1913
Clara sat down at her favourite bistro and let out a peaceful sigh. People flowed all around her, busy with their own affairs. Alas, that also included the waiter, who was otherwise occupied by flirting with two young ladies at another table.
She did not mind per se, although she had hoped that someone would notice her dress. It was a long red number which hugged her body and had a row of buttons that ran down the front. It certainly managed to turn a few heads back at the Tower, but Parisians tended to be more accustomed to cute girls and their dresses.
God, she enjoyed the ability to wear trendy clothing! Her ability to blend in demanded that she tap into current trends and fashions. That was one of the perks of being a senior student and Clara intended to enjoy every moment of it.
Below the brim of her hat, Clara saw the clear blue sky. She scanned the many shops, bars, and restaurants which brought back a flood of memories. For the most part, this neighbourhood had not changed since her first visit. The buildings were immutable, a testament to the builders who laid the foundations over a century ago.
Everything was here, save for a certain cabaret; that site was still empty and relegated to open storage for the neighbouring businesses. The adjacent buildings still showed signs of fire damage on their sides. Odd how everyone who passed by was oblivious, although the fire was bound to be considered ancient history now.
Clara sighed; this annual pilgrimage of hers invariably led her to linger on her memories of Jack. She often considered what might have happened if he had been a normal boy out to steal her virtue.
Her thoughts moved to his last words and how the poison he spouted had salted the earth. Nothing else would grow on that field now; oddly enough, an act which helped her become a formidable hunter.
It was fortunate that the impact of this anniversary lessened with every passing year. This time, she was mostly blasé about it and hoped that the cute waiter would strike out. Clara would make sure to get some mileage out of him.
"Miss Grey," a young girl said.
Clara turned and found a little girl with red pigtails and freckles. The sight of her left Clara momentarily confused; it was not every day that a character walked out from the pages of a book. Of course, the acolyte's uniform did much to kill the fantasy, but Clara chose to play this one out.
"How can I help you Miss Shirley," Clara said on a lark but got nothing more than a vacant stare.
"You've been ordered to report back," the acolyte said.
Her imagination had distracted her, Clara should have asked why anyone from the Tower was in Paris. Especially an acolyte that young; they rarely went anywhere without an escort.
"Oh," Clara said while her eyes narrowed.
"Yes, Miss. There's been an incident," the girl said.
"Oh," Clara said faintly.
* * * *
Carrots led the way while Clara followed. Until the girl provided her with a proper name, the nickname would have to do. The young girl was certainly a straight shooter; she was not even swayed by the hustle and bustle of a major city.
When Clara had been that young, she could not resist the temptation to explore. Even now, that desire was just below the surface of her conscious mind, begging to be freed.
While the word incident had been used, the severity must have been misreported. An incident would not require her to report back. Was it a death? It was not every day that someone from her order died.
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The Van Helsing Paradox
الخيال (فانتازيا)"A gal has to look after herself after all." Clara Grey's parents once said that the world was a dark and dangerous place. There was more truth than fiction to those words. There were things that lurked in the shadows which defied the laws of nature...
