The Van Helsing Paradox

by Evelyn Chartres

  “The mighty men of Babylon have ceased fighting, they stay in the strongholds; their strength is exhausted, they are becoming like women; their dwelling places are set on fire, the bars of her gates are broken,” Clara read.

  Bible verses were, of course, cryptic and this one required a fair amount of context to interpret. Based on her last jaunt through a gate, Clara determined that the Terminus had been attacked and disabled. Clara was effectively on her own, just like anyone else away from the Tower during the attack.

  The Tower did have alternate entrances, kept secret from everyone but the most senior members. No doubt, they would use those to evacuate or to establish a new base of operations. Clara wondered how long that type of operation would take.

  “That’s not good,” Clara muttered while pacing the room. “So who is responsible?”

  Clara could not help but think that Drusilla was responsible for this particular attack. That meant that those two hunters had paid the ultimate price so they could gain access to the Terminus.

  Trading the lives of your enemy to weaken them globally. Even Clara would take that deal if the situation were reversed, especially if it crippled their ability to wage war.

  The creature would have made sure to vacate the scene of the crime. Staying in proximity to the gate might lead to retaliation, so that meant getting as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. Drusilla must have used one of their gates to escape the scene.

  At least Clara had a starting point: Find the gate and narrow down potential avenues of escape. That would focus her search and perhaps find a trail to follow.

  “Not a great plan, sure, but it’s better than nothing,” Clara said.

  * * * *

  For Clara, getting into Mexico was not a concern. The Cristeros War required substantial government resources to contain. That meant border guards did not bat an eye at a pretty foreigner crossing the border alone.

  All Clara had to do was hide any religious affiliation. The government had grown suspicious of anyone connected with the Church. For now, it was best to avoid being a target for arbitrary arrest.

  Clara had a good idea about which gate had been used. It must have been near the city from which those missing hunters were based out of.

  The most interesting aspect of this journey had been the transition in flora. When she crossed into Mexico, the area had been dry and arid; but it gradually transitioned into a greener and more welcoming land as she progressed westward.

  By the time Clara had reached the Pacific, she had crossed a lush jungle. This was a tropical paradise, and she imagined that it would become a major tourist destination once the dust settled.

  The two hunters had been operating out of this city when they disappeared. Since this was an important port-o-call, the gate had strategic value.

  Clara sensed that the Tower’s reason for choosing a gate location applied just as well to their enemy. So it was reasonable to assume that they had a gate nearby as well. With some luck, she might be able to determine the available destination, although by itself that would be daunting.

  Once Clara arrived at the train station, she took a cab to a nearby hotel. The surroundings were quite ritzy leaving nothing to desire. Clara was even surprised to find a few telegrams waiting for her.

  Clara tipped the concierge and quickly read through the messages. Every telegram received conveyed the same general information; all of the gates except for those in use during the incident were intact but inoperable. That meant the point of attack must have been destroyed as well.

  When her luggage had been delivered, Clara pulled out the wireless. As expected, the number station provided the same sequence of numbers, but the message was being narrated by a male student. That meant the station was manned, so the Tower itself must still be intact.

  Clara changed into a fashionable dress and made sure to bring her derringer along with a vial of holy water. It was time to explore the city and fashionable attire would distract the government troops while she sought out the Terminus gate. That would be her starting point. She only hoped it would not be a trap.

  * * * *

  By the time Clara neared the gate, the sun hung high in the sky. While it precluded stealth, it made it impossible for Drusilla or her ilk to be out and about.

  The heat and humidity were making it difficult for her to keep dry and composed. She was starting to understand the allure of siestas. Even from this distance, she saw the devastation that surrounded the area. Clara had seen this level of destruction before, but only in a warzone.

  “Very little left,” Clara said as she ventured deeper into the ruins of what had been a church.

  The remnants of the structure were charred and retained that distinctive odour of cordite. An incredible amount of munitions had been used to secure this place. That might explain the ball of flame that followed her through the gate.

  There were tracks from heavy wheeled vehicles visible throughout the area. This had all of the hallmarks of a government sanctioned assault. So that meant that she was probably in the middle of a…

  “Don’t move,” someone ordered in Spanish.

  When she turned around with her derringer in hand, Clara noticed that she was surrounded. There were about thirty or so armed women visible, which meant there were more hidden.

  “Ambush?” Clara asked.

  “Correct señora,” the leader of the group replied.

  “Lovely,” Clara said.

  * * * *

  Clara had been blindfolded and transported to a new location. Had she been familiar with her surroundings, she may have guessed her whereabouts.

  When her blindfold was lifted, her eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Hay, thick supporting beams and wood planks made up her immediate surroundings, so these were either stables or a barn.

  She had been tied to a chair and her bindings had been expertly secured. The well-planned ambush, transfer and securing of the prisoner were indicative of someone who knew their craft.

  Since only women were present at the ambush, that implied she was dealing with the Feminine Brigade of Saint Joan of Arc. The Reverend Mother had already revealed that members of the Tower had infiltrated this group. Although the name was far too…

  “Surprised you were captured so easily?” Edith mused.

  Clara sniggered before she replied, “And miss the chance to see who was running the show?”

  “Good point,” Edith said. “How are you enjoying our hospitality?”

  “A bit to be desired in terms of locale,” Clara said in riposte.

  “Take it up with management,” Edith said.

  “I am,” Clara replied. “Won’t lend me her ear.”

  Edith did not say a word and for now they were at an impasse. Clara was curious about why they were having this exchange.

  “You went native?” Clara asked. “Nice tan, by the way.”

  “You’re still hunting,” Edith said. “Still bathing in milk?” came her retort.

  “So you haven’t heard?” Clara asked to break the cycle.

  That odd question caused Edith’s face to register some emotion. There was confusion, but also a faint sign that their friendship still meant something to her.

  “Heard of what?” Edith asked.

  “The Terminus was attacked,” Clara replied. “The gates are closed, and the Tower is isolated.”

  “When?” Edith sputtered out. “How?”

  “When did the government attack that church?” Clara asked.

  Edith fell into deep thought. Clara had seen this before in people who struggled to survive. For them, the passage of time was nearly irrelevant. When living to see another day was a challenge, what was a week or a month in their minds?

  “About a fortnight ago,” Edith said.

  “I was heading to a gate in California when I was redirected to French Canada,” Clara said. “Ruined a perfectly good dress, too,” she whined before adopting a smirk.

  Edith suppressed a lau
gh. The air between them was beginning to clear. Gone were the theories that Clara had been sent here to bring her back into the fold, theories that may have held true had the Reverend Mother told her about this defection. Was the Tower aware of this development? Had Edith been counted as one of the hunters who went missing? Clara wondered if there was an end to these secrets and omissions.

  “Did you break a nail?” Edith asked.

  “You know how expensive manicures are up there,” Clara said sarcastically. “Practically had to sell out every hunter in the country to afford it.”

  Edith almost cracked a legitimate smile but there was still a distance between them. Clara felt a twinge of regret. Edith’s actions would forever set them apart, even if they ended up working together.

  “Your angel was in town,” Edith said while she produced a newspaper clipping.

  Clara brought out her hands from behind the chair. She had been holding the rope together after cutting her way to freedom. Fortunately, devout Catholics rarely took away religious artefacts, even those with sharp blades.

  When she grabbed the newspaper clipping, Edith raised an eyebrow. She must have forgotten how slippery Clara could be.

  “Taken at a social Gala a couple of days before the attack?” Clara asked.

  “Yes,” Edith said. “I recognised her as soon as I saw that picture.”

  “Any news on the attack itself?” Clara asked.

  “None. Not a peep,” Edith replied.

  “That is decidedly odd. The army shows up and blows a church to Kingdom Come, but there is no mention of it in the local papers?” Clara asked.

  “That’s why we were keeping an eye on the site,” Edith said. “To see if anyone came sniffing around. We thought that we might get a few answers from those who came to investigate.”

  That strategy made sense, except it failed to account for their opponent anticipating the move. Clara would have left traps behind to throw them off. So far, it seemed that Drusilla did not have the same instincts.

  “Anyone else come sniffing around?” Clara asked.

  Edith’s lips went white and in that moment, Clara realised that someone had indeed laid a trap. There was blood on her friend’s hands.

  “Did Drusilla come back to inspect her handiwork?” Clara asked.

  For a moment, Edith avoided Clara’s gaze but relented before she replied, “Y—Yes.”

  “I am sorry,” Clara said. “You two were close?” Clara guessed.

  Clara had inadvertently poured salt in an open wound, but her show of sympathy would avoid making her the target of all that pent up guilt. Edith, the woman who was always cool, calm and collected, finally broke.

  As tears streamed down her cheeks, Clara freed her feet just in time to catch Edith. Nothing she said or did would stem the tide, so Clara simply held her friend.

  “It’s not fair,” Edith sobbed.

  “It never is,” Clara said. “It never is,” she repeated after a long pause.

  Life was not fair and there was nothing they could do to change that fact. Many held on to the promise of an afterlife, putting up the good fight until the bitter end. This was done in the hopes that Saint Peter would welcome them with open arms when the time came.

  Clara knew that this moment could not be hastened. It was not the time to be selfish nor righteous in dealing with Edith; it was the perfect opportunity to show compassion and empathy. Alas, those were traits hunters rarely needed to use.

  Edith finally pulled away after what seemed to be an hour of sobbing. Her eyes were red and puffy while her cheeks were covered in streaks. Even in a place like this, Edith still liked to powder her nose. It was often said that vanity was the devil’s favourite sin.

  “I’m okay,” Edith said softly.

  “Quite alright,” Clara said. “We’ve all been there at one point in our lives,” she lied.

  “I doubt it,” Edith said with a meek smile.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Clara asked.

  “Yes,” Edith said. “Kill that bitch.”

  Clara did not expect that. Had the tables been turned, Clara would have led the charge herself. Nothing less would satiate her thirst for revenge.

  She was doubly surprised when Edith handed over a slip of paper that contained a series of icons indicating gate locations. Disguised as a business card, it could easily be handed around without arousing suspicion.

  “How did you get this?” Clara asked.

  “Found it—,” Edith said before she broke into tears.

  While Clara held Edith, she figured out the rest. The card had been crumpled into a ball as though someone had gripped it with all their might. Somehow her friend had managed to wrestle it away from her killer.

  So Drusilla had been there to witness the attack? A gutsy move that worked in Clara’s favour, because she now had a place to start her search.

  With the card in hand, she glanced at the design. Some symbols were familiar while others were a complete mystery. One particular symbol brought back memories of Father Allen being dragged away. Her recollection had been so vivid that she nearly dropped the card in response.

  This variant featured a crescent moon hanging over a cross. It represented a merging of two faiths, the original, cast aside by the upstart. This must be the location of their holy site, which also meant heavy security.

  “Aww, nertz,” Clara said.

  Fortunately, this did not appear to be Drusilla’s destination. There was one symbol which had been circled with lipstick. Something the woman who died was unable to afford. Besides, who wore makeup while fighting a civil war? Well, other than Edith?

  That symbol did seem to be familiar. It was an icon of the caduceus with an eagle in the background. The caduceus was normally carried by Hermes, however the eagle at its back was the key.

  According to Edith, Drusilla desired to be the centre of attention. That jived with previously observed behaviour. Someone who hides from the spotlight would not be found in art throughout the ages. Despite this being one of this country’s major destinations, it was not large enough to keep her interested for long.

  Clara smiled once she remembered seeing this icon adorning a major train station. A train station located at a metropolis made infinite sense. Easy to run, hide or party, based on the amount of attention she got.

  All Clara needed to do was make sure Edith was alright before leaving. It seemed like the least she could do for a friend. Besides, that woman had roamed the earth for a long time. What was the harm in delaying her death by a couple of weeks?

  THE VAN HELSING PARADOX

  1929

  People often said that revenge was a dish best served cold. Although the originator of that turn of phrase probably never came across those who possessed the chill touch of the grave.

  Either way, Clara was not sold on the idea, considering that the memory of a corpse bursting into flames was so near and dear to her heart. It was the heat from those flames that permitted her to keep going until the sun claimed its dominion over the land.

  “Revenge for whom or for what?” Clara wondered.

  Clara wondered why she considered her vocation a form of revenge. Her father died working the coal mines while her mother followed suit years later; there was no desire to avenge their deaths.

  “Was Father Michael’s death the catalyst that drove my thirst for revenge?” Clara wondered.

  That reason did not jive. He dedicated his life to purging the world of their kind. He knew the risks and died doing God’s work.

  “Not a bad way to go,” Clara said absentmindedly.

  As the somniferous clickety-clack of the railcars took a hold of her mind, Clara realised the sandman would soon claim his prize. It was midday and the train would not get there until a few hours before sunset.

  She reached for a picture at her side, a recent shot taken a week or so ago. It featured a woman who walked hand in hand with an unidentified man who was later found dead. Despite a different hairstyle an
d clothes, Clara knew this was Drusilla, the woman who had been responsible for countless deaths and atrocities. Unfortunately, before Clara could deliver her verdict, she was fast asleep.

  * * * *

  “Check out the rock of ages,” a lobby boy said loud enough that Lewis’ ears perked up.

  The concierge looked up to see how a woman in her thirties would deserve that kind of reaction. Sure enough, Lewis’ question was answered the moment he set eyes on the gal making her way towards the lobby desk. Her baggage followed suit along with the love-struck valet who hauled them.