“Yeah. Yeah,” Breanna replied while ignoring the giggle-snort that Brett made. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something?”
Mason gave her a curious look, as though he was trying to peer into the depths of her soul. Since they were no longer linked through cybernetic implants, the man gave up.
“Can we confirm—,” Mason said.
“The gain in mass?” Breanna answered while interacting with her station’s interface. She paused for a moment before adding, “The original estimates were correct.”
“That’s impossible!” Mason blurted out.
“Well, normally, yes,” Breanna said.
She switched to her phone and scanned trending headlines. There were a few articles of note, so she pushed the content onto her workstation’s display to show the group.
The first article started off with the image of a man in prison attire. The headlines read, ’Man who rode lighting, back from the grave?’ Immediately, to the side of the mugshot, they displayed the picture of a man they apprehended earlier tonight. Either they were twins or—
“Says here that police arrested a man trying to break into his former home. Authorities are baffled. Dental records and fingerprints were matched to those of the convicted serial killer, Adam Graves. The same man who was executed last year for his string of sex crimes that culminated in a series of horrific murders,” Breanna summarized. “The thing is, this man has no scars from the police shootout.”
The second article was more graphic. It contained a picture of a skyscraper superimposed over a dilapidated neighbourhood block. Some developments did integrate existing building faces into the design, but this was something else entirely. The front face of the larger structure was blocked by two boarded up buildings. In between, there were dumpsters, full of trash, which were fused in the front doors. Of course, the most disturbing element, were the people embedded into the structure. Men and women in suits were now literally part of walls erected a century ago.
“What the—,” Mason and Brett said.
“The article states that this neighbourhood was torn down shortly after the last municipal elections,” Breanna said. “Now it seems that both events happened simultaneously.”
“So—,” Mason tried to ask.
“Correct,” Breanna said. “These humans can’t create matter, or at least not on this scale. The disturbance we saw appears to have resurrected alternate timelines and integrated them with our own.”
Mason turned to face Brett who, by now, was white as a sheet. It was one thing to make a mistake that knocked out their systems. Mishaps like that could be remedied without alerting the world to their presence. However, this was a fuck up of epic proportions. People were sure to remember an alternate version of events and start asking questions. News of this event was already spreading like wildfire which would only add fuel to the fire.
“Oh shit.” Brett said in an attempt to deflect.
Breanna smiled, knowing that this court jester was about to be put in his place. She only wished that she had a big bag of popcorn on hand to enjoy the show.
* * * *
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.
“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 s
eparated 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.
* * * *
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.
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.
The Van Helsing Resurgence Page 14
