Tag: Clara Grey

  • Leather and Lipstick – Part II

    Despite the cold, or perhaps because of it, Clara had no interest in playing shadow games. The cold wore her down, poisoning her normally good mood. She wondered how long it would take, for a woman in all her glory, to get the right type of attention in this town.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence - Saturday Scenes

    After about twenty minutes of wandering around the back alleys and desolate streets, she heard a dull, and repetitive thumping. In her time, that would have meant a live band playing at some clip joint, but judging by the odours of stale urine and beer, that prospect seemed unlikely.

    “Oh just ducky,” Clara said while approaching.

    In the distance, she spotted some cheap neon signs that spasmed in and out of existence. As Clara walked out of the shadows, she immediately got the attention of everyone standing near the back door. A group of men who were busy enjoying some rather foul smelling cigarettes. Momentarily, the group questioned the apparition, as though their deepest, and most perverted dreams had come true.

    “Dude that bitch naked,” a random man from the peanut gallery said.

    As the rest of drunks chuckled, Clara said, “Strike one,” under her breath.

    Finally a lone male came forward and said, “Come on guys.”

    This was a tall, and muscular man. Although, his face was not acquainted with a straight razor. Dressed in leather, and covered in tattoos, this one looked mean, and pegged him as the alpha of the group. While his words had a sobering effect on the rabble, Clara knew from his shit-eating grin, that he was about to excrete some smart-assed comment from that orifice he called a mouth.

    “I’m sure we can all share,” the alpha added.

    “Strike two,” Clara muttered. To give him a chance to diffuse the situation, she said “Banks closed boys.”

    The alpha burst out laughing at a euphemism that went out of favour with his great-grandmother. While they all joined in, Clara failed to see the humour, instead she cocked her brow, tilted her head, and smirked. She embraced her cockiness, certain of her position, even amongst a numerically superior group of assailants.

    “I doubt any of you louts could keep it up long enough to get me warmed up,” Clara said with crossed arms.

    One of the men from the peanut gallery managed a cough, but the others were afraid to speak out of turn. One did not need a soothsayer to figure out that she just declared war on a half-dozen bikers. Some were likely armed, but Clara’s patience was running thin. Besides, she was in the mood for a bit of fun.

    “Did you hear that boys,” the head biker said. “This whore thinks she has a say in the matter.”

    “Are you man enough to try?” Clara taunted.

    For some reason, challenging a man’s ego, never failed to get a rise. The alpha covered the distance between them in seconds. Clearly he had no reservations about hitting a girl, since the punch connected and hard. Clara absorbed the impact as though she were a heavyweight boxer.

    Clara looked up at the man who was at least a good foot taller than her. She moved her jaw from side to side, then cracked her neck to feel all of vertebrae pop.

    “It’s great to be back,” Clara said.

    Her entire body felt alive, something she missed dearly in Heaven. Life was more than pleasure, doses of pain were needed to truly appreciate its fruit. Gabriel had mentioned that her powers would be limited, but did not specify how. Her decision to engage this group was a gamble, but there was a need to get an idea on where she stood.

    “Strike three,” Clara said as the world slowed down to a crawl.

    The alpha’s eyes went wide, while his jaw dropped an inch before going slack. This man could not fathom how anyone her size, let alone a woman, was still standing.

    In the background, she observed a cigarette hanging precariously from a burly man’s lips. The cigarette teetered momentarily and eventually fell to the ground. Once that cigarette became suspended in mid-air, Clara made her move.

    Clara backed away until her tush touched the brick wall of a neighbouring building. She then sprinted towards the alpha, and aligned her body so her shoulder would make contact first. When she ran into his chest, she used a combination of momentum, and strength to launch him into the air.

    The effect was spectacular in normal time. Before that cigarette reached the floor, the alpha had crashed into the wall hard enough to crack the cinder blocks. Meanwhile the interloper stood there nude, her eyes so full of fury, that no sane man would dare approach. At least, that was the theory, one she had yet to put to the test.

    By this point, Clara’s reaction times were back to normal. Those who had been brought into the fold could not remain accelerated. She was thankful, unable to imagine the torture of having a conversation with someone with a thick Southern drawl. From her point of view, it would take hours to say howdy, and that concept made her cringe.

    Even at normal speed, she had no problem seeing the alpha shake off the impact. That in itself was as a bit of a surprise, or at least for a human. Alas, the reason soon became apparent once he grew in size considerably. It all began when joints detached from the host to allow for rapid growth before reconnecting. His torn clothes fell off, while clumps of human flesh puddled around him, and that made her skin crawl. No one else was surprised by this change, which was telling.

    All of Clara’s training pointed out how this type of encounter was not possible. Their kind were social outcasts, pariahs who preferred to stay as far away from civilisation as possible. As far as she knew, they were not capable of transformation outside of a full moon…

    “Unless they are ancient,” Clara whispered while silvery fur dominated the colour of its pelt.

    When the werewolf turned to face her; a psychotic towering mass of muscle, claws, and fangs Clara giggled. She then pointed a finger at his midsection, and teared up.

    “Looks like I got the runt of the litter!” Clara blurted out.

    Clara had not been sure if their kind could emote in this form, but found out there and then. The eyes gave it away, the shock of having its status as an alpha questioned was as plain as its snout.

    “Of all the times to wish for a camera,” Clara whispered.

    Clara was not a fool, she knew there were risks infuriating a werewolf, and yet with risks came the promise of rewards. No creature was capable of thinking clearly when blinded by rage, so that would give her a chance to outwit that thing.

    Still she knew this creature was deadly beyond comprehension. That jab across her jaw was a tender lover’s nibble compared to what it could inflict now. As predicted, its eyes narrowed and began to pant, while the alpha adapted to this new physiology.

    “I wonder why that wasn’t mentioned in class,” Clara wondered.

    While the alpha flexed its muscles, poised for a strike, Clara was also getting ready. Within the dim lighting of this alley her wings unfurled, the low light concealed most of the movement. It was fortunate that no one else was paying attention to that particular detail, although Clara really did not care.

    “This is going to be fun,” Clara said with a grin.

    The creature roared before it propelled itself straight into a dead run. This beast was so large, that each step sent vibrations straight up through her toes.

    “Ole!” Clara exclaimed and effortlessly evaded this attack.

    The alpha ran head first into the opposing building, and she watched as steel and concrete deformed. He seemed unaware of the impact, and that worried her, but she was warm for the first time this evening. A bit of physical activity went a long way to warm the cockles of her heart. For good measure, it circled back around by collapsing another series of walls. Despite a piece of rebar protruding from its forearm, this creature was no worse for wear.

    With more sea room, it barreled down on her like a freight train. So Clara tensed up, and when the time was right, launched herself into the air. Her wings provided that additional lift which brought her safely above his reach.

    Clara looked over the scene. The alpha was entirely surprised that a woman in the nude could jump that high. Evidently, tonight was full of surprises for the both of them.

    “How do you like the view?” Clara taunted.

    Nearer to the entrance the peanut gallery watched in astonishment. A quick scan of the area revealed that this group was well-armed, which would have little or no effect on her if prepared. On the other side, near the mouth of the alley there was a row of motorcycles. Big engines, chrome, and leather, so no different than motorcycles of her time.

    “Now I just need—,” Clara thought.

    While werewolves were not blessed with feline grace, they were still capable of surprising her. That alpha landed on both his feet, and used the spring of its legs to leap backwards. One of the back paws struck Clara right in the chest, which drove her into the second story wall of the opposing building.

    While the impact had been expected, it was the rapid deceleration that knocked the wind out of her. Now embedded into the concrete, her mind momentarily struggled to regain control over her faculties.

    “That’s going to bruise,” Clara whined as a way lessen her blunder.

    The alpha howled in celebration, which would simply not do. Clara needed the alpha to remain enraged, to keep it on the offensive.

    “Is that really all you got?” Clara shouted loud enough to be heard over its howl. “I’ve been hit harder by an eight year old girl!”

    Sure that eight year old had been a centuries old vampire. One who was easily triggered by anyone who called her adorable, but Clara did not need to share that little tidbit.

    “Here we go!” Clara thought.

    The alpha scrapped one foot along the pavement, while fog blew out of its snout, a scene reminiscent of a bull charging a matador. This bull headed straight for the bullfighter, and thanked God that her prayers were answered.

    As it approached, Clara centred her thoughts, and watched the alpha’s charge slowed with every step until it was nearly frozen time. Her muscles tensed up, and lunged at him with assistance from her wings. As she neared him, she positioned her arm to provide cover for her face, and absorb some of the shock.

    The end effect was spectacular, the impact sent them flying in opposing directions. Prepared, Clara landed on her feet, while the alpha did not fare so well. While the point of impact had been the head, that did nothing to slow him down.

    Clara did not hesitate, she made her mad dash towards the bikes. It was only a matter of time before his natural speed would overtake her, but all she needed was a bit of a head start. Once it regained a solid footing, the alpha spotted her and began another bull run. Clara kept her focus on one bike in particular. While this was going to be a close one, Clara believed that she had the upper hand.

    Moments before Clara reached the bike, the alpha began ploughing through the machines. Bikes, parts and gear exploded, flying through the air like shrapnel, but Clara paid it no heed.

    Her arm reached out and grabbed double-barrelled shotgun. The weapon fell naturally into a proper grip, she then twirled around to face the alpha while continuing on her perpendicular trajectory. Clara had no appetite to get caught in its destructive path.

    The alpha did not fully appreciate the gravity of her latest play, so when it opened its jaw wide to take a bite out of her. Clara rammed the barrel down its throat, and pulled both triggers.

    The weapon roared to life and changed her flight path. It was fortunate that she managed to fall into a controlled roll. Meanwhile she hoped that her landing was far enough away to get out from the eye of the storm. It was, although barely.

    When she regained her footing, she saw the gaping hole torn out of alpha’s neck. Werewolves were a lot like Cape buffalo, armoured skin, and were blessed with two layers of ribs to protect the internal organs. Despite how tough their hides were, they had weak spots, especially if the trauma originated from within.

    Before Clara could make a witty remark, a member of the pack pulled out his pistol and fired off a clip. She never even looked in his direction, instead the wings reacted by instinct to provide an invisible barrier.

    While the death of the alpha had been devastating to the pack’s morale, they were not above the equivalent of a sucker punch. Fortunately, this failed attempt sent them into a wild retreat. Without their bikes, they had no choice but to escape on foot.

    Clara considered hunting down this filth to finish them off. That would have been a pleasant diversion, but one nonetheless, and she felt compelled to move on. Since there was a mission to complete, Clara decided that a change of clothes was in order, something better suited outside of the boudoir.

    A pack member sounded the alarm for those inside to withdraw, so Clara approached the exit and slowed time just a bit. She watched the wild eyed stares of the drunken patrons while they poured out in a panic.

    “Too tall… too big… to small… not my style,” Clara rhymed off as women ran out. “Just right!”

    When Clara spotted a patron who roughly matched her dimensions, she followed through with a pile driver. The impact sent the leather clad gal to the ground, and it was lights out for her.

    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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  • Leather and Lipstick – Part I

    A gust of wind blew in from the mouth of the courtyard and turned Clara’s skin turn to gooseflesh. Her training in life taught her how to ignore extremes of heat or cold, all to achieve success. Clara thought back to that time when she was stark naked in the freshly fallen snow. That had been a cold and brutal night, but she nonetheless managed to approach, entice, and dispatch one of them in the process. That dumb bastard was too busy focusing on her tits to wonder why a woman was out in the middle of a battlefield.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence - Saturday Scenes

    This situation was different, ninety-years spent in paradise brought about some skills fade. Clara responded by biting the inside of her cheek and was pleasantly surprised by the taste of her iron-rich blood.

    “At least some things haven’t changed,” Clara muttered.

    From out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught something unexpected. She turned to investigate, and noticed that one of those boarded up doors from earlier, was not anymore.

    As a precaution she stopped, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. While sound carried well at night, doing this honed her senses. Despite her caution, there were no sounds that gave her cause for concern.

    “Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said under her breath.

    She headed towards the door, to examine the heavy steel frame, and broken lock before she let herself in. Since her eyes were already adjusted to low light conditions, it was a trivial matter to figure out this store was empty.

    This place did have rows of empty racks and shelves that would have been home to garments, shoes, and accessories. Surely a real treasure trove, if it were still open to the public.

    “What a shame,” Clara said and paused to see if those words got some attention.

    “Size twelve?” Edith asked. “How… possibly be a size twelve… two of me.”

    Clara blinked several times in rapid order, all in some misguided attempt to refresh her view. Alas, the place remained deserted, and as judged by a thick layer of dust, it had been for years.

    From the opposing corner of the disturbance, a hanger struck the floor, which resounded throughout the room. She focused all of her senses on that spot, but there were no hangers to be found. There were no other sounds, visual cues, changes in temperature, nor did a chill run down her spine.

    “Edith?” Clara called out.

    Moments later, the sound of foot stomps traversed the room until they came up to the skeleton of an empty change room. Clara then caught the sound of a curtain being drawn, despite there being nothing to move. By now, Clara knew that something was up, although she had to admit the nuances surrounding this situation were entirely new.

    This was not the case of an apparition, and the voice was unmistakably Edith’s, at least that much was certain. Along with her witnessing a friend drop to the mortal realm, a theory coalesced within the depths of her mind.

    By that time, the sounds were gone, and heard nothing more than her breathing. While Clara was not aware of the mechanics that made this possible, she nonetheless accepted this moment as being grounded in reality.

    Of course, that did little to resolve her most pressing problem. A shame there were no curtains left, at least those could have been fashioned into some sort of makeshift robe.

    “No rest for the wicked,” Clara said with a sigh.

    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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  • Bleed Through – Part IV

    “I love you!” Edith shouted before she closed her eyes and fell to earth.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence - Saturday Scenes

    Angela had trouble focusing on the scene. Her vision marred by tears that streamed off her burning cheeks. Even her nose ran like a sieve, and normally that annoyed her, but this time she was too distraught to care.

    “How could she?” Angela wondered even though the answer was obvious.

    Edith wasn’t the kind of person to stand back and let others risk their lives. Even if doing so risked her own life on several occasions. That was Edith’s greatest strength, one shared by many saints.

    “How can I hate her for that?” Angela asked herself.

    She closed her eyes and then used some of her limited training from the Tower to focus. As her self-control began to reassert itself, the wave of anguish and anxiety began to wane.

    “I’m good now” Angela said as her eyes opened.

    Edith was no longer visible by then, gone along with that shockwave originating from the mortal realm. Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach, but she did her best to remain centred. What good was she to anyone as an emotional wreck?

    From the corner of her eye, Angela caught the glimpse of a pale brunette hovering over the mortal realm. Despite the woman being roughly thirty years older than she remembered, Angela knew exactly who this was.

    “Clara!” Angela exclaimed.

    The woman did not respond, instead she closed her eyes, and just like Edith before her, dropped like a rock.

    “What’s going on?” Angela yelled out.

    “Is there a problem, child?” Gabriel asked.

    Angela turned around to find the archangel Gabriel facing her, which immediately explained why he referred to her as a child. Only those who came into existence as angels were capable of seeing a soul’s true form.

    “Did you come back for something?” Angela asked while dispensing with any civility.

    “Child?” Gabriel asked.

    “You left the moment Edith dropped to Earth,” Angela replied.

    Gabriel was like an immutable statue, a trait that was common among the natives. It was so frustrating to bare your soul, and see no empathy reflected in the recipient. Her frustration with their kind provided an unexpected reprieve, so Angela channelled this emotion to gain some focus.

    “Edith?” Gabriel asked. “Edith was never here.”

    That statement almost threw Angela for a loop, but a part of her was expecting to hear such a response. The appearance of Clara from out of the ether did much to lay the groundwork for a working theory. Clearly there was something wrong, but she had no way of proving it.

    “Apologies,” Angela said. “I meant to say Clara.”

    Gabriel did not respond, although a hiccup in his movement caught her eye. For a fraction of a second, Gabriel had been facing away from her. The movement had been so fast that any ill-timed blink would have meant missing the clue.

    “Edith will… shortly… I’m sure,” Gabriel said, even though his lips never moved.

    The words appeared to have reverberated from off of some invisible structure. While uncertain of the source, she knew it did not originate from the depths of her mind. Angels were not known to have that ability, besides that sort of communication was experienced differently.

    After the hiccup ended Gabriel said, “Clara will be back shortly.”

    “I’m sure,” they said in unison.

    While Gabriel remained unperturbed by her guess, it did little to help Angela’s state of mind. At this very moment, her heart was migrating from the pit of her stomach to the very tips of her toes. Perhaps she should have been more studious back at the Tower. If only Edith had not been so beautiful.

    “Please come back to me,” Angela pleaded before rhyming off a quick prayer that she hoped was heard.

    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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  • Bleed Through – Part II

    Clara Grey was perched on the railing at the edge of the observation deck. A gust of wind pushed her hair back, and showed off her pointed ears, sharp facial features, and steel-grey eyes that gave her an elfin look. Clara had been blessed with the body of a prima ballerina with the exception of a larger pair of breasts. This trade off suited her just fine, enabling her to turn some heads, while remaining deadly with a sword.

    The Van Helsing Resurgence - Saturday Scenes

    She loved this particular vantage point, the one place that gave her a pristine view of the mortal realm below. Even from this distance, she was able to make out landmarks, and even individuals going about their lives.

    From here, she had no trouble witnessing the chaos that reigned on the mortal plain. People continued to be born, grow up, fight wars, and die. The only difference were advancements in technology and medicine. Funny how that only served to make life more complex.

    That curiosity and drive to understand the world is what interested Clara. She often wondered how life would have turned out if she had been born in the twenty-first century. All of that knowledge available at her fingertips, which appeared to be a blessing for those curious like her. Still, would she have made use of it?

    Everyone here could access the knowledge of creation, but many remained blissfully ignorant. Would she do any better without her educational foundation? Or would she employ this knowledge to achieve her goal of committing the perfect crime?

    Sure there were many who avoided this place, for fear of being reminded of what was lost. Clara did not share their views, as one of God’s soldiers, her interactions with other souls were to be kept to a minimum. From here, she dreamed of the good she could do, if only they loosened her leash.

    Instead of answering her questions, she kept on observing the world. Wait! What was that? Were her eyes deceiving her? Clara could have sworn there was a shockwave emanating from North America’s Eastern seaboard.

    “I thought you’d be here,” Gabriel said.

    Clara did not turn around to look, but smirked before she said, “The easiest way to be found is to stay in one place. What brings you here Gabriel?”

    This was a tall man who was also built like a Da Vinci’s David, a perfect rendition, except for the lack of flaws. His hair was always perfectly trimmed, his muscles developed and cut. Even his wings were flawless, white, and without a single feather out of place. Was this the angel Gabriel from scripture and lore? Clara did not know, and never bothered to ask. Curious how that particular question never came to mind until now?

    “There’s been a violation,” Gabriel said flatly.

    Clara raised an eyebrow. Any violations on the mortal plain people were not playing by the rules. Free will was an aspect respected by both sides. So a violation meant that someone was denied the opportunity to choose.

    With her curiosity sufficiently piqued, Clara looked over to Gabriel. Before her eyes settled on him, she saw something behind him that made her question reality.

    “That’s impossible,” Clara said under her breath.

    In the background, she saw two women, a stunning ginger caught in the embrace of an older woman. It was the latter that caught her eye, since the details of that face were burned into her mind. That was Edith, her best friend, and she looked exactly like she remembered.

    They last crossed paths in Mexico, after an attack on the Tower left it isolated from the rest of the world. An ideal time for those remaining to regroup, to forge alliances, build a base of operations, and launch an offensive against those responsible.

    Plans changed when Edith’s lover was caught up in the crossfire, killed by Drusilla, their long-time foe. Edith, the steadiest ship of the fleet, even in the heaviest of seas, finally broke her keel. That much became clear, when the grief stricken Edith made one last request.

    “Kill that bitch,” Edith ordered.

    That was exactly what happened two weeks later at some luxurious railway hotel. There, Clara had managed to put down that thing, using deception, holy water, a well-placed stab along with some divine intervention. The latter came at the cost of her life, but that was forfeit the moment she stepped through the front-doors of the Grand

    “Clara,” Gabriel asked.

    “Sounds serious,” Clara said absentmindedly in hopes of getting more information.

    Gabriel looked behind him, but saw nothing. He did note that Clara had the appearance of someone who had seen a ghost. Despite years of experience Clara had in concealing every genuine emotion, a great shock always managed to slip through that cool and calm exterior.

    Unsure on what to do, Gabriel chuckled before responding, “You look down all the time and yet you cannot see.”

    “And miss out on the opportunity to learn from your wisdom?” Clara asked.

    For a moment, there was silence, which permitted Clara’s discomfort to grow. The image of Edith haunted her, and Gabriel’s silence only made things worse. Did she manage to get under his skin?

    For a moment, it looked as though Gabriel was facing in two directions. That behaviour was common when dealing with them, the creatures known as homo striga, or colloquially referred to as vampires. So why was she seeing this type of behaviour in an angel now?

    When the illusion settled, Gabriel smirked before breaking the silence, “A soul was torn away from the light of God.”

    Clara wondered if Gabriel was toying with her in some way. Either way, it was clear that there was much to learn. Death did not make her an expert in all matters, much to her disappointment. She knew that many chose to forfeit their souls in exchange for everlasting life in the mortal realm. Their baptism of sorts, meant they turned their backs on God and his divine light. Such bargains had been struck with humanity since time began.

    “So what am I missing?” Clara asked.

    Gabriel resumed his disconcerting silence from earlier. Since they were both immortal, there was no reason to hurry things along, and yet there was something unnatural about the experience. For her vantage point, it seemed that Gabriel was having another conversation, but was not privy to the other half.

    In the background, her eyes caught something, but could not explain the phenomenon. Edith and the ginger were visible again, as though Clara were looking at an echo in time. She caught another glimpse of their passionate embrace, one intense enough for Clara to feel a twinge of jealousy.

    “Clara?” Gabriel queried.

    She kept her eyes focused on that general area, and refused to look Gabriel in the eyes. There was nothing, until Edith reappeared in another location with her wings tucked in. Moments before she dove towards the mortal plane.

    “It was not voluntary,” Clara guessed to keep the conversation going.

    It was an educated guess of course, if their kind could banish anyone they wished, then that would alter the balance. All of their actions were guided by the need to maintain an equilibrium, so a deliberate disruption meant a correction was due.

    “What are the ramifications?” Clara queried.

    “Our agreement is null and void,” Gabriel said. “We can wage war if we so choose.”

    “I sense a but in your statement,” Clara said.

    “It would forfeit the wager,” Gabriel answered.

    Clara knew very little about this wager. Many, mused about a game of chance being played for supremacy over all outstanding souls. Some aspects of these stories were likely true, while others were nothing more than details added to dress up the truth. All Clara knew for certain was that no one talked about it.

    “So the Council decided to send an agent,” Gabriel said.

    “Me?” Clara guessed. “Why me?”

    “Can’t send one of the seven,” Gabriel said. “That would be tantamount to going nuclear.”

    “So why choose your most junior conscript?” Clara asked.

    The ability to experience life once again, set her heart aflutter. It would likely not be permanent, but nothing down there was.

    “You were mortal, you knew how to fight them,” Gabriel said. “Besides, we knew you’d be willing.”

    “Can’t hide anything from you can I? And to think I once believed that nuns were unsurpassed at mind reading!” Clara exclaimed. “I’m in. So what do I do?”

    “Fall,” Gabriel said.

    “That’s it?” Clara asked.

    “That’s it,” Gabriel replied.

    “Anything I should know?” Clara asked.

    “Keep your true nature concealed as much as possible,” Gabriel said. “Your powers will be limited, and that varies from person to person.”

    “So act and behave as though I were mortal and everything will be fine?” Clara asked.

    “That would be a safe bet,” Gabriel said. “Ready?”

    “Always,” Clara said.

    Without hesitation, Clara looked down and leapt from the railing. At first, she floated in mid-air while she freed her mind. On command, Clara dropped like a stone, reaching higher and higher speeds until she glowed in the atmosphere.

    “What a rush!” Clara shouted while tearing through the atmosphere like a meteor.

    The world before her grew in detail. While she had no idea where she was headed, that did not bother her. Clara sensed that her drop was guided.

    Smudges of grey against the terrain became cities, followed by streets, buildings, and finally, people. No one seemed to be aware of her descent, even though she must have looked like a shooting star against the night sky.

    “Will a little girl wish upon me?” Clara asked with a giggle.

    Clara made out her destination, a nondescript courtyard nestled between multi-story structures. There would be no one around to witness her arrival once she made contact.

    “Three… two… one…” Clara said.

    Right on cue, her feet hit the ground and absorbed some of the impact. Unfortunately, that had not been enough, so the concrete beneath her deformed, cracked, and was scorched by the heat.

    She took a moment to adjust, stood up, and then straighten out her back. While no longer visible, a set of majestic wings could be seen folding in the shadows. How fortunate, since her wings would have drawn a few errant stares had they remained visible.

    “Just as much as not wearing a stitch of clothing,” Clara muttered while eyeing her bare body. “At least I’m no worse for wear.”

    Gabriel should have mentioned how her clothes would burn away as she fell to Earth. Then again, life on Earth was not without its challenges, and this was bound to get a few laughs back home.

    Clara looked over her landing site, in the hopes of finding a lavish clothing store. On first glance that seemed unlikely, since all of the doors were boarded up.

    “Just ducky!” Clara said aloud.

    Just then, she noticed something nearer to the corner. Clara walked over the cool pavement, while the evening air clung to her skin and gave her a chill.

    “That means it’s going to get really cold soon,” Clara said.

    Upon closer inspection, Clara found a second set of scorch marks and indentations that looked similar to those she left behind. The surface of this landing site was still warm, so this damage had been recent.

    “So that echo was real?” Clara wondered, but dared not consider it a possibility.

    She was pretty sure that Gabriel would have sent only one champion to fulfil the mission. That man was not known for hedging his bets, or risk escalation.

    “Besides,” Clara said. “Why not tell us ahead of time, to coordinate our search?”

    When the wind picked up, Clara shivered. Reminded of her nudity, she made up her mind to solve the most pressing matter. It was going to get cold tonight, and she would need to find some warm clothes.

    “Wonder if I’ll be able to charm someone into giving me their coat?” Clara asked while sauntering down towards the courtyard’s exit.

    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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  • Null and Void

    “What happens when you die, Momma?” Clara once asked.

    Her mother looked down at those big steel-grey eyes and paused. For a moment, the pain in her mother’s eyes was visible, perceptible even to someone so young.

    “Well—,” her mother said before wiping her eyes. “People who pass away go to heaven.”

    Clara continued to look into her mother’s eyes even as the predictable question came to her lips, “Heaven?”

    What is heaven? Not the easiest concept to explain, especially when one’s husband had just been lowered into the cold hard ground. Questions were natural and to be expected, but this was a daunting task for a mother who could barely keep it together.

    “Well—,” her mother said. “Paradise, a place where all your loved ones are waiting for you. Where you will wish for nothing as everything you desire will be there.”

    * * * *

    “Almost had it right,” Clara said in response to that faded memory.

    Clara was perched at the edge of a balcony. This particular vantage point gave her a pristine view of the mortal realm below. Even from this distance, she could make out individual landmarks and people going about their lives.

    This was her favourite hangout, enabling her to see how chaos still reigned on the mortal plain. People continued to be born, grow up, fight wars, and die. The only difference was advancements made in technology and medicine. Funny how those advances only made life more complex.

    That curiosity and drive to understand the world is what interested Clara. She often wondered how life would have turned out if she were born in the twenty-first century. All of that knowledge available at her fingertips, but would she use it?

    Everyone here had access to the knowledge of creation, but many remained blissfully ignorant. Would she do any better without her educational foundation? Or would she achieve her goal of committing the perfect crime?

    “I thought you’d be here,” Gabriel said.

    Clara did not turn around. Instead she continued observing the world. Wait! Were her eyes deceiving her? Clara could have sworn that she had just seen a shockwave emanating from North America’s Eastern seaboard.

    “The easiest way to be found is to stay in one place,” Clara said with a smirk. “What brings you here Gabriel?”

    The man was tall and built like a Greek god. There was not a single flaw to be found. His hair was always perfectly trimmed, his muscles developed and cut. Even his wings were flawless, white and without a single feather out of place.

    Was he the angel Gabriel from scripture and lore? Clara did not know and had never asked. Curious how that particular question had not come to her until now.

    “There’s been a violation,” Gabriel said flatly.

    Clara raised an eyebrow. Any violations on the mortal plain meant that someone was not playing by the rules. Free will was an aspect respected by both sides. Violations meant that someone had not been given the opportunity to choose.

    “Sounds serious,” Clara said in hopes of getting more information.

    Gabriel chuckled before responding, “You look down all the time and yet you cannot see.”

    “And miss out on this rare opportunity to learn from your wisdom?” Clara asked.

    For a moment, there was silence and Clara’s discomfort grew. Had she managed to get under his skin? That would certainly be one for the record books.

    Alas, Gabriel smirked before he broke the silence, which meant he had been playing her. Truly there was much to learn, even after death.

    “A soul was torn away from the light of God,” Gabriel said.

    Many choose to forfeit their souls for everlasting life on Earth. Their baptism of sorts, meant they turned their backs on the light of God. This bargain had been going on since time began.

    “So what am I missing?” Clara asked.

    Gabriel returned to that disconcerting silence from earlier. Given they were both immortal, there was no reason to hurry things along. Before impatience could set in, a flash of insight provided her with the answer.

    “It was not voluntary?” Clara asked.

    If their kind could banish anyone they wished at will, then that would change the balance. Balance guided all of their actions and a disruption meant a correction was due.

    “What are the ramifications to our code of conduct?” Clara asked.

    “Null and void,” Gabriel said. “We can wage war if we so choose.”

    “I sense a but in your statement,” Clara said.

    “It would forfeit the wager,” Gabriel said.

    Clara knew very little about this wager. Many on the mortal realm had mused about a game of chance being played for supremacy over the mortals. Some aspects of these stories were likely true while others were a work of fiction. All Clara knew for certain was that no one talked about it.

    “So the Council has decided to send an agent,” Gabriel said.

    “Me,” Clara guessed. “Why me?” she asked.

    “Can’t send one of the seven,” Gabriel said. “That would be tantamount to going nuclear,” he said.

    “So why choose your most junior member?” Clara asked.

    Silently, her mind was racing. The ability to taste life once again filled her with excitement. It would likely not be permanent, but nothing was in the mortal realms.

    “You were mortal, you knew how to fight them,” Gabriel said. “Besides, we knew you’d be willing.”

    “Can’t hide anything from you can I? And to think I once believed that nuns were unsurpassed at mind reading!” Clara exclaimed. “I’m in. So what do I do?”

    “Fall,” Gabriel said.

    “That’s it?” Clara asked.

    “That’s it,” Gabriel replied.

    “Anything I should know?” Clara asked.

    “Keep your true nature concealed as much as possible,” Gabriel said. “Your powers will be limited. The degree varies from person to person.”

    “So act and behave as though I were mortal and everything will work fine?” Clara asked.

    “That would be a safe bet,” Gabriel said. “Ready?” he asked.

    “Always,” Clara said.

    Without hesitation, Clara looked down and leapt over the railing. At first she floated in mid-air while she freed her mind. On command, she dropped like a stone, reaching higher and higher speeds until she glowed in the atmosphere.

    “What a rush,” Clara thought while tearing through the atmosphere like a speeding bullet.

    The world before her grew in detail. While she did not have an idea about where she was headed, that did not bother her. Clara sensed that her drop was guided.

    Smudges of grey against the terrain became cities, followed by streets, buildings, and finally, people. No one seemed to be aware of her descent even though she must have looked like a shooting star.

    “Will a little girl’s wish come true if she wishes upon me?” Clara wondered with a giggle.

    Clara made out her destination, a nondescript back alley nestled behind tall buildings. There would be no witnesses in that area once she made contact.

    “Three…. Two… One…” Clara said.

    Right on cue, her feet hit the ground and absorbed some shock. Unfortunately, that had not been enough, so the concrete beneath her deformed, cracked and became scorched from the heat.

    She took a moment to adjust, stand up and straighten out her back. While no longer visible, a set of majestic wings could be seen folding in the shadows. Wings would certainly have drawn a few errant stares had they remained visible.

    “Just as much as not wearing a stitch of clothing,” Clara said while eyeing her bare body. “At least I’m none the worse for wear.”

    Gabriel should have mentioned that little detail before she fell to Earth. Then again, life on Earth was not without its challenges and this was bound to get a few laughs back home.

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  • Freyja’s Shieldmaiden – Part II

    Time passed by and nothing changed, so Clara wavered between the presumption of madness and sanity. Each argument, when carried to its conclusion, could be used to prove either side.

    Eventually, she gave up on this never-ending battle of wills, closed her eyes, and began to meditate. Given the lack of distraction, it was only fitting to relax her body and mind. Once her heart rate slowed, Clara began to recite a prayer.

    “What’s the harm in meditating?” Clara asked. “None at all,” she answered.

    “Quite correct,” a voice boomed.

    Clara fought against her desire to confront the voice. If it waited this long to make its presence known, then she should not risk rolling back any gain.

    “I’m Clara Grey,” she said.

    A weak opening move, but she had no precedents on how to approach such a situation. How did people normally introduce themselves? They provided their identity and waited for a reply.

    “Ah yes,” the man said. “Just as my register states.”

    “Saint Peter?” Clara asked.

    “Of course, child,” Saint Peter replied. “You can open your eyes now.”

    When Clara complied, she found herself in a world of dreams. Clouds, angels frolicking in a bright blue sky, golden gates, and a wise old man behind a podium looking through a ledger. It was perfect, too perfect.

    “Had I guessed Osiris, Aeacus, or Freyja, would you have replied accordingly?” Clara asked.

    The old man quirked a brow while his deep blue eyes twinkled. Even now, she saw that he was concealing a slight smirk.

    “Of course, child. That is, if you had been Egyptian, Greek or Norse,” Saint Peter said. “Freyja would have been proud of her latest shieldmaiden.”

    “To ease my transition?” Clara asked.

    “In a way,” Saint Peter replied. “Unlike your faith, death has always been a part of life.”

    “Will I be judged?” Clara asked.

    Saint Peter chuckled then said, “You were judged before you reached these gates.”

    Clara’s eyes widened in surprise. While technically an answer, it did not address the how. Did that matter?

    “You were expecting different surroundings?” Saint Peter asked.

    Clara shrugged because she honestly had never thought about it. If one followed the tenets of a Franciscan monk, then Clara was far from immaculate. Her list of sins was rather extensive.

    Saint Peter flipped a few pages. He appeared to be pensive as though he were absorbing a large amount of new information quickly.

    “Projections indicate that you might have lived for thousands of years had you accepted Hecate’s proposal,” Saint Peter said.

    Clara remained quiet. The idea that she could have lived a long life if she acquiesced to that goddess was astounding. She had been so certain in her convictions that she would end up as a chew toy to be tossed out once threadbare.

    “You were given a sixty percent chance of ending up a goddess in your own right,” Saint Peter added.

    “What happens in the other forty?” Clara asked.

    Saint Peter cringed before he said, “Less than desirable.”

    “Just ducky,” Clara said.

    “Although, you did cut short Drusilla’s forecasted lifespan by two thousand years,” Saint Peter said. “I can also assure you that she won’t be passing by these gates.”

    It was Clara’s turn to quirk a brow, even if the news did not come as a surprise. Although, it was still a point of pride that Drusilla’s reign of terror warranted a different locale.

    “You only talk of probabilities,” Clara said. “Why is that?”

    Saint Peter leaned in nice and close from his podium before he said, “Free will tends to wreak havoc on predicting the future.”

    Until now, Clara had equated omnipotence with all knowing. Admittedly, it would be difficult to account for over a billion people on the planet. Accounting for every action and thought accurately over time meant there were no random elements to life. In hindsight, Clara thought that reality would turn out to be quite boring.

    “Were those two choices the reason I am here?” Clara asked.

    “You were judged on the whole of your life,” Saint Peter said. “Those were merely recent highlights.”

    The gates opened, but Clara did not move. She was not quite finished with this conversation.

    Sensing this, Saint Peter said, “Those highlights did not tip the balance of where you’d end up. However they did a great deal in determining your role in the afterlife.”

    Clara looked puzzled when she said, “Role? What role?”

    “All in due time,” Saint Peter said while directing her through the gates.

    So Clara smiled, curtseyed smartly, and walked on through the gates. She wondered what she would find on the other side.

    “All in due time,” Clara said.

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  • Freyja’s Shieldmaiden – Part I

    Clara’s eyes opened in a flutter and revealed an immaculate world. Not only were the walls a pristine white, but so was the ceiling, floor and, alarmingly, so was her gown. Everything was imbued with a white so intense that she had trouble focusing.


    “Just ducky,” Clara said although her voice did not echo back. “I’m in the nuthouse.”

    Clara had been in sanatoriums before, places where colour and style were relentlessly shed away to avoid upsetting a patient’s fragile psyche. Of course this was the first time that Clara was there as the patient.

    Occurrences were rare, but from time to time one of them would wind up in an institution. Normally they were newly turned, still clinging to their unravelling humanity. Hunters would pose as doctors or nurses to infiltrate the site and deal with the threat.

    “Mister Jones,” Clara said. “The doctor feels that some fresh air would do you wonders,” she chuckled.

    Sometimes these sanatoriums would suffer a devastating fire in the early morning, a side-effect of not reaching these patients on time. There were no official causes in the reports, but those from the order had their suspicions.

    “Am I mad?” Clara asked.

    That was an interesting question. Would someone suffering from a sickness of the mind be able to answer? Would they even be able to formulate the question?

    After all, believing she was a well-travelled flapper who cleansed the world of the undead was bound to have people contact the nearest nuthouse. Clara could just as easily be suffering from a psychotic break. After all, she did remember being burnt to a crisp in a fiery inferno.

    As the memory of Drusilla’s final moments filled her mind, she had to ask what was going on. Clara reached for her face and felt her smooth clean skin. She sighed in relief, thankful that while perhaps insane, she had not been mutilated in the fire.

    “That still doesn’t mean that I’m sane,” Clara said.

    In fact, her steady heartbeat, pristine skin, and surroundings did more to lend credence that this had been nothing more than a drug-addled dream.

    Clara checked her arms for needle marks but found none. At least the staff did not have to inject her with drugs to keep her docile. However, that did not preclude a steady diet of mind altering pills.

    For a moment, Clara seemed to find the idea of being institutionalised somewhat alluring. A world without a care, all thanks to a state sponsored high that she could never afford at an opium den.

    While she had never tried to kick the gong around, the idea of being in a blissful drug induced haze did have some perks. But were the monsters encountered throughout her life brought on by her addictions? Did they not refer to it as chasing the dragon? Could it be that for the first time in her life she was actually seeing the world clearly?

    The reasonable thing for her to do was to wait for an answer. A doctor or nurse would eventually come through that door to check up on her. Wait? What door?

    Clara examined every surface of this room and found it free of seams or imperfections. For lack of a better term she was inside a geometric shape. Fortunately, it was too big to be a coffin.

    “So where is this light coming from?” Clara asked.

    There seemed to be no specific source. It was as though she were being immersed in pure light. It certainly explained how everything was a pristine colour of white.

    Where was she now? Where to begin?

    “First off,” Clara said. “Light.”

    A pure white light, flawless in every way. True perfection was often used to describe art and architecture, but perfection was a myth. People were imperfect beings who subsequently passed down their flaws to their creations.

    Some occasionally told her how she was beautiful and perfect in every way. Of course that was a lie, most men said such things to get a girl in bed. She had her flaws, everyone did, so to witness true perfection was almost…

    “Like being touched by God,” Clara said.

    Clara looked from side-to-side half-hoping that her current reality would change to reveal the truth of her situation. She supposed that simply invoking his name was not enough.

    “Two,” Clara said. “Trapped in a perfect geometric shape.”

    Again, the element of perfection implied the presence of God. Clara seriously doubted that Hecate could manage such a feat. Those three personalities would never be able to work together long enough to make such a construct possible.

    “Construct?” Clara asked.

    In this particular case, a blank slate. Clara was quite literally in a world without a basis in reality. She was not thirsty, hungry nor uncomfortable. How long had she been standing? Where was the fatigue? Her need to pee?

    “Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said.

    Alice had the benefit of transitioning from one world to the next. As she fell through the rabbit hole, Alice knew that change was afoot and she was now in unfamiliar territory.

    If this was a precursor to reality, then who controlled the settings? Now that was a question that deserved an answer.

    If Clara were truly insane, then the control of this construct rested with her. That meant things would be getting rather interesting. To her, it might have appeared normal, but for some hapless witness it would be a rendition of Through the Looking Glass on Opium.

    If she were sane and in control, then Clara hoped she could imagine something more entertaining than this sterile scene. A mind this empty spoke volumes on the personality that spawned it.

    That meant someone else was pulling the strings. Who and why were questions that she could not easily discern. She needed to peer beyond this construct to gain insight.

    “What a shame,” Clara said. “Yet another challenge,” she sighed.

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  • The Van Helsing Paradox – Part VIII

    The sound of applause got Clara’s attention. When she turned to look, a portion of the mob was gone, which gave her a clear view of the bar. Clara saw three women sitting on individual barstools. From this distance, they appeared to be triplets, albeit there were clear differences between them.

    The middle sister wore a locket shaped like a key and was imbued with a silvery aura. The sister to the left had a brooch shaped like a lantern (on her left lapel) that glowed like a spark gap transmitter. Last but not least, was a sister who also had a lantern adorning her lapel (this time on her right) but appeared to have just stepped out of her grave. The single most disturbing aspect was her ethereal translucency.

    “Bravo,” the silvery sister said in a jovial and uplifting tone. After all, she had gone through today, any words of encouragement were welcome!

    “I’ve seen better,” the ethereal sister said.

    This comment left Clara feeling as though she had been bludgeoned. Peculiar how those words had no emotion, no warmth and how they sucked the life out of her.

    “Leave her alone!” Sparky exclaimed.

    As a good measure, Sparky sent a jolt of electricity through to her ethereal sister. The recipient just glared at the others before she gave it her all in a Bronx cheer.

    Should she laugh or get ready for another attack? There was something vaguely familiar about this whole affair, but for the life of her, Clara could not remember why.

    “Thank you,” Clara said but remained unsure of herself.

    “She’s stalling,” the ethereal sister said without a hint of emotion.

    The silvery sister had nothing to say. Instead, she slipped off her barstool. With her first step, the other two merged into a single body, but every so often they would morph from one persona to another.

    “You’ll have to excuse her,” the silvery woman said while extending her hand.

    “Spirits and necromancy have a tendency to drag a girl down,” Sparky added.

    The moment they shook hands, Clara felt the current flowing through her.

    “Like anyone believes in magic anymore,” said the Ethereal sister who pulled her hand away.

    “Clearly, not the life of the party,” Clara whispered.

    “I will get you for this,” Drusilla said.

    Up to that point, Clara had forgotten about that irritation. The triplet’s reaction was humorous. One by one, they glared at Drusilla and snapped their fingers. After the third sister completed this motion, Clara saw Drusilla’s eyes glaze over like an aged photograph. A quick glance around the room confirmed that the rest had been frozen in the same way.

    The word bizarre fit this scene to a tee. There were clues leading Clara to believe that this situation had been manufactured by the sisters. Was it necessary? Clara had no doubts that her fate would have been unpleasant had they chosen not to intervene. So why the show?

    Clearly, this remnant found her amusing, even one powerful enough to distort reality. The Georgians were unable to manipulate space and time to this degree. Since she was not getting any headway with this one, Clara decided to play a gambit.

    “I am sorry,” Clara said followed by a pause to seem natural. “Have we met before?”

    All three versions rolled their eyes in succession, but the transitions slowed until they settled on one version. This variant was nothing special to look at and could easily blend into a crowd. For now, it seemed like she was done with her parlour tricks.

    “No,” the goddess said while moving back to the bar.

    Once the goddess sat down, two full glasses materialised at her fingertips. She raised her glass in salute, then emptied it in one hit. She then pointed to an empty stool. Subtlety was not one of her hallmarks.

    With no perception of choice, Clara sat down. She picked up the glass, staring deeply into swirling liquid. Nothing appeared to be familiar about the elixir. Heck, it even glowed, although it did smell divine. All it took was a drop of the elixir on her tongue to make all of her senses come alive. It was hard to describe, but it easily put the most intense orgasm she ever had to shame.

    “Ambrosia,” Clara said absentmindedly while waiting for her body to stop tingling.

    “Very good!” the other exclaimed.

    The goddess grabbed the glass from Clara’s hand and finished it just like the other. Good thing it had only been a drop!

    “That makes you a goddess?” Clara managed to ask.

    “Right again,” the other said trailing off.

    The change in her voice would have been hard to catch to the inexperienced ear. Clara focused on that change while forcing her mind to recover from the effects of the ambrosia. This was important, and she needed her wits to stay alive. Clara blinked a few moments and wondered why the world seemed so dismal and grey now.

    “Something wrong?” Clara asked.

    “Oh,” the other replied distractedly. “It’s nothing, really,” the goddess sighed.

    Clara hesitated. Playing a motherly figure to something that was well over three-thousand years old was suicide. The elderly did not take their advice from newborn babes, a comparison Clara expected to hear from self-professed gods.

    She mulled over the situation. First, there was the fight which brought her out of the woodwork, then her powers faded over time. Greek gods were renowned for their need of worship. Like Drusilla, they craved to be the centre of attention, be it on Olympus or the mortal realm.

    Could it be that the wholesale abandonment of their followers had weakened them? Just how bored and lonely were they? How much would they give to feel alive? Even for a moment? How long would such emotions last when they were awash in several millennia of experiences?

    “Clara,” she said to break the silence.

    “Hecate,” the other said with a half-smile.

    So that explained the three distinct personas! A goddess represented by holding two lanterns and a key, or sculpted as Siamese triplets. The goddess of magic, crossroads, moon, ghosts and necromancy. A fitting entity for the hallowed grounds of the Grand.

    With a snap of Hecate’s fingers, an amphora appeared which permitted her to pour liberal doses of ambrosia. What effect did ambrosia have on the Gods of old?

    “Thank you for intervening,” Clara said.

    Clara reached over the bar and grabbed that bottle of coffin varnish. She opted to leave her derringer on the counter, doubtful that a firearm would be of any use given her situation. A shame, she rather liked that weapon.

    Unlike the Goddess, Clara decided to forego a bit of class and drank straight from the bottle. Compared to ambrosia, this stuff tasted like molten brimstone. Why did that feel so right?

    The goddess smiled, it must have been a while since she had last revealed herself. Clara still wondered what made her so special to deserve such an honour.

    “Fun to watch,” Hecate said. “They wholeheartedly believe they control every facet of your society. Nice to see them knocked down a peg.”

    For the moment, Clara kept quiet but saw where she was headed. She turned to glance at Drusilla, crumpled onto the ground. A shame that she had been unable to land that fatal blow, a problem she needed to address.

    “You have a choice,” the goddess said.

    Since Hecate did not elaborate, it forced Clara to ask what her choices were. Before that happened, Clara sent another dose of fire down her belly to calm her nerves.

    “What choice would that be?” Clara asked.

    “For a minute, you managed to shake a few cobwebs loose,” Hecate replied.

    So Clara’s assumptions had been correct. The goddess was hoping to regain her former glory, regain even a sliver of her former powers. There were probably some followers to be found, scattered about by the winds of time.

    How many still prayed to Athena or Ares? How many damned people to Hades anymore? These were vestiges of a time long past. Who could fault them for wanting to regain even one iota of their power?

    “You mentioned a choice?” Clara asked, but could guess where this was heading.

    Hecate smirked and pointed over to the mob of people who by all rights should have torn her to shreds by now. That would have been a quick death, perhaps, but also gruesome. Would such a death have made her worthy of canonization?

    The hunter swallowed two large mouthfuls of that swill. Clara began to feel close to the edge, and if she were careless, might end up spifflicated. Then what?

    “What about that one?” Clara asked while pointing towards Drusilla.

    “What about her,” the other replied with a yawn.

    “She’s still a threat, even in her current state,” Clara said hinting to the importance of this task.

    “Not really your problem,” Hecate said.

    There was truth to that statement. Had the goddess not interfered, Clara would not have lived to care. Drusilla would live to see another night, although scarred from their encounter but nonetheless free to continue her pattern of violence. Clara wondered if stories of her sucker punching Drusilla would become legend.

    Hecate’s yawn had been the definitive clue Clara needed. She would live to fight another day, but at the expense of becoming a diversion. Once bored, would Hecate toss her away like trash?

    “You would leave her to exact her revenge on the innocent?” Clara asked.

    Time for her to start poking the bear, she thought. For a moment, all three versions of her appeared to break away from the unified form but were quickly drawn back together.

    “Innocent,” the goddess laughed. “No one in this room is innocent.”

    “God forgives all sins,” Clara said.

    What were her chances of being killed for simply throwing down that name? Hecate glared at Clara, a sore point to their kind, given how Christianity had usurped their dominance long ago.

    She walked away and made sure to have the bottle of coffin varnish with her. Clara stopped by Victor then giggled at the look on his face. He may have believed he was going to get lucky tonight, but that was a deal forged entirely in his mind.

    “What can you offer me that God cannot?” Clara asked.

    Clara’s demeanour was that of a woman who was drunk. The emotional upheaval, stress, and booze created the perfect conditions for Clara to lose control. To pull off a convincing lie, she needed some effects to seem authentic.

    As expected, the goddess’ reaction was more violent this time. The goddess split back to her three distinct entities and this time, the ethereal entity took the lead.

    “This one is trying to rile us up,” the ethereal sister said.

    For once, the ethereal one was right. Sparky began to channel her powers which mimicked a tesla coil as surges of energy flowed along her length. Clara giggled. A goddess that was unable to conceal her temper was silly.

    “Now why would I do that,” Clara said while playing the role of a dumb dora.

    Clara pulled at her last pearl earring, then crushed it over the mouth of the bottle. The sleight of hand had been quick and expertly done, appearing as though she had been fumbling with the bottle prior to taking another swig.

    “See! See! She just did something,” the ethereal sister said.

    “What did you see?” the silvery sister asked.

    Clara saw how Sparky’s eyes were set aglow in a bright blue hue. This was the first time Clara had observed this behaviour, so perhaps her capacitors were fully charged?

    This was the perfect time for her to pretend to be scared. Her heart rate rose, and she backed away from the sisters until she tripped over Drusilla. Clara’s fall caused the bottle to fly through the air like some slapstick comedy. To think that all that time spent watching Charlie Chaplin movies would come in handy someday?

    When she landed hard on Drusilla, the bottle crashed on top of that monster’s head, drenching both of them in alcohol. God she hoped the bitch could still feel that. The odour of alcohol invaded every one of her senses. It even made her eyes water.

    “Bravo!” the silvery sister goddess exclaimed.

    “All part of the act,” the ethereal sister added to keep the other two focused.

    Based on the hysterical laughter, the ethereal sister’s words were having no effect. Clara needed them to unleash their wrath for her plan to work. That meant it was time to up the ante.

    Clara grabbed onto the hilt of her blade buried into Drusilla’s spine. As expected, the blade would not budge, nonetheless, she hoped this act would force the goddess to play her hand.

    “She’s going to attack,” said the decidedly paranoid ethereal sister.

    “Now wait—,” the silvery sister managed to say just as a long and powerful bolt of blue energy made the air crackle.

    The beam struck Clara dead centre in her chest, spreading over her body then passed through the blade and into Drusilla’s spine which made them both convulse. Whatever prevented Clara from affecting others in the room was easily sidestepped by the goddesses’ power.

    The other two sisters turned to look at Sparky. The look matched precisely what was etched on the bimbo’s face. Of all the times to wish for a camera!

    The look on their faces soon dissipated when a bright yellow light filled the room. That bolt of energy had been enough to ignite the alcohol which engulfed both women in an inferno.

    “In nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti,” Clara said while making the sign of a cross.

    In a final act of faith, Clara closed her eyes, understanding that time was not on her side. This would be a painful and unpleasant death. So where were the effects? Her skin should have been burning, her flesh drawing tight while pain flooded her mind.

    Surprised, she opened her eyes and expected to see Hecate taunting her. Instead, she was greeted with a wall of flame growing in intensity.

    When Clara glanced at Drusilla, she saw how the flames licked her corpse with zeal. Soon enough, Drusilla would be nothing more than a collection of charred bones. That idea put a smile on her face, succeeding in her mission despite interference from a higher power. Drusilla would never again be a threat to anyone.

    So where was the sense of accomplishment? If her life revolved around revenge, then her goal had been met. To die doing God’s work was a good way to go, and certainly better than Drusilla’s pot-roast welcome to hell.

    Then it dawned on her. Revenge had consumed her life because she was furious with these creatures for robbing her of a mundane life. Until that moment, she never stopped to think about her desires to find a good man, fall in love, and become a mother. The idea of existing like a normal person and carrying on in a world oblivious to what lurked in the shadows had been her idea of paradise.

    Clara felt some form of energy from within which was hard to describe. She humbly accepted her fate, even while this power kept the flames at bay. Despite this divine intervention, Clara knew she had moments before being overwhelmed.

    Clara finished off by saying, “Amen.”

    Her final word was followed by an intense shock wave of blinding light that knocked down the column of fire.

    “That bastard,” the ethereal sister said before spitting on the floor.

    For the first time tonight, her voice carried a depth of emotion.

    “Ab-so-lute-ly,” the silvery sister said before she turned to look at Sparky. “Someone just had to go and stir up enough shit so that egomaniac would save the day,” she added with a hint of disdain.

    “What did I do,” Sparky said while feigning ignorance.

    Tired of this party, Sparky casually strolled towards the exit. However, that did nothing to diffuse the situation.

    “You know full well what you did,” the silvery sister said following suit.

    “You always fuck things up,” the ethereal sister threw in to get one last dig in.

    “Me?” Sparky asked while her eyes were aglow.

    “Just ducky,” the silvery sister said.

    The latter knew this would take a while to resolve. The last fight that broke out between those two had taken the better part of a century to resolve!

    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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  • The Van Helsing Paradox – Part VII

    Drusilla turned out to be a snap to find. All Clara had to do was stumble across the wildest party. Her target craved to be at the centre of attention and this baby vamp loved nothing more than to be treated like a goddess.

    While this flaw made finding her opponent easy, it came at the expense of dealing with a wall of human flesh. People naturally congregated around Drusilla which made most ranged attacks messy.

    Nonetheless, the hunter moved deeper into this clip-joint while heading towards the bar. This manoeuvre would give her time to familiarise herself with the surroundings and devise a plan.

    From the corner of her eye, Clara saw Drusilla busily petting a young man. Chances were that this boy would end up as her late-night snack. She wondered if this situation could be leveraged to her advantage.

    Clara found the bar, then plopped down onto a barstool while crying quietly. In a place this lively, she was bound to get some attention, which was precisely what she needed.

    Right on cue, a tough looking bimbo sat down on the adjacent stool then ordered a drink. It took no time at all for him to home in on her. While not the youngest woman around, men knew how to spot an opportunity.

    “You okay, miss?” the man inquired.

    “Said it would last forever,” Clara said while her voice was on the edge of cracking.

    She extended the last word to coincide with the beginning of a wail. Very childlike, but effective in manipulating those with an ounce of empathy. Clara was certain that this one would do fine.

    “Excuse me?” the man replied.

    She saw his entire demeanour change, then thought bingo! A positive sign that he was buying her load of baloney.

    Clara broke into a shower of tears, sobbing uncontrollably while she fell into his arms. For a moment, the two were locked in an uncomfortable embrace until he realised there was no escape. Defeated, the bimbo wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to comfort her. Now it was his turn to make the next move.

    “There now,” the bimbo said.

    Clara toned down her crying and sobbed as though she were holding back biblical floodwaters. His hold softened once he accepted his fate.

    “Now what were you saying?” the man finally asked.

    “Came here with a friend,” Clara said with puffy red cheeks and a shaky voice. “Said he would always be there for me.”

    Clara made sure the statements appeared to be somewhat incoherent and disjointed. Men rarely expected the lesser sex to handle such situations with a level head.

    “Then what happened?” the man asked before throwing in, “My name is Victor.”

    He was looking to establish a rapport even if it threw her off. Clara pulled away and wiped the tears from her face. To cry with that much intensity took a lot out of a girl, especially when forced!

    “Clara,” she managed to say.

    Clara then set her eyes on Drusilla’s little pet. Her eyes narrowed in a way that would impress upon Victor just how close he was to seeing Mount Vesuvius blow its top.

    Victor looked in that direction and connected the dots. Since she had practically drawn him a map, this was hardly the demonstration of a razor sharp wit! Nonetheless, they were on the same page.

    The bimbo turned around and ordered a stiff drink. Before Victor’s lips could touch the glass, Clara snatched it away then downed it in one shot. God, she needed that! Sure it was not very ladylike, and it tasted like coffin varnish, but it lent credibility to her being an emotional wreck.

    To sweeten the deal Clara said, “That bastard!”

    If the man felt offended in any way, he hid it well. Instead, he ordered another two shots. The bimbo downed one for the road and took a long hard look at Drusilla’s pet. He was clearly working up the courage to play his role in her plan.

    “Is that him?” Victor asked.

    “Yes,” Clara confirmed before a stream of tears started up again.

    Now Victor was left with a choice: either face the emotional wreck named Clara or go after the patsy blamed for hurting her feelings. The latter offered a far greater payoff; so without much fanfare, the bimbo ventured out into the crowd. Clara feigned an attempt to stop him, but his resolve was steeled.

    Now that her plan was set in motion, it was high-time she got in position. Clara rolled down the rosary, placing it around her hand and left the crucifix hanging freely.

    For a moment, she gazed at Victor’s remaining shot then smiled. The hunter crushed one of her pearl earrings over the glass. She then reached into her purse and pulled out a small silvery object. With a drink in hand, Clara made her way through the crowd, following in Victor’s wake.

    By the time she neared the scene, Victor had already arrived and confronted the patsy. The expressed confusion only served to infuriate Victor which quickly escalated matters.

    Clara heard the familiar sound of a punch making contact, followed by the crowd’s inevitable reaction. In that moment, Clara learned that Victor was not one to fool around.

    Perhaps he had been a palooka? Nothing like a former boxer to make things interesting!

    For now, Drusilla remained at the centre of a gawking crowd who enjoyed this fresh bit of entertainment. This was her chance!

    “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,” Clara recited in silence.

    Clara entered the makeshift ring, ignoring the men while walking casually towards the creature. If people had not been aware of her presence a moment ago, they were about to be.

    “Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus,” Clara recited the second verse.

    The words rolled off her tongue, the effect of having spent hours reciting the prayer over her rosary. Bonus, there would be no kneeling tonight!

    “Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus,” Clara said the third verse.

    Clara then pounded back her drink and felt her tongue burn. When she was no more than a step away, Clara slipped the silvery object between her fingers then snapped it open. With a quick flick of her wrist, a bright flame came about.

    “Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae,” Clara recited and could hear the verse reverberate in her mind.

    The prayer was as yet incomplete since one word remained. Clara spat out the fluid, forming a slew of droplets, sailing effortlessly towards Drusilla. However, the real show began once the liquid came in contact with the naked flame. The candle-sized flame erupted into a fireball which enveloped the creature’s head.

    Drusilla may have been unaware of the impending attack, but the zippo certainly got her attention. The timing had not been planned, but was nonetheless beneficial. In that moment when the flame flashed over, Drusilla had been facing Clara.

    The creature screamed while flames enveloped her. The sound was hard to describe, but it reminded Clara of a child running her nails across slate. It had certainly been loud enough to stop the band cold.

    Clara kept her distance while fire consumed Drusilla’s hair. The heat was so intense that she wondered if it had been fashioned with embalming fluid. When the time was right, Clara attacked with a quick and precise jab across Drusilla’s jaw.

    “Amen!” Clara exclaimed, releasing that word for all the world to hear.

    In that moment, Clara realised just how alone she was. Well not literally since the crowd was there, however everyone at the party seemed to be converging on her. As a distraction Clara grabbed her pearl necklace and tore it from her neck. While pearls went flying through the air, she exposed the blade of her crucifix.

    Despite the distraction, it seemed likely that she would not have the time to land a killing blow.

    “Fuck!” Clara exclaimed feeling robbed of her already hollow victory.

    That is, until the world paused, literally; even the pearls were suspended in mid-air. Clara felt as though she were seeing the world through a stereoscope. Most disturbing was the absence of sound, Clara never realised how loud this party had been until it all stopped.

    “That’s an interesting development,” Clara said and found the words reassuring.

    Clara did not dare hesitate. She plunged the blade into Drusilla’s spine. The blade penetrated just below the base of Drusilla’s skull, effectively paralysing her lower body. With any luck, the damage might even be permanent. For now, her biggest threat had been neutralised.

    Out from her purse came her derringer which she held close to her body to prevent her being disarmed early in the game. She looked about, able to take in this tapestry of horror and noticed that one-third of the room was made up of their kind. Did that mean the rest of the guests were food? The idea of a place with so many of those things made her skin crawl. How could there be so many?

    “You Bitch,” Drusilla said from the depths of Clara’s mind.

    Since there was not much left of Drusilla’s face, Clara would have been more surprised to hear her speak. The mixture of burning alcohol laced with holy water had somehow aggravated the damage. If Clara ever made it out alive, she would be sure to add that trick to her playbook.

    Clara turned to face the thing, finding her crumpled on the floor. To her right, Victor and Drusilla’s pet were now bloodied from exchanging jabs. That paled in comparison to the look on their faces, a mix of shock and awe. Of all times, she wished for a camera!

    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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  • The Van Helsing Paradox – Parts V and VI

    “Horsefeathers,” Clara said under her breath.

    All the signs were there, so how had she missed them? There were no doubts the concierge was one of them, making it a foregone conclusion that there were others on staff as well. The latter was obvious considering how the lobby boys seemed afraid she would set them aflame.

    So this must be a haven for their kind. Hunters like her probably ended end up on the menu once their suspicions were aroused. No wonder Drusilla decided to make a stop here.

    “Fine place to end up,” Clara said while trying to work out a solution. “Served up like a thanksgiving turkey at a five-star hotel,” she added, none too amused.

    Clara stopped once she heard the familiar clicking sound, one that might prove to be her salvation. When she looked in that direction, Clara saw familiar brass and glass contraptions busily spewing out stock market updates.

    “Could it be?” Clara wondered in hopes that she might be right.

    On her way to the hotel, she noticed they had sentinels posted atop the perimeter walls. Clara had initially dismissed their presence as some misplaced adherence to historical anachronisms. But given the revelation that this was not a normal hotel, Clara figured they might be automatons used to protect the grounds. If that were true, then Georgians must be involved.

    On a hope and a prayer, Clara casually made her way through the crowd towards the ticker tapes. That was the easy part, since men naturally ceded their place once women came into the picture. To think people said chivalry was dead!

    She found that these devices were anchored to the marble top, not that anyone would dream of stealing one, at least not here. These marvels of technology were connected to a teletype line and received stock updates from their particular markets. Fortunately for her, one of the machines was beginning to show signs of ink fade.

    She gave a quick glance to the immediate area and noticed sliding panels below the marble tops. Clara knelt down, found some ink, and proceeded to place it by the faltering machine. First, she removed the glass, then the inkwell’s cover. Next, she applied liberal amounts of fresh ink while simultaneously pressing down on a button just to the side.

    To anyone who observed (not likely since the men were probably fixated on her ass), Clara appeared to be doing nothing more than routine maintenance. But a hidden function had been triggered within the device which forced it to read from an alternate channel. To Clara’s satisfaction, the machine generated a series of glyphs.

    Once the symbols began to repeat, she ripped the ticker tape then replaced the ink and cover. Without a second glance, she walked away from the crowd intent on finding a potential escape.

    * * * *

    When Clara neared a ladies room, she feigned a quick pace to appear as though nature was calling. She then darted inside, hurried into a stall, and sat down prior to looking at the three-foot length of ticker tape. Three feet of stock updates could make or break fortunes, but tonight it might save her life.

    Right before the glyphs, she saw a four, one and four printed. Clara assumed it to be the point of origin for the portal. A reference to anything, but in this case, was probably a room number. A shame there were only three floors that she knew of. So that meant there was a fourth floor hidden from the public.

    “Not much of an escape plan,” Clara muttered.

    She looked over the glyphs to see if any were familiar and found two that were. The first was not an option, recognising it as the symbol for the goddess Selene. Clara doubted she would enjoy that particular destination and wondered why it was an option at all. Could this have been a rare example of Georgian humour?

    The second symbol was more of a concern. Familiar only because she found it and variations of it under the ziggurat. Trying to find refuge at their equivalent of the Holy See? Clara had no hope of finding allies there.

    “Just ducky,” Clara said while considering what to do next.

    The proof of her knowledge on the portal could be flushed away, but misdirection seemed to be the best course of action. Clara pulled out her lipstick and circled one of the other destinations. Even if she had no clue where it ended up, they might assume otherwise. That meant the staff would dedicate resources to defend the portal which would weaken their security elsewhere.

    When she returned her lipstick to the purse, Clara dropped the ticker tape. For now, it appeared as though she was being careless, understandable given the situation.

    Before leaving, Clara looked into the mirror, breathed in deeply, and forced herself to tear up. Time to let loose her tears and fool anyone who caught sight of her. Now they would think she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

    “Let them underestimate me,” Clara said.

    She then recited a prayer while walking through the East wing, it was the hunter’s equivalent of the Last Rights. May as well make this trip worthwhile because Clara doubted she would leave through the front doors intact.

    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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