The Van Helsing Resurgence

by Evelyn Chartres

  “Cold!” Elizabeth yelped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Feathers,” Elizabeth whispered.

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

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

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

  “Feathers?” Elizabeth asked.

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

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

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

  “Wings?” Elizabeth asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What! Why?” Elizabeth asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It’s been a while,” Clara said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Not surprised to see us?” Silver asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Friends of yours?” Clara asked.

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

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

  “Really?” Clara asked with curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Funny that you mention them,” Silver said.

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

  “What mess?” Clara asked.

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

  “Like a shockwave?” Sparky threw in.

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

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