    She was thirsty and wondered what there was in the fridge to quench it. Her sense of logic urged her to grab some orange juice to hydrate and provide her with a quick boost of energy. Then again, another equally powerful voice was tempting her to start this day with a shot of Jack.

    Alas, she never made it to the kitchen. Her peripheral vision caught something white against the dark pleather couch. Elizabeth stopped cold and turned to have a better look. From this vantage point, she perceived the outline of ten toes shared between two feet.

    Her breathing grew short and shallow while a growing sense of panic overtook her senses. Still, she remained fixated on those feet, committing every detail to memory, namely how they were smaller, narrower, and decidedly more feminine than expected.

    “Did I hook-up last night?” Elizabeth asked in a whisper.

    She looked down at her ring as guilt overshadowed her desire to panic. Determined to dispel any such thoughts, she approached the couch from behind and leaned over the top until more bare skin came into focus.

    Her anxiety increased with every inch uncovered, at least until she saw that the sleeper’s chest and midsection were covered with a leather bustier. Her eyes drifted down to her rather dark haired muff and further down to her silky smooth legs. Every visible part of the woman was feminine, sensual and nearly perfect.

    While the sight of that great figure evoked no memories, that all changed when she gazed down the woman’s slender neck and sharp facial features. In her current pose, she looked more like a nude rendition of sleeping beauty than her guardian angel from last night.

    Those suggestive lips brought to the forefront all the memories of what happened last night. The face before her dispelled any notion that this had been a nightmare. A shame, since nightmares were easier to deal with than memories of actual trauma.

    Elizabeth moved to the front of the couch and watched as Clara breathed lightly. Her breasts, trapped within the confines of her bustier, rose and contracted with every breath. For the life of her, she could not figure out how this woman was still asleep.

    The idea that a warrior such as this could ever be at peace made Elizabeth question several pre-existing notions. Clara ran down that man last night, then smacked around her vampire ex-girlfriend as though it were child’s play.

    The cool air made her skin prickle. Clara did not seem to be bothered at all, in fact, the warm pink flesh implied that she was quite cosy and warm on the couch.

    Envious, she reached down to shake her guest but confusion set in once her fingers ran over the soft texture of feathers. They were warm and airy just like her childhood pet parakeet’s feathers.

    “Feathers,” Elizabeth whispered.

    “Mmhmm,” Clara said before letting out a soft sigh.

    Elizabeth snapped her arm back, “You’re awake?”

    “Since you woke up,” Clara said calmly. “I figured that my greeting you would be more upsetting.”

    “Feathers?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara nodded and said, “Would you mind stepping back a foot or two?”

    Elizabeth was confused, but the smile on Clara’s face convinced her that the request was serious. When she complied, Clara sat up slowly while the sound of feathers rubbing against pleather filled the room. This time Elizabeth did not react when something brushed against her knees.

    “There,” Clara said. “I miss sleeping all cocooned in warm sheets, but my wings do keep me nice and toasty warm.”

    “Wings?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara nodded while shifting into a sitting position. Even with her legs crossed, the dark curls between remained visible. Elizabeth eventually noticed how the other kept a distance away from the back cushions, just like she did the night before.

    “Ab-so-lutely,” Clara said. “They are normally quiet spectacular, but when I fell to Earth, they turned invisible, fortunately.”

    Clara turned to her left, and fiddled with the base of the lamp until it lit up the room. This time, when she stretched, her wings cast a shadow onto the floor.

    “Neat! That will probably be real popular at parties,” Clara said with a chuckle.

    “No kidding,” Elizabeth said flatly as her eyes shifted back to the shadow between Clara’s legs.

    Clara quickly ascertained the amazon’s focal point and said, “Is that common now?”

    “Is what common?” Elizabeth replied, a bit confused.

    “Sorry. A crotch smooth as the day you were born?” Clara asked, smirking as she focused on Elizabeth’s hairless berry patch.

    Elizabeth’s face went bright red and she no longer felt the effects of the chilled morning air. Although, she did shift her legs to conceal obscure her light chocolate coloured flower.

    “That probably explains why those guys at the bar looked at me funny,” Clara mused.

    “Bar?” Elizabeth asked. She thought it best to not wait for an answer, so she replied, “It’s far more popular now, but some women do buck the trend.”

    Clara smiled and stood up. For the first time, Elizabeth noticed that her angel was not all that tall. Last night, she appeared to be about the same height or smidge taller. Now that Clara had lost a bit of her lustre, she noticed there was a nine inch difference between them.

    Clara clearly liked the view she had at eye level and said, “Are those common now too?”

    Elizabeth looked down at her breasts which easily filled a double-D cup and specifically focused on the areola that matched her berry patch. She then noticed the grin on Clara’s face which implied that the question was made in jest rather than as a serious inquiry. Still, she also sensed that Clara was genuinely impressed by their size, shape and firmness.

    “Well, I’m about the average these days,” Elizabeth replied, in awe of how forthcoming she was.

    Clara looked down at her girls and while partially concealed by the bustier, they were closer to a C cup. Elizabeth watched as her saviour smiled but was not a party to this inside joke.

    “I can still handle a sword though,” Clara said before looking to her left and out the window. “Sun is about to rise. We should get washed up and grab a bite to eat,” she continued after tossing a casual glance at Elizabeth’s ring finger.

    The tone of those words had a devastating effect on the tension, and rightfully so. Either way, Clara was right, it was time to get up and start their search.

    “Do you want to go first?” Clara asked.

    Elizabeth was about to ask something, but changed her mind and said, “You go first.”

    “Great,” Clara said. She took a few steps, stopped, then pivoted towards Elizabeth before asking, “Do you have a razor that I can use?”

    “What! Why?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara grinned, pointing towards her bush which put the problem on display, “A gal has to blend in, you know?”

    “Sure,” Elizabeth said, but immediately mulled over some random detail that she picked up from a late night documentary on the television. “Do you know what a safety razor is?”

    “Does it involve a leather strap and straight blade?” Clara asked.

    Elizabeth bit the bottom of her lip and said, “While I have a strap in my closet, I don’t use it for that… purpose.” Elizabeth sighed before adding, “Come on, you’ll need a towel, and scissors anyhow.”

    Clara nodded and unhooked the back of her bustier. If anything, this woman was not shy about showing off her figure. She then placed the bustier neatly atop her other items, which solved the mystery surrounding her own neatly stacked attire.

    “I guess it’s a bit of a jungle down there,” Clara said nonchalantly.

    Elizabeth was flushed, and uncomfortable but was pretty sure that Clara would not let this progress beyond the point of no return.

    “I’m spoken for,” Elizabeth whispered and for the first time in her life, was disappointed by those words.

    “Do you have a lot of shampoo?” Clara asked before falling behind to follow Elizabeth.

    “What—,” Elizabeth was about to ask, but once she felt the warm feathers run down her back, she got the clue.

    “There should be enough,” Elizabeth said keeping eyes focused on the bathroom door.

    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!


  • Quinn W. Buckland’s Review of The Portrait

    Yay! Quinn W. Buckland, author of The Engine What Runs the World, has completed a review of my first book, The Portrait. I loved this review for its honesty, and makes it possible for people avoid major spoilers. While he admits that this book is far different from my normal fare, he also found that this story is creative, imaginative and just works. What more can an author ask for?

    Thank you so much for the 8.5 out of 10 score! Please take the time to watch his review and subscribe to his channel. I am sure there will be more great reviews for indie authors!


  • Triple, Venti, Soy, No Foam Latte – Part IV

    Once they stepped inside, Clara’s smile grew into a full on shit-eating grin. This was exactly the kind of diversion she had been looking for and she enjoyed not being compelled to go anywhere. She made sure to enjoy every moment of it.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    “Wow!” Clara said excitedly after taking in a deep breath. “That smell.”

    Clara spotted someone leaving the counter carrying a tall concoction of crushed ice, caramel, chocolate, and whipped cream in hand. Her grin faded, replaced by a look of utter confusion.

    “That’s coffee now?” Clara asked.

    Elizabeth laughed. At first, she found the familiarity of this scene and her companion’s response unnatural. Once her eyes settled on her saviour’s face, she figured that the other was playing up that new kid act. Still, she played along, curious to see how far this might go.

    Clara continued to wade deeper into the shop, approaching the menu boards. From the look of things, the menu options were cryptic, something many regulars took for granted. To ease things along, Elizabeth walked up to the counter just in time to watch a clerk look up from the register.

    “Can I take your order?” the clerk asked.

    Elizabeth wanted to make it interesting, so she decided to spice things up by saying, “Triple Venti Soy No Foam Latte.”

    The look on Clara’s face was priceless, which only served to lighten Elizabeth’s mood. Concurrently, the look of boredom on the clerk’s face was immediately replaced by glowing embers in those dark eyes. Clearly, she was not amused.

    “To think, you were not able to understand me five minutes ago,” Clara said with a sigh.

    Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s order did little to demonstrate how the English language actually evolved. While much of the base was the same, coffee, or at least how to order it, changed a lot over the years.

    Clara smiled and asked, “Any specials tonight?”

    Elizabeth noticed that Clara’s smile had a disarming effect on the clerk. To be fair, tight leather that propped up her bust accompanied by a flirtatious smile would easily disarm most.

    The clerk smiled right back before replying, “Pumpkin spiced lattès are popular this time of year.”

    Clara turned to look at Elizabeth. The latter immediately understood how that sentence could confuse the uninitiated.

    “They add the spices used to make a pumpkin pie to your drink. It livens things up,” Elizabeth said.

    “Oh!” Clara exclaimed. “That’s the bee’s knees!”

    “What size?” the clerk asked after giving Clara an odd look.

    “Ummm,” Clara said.

    Elizabeth decided to further pester this clerk, “Venti, three shot, blonde, five pump, no fat, pumpkin spice, topped with whipped cream.”

    This time, the clerk was ready, but as judged by her woeful sigh, she was looking forward to the end of her shift. Clara, on the other hand, was nearly drooling, her mind struggling to follow along. It might have been better had she just taken in the experience.

    “Really? I’ve come across incantations to summon demons that were less cryptic,” Clara added matter-of-factly.

    Elizabeth shrugged before replying, “We could have used the app, but this was more fun.”

    “App? Never mind,” Clara said.

    “Will that be all?” the clerk asked.

    “Yes,” Elizabeth said.

    Elizabeth then pointed her phone towards a glowing red light. The light shimmered in various shades of red followed by an electronic chime. The tally on the register then dropped to zero.

    “I’m so out of the loop,” Clara mumbled.

    They walked down to another spot at the counter and waited patiently while their drinks were prepared. Clara seemed surprised at how fast these drinks were being made. The last time she ordered coffee, the server had been busy flirting with any betty who crossed his path. Although, she had to expect some changes since dancing the Charleston with Elizabeth’s potential great-grandfather.

    With drinks in hand, Elizabeth winked, grabbed both drinks, and then proceeded to an isolated counter. There she affixed lids, grabbed a few napkins, and found a table.

    “Here,” Elizabeth said after sliding over Clara’s drink.

    Clara looked at her confection dubiously. She took in the aroma of the drink, then removed the stopper from her lid. The aromas invaded her senses. Clara sighed contentedly and took a sip, putting a large smile to her face.

    “Nummy,” Clara said before taking a few more sips for good measure.

    Elizabeth did the sam. The familiar bitterness of her drink further served to calm her nerves. The fact that this woman was not concerned about what lurked outside did much to set her mind at ease.

    “Have you been able to piece together what happened?” Clara asked.

    “Not really,” Elizabeth said. “Could you?”

    Clara shrugged before removing the lid from her drink. With a lone finger, she scooped up a bit of the whipped cream, eyed it mischievously, and licked it up with her tongue. Elizabeth could not help but shiver at the visual.

    “The brunette was one of them,” Clara said. “We call them vampires.”

    “Like Bram Stoker’s Dracula?” Elizabeth spat out.

    Clara nodded, “Where do you think he got the idea?”

    At this point, Elizabeth was far too rundown to be surprised by any of this. The drink’s caffeine content was sure to provide a boost of energy but that took time. The hours spent watching horror movies late at night with Victoria before exam week taught her that life could be a harsh mistress. These events simply raised the bar, by a lot.

    “How did you know?” Elizabeth asked.

    “We crossed paths before,” Clara replied. “Although I now see their rotting souls superimposed over their physical selves.”

    “How?” Elizabeth asked.

    “Comes with the job,” Clara replied, avoiding any telltale detail that could lead to a panic.

    “Why were they after me?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara shrugged, sipped her drink, and enjoyed the radiating heat emanating from her belly.

    “You tell me?” Clara queried.

    Elizabeth tried to think about what happened and what may have triggered this encounter. Nothing came to mind, or at least nothing that seemed relevant. One question did pop into her mind and only Clara could answer.

    “How did you know where to find me?” Elizabeth asked, now somewhat alarmed.

    “Faith,” Clara said.

    “Faith?” Elizabeth repeated.

    “Yes,” Clara said. “It guided me to a truck, which in turn led me straight to you.”

    Elizabeth’s beliefs were mixed like her heritage. Her father was superstitious but had no defined religious affiliation. Her mother was a Christian who dragged her to church a few times but that quickly fell by the wayside. Until now, she had not considered that major religions might actually have some truth behind all of that doctrine. Never would she think it possible for them to have a legitimate reason for being beyond the indoctrination of their flock.

    Clara sensed there were a lot of questions that would need answers, so she pushed on with her own, “Why were they after you?”

    “I dunno,” Elizabeth said. “They just came out of nowhere.”

    “So, you’ve done nothing to deserve their attention?” Clara asked, while suspecting this was not a random incident.

    “I was just heading home after having lunch with a friend,” Elizabeth countered.

    Clara trusted her instincts and kept probing. Evelyn would not dare risk this level of exposure without a good reason.

    “What do you do for a living?” Clara asked.

    “Social worker,” Elizabeth said with pride. “I work with runaways and exploited children.”

    “Would any of your clients warrant that level of response?” Clara asked bluntly to force the other to consider every aspect of the situation.

    “Well… No,” Elizabeth replied.

    “So, it’s not your job… not your eating habits… think Lizzie! Is there a hatchet hidden under your bed that I should know about?” Clara pressed.

    “A hatchet?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara did not reply. Instead, she hummed a tune that reminded Elizabeth of a folk song. The reference was pretty dated, although recently revived when they released a television series based on the incident.

    Elizabeth’s eyes glowed once she realised that Clara had been toying with a variant of her name to play on that theme. This woman may talk as though starred in an early silver screen movie, but she clearly had an abundance of wit and intelligence.

    Why would Evelyn be after her? They only dated during college and she showed little interest in her friends. In fact, she always had an excuse to leave when an acquaintance showed up.

    She doubted it was related to her job; the children she interacted with were not well-known, wealthy, or prodigies. Runaways tended to get in trouble with the law and sometimes involved criminal elements, but from the supernatural?

    “Did anyone pass away recently?” Clara asked.

    “How do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara leaned over the table which gave Elizabeth an eyeful of cleavage. Her steel-grey eyes were locked on hers and, for a moment, Elizabeth wondered if she was being judged.

    “You are not thinking outside the box,” Clara said in a near-whisper. “You obviously knew Evelyn and your mind is clouded by your past… interactions. That’s not who or what she really is.”

    Clara took a sip of her drink and pulled back, intent on letting Elizabeth stew for a bit. Was Elizabeth unconsciously masking the truth? Or was she simply oblivious to it?

    “Again,” Clara said. “Did anyone you know die recently?”

    “Just… just some private investigator that I hired,” Elizabeth said.

    “Just?” Clara prodded.

    “Well… I hired him to look into the disappearance of a friend,” Elizabeth answered.

    “Go on,” Clara said, sending they were on the right track. “How did he die?”

    “Why the sudden—,” Elizabeth started before realising where this was headed. “Police say anti-tank mines went off when he started his car.”

    “That’s not a mundane occurrence around here, I gather?” Clara asked.

    Elizabeth was sipping her drink when the picture came into focus. She spat out the contents of her drink and guffawed.

    “No!” Elizabeth answered.

    When she saw the smirk on Clara’s lips, Elizabeth realised that she had been played.

    “Oh, you’re good,” Elizabeth said.

    “Great-grannies always know best,” Clara said nonchalantly. “Do you know if he was working other cases? Or just yours?”

    “Nothing that deserves this level of response,” Elizabeth said.

    “You think? Or are you certain?” Clara asked.

    “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked in return.

    “Elizabeth, you need to think big,” Clara said. “We all have instincts, so you just need to trust yours and stop looking at my cleavage.”

    The second statement made her cheeks feel warm. Pretty soon her entire face would flush with blood and all of those telltale signs of embarrassment would be on display, her face flashing like a glitzy billboard of guilt.

    “Victoria?” Elizabeth absentmindedly asked.

    “Your friend?” Clara asked.

    “Wha—Oh! Yes,” Elizabeth answered.

    Elizabeth described the whole story related to Victoria, namely how she vanished after the funeral and left few traces of her whereabouts.

    Clara listened to every word, only breaking her focus every so often to have a sip. Elizabeth talked so much that their drinks went cold before the full story was given.

    “We should take a look at her place,” Clara said then looked around to discover the staff were busy cleaning up for the night. “Think we should call it a night?”

    “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

    “You are running on fumes,” Clara said. “So you need time to recover. I can sleep on the couch or even the floor. Assuming you don’t mind…”

    Elizabeth was both anxious about the imposition and relieved that Clara would stay nearby. However, the conflicting emotions caused her head to swirl. Given the fatigue, her mind was too numbed to adequately deal with it.

    Clara got up and grabbed Elizabeth before she passed out, finding it helpful that she was stronger than the average gal. Her new friend was tall, an amazon, easily towering over Clara, and that would have made it difficult to keep her steady under normal circumstances.

    After a few minutes of rifling through the chaos in Elizabeth’s purse, Clara found exactly what she needed, a home address, and with some luck, enough mad money for a cab.

    “Berries,” Clara said. “Now it’s time to get me a dimbox.”

    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!


  • Triple, Venti, Soy, No Foam Latte – Part III

    Elizabeth was unconscious by the time Clara landed. Fortunately, the commotion down the block managed to lure away potential witnesses. So this left her the perfect opportunity to eventually ask a few questions.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    Clara had no idea who this was, but sensed she was connected to the mission. Although, this felt more like finding a piece of the puzzle than getting the whole picture. Either way, if Evelyn wanted her dead, that was reason enough to make sure it did not happen.

    Clara propped up the unconscious woman against the brick wall. Even in the back alley, the aroma of freshly ground coffee invaded her senses and brought a smile to her sweet lips.

    “God,” Clara said. “I missed that smell.”

    Elizabeth mumbled something in response, but was clearly still out of it. Clara was astounded that anyone in her early thirties could deal with what happened without experiencing a complete breakdown. It was her experience that adults rarely took the news that there were vampires well.

    “Hey,” Clara said softly.

    The other did not react. Even though she was standing, her conscious mind was in limbo.

    “Hey lady,” Clara said sharply.

    Still there was no reaction, so Clara used two fingers to push out a powerful whistle.

    “Wha—,” Elizabeth mumbled.

    After considering all her options, Clara smiled. There was one choice left, one that Gabriel would never approve of. Without a second thought, she slapped Elizabeth’s cheek, just enough to get the desired snap and yet would not leave a bruise.

    “Wake up!” Clara barked.

    That impact, combined with the loud noise forced Elizabeth’s mind out of the fog. Banished from a dream world, one far away from the horrors of the night, she remembered everything in frightening detail.

    Clara knew that look well, the wild eyes darting from point to point. Her breathing was shallow and movements twitchy, just like she was about to pounce or make a break for it. The state of shock was natural, given the situation, but she needed to settle things down.

    “It’s okay,” Clara whispered.

    A soothing voice was called for, given Elizabeth’s heightened senses. Anything louder could push her into a flight or fight response and that meant nothing but trouble.

    “Are you okay?” Clara asked, her voice nearly a whisper carried on by the breeze.

    The other’s eyes shifted slowly towards Clara and focused on her inviting smile. Hopefully, that would do much to disarm the situation. Yet recognition might just as easily plunge Elizabeth back to the memory of that traumatising event.

    Clara was trained to deal with situations like this. The ability to control her heart rate and appear to be perfectly at ease, even during an all-out war, were integral to a hunter’s state of being. It never paid to have an opponent guess one’s true state of mind and situation could sour if the woman panicked.

    “Don’t worry,” Clara said. “That baby vamp and her billboard won’t be bothering you.”

    While Clara spoke English, the context of that slang lost its significance long ago. Elizabeth’s mind struggled to decipher the words and, by chance, it managed to calm her down.

    “Wha—,” Elizabeth said, although that’s all Clara understood with any clarity. Once her mind regained control, she said, “What are you talking about?”

    “Evelyn and her beau,” Clara replied. “They are no longer a threat.”

    “Are you my guardian angel?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara chuckled before she answered, “Can’t say that I am.”

    “Oh,” Elizabeth said, disappointed. “I’m Elizabeth. My preferred pronouns are she and her. Yours?”

    Now the ball was in Clara’s court. A lot had changed in the last decade, let alone the last century. While her disarming smile remained, she looked down at her bustier which showcased an ample amount of soft flesh and shrugged.

    “Clara,” she replied. “The girls don’t seem to have a preference on pronouns, although in my time I preferred flapper over biscuit.”

    “You’re not from around here are you?” Elizabeth queried.

    “I was born north of here,” Clara said. “Although, you might say that I have been on an extended sabbatical.”

    Elizabeth wanted to ask what she meant by that. When was the last time anyone used the term flapper outside of some era specific movie? Or on Halloween? What the hell was a biscuit?

    As Elizabeth’s mind struggled to consolidate all of these loose ends into a coherent thread, her mind lapsed, wandered, and, in that moment, became aware of something more primal. This woman, dressed in leather, was not only badass, but was also smoking hot.

    “Pretty hot for a grandma,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly.

    Clara broke out in a deep laugh. In the background, her wings expanded instinctually, creating a very peculiar, and yet stunning, effect in the shadows. Elizabeth did not understand what was going on, so she focused on the leather clad babe instead.

    “I was never a mother,” Clara said with a contented sigh. “Although, I might have run across an ancestor of yours at a petting party,” she added while nudging Elizabeth’s ribs.

    “Petting party?” Elizabeth asked.

    Clara cocked an eyebrow, then laced her fingers with Elizabeth’s before saying, “You don’t want to know.”

    “Wha—,” Elizabeth tried to ask.

    “Trust me,” Clara said while pulling the other along. “Now let’s get some coffee. Your treat!”

    When they turned the corner, Elizabeth spotted something that made the hair on her neck stand up straight. She could not help but stare at the well-dressed couple who crossed their paths. In the back of her mind, she half-expected their skin to decompose and fall to the sidewalk in clumps. If it weren’t for their trademark wedding rings, one depicting night while the other represented the day, she would have assumed the resemblances were purely coincidental.

    “Good evening, Elizabeth,” the man said, while the woman smiled politely as they crossed paths.

    She stopped dead, dumbfounded, her mind once again at odds with what she knew to be true. Despite the certainty of the moment, all that disappeared into the ether when Clara tugged on her sleeve. This distraction forced her to look away long enough for the couple to disappear.

    “Come on!” Clara urged as the aroma of fresh coffee wafted her way.

    Elizabeth blinked several times to confirm that her eyes were not deceiving her. The couple was nowhere to be found and that seriously led her to question her sanity.

    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!


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  • Triple, Venti, Soy, No Foam Latte – Part II

    Even in the dark, Evelyn had no trouble seeing the trail of blood that led from her doorway and ended at the bed. She never considered taking him to his room, despite it being closer.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence by Evelyn Chartres

    “Is there even a bed in there?” Evelyn wondered, seeing how she had never been inside.

    Instead, she brought him here, to her room, her inner sanctum. A room filled with clothes, makeup, jewellery, and choice pieces of artwork that she cherished. Even though her studio was somewhere else, the room always bore the faint odour of paint and that never failed to set her mind at ease.

    The impact with that truck had been violent. Evelyn had seen similar wounds on those struck by cannon fire. Fortunately for him, most of the injuries were internal, so there was no need to regrow appendages.

    She observed how his chest was caved in and that meant some of his organs either gave way or were ruptured during impact. Most of his ribs had been broken, as were several vertebrae, and a quick run through wild dark hair told her there was a multitude of contusions.

    If he were mortal, this would have been a death sentence. Evelyn witnessed plenty die from less and noted that it was fortunate he had not been cut in half. While such impacts were not always fatal for their kind, it did require a great deal of blood and willpower to rejoin the separate halves.

    Even now, Marc was quiet. With his eyes closed, he was, in essence, dead to the world. She had seen others in this state, expending all of their strength to heal, a process that took time. She wondered if he had the strength to pull through.

    Evelyn quietly walked over to her dressing table. She rifled through an assortment of cosmetics, some long forgotten that dated back to the early twentieth century, until something sliced her finger open. Instead of pulling away, she pushed in further to retrieve a dagger.

    She could have chosen the main gauche under her pillow, but that might have disturbed Marc. Evelyn looked down at the thick red blood pooling around the cut. With a bit of focus, the wound sealed itself leaving behind a single drop of blood.

    Evelyn looked at the burn on her wrist and ignored the pain. Aggravated damage caused by fire needed a lot of energy to remedy and for now, that could wait.

    The imp made her way to the bed and smeared some of blood onto his dry lips. Even in this state, his instinctual need to feed remained. She watched his lips part followed by his tongue that probed for more. In that moment, he looked very much like a man stranded in the desert, dying of thirst.

    Their kind constantly battled with their hunger, the conscious mind struggling to control their baser needs. There were many who lost their minds to the beast and, driven to madness. Those who became feral had to be put down without mercy. The weak had to be culled to preserve the whole.

    Hence, her dilemma. In this state, her stoic soldier was not in control of his faculties. With his hunger left unchecked, the situation could turn on her. They had been together for centuries; no mortal would ever experience the bond they shared, and yet…

    By now, Evelyn was gripping the blade to her dagger so tightly that her hand quivered. Without a second thought, Evelyn exposed her good arm, then buried the blade into her wrist. The pain was exquisite at first and she let out a soft moan. As the blade travelled up the vein the pain intensified until it burned into her mind. She bit down hard, the muscles in her jaw bulging, while her teeth strained as though they were about to crack. But, she persisted.

    Once satisfied with the incision, she paused, considered her actions, and completed an all-around incision. She then hovered the open wound over Marc’s mouth, and permitted blood to flow.

    As the blood poured from the wound, she observed his head rise to find the source. Evelyn brought up her arm to keep out of reach, but his need to feed was so strong that his eyes opened—wide and wild. In that moment, she knew that meant trouble.

    Marc reached out and gripped her arm with such strength that the bones in her forearm fractured. Evelyn dared not pull away, at least not yet. He needed her and she would not back out now.

    When his lips reached the wound, Evelyn became enraptured. She rarely experienced the pleasure, the ecstasy, of having another vampire feed from her. Her eyes dilated, her nipples hardened, and her vulva radiated with heat. It came as no surprise that all her self-control faded away.

    The more he took, the weaker she became. Her will to fight waned. A part of her tried to hold on, but that too lessened over time.

    Just as her mind was ready to capitulate, the phone chimed. The artificial tones broke through the deafening silence and dragged her consciousness back to the forefront.

    Her eyes fluttered open and she witnessed what was going on. Evelyn jumped onto the edge of the bed, her feet supported by the heavy oak frame. Then, with all her might, she tried to pull away from Marc.

    The incisions had already weakened the skin on her arm. As she pulled away, the epidermis tore further until it separated from the fat and muscle below. Despite his grip, all he could do was hold onto the empty sleeve. With no other source of blood, he licked her discarded flesh but that would not satiate him for long.

    Evelyn had no interest in lingering around, so she chose the better part of valour. She vacated the room and triggered a failsafe that sealed the door shut. Marc’s paranoid insistence on having such features installed turned out to be prophetic.

    “Not that I’ll be thanking him for that,” Evelyn said.

    With no response nor hint of movement from within, Evelyn relaxed. In that moment, the pain, held at bay by the emotional turmoil, flooded her mind.

    Maudite putain!” Evelyn yelled.

    She looked down at her arm and witnessed the severity of the damage. What remained of her skin was loose, stretched, and oversensitive.

    Evelyn was in awe of how all of the muscle, sinew, tendons, and bones were attached to one another. She normally showed little interest in such matters, seeing that this was unrelated to art, or fashion. However, this was her arm and it showcased an aspect of her that she had forgotten long ago… deep down, she was human.

    Clara’s comments today about selling her soul had left an imprint. She loathed to admit it. She desperately sought out that spark of life, one powerful enough to survive death. Perhaps Evelyn should have made her move on that stunning flapper a century ago.

    Still, that train had already left the station, just like everyone else in that restaurant had turned to dust. Yet that hunter remembered their encounter and the debt incurred. Sure, Evelyn ended up with a burnt arm, torn skin, and a beaten sire. However, it could have been far worse for the both of them.

    At the time, those words had been said in jest. Evelyn was an impulsive creature, one who rarely stopped to consider the depth of actions. That night, she chose to spare Clara because the girl was easy on the eyes. The favour Clara did them by ridding the world of that feral vampire simply made it easier to sell to the others. Besides, why waste such a scrumptious creature?

    Tonight, she learned how the tables had turned and was now indebted to Clara. While Evelyn said those words in jest, the hunter was dead serious. She would have been better off indebted to the mafia, since the worst they could do was break her legs or shoot her.

    The pain in her arm transformed from a dull throbbing to a radiating pain. Evelyn winced and concentrated until the wound scabbed over. She was weak and could not afford to heal any further. The risks of losing control to her own hunger were far too great.

    Instead, she walked to the front-door closet and peeked inside. Her hand slid through the rows of coat hangers until she found just what she needed. It was a simple black leather trench coat, lined with silk. In this weather, it would provide minimal warmth, but that mattered little to the dead.

    She slid into her coat and winced while her arms tunnelled through the sleeves. It was fortunate that the pain lessened once the material settled, although any movement would be sure to remind her of these injuries. Ready, she tied a bow using the attached belt, which made her hourglass shape pop.

    Evelyn needed to hunt, so it paid to turn a few heads. On the plus side, if things got a bit messy, then the gore would wash off the leather.

    Before reaching for the door, she hesitated and walked back inside. She found her phone, ignored the slew of notifications, and when satisfied that it was charged, walked out into the night.

    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!


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