“Well… Well… Look what the cat dragged in,” Clara said calmly before taking a sip of her cappuccino.
“Your best house wine,” Jack said once the waiter came out from the café. “It’s been too long,” he added before sitting at the table.
Clara tried to remember the last time they had crossed paths. He had been a year ahead of her but left the Tower three or four years ago. There were rumours that a mission had gone wrong and that Jack was to blame. That meant exile and if a member of the order had betrayed their kin, even Dante’s imagination would be insufficient to describe the punishment they deserved.
However, those were only rumours, nothing proven or reliably sourced. Still, Jack looked good, a real lady-killer. She found it hard to turn away, that is until the bottle of wine was brought to the table.
“Yes it has,” Clara said in a calm voice struggling to conceal her excitement.
Jack waited for the waiter to pour him a sample of wine. He glanced at the glass for a moment before he swirled the contents. Clara observed how he took in the aroma before taking a sip.
“Very good,” Jack said, which prompted the waiter to fill both glasses. “So what method did you settle on?”
Clara was momentarily confused, but her face turned a bright red once she clued in. She glanced at the waiter who was busy serving another table and caught his eye. As judged by the blank look on his face, it appeared that he had forgotten about her order of Moules Marinières waiting out back. Clara figured that would help cool things down a bit.
“A lady is entitled to her secrets,” Clara said.
“I don’t think your bare breasts, no matter how perky, would do the trick,” Jack said.
“Why not?” Clara asked without betraying her annoyance at the accuracy of his guess.
“His eyes have focused on every well-dressed man who passed by,” Jack said. “He also ignored that particularly scrumptious baby vamp who crossed his path.”
Clara felt a slight sting to her ego. How could Jack comment on another woman’s appearance to her face? For the life of her she could not figure out where that particular emotion originated from. This man was muddying the waters and Clara did not appreciate the experience.
“My girls would get his attention,” Clara said bluntly.
“That stunning, are they?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” Clara answered.
“Then prove it,” Jack said with a smirk.
“Not going to happen,” Clara tossed back.
“Why not?” Jack asked.
“Not that kind of woman,” Clara replied even if she were tempted to tease him with a little peek.
“Then how would I know?” Jack asked.
“You’ll have to take my word for it,” Clara said.
Before Jack could continue with the back and forth, the waiter dropped a plate of steamed mussels on the table. Two plates and cutlery followed suit.
“Bon appetit,” the waiter said.
“Merci,” Clara said before the waiter left.
Clara used this opportunity to take her mind off of Jack. She eyed the steamed mussels hungrily and selected the most accessible one. They never had this sort of dish back at the Tower, such delicacies were seen as wasteful indulgences. Odd how sin and indulgence seemed to be on a similar path to bliss.
“Do you want some?” Clara asked even though she had no desire to share.
“I’ve already eaten,” Jack said. “But thank you.”
Clara thoroughly enjoyed the mussels and wine. She was on her second glass when she noticed that his glass was still full.
Now Jack had been away longer than Clara and might be less inclined to indulge. Clara was certain that her own appetites would evolve over time. So why order the wine?
“Sorry,” Clara said. “I am being gluttonous and impolite by ignoring my company.”
“It’s quite alright. We’re all the same when we came face-to-face with the real world,” Jack said.
“What was your first foray into worldly cuisine?” Clara asked just before she grabbed another mussel.
“Spaghetti Bolognese outside of Rome,” Jack said.
What were the chances of her meeting Jack on her first real outing from the Tower? Surely the odds were astronomical and yet here they were. Clara should have been suspicious and kept her distance, but she desired nothing more than to be with him.
Clara raised her glass and said, “To freedom and the food it brings.”
Jack raised his glass and said, “Cheers.”
They brought their glasses to their lips but Clara kept an eye on Jack. This time she observed him wetting his lips instead of sipping the wine. Now that was enough of a revelation to get her mind off of his rugged good looks.
Salvation came once she heard the bells from the nearby church. Clara looked up and feigned a frown, disappointed that it was time to attend the evening mass.
“Time to go,” Clara said.
Just as Clara reached for her purse, Jack took her by the hand and said, “No. My treat. It brought back some great memories of my first time.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” Clara said. “How would I ever be able to repay you?” she asked but guessed where this was going.
“Meet me at the cabaret around the corner from the church after service,” Jack proposed and in that moment appeared to be the most impressive man she had ever seen.
The bells forced her mind to stay focused. In her heart, she was so very close to accepting his offer. However, she had a golden opportunity to test the waters.
Clara got her rapid breathing under control before saying, “Why don’t you join me?”
“I have a matter to attend to before we meet again,” Jack said.
Clara simply nodded and began her slow deliberate walk towards the church. Once she saw the priest she smiled faintly, an act that required a Herculean effort considering her mind was somewhere else.
* * * *
Clara did not hear most of the sermon, her mind was busy trying to consolidate the mass of emotions swirling around in her head. The fact that the church was warm and stuffy did not help matters.
So what did she know? Jack’s sudden appearance from out of the ether was as odd as it was unlikely. Yet, it could still be attributed to dumb luck.
Would that explain his aversion to food and drink? What about her attraction to him? She could barely take her eyes off of him, and that was out of character. Clara had never felt so drawn to anyone before.
“The males of their kind are known to form an intense attraction with their prey. This often proves fatal to the prey,” Professor Stephens once said.
Did that explain the pull? That draw she experienced just now? She had been chosen to fight their kind, trained by some of the best to fulfil that mission. Certainly her training would enable her to resist the temptation?
Or could she? The weapon for a hunter centred on their faith. Did Clara have sufficient faith in God or at least enough to imbue her with the ability to fight off such creatures? Or was it simply that she knew these creatures existed, so faith had never played a part in the equation?
Even now, she had no problems rhyming off in Latin the necessary replies or following the prompts to the evening mass. But what colour was the priest’s hair? How many other parishioners were in attendance? How old was that child fussing just behind her?
These were all things she should know. Members of her order survived by maintaining faith and vigilance; right now both were deficient. So what was she to do?
Clara closed her eyes and focused. It was time to rely on her training, push away all of these emotions and think her way out of this. At worst, Jack was human and she would end up naked, out of breath and completely satiated. Clara ended up thinking that this was not a bad way to end the evening.
More than likely, she needed a weapon and a plan. Alas, this church had no cache of weapons and even if it did, they were probably ceremonial.
She did carry Father Michael’s
crucifix. It made up part of her rosary and remained unnoticed during gatherings; even those at the Tower never questioned its existence.
As for defence, armour was out of the question. Clara sighed but was determined to keep her wits about her. Instead of panicking, she walked over to the pool of holy water. She dipped her fingers in and made the sign of the cross while reciting a quick prayer.
This time she varied the ritual by wetting her lips. With any luck it would make her lips appear glossy, at least temporarily. She was going to a cabaret after all, and clearly did not have the time to prepare.
“No matter,” Clara said. “Women have been able to conquer the hearts of men with far less,” she added before heading out into the night.
* * * *
The Cabaret was much smaller and discreet than anticipated. Jack was waiting by the entrance and flashed a smile as soon as he saw her. The sight of that smile made Clara’s heart go a flutter, which in turn strengthened her suspicions.
“Glad you could make it,” Jack said before he kissed her cheek.
“It was the least I could do,” Clara replied.
Jack took her hand and escorted her inside. There were tables surrounding a central stage and for the most part, the place was quiet. In itself, that was surprising since the street just outside was teeming with life. Clara wondered why the hall was mostly empty.
“Good evening, Jack,” the host said. “Your usual table?”
Jack nodded, and they were escorted to a table against the wall that offered a great view of the stage. Clara was impressed. The table provided sightlines to the stage and all entry points. An excellent choice for a hunter, since it prevented anyone from approaching unnoticed.
Jack held the chair out for her while Clara sat down. She saw the musicians getting ready in the mezzanine and wondered what kind of show this would be. Some of these cabarets offered it all, but she felt this one catered to a specific audience.
“You look lovely,” Jack said.
Clara’s face reddened as she adopted a shy smile. That had to be a lie since she did not have the chance to change. Clara was more appropriately dressed for a convent, not a cabaret.
“Liar,” Clara said.
“It’s not the clothes nor the jewellery that make a woman,” Jack said. He then took her hand and added, “It’s her eyes, the gentle curves of her chassis and smile.”
Clara focused on her hand while all of her inhibitions melted away. This man was good. Odd, since seduction techniques were not taught to male students.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Clara said with a wink.
Jack looked right into her eyes and Clara lost herself in that gaze. This had to be some form of witchcraft.
“Did I tell you that I rent a room up in the loft,” Jack said. “Let me show you the way,” he added before he took her hand.
“So this was a trap after all,” Clara thought.
* * * *
Clara remembered little after he took her hand. A distant voice in the back of her mind tried to protest leaving before the show, but was drowned out by her desires. In that moment, she would have gladly held the weight of the world. All Jack had to do was ask.
She did not remember shedding her clothes when they entered his room. Clara had followed his lead and hurried their way towards the inviting bed. She even went as far as to hop on one foot to shed her stockings.
When he directed her to get on the bed Clara did so without saying a word. Naked and vulnerable, her heart was racing because she desperately wanted to feel every inch of him.
Jack watched from a distance before he joined her. He glided over the bed, moving between her inviting legs and then hovered over her. She felt a cool breeze and her skin became covered in gooseflesh. Everything he did made her want him more, so much so that her nipples were hard and her body ached.
When his lips were no more than an inch from hers, he gripped her wrists with monstrous strength. That earlier voice spoke up again in the hopes of raising the call to arms, but she was hopelessly at his mercy.
Her lack of response made him smile. This was precisely how he wanted her to be.
“So typical,” Jack said. “Hungry for a bit of freedom from that wretched place. You all claim to be ladies, above that base desire for sex, but I know better. In the end, you all end up on this bed desperate to be defiled,” Jack added with disdain.
There was no one home. Clara did nothing more than stare into his eyes. Jack could have rhymed off the box scores of a baseball game and Clara would have yearned for him all the same.
“All the other girls died in agony because they never told me what I wanted to know,” Jack said.
He moved in closer and closer until his lips almost brushed against hers.
“You’re stronger than they were, aren’t you Clara?” Jack asked. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know after this kiss.”
Jack pushed his lips against hers, forcing her lips open with his tongue. For a moment, time slowed down as her mind struggled to break through her defences.
Still, he was in complete control of her body, there was nothing she could do to counteract that brute strength. That is, until his eyes opened wide in shock then jerked away.
“You bitch!” he exclaimed.
With the fog lifted from Clara’s mind, the part of her cognizant of his intent asserted itself with a vengeance. She used her forearm to push against his neck and forced him off.
Without a thought, her hands glided over the features of his face until they found two soft mounds. Clara pressed in with her thumbs, pushing into the soft flesh until she felt the base of his eye sockets.
He screamed in pain, sounding diabolical in its tones, something like the tinkling of glass when struck. To prevent any unwanted guests, Clara pulled away the crucifix and exposed the blade.
Jack flailed around like a fish out of water while covering his eyes as though there was something left to protect. With Clara’s faculties fully her own, she danced around the bed until she was right behind him.
Her attacks were vicious and bloody, with every strike aimed at the base of his neck. The first couple of stabs severed his nerves and his body went limp. Even though he was disabled, Clara never stopped the attack, stabbing him over and over.
Blood splattered throughout and the room was soon covered in gore. Nothing could dissuade her, not until she had landed a killing blow, accomplished only once his head dropped onto the floor.
Clara stopped cold, her breathing heavy and jagged. On the verge of exhaustion, her hands trembled so much that she was barely able to hold on to the blade. Her vision was blurred but a quick wipe of her eyes permitted her to see clearly again.
“That bastard!” Clara exclaimed while tears streamed down her bloody cheeks.
She should have trusted her instincts and sought assistance. Perhaps they could have captured him and learned how many girls that this piece of filth had killed?
“Pull yourself together,” Clara said to harden her resolve.
Her eyes scanned the room and found it to be nondescript. That is until she looked closer to the bed and realised that she was at the epicentre of a slaughterhouse.
Clara caught the sight of a steamer trunk in the corner. Curious, she got up from the bed just as the viscous blood began to glide down her body. Clara did her best to ignore the discomfort.
The trunk was not locked, and Clara soon discovered that it contained art supplies. This was a part of Jack that Clara had never previously observed. Never had this man shown any interest in the arts, let alone charcoals or paints.
“Stop it,” Clara said.
She needed to stop thinking about that headless corpse as anything more than a monster. One who would have killed her without hesitation. Still, it was difficult to separate the two entities.
Clara bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The pain focused her thoughts long enough to push away all emotion. She still had things to do, and they woul
d not wait idly by until she got her act together.
She rummaged through the artwork and found a series of disturbing charcoal drawings. Each work featured a different model in all their macabre detail. The first had been drawn and quartered, but Clara recognised Blanche’s soft features despite the ample viscera.
“Nettie, Ruth, Alma, Della, Lizzie, Sadie, Sallie,” Clara said every time she recognised the victims from the portraits.
The Van Helsing Paradox Page 7
