The Van Helsing Resurgence

by Evelyn Chartres

  “So?” Clara asked.

  “Jane Jones, Alpha-One-Niner…” Jane rhymed off.

  Clara had seen this sort of behaviour before, a sign that the interrogator was getting too close. Still, Clara had a few tricks up her sleeve.

  “You know, it’s kinda funny. I had you pegged as a Jane,” Clara said. “However, I never thought you’d be a dumb dora…”

  Jane continued to rhyme off that line, sounding like a politician avoiding any questions related to a recent scandal. Clara chose to ignore this broken record strategy, and attacked on a new front.

  “So while you are here babbling like a baboon in heat, all bound, naked, and available,” Clara said. “You might want to consider what that ghoul will do to you when it wakes up?”

  Jane showed no reaction to that threat. There was something to be said about working with monsters. It had a tendency to blind them to that creature’s particular flavour of evil.

  “You know,” Clara said. “I have seen these things in action. Did you know that they love to peel back the face of their victim? They gingerly pull away at the fat, muscles, and veins. All so they can wear it like a mask… Do you suppose he’d feel sexy wearing your bloody—”

  “Stop,” Jane said. She then paused, closed her eyes, and sighed before adding, “030702.”

  “Thank you,” Clara said and walked away.

  “Wait,” Jane said. “You aren’t going to leave me—”

  Before Jane could finish that sentence, Clara was already out the door. Turns out she was right about that panel by the door.

  “She’ll hate me for this, but at least that ghoul won’t be bothering her,” Clara said.

  * * * *

  “Great”, Clara said. “What is it with me and nondescript hallways?”

  One end of the corridor finished near the interrogation room with a door that had been secured using the same mechanism. In the opposing direction there was an ascending circular staircase, made of dull steel.

  Clara walked casually to the stairs and noticed the lack of identifying features. There were no signs posted, no markings on the walls, and little to no variation in the consistency of the cement.

  There was also nothing that stood out as being surveillance equipment. She knew better; the video feeds in the surveillance room made that pretty clear. So equipment had to be there, but it was either camouflaged or so small that she could not spot them.

  Whoever was monitoring the situation was either unaware of her escape or did not care. Either way, this crossed a line and would alter this group’s behaviour. The next time they crossed paths, Clara would need to get dirty.

  At the top of the stairs, she came across a solid steel door. It was heavy with no visible locking mechanism. To her left there was a panel with a video feed. From this display, she saw the inside of a room: steel drawers, metal tables, sinks, weights, and various medical instruments. Clara had been around this type of room before. When dealing with ghouls, morgues were the first places to check.

  “Makes sense,” Clara said.

  Based on the dim lighting, it must have been after hours. That meant she had been unconscious most of the day, if not more. Without pause, Clara swiped the card which brought up a keypad on the display. She typed in the sequence Jane provided and heard the hermetic seals break.

  She pushed open the door and walked right into the morgue. The door closed behind her without being prompted and, upon closer look, she was unable to see any signs of the entrance. Deep down she envied the level of effort this organisation had taken to hide a dungeon. The fact that it was co-located with a morgue meant they had a convenient place to dispose of the bodies.

  Clara looked around casually and pocketed a few scalpels. She loved nothing more than a good blade, and these might come in handy. After a bit more rummaging, she came across a series of Allen keys used to fine-tune the scales which she pocketed along with a few picks. While crude, Clara hoped they would work.

  When satisfied, she walked through the double hinged doors and into a long and sterile corridor. She eyed the room names and saw an exit sign lit up in the distance. Clara continued to walk with confidence and determination, even if she had no clue where she was headed. Nothing caught a guard’s eye more than an unfamiliar face who looked lost.

  The door led to a stairwell and the flight of stairs going down led to another door. It had been fitted with an audible alarm and probably opened on the street level. Clara barely glanced at it while she ascended and flew past the floors without a care in the world.

  When the stairs ran out, she came across a door labelled Roof Access. She paused examined the door which matched all others in the stairwell, except for the deadbolt. That gave her hope. A door that was secured against unauthorised access implied there was a chance at freedom on the other side.

  Clara knelt, pulled out the picks and Allen keys, and began to fiddle with the mechanism. In her time, Clara needed very little time to pick locks, but things had changed. So much so, that she decided it was best to go with plan B.

  She got back on her feet, slowed down time, and rammed the door. The door buckled under this initial effort, but the hinges and lock remained intact.

  “Aww nertz!” Clara exclaimed.

  This time, she moved away from the door to gain serious velocity and focused all of that momentum into her shoulder. In this attempt, the door gave way completely, torn from its hinges, and tumbled along the rooftop. It made an awful racket which was exactly what Clara wanted to avoid. Still, no alarms had been raised and all was quiet.

  “So is freedom at hand?” Clara wondered.

  She walked onto the roof and saw how the low cloud cover was lit up by the city lights. It was raining, and the cool dark rain instantly soaked her clothing. Invigorated, she dropped her light coat, and let her wings expand.

  Clara stood there. Staring at the glory before her. The neighbouring buildings were taller; a few even dated from her era, since they featured those iconic water towers. Other buildings were tall and imposing structures made of steel and glass.

  She turned around and, from here, noticed the darkened area that made up the park. Even through the thin slivers between streets, she caught flashes of blue and red lights. The police presence at the park was comforting because that meant she had not been out for more than a day.

  “I was right,” Freyja said. “You would have been one of my best shieldmaidens.”

  Clara kept her eyes on the park, choosing not to turn around just yet. The last time they met, Freya had been playing the role of Saint Peter. This evening, she had chosen an alternate persona for the confrontation. Clara flapped her wings for show. The black feathers were nearly invisible against the night sky.

  “One would think that my wings would make me a Valkyrie,” Clara said.

  “Never did care for them,” Freyja said with a hint of disdain.

  Clara turned around and saw exactly what she imagined Freyja to be: the armour, the shield and sword, blonde hair, and blue eyes, not to mention how she towered over her, enough to leave Clara feeling a twinge of anxiety. Of course, there was no real threat, otherwise she would have been dead by now.

  “So what brings you down to the mortal realm?” Clara asked.

  “I’ve come to deliver a message,” Freyja said.

  “And they sent down a god to tell me?” Clara guessed.

  “Caught on,” Freyja said, and soon realised that she inadvertently answered Clara’s guess. “Did you?”

  “The effect that ambrosia has on me and my golden blood? They were certainly eye openers,” Clara said. “You’re here because of Hecate, aren’t you?”

  “You were always a bright one,” Freyja said.

  “That’s why the Tower did not teach us about gods and goddesses,” Clara said. “They did not want Hunters getting involved in your affairs.”

  Freyja nodded but did not elaborate on the matter. Clara had managed to figure it out easily enough—the dirty little secret that ev
en those in her order were never meant to know. The truth should have left her with a deep sense of betrayal, and still might once the dust settled. For now, she enjoyed the natural high that she got from being right.

  “She got in the way,” Clara said.

  “It was not up to you to judge her,” Freyja said.

  “So I can’t go back up then?” Clara asked. “Break some unwritten rule and I’m banned from the club?”

  Freyja did not seem to react, but Clara knew the words struck home. Pushing buttons, after all, was one trait she excelled at.

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

  “It’s that or kill you,” Freyja said in a tone that implied a preference for the latter.

  “Oh no!” Clara said sarcastically. “Don’t leave me here. Free to live, breath, fuck, and make mistakes.”

  “They will never accept you,” Freyja said.

  “Men tend to accept anything with a nice pair of tits,” Clara said while looking down at her wet blouse. “I’ll be fine and, unlike Edith, I want to be here.”

  “You are on your own then,” Freyja said.

  Clara smiled, crossed her arms, and remained as such until Freyja faded out of existence. It seemed that some of their kind were free to come and go as they pleased. Clara loved having limits. Flaws, when overcome, became a source of strength. Clara would not have it any other way.

  Clara felt a chill once the wind picked up and shook the excess water out of her hair. She bent her knees, flapped her wings, and unleashed a thick mist of water from her wings. As she cut through the mist to become airborne, Clara thought about being barred from Heaven and, in that moment, had never felt so free.

  * * * *

  Her encounter with Freyja happened at a critical juncture. Her eyes had once more been opened to the true nature of this world, and she disliked what she saw.

  In her time, she had to contend with vampires, ghouls, werewolves, and all manner of things that went bump in the night. These creatures had always been there, existing in the edges of human awareness, and preyed on both mankind and their fears. Clara had lived through a renaissance of sorts. Ghouls had been dispatched en masse during the Great War, and werewolves were nothing more than an anomaly.

  This world showcased a new order that grew from the loss of the Tower. Drusilla may have been stopped before fulfilling her mission to rise above the fray to rule the world with an iron fist, but her legacy of terror lived on. Clara cursed herself for not having killed that bitch earlier.

  Clara needed allies, people she could rely on, those who were capable of indoctrinating her in the ways of the present day. Weapons may have remained largely the same, but other technologies advanced by leaps and bounds. She was a relic in fashion, language and know-how and, without assistance, would stick out like a sore thumb.

  She knew someone who might help, but that meant abusing her kind nature. For now, it seemed necessary to set aside such concerns. In return, Clara would be sure to shield this woman from harm and, in time, develop a symbiotic relationship.

  Clara stayed close to the rooftops in an attempt to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Fortunately, the streets were deserted for the most part, and she could risk exposure by crossing them. She kept a sharp eye for anything that followed, but luck was on her side.

  “Allies,” Clara said.

  The Tower had been the nerve centre for their order, but they were also allies to any who fought the forces of evil. Drusilla’s mayhem had stripped the world of an important ally by isolating, but not destroying, the Tower. Clara needed to reconnect with and, hopefully, restore the relevance her order.

  Now there was a conundrum. Without the Terminus, the nexus of gates that linked the Tower to sites around the world, the Tower would be near impossible to reach. Even if she could find a way to the Tower, what would she find once she got there? A tower of ivory that stretched out into the heavens filled with hundreds of hunters itching for a fight? Or a tomb?

  The absence of answers confirmed that this plan would be executed over the long term. She needed allies now. Perhaps her thinking was a bit circular, but that was a response to the gravity of the need.

  Elizabeth would be her first stop. From there, she did not know. However, Clara theorized that the line between friend and foe would blur, if not disappear altogether. That meant she needed to keep an open mind and sleep with an open eye.

  Clara landed on a rooftop, then leaned over the ledge to look down. On the other side, Elizabeth’s building loomed out beyond the curtain of driving rain. Most of the windows were dark, save for one.

  Clara closed her eyes and focused on her hearing. Eventually, the sound of applause caused by the rain was filtered out. She continued to focus, visualising the area in her mind, and heard one steady heartbeat within that unit.

  There were others in the building which accounted for the neighbours. So far, there were no sounds to indicate the presence of a platoon of soldiers waiting for her. Considering the day she had, that was a good sign.

  “Time to have a little faith,” Clara said. “In myself.”

  With that thought, Clara leapt from the rooftop and glided over to the emergency escape. Every plan needed objectives, and it was time to see how the foundations of her plan would unfold.

  * * * *

  Clara landed on the fire escape, folding in one wing while positioning the other over her head to get a good rain-free view of what was going on inside the unit. Elizabeth could have been asleep, but Clara suspected otherwise. Sure enough, Elizabeth was up, pacing back and forth while looking at her phone. At what precisely, she did not know, but Clara assumed it was related to what unfolded earlier in the day.

  She observed for a few moments, looking out for nervous tics or any other signs that would hint at her being compromised. So far there were none. Her heart rate remained steady and, while elevated, it was natural for someone who was anxious or under duress.

  Clara sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked on the window. It was time to see if her welcome was worn out; one way or the other, there were things she needed to get off her chest.

  Elizabeth was clearly nervous. Learning about the existence of vampires, tended to make people skittish. The amazon turned around so fast that it nearly startled Clara, and the fact she was armed filled her with a sense of pride. Guns were not effective against all foes, but at least Elizabeth was taking her well-being seriously.

  Clara remained in place—visible, smiling and most importantly non-threatening. This seemed like the best approach, and she wanted to avoid Elizabeth feeling threatened. Shoot first and ask questions later tended to be the mantra for anyone in Elizabeth’s state of mind.

  Elizabeth recognised who was at the window, exhaled in relief, and ran over to unlatch the casement. Clara did the rest, lifting the pane from out of its seat despite the wood swelling from exposure.

  “Where were you?” Elizabeth raced through the question.

  Her eyes were wild, running over every detail of the scene. It had the potential to develop into a thousand mile stare, something that Clara had seen hundreds of times before. She prayed that her friend would be spared.

  Clara did not immediately answer. Instead, she folded her remaining wing, hunched down, and stepped into the apartment. On the counter was the amphora, and Clara buried her desire to indulge in the sweet nectar. She may be a goddess or demi-goddess, but there could be side effects to prolonged use.

  “How did you manage to find that?” Clara asked.

  Elizabeth grunted and narrowed her eyes while saying, “Quit avoiding my question! Now where were you?”

  Clara shrugged but did not smirk since the latter was too dismissive. Elizabeth was not happy, and Clara would need to smooth things over before getting any answers.

  “I was captured. I then woke up in a secret interrogation room located in one of the city’s morgues,” Clara replied, having no clue if there were multiple morgues in the city.

&nbs
p; “How did you get out?” Elizabeth asked alarmed.

  That question indicated that Elizabeth had followed the instructions to the letter. Hence, she ran off before the troops swarmed their position and captured her. Not knowing what happened easily explained her state of heightened anxiety.

  Clara delved into the situation: the rapid progression of the interrogation, the ghoul, and how she broke free. She also described the brief interaction with Jane and detailed her escape.

  Elizabeth listened intently, her eyes focused more on Clara as she calmed down. While news of a shadow group upset her, being in proximity to her guardian angel did much to smooth things over. That worried Clara, since it would make what she had to say a challenge.