The floor turned out to be a snap to clean since ambrosia possessed several qualities, in addition to it being a powerful detergent. Given a limitless supply, Clara had no trouble scrubbing away all of that blood, including the footsteps she inadvertently left behind.
Normally, Clara would have found that kind of work tedious, but given the situation, it was both rewarding and distracting. She was reminded of a simpler time, her childhood, when the true nature of this world was masked by innocence. For a moment, Clara was envious of that grey-eyed and button-nosed little girl.
Unfortunately, ambrosia would not be able to repair the fridge door, the couch, or shattered lamp. It also did nothing to fix the hole burned through the middle of her bustier. What a shame, really. Despite the initial stench of wet dog, this attire suited her. Still, there was the coat, which concealed both the hole and her wings.
The fridge door would be a challenge to explain away. Fortunately, the door could close well-enough to form a seal, or at least after a bit of coaxing on her part. Clara wondered if this was an apartment, and in turn, worried about the repercussions.
By the time Elizabeth started up her hair dryer, Clara was back to normal. She took the time to slip back into her clothes and looked herself over in the mirror, loving the vibe it gave off.
Done with the basics, Elizabeth opened the door cautiously, unsure of what she would find. Based on Clara’s earlier breakdown, she half-expected a grisly murder scene or a gateway that led to the seventh level of hell.
“Coast is clear,” Clara said before smiling.
Nevertheless Elizabeth’s eyes ran over the entire scene and found nothing of concern, with the exception of a missing lamp, and a hole burned through the couch. While she could not see the refrigerator, the rest of the place was cleaner than before and she wondered if this was part of Clara’s coping strategy.
On the edge of the couch she saw the weapons that Clara had been carrying: two pistols, a knife, and a shotgun, the latter being illegal from the looks of it. Elizabeth’s heart sank the moment she saw them, but quickly realised that in a world this dangerous, some exceptions could be made for those with a vested interest in saving the lives of innocents.
“Looks great,” Elizabeth said before retreating to her bedroom.
Clara sat on the intact portion of the couch, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Even with the ambrosia, she found it difficult to keep going. She was dog tired, worn out, and would need something substantial in her stomach soon.
“No wonder Hecate was hooked on the stuff,” Clara said lightly.
“What was that?” Elizabeth asked.
“Nothing!” Clara blurted. “Was just thinking that I’m a bit peckish.”
Elizabeth walked out from her room. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her hips, and a white blouse which flowed overtop her jeans. Still, despite being clothed, Clara had a great view of her bust.
Clara looked at the young woman of Asian descent and imagined tearing those clothes off. What was it about this woman that left her so infatuated? Or was there something else at play? Would Clara still feel this way if she had not been isolated from humanity for the better part of ninety years?
“You look great,” Clara said before biting the bottom of her lip.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said and found an excuse to turn away to hide the fact that she was blushing.
Elizabeth used that time to brush out a few stubborn knots from her hair. It also granted her a few moments to ponder what had been said in the bathroom moments ago.
After her cheeks cooled, Elizabeth turned to face Clara and said, “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yeah. I’ve been fighting for the forces of good all my life,” Clara said honestly. “I had my fill tonight, you know?”
Elizabeth honestly did not know and suspected that most of her coworkers could not relate. She suspected that such trauma was more common to veterans of war, and first responders. That meant she would not be able to fall back on her training to help her deal with this.
“Can you talk about it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Honestly,” Clara said. “The less you know of the subject—the better.”
“You know, I just saw you run someone over and bitch slap my ex… who turned out to be a fucking vampire!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I have every right to know what’s going on.”
Clara’s facial features never changed she just carried on smiling. It had taken an unbelievable amount of strain for her to lose any self-control. She had been taught to stay cool under fire, to never give into her baser instincts. Either way, now was the time to remain calm, cool, and collected.
“Fair enough,” Clara said. “In short, a goddess known as Hecate, the one who brought about my death, followed a duplicate to your place, then proceeded to kill that copy in your kitchen.”
Elizabeth had indeed opened a can of worms. After the initial cocking of her brow, she found it necessary to sit down.
“She then waited for me to leave the bathroom before confronting me. Explained that a race of creatures known as Georgians shattered reality. In doing so, they caused alternate paths of history to exist concurrently with our own,” Clara said. “That’s when Sparky attacked.”
“Sparky?” Elizabeth asked.
“Sparky is one of this goddess' personas. Hecate can choose to appear as a single individual, as one form rotating between the three, or as distinct individuals representing her three personalities,” Clara replied.
“So you’re telling me that there were—” Elizabeth tried to confirm.
“Yep! Six identical bodies! Well except for that one I turned to charcoal, but she was one helluva sour pill anyways,” Clara rambled on. “So after ingesting a lot of ambrosia, the bodies were moved, and I cleaned this place. Still, you might need to get a new fridge, lamp, and couch. Any questions?”
Elizabeth did not know what to make of this. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the world had been plain, normal, and boring. Since then, she learned that vampires were real, followed by angels, and now, old gods?
“What else… No wait! I’m not sure that I want an answer just yet,” Elizabeth said.
“Bit much for the grey matter to take in?” Clara asked. “It takes time. Many of our acolytes didn’t make it past that aspect of our training.”
“How did you?” Elizabeth queried.
Clara sighed, and took a quick look at her wings. It appeared as though they were going to be visible from here on out.
“I’ve known since I was little,” Clara said. “Father was a chew toy for a ghoul when I was little. Two years later, that thing came back for Mum, so I hid under the bed and stabbed it repeatedly until it ran away.”
Elizabeth listened intently to those words, and wondered how Clara ever managed to hold things together this long. These events involved monsters, creatures that terrorised humanity for millennia. Perhaps the inhumanity of her prey, combined with faith, shielded Clara’s mind from all that trauma.
“Of course, I knew nothing about those events. That’s part of a ghoul’s power, you see. They can make you forget. Still, there is always a part of you that remains aware,” Clara continued.
“So how did you find out?” Elizabeth asked.
“Simple answer—these insights came to me after death,” Clara said. Since she wanted to avoid delving further on that subject, she added, “I’m starving.”
“Let me grab my coat,” Elizabeth said as she got up to head towards the coat closet.
Clara happily evaded another round of queries. It was great to let it all out, but the recipient needed time to process it. When Elizabeth passed the kitchen island, she noticed the amphora sitting there.
“Are you expecting company anytime soon?” Clara asked while packing away her weapons.
Elizabeth found that an odd question but figured Clara was avoiding making a reference to her wife. In a way, she was thankful for the consideration, although Elizabeth would need to come to terms with h
er own failures as a spouse.
“No.” Elizabeth answered. “Why?”
“I don’t want you or anyone else going near that amphora. It contains ambrosia,” Clara said.
“Ambrosia?” Elizabeth said while slipping on her long coat.
Clara walked over, smiled, and ran the zipper up Elizabeth’s jacket, but she stopped when in proximity of those breasts. Their closeness felt right, but Clara was clearly in control of her faculties now.
“Yes. Do not touch or drink the contents of that amphora,” Clara said. “Understood?”
Elizabeth looked over at the object, and noted how its unearthly glow lit up the kitchen. Without lingering on the amphora, Elizabeth was distracted by Clara’s hands running along her cleavage while the zipper was run home.
Happy that her little diversion worked, Clara neatly folded Elizabeth’s coat collar, then offered her arm. Elizabeth blushed lightly and accepted the offer.
Once the door was locked, Clara said, “One drop of that stuff evoked a response more powerful than the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.” She then leaned in a bit closer as they walked towards the elevator and added, “Just think. Flappers were renowned for their petting parties…”
LUCK OF THE IRISH
If Evelyn excelled at anything, it was exploiting the deprived minds of men. There was nothing so simple or basic as the male libido, the proverbial triangle in a symphony music orchestra. Thus, any woman skilled in the pleasures of the flesh could enchant, manipulate and hunt men with impunity.
Most of her kind maintained some sort of connection to the living world. While Evelyn had wholeheartedly embraced the life of an artist, there was profit and power to be gained from the world’s oldest profession. In her day, Evelyn’s madam made it known to her girls that the thirst of men was not easily quenched.
Evelyn kept a network of girls around the city, a select few who were both well compensated and protected. Any man who dared to harm a hair on those girls ended up a headline on the evening news. Evelyn was as beautiful as she was cruel and took great pleasure in making an example of such vermin.
While the women turned a nice profit, that paled in comparison to the intelligence they collected. A select set of pictures, an occasional videotape, or even the existence of an illegitimate child, gave Evelyn ample leverage to guarantee her the freedom to indulge.
Tonight, her network gave her with a hot tip. A gang from the Irish mob were celebrating their recent expansion. These monsters had graduated from drugs and racketeering to human trafficking and prostitution, the latter being somewhat of a trigger for Evelyn.
Since she needed a fresh group of blood donors tonight, her choice became obvious. Directions were passed down to the girls to keep away from their pub, the one currently closed for a private engagement. That final detail is what really sold her on this course of action.
Evelyn looked over the dilapidated two story structure. The slotted windows were high enough to take in natural light but kept any casual onlookers from looking in. The bar was a blight on this upscale neighbourhood, and Evelyn questioned how she missed this eyesore before.
This had been a long evening for Evelyn. The altercation with that hunter and her wounded companion left her drained. Her dress was torn, she had a burned wrist and was missing a patch of skin, and there was a gouge on her leg.
Nonetheless, she still possessed attributes that men fell for, a tight hourglass shape, green eyes, long silky hair, an enchanting voice, and a smile that suggested so much. She would wield these like weapons, long enough to get a taste of blood, and then the party would start.
Even from outside, Evelyn heard the jukebox booming. The men were already loud and inebriated, meaning they were busy depleting the bar’s reserves. Inebriated guests always complicated matters, adding an element of chance to the hunt. Evelyn smiled at the prospect. After all, what was life without the occasional challenge?
As per instructions, Evelyn walked up to the front door and knocked. Given the music and energy in the room, it was not surprising that there was no answer. So Evelyn slammed the door using the hand that was missing a layer of epidermis. Pain immediately flushed through her mind, and she clenched her jaw in frustration, the bulging muscles visible through the skin.
This time, the door opened and a burly tattooed goon looked out into the alley. His eyes drifted from head to toe, sizing her up like a piece of meat.
“Yeah?” the goon asked.
Evelyn did not say a word. Instead, she opened up her coat, revealing her figure and cleavage. The smile she wore told him all he needed: this was a woman who could push him to the very limits of ecstasy. It also shifted the focus away from her hands which she crossed behind her back to bring her chest forward.
Once the fantasy poisoned his brain, she sensed every element of his arousal. His heart raced, breathing grew shallow, and eyes dilated. Even the goon’s penis grew erect, pushing against the confines of his underwear, a sign that his primitive male brain was now fully in control.
“Hey boys!” The goon said as he stepped aside. “The entertainment’s here!”
The crowd went wild at the mere mention of willing flesh entering the bar. The odours of booze, vomit, and sweat were more pronounced than anticipated. Now that the game was afoot, Evelyn’s suggestive smile transitioned to a smirk.
“What’s your name, lass?” one of the men asked.
Evelyn giggled, every tone musical and haunting. Immediately, she noticed that a few men simmered down as their ears perked up. Sure they were all looking at the fresh meat, but these were the ones who were more susceptible to her charms. Still, there was more work to be done to shift the odds.
“Branna,” Evelyn said in a husky voice.
“Funny. You don’t look Irish,” a man from the corner said.
Evelyn took one look at him and guessed this would be the wild card. He showed no signs of being spifflicated and his heart rate and breathing were normal. Besides, the way he looked at the bartender implied that her charms would get her nowhere.
“Really, boyo,” Evelyn said while mimicking the accent perfectly. “The name means dark haired beauty.”
Despite these being members of the Irish mob, many had grown up locally and would not have known that. Fortunately, Evelyn dated many an Irish lass in her time. One of the older members broke out in laughter which percolated through to the rest of the crowd, all except for that well-dressed man in the corner. Evelyn wondered how the others would react if details of his carnal appetites were known.
Evelyn scanned the room and made out certain key features. There was a lighting panel behind the bar; bathrooms and a back door were located unimaginably to the rear. She also noticed a pool table with an unfinished game. All told, there were about a dozen men in total, all of them armed, not to mention the heavy weapon she assumed was hidden behind the bar.
Evelyn let her coat slip off her shoulders and onto her arms. The tight black dress she wore was torn, but that was an easy detail to overlook. Besides, it exposed her bare shoulders, and put her tits on display, the soft fabric hugging her like a lover’s embrace.
She sauntered over to the jukebox, then swiped the chord with her foot. The speakers instantly cut out, but it took a moment for the lights and associated display to dim.
Evelyn giggled to focus the men on her, smirked and began singing Mo Ghile Mear, a song that brought forth fond memories. The year that song came out had been rather eventful, and she remembered every word to this day.
The musical tones of her voice were enchanting, and she noted that half of the room was focused on her. Many of the others were beginning to calm down, lowering their guard with every note. Of course, the well-dressed man was uninterested and appeared to be a bit bored.
The imp swayed her hips alluringly as she sauntered over to the pool table. The two at the table stepped out of the way. Evelyn then twirled around to face the bar. In a slow and deliberate show of flexibility, she curved her back until it
lay flat against the table, and picked up a pool ball in each hand. In another attempt at subterfuge, she rose her good leg into the air which hiked up her dress more than enough to give the boys an unobstructed view of her bare slit.
Despite the show, there were only a couple of hoots. The rest were now entirely under her spell which put the odds in her favour.
Without a care, she left behind her coat, exposing her arms for the world to see. While making her way to the one who would never yield, she sang her favourite verse.
“Gile mear sa seal faoi chumha,” Evelyn sang.
In the background, she heard one of the hooters say, “Hey! What’s wrong with her arm?”
“Gus Éire go léir faoi chlocaí dhubha,” Evelyn sang while her outstretched arms moved her forward.
The Van Helsing Resurgence Page 20
