by Krista Wolf
The truth however, was a lot less glamorous: almost everything that was known of the Hallowed Order had been lost to time. Even its name had been forgotten; at some point it had been the Hallowed Order of something, but whatever that something was had been unfortunately misplaced.
As it turned out, the organization created for the preservation of arcane knowledge hadn’t even been able to preserve itself. Ninety-nine percent of everything the Order had once accumulated; history, relics, a long litany of paranormal accountings — all of it — had been lost in a Paris blaze, sometime in the early 17th century.
“Whatever people do not understand,” Xiomara once told her, “they seek to destroy.” It was the one time Kara had actually seen the woman sad. She seemed smaller just then, even more frail than normal. “Knowledge,” Xiomara went on, “means nothing in the face of superstition.”
The razing of the Hallowed Order’s underground headquarters had been the single greatest loss of information ever to not be recorded. Homeless and hunted, their ranks decimated, it took another hundred years before the group could form any semblance of its former self.
Luckily they had investments. Owned properties. Kara had seen evidence of the power they once wielded; stacks of gold Krugerrands scattered through the drawers of Xiomara’s desk, jewels kept by members from dynasties long since dead. Everywhere she looked Kara saw rare paintings, priceless artwork… the sum total of generations of wealth, all bequeathed at their passing to every member’s one communal family: the Order itself.
The organization regrouped in London first, before purchasing a few hundreds acres of land in upstate New York. Blackstone Manor was built there with the intentions of a fresh start in a new and excitingly free nation. And although Kara understood the organization ran several strongholds throughout Europe, South America, even Asia, the Order’s central hub would always be the same place she called home.
All information gathered after that was duplicated. Stored in multiple locations. This was to spread the knowledge evenly within the ranks of the Order, and to protect against those who would see it destroyed.
Never again would they put all their eggs in one basket.
She thought about this now as she threaded her way through the lower halls of the Averoigne. Kara passed people, hustling and bustling through their daily lives, none of them having any clue what she was.
The Order was synonymous with secrecy. They operated privately, completely off the grid. Cut off from the rest of world, their knowledge was simply their own, and that’s the way they preferred it. Not a single member sought fame, or internet infamy, or to spread the word on any of the anomalies they’d documented, normal or paranormal. No one was drawn to the Order for such things, ever.
If anything they came because the Hallowed Order sought them out. And they stayed for one reason alone: to seek their own answers.
She’d been exactly this way when Xiomara first found her. Kara was confused by her own abilities, hungry for answers that only someone else could provide. After walking the Manor’s halls and gardens, and seeing there were others like her? Kara understood there was so much more to the world than she ever realized. The powers she possessed were just the tip of a very large, very wondrous iceberg.
Kara passed through a broad mahogany archway and into the hotel lounge. Right now it was decked out in greens and reds and golds; all manner of decorations pinned to its antiquated walls. A fully-decorated Christmas tree dominated one side, centered before a rounded bay window made up of dozens of panes of glass. She was instantly drawn to it.
Christmas. Shit.
She’d all but forgotten about the holiday. Memories of her childhood spun through her head; all the great Christmases spent with family and friends. Holidays spent by the lake house too, filled with her cousins, her aunts, her uncles…
Life at the Manor was fulfilling but sometimes lonely. Kara had tried decorating the Blackstone once, or at least a small part of it. Xiomara had stumbled upon her hanging some lights, driving a few nails into the mouldings of the stairwell landing. She winced at the memory. The Head of the Order’s almost comical expression of disbelief would’ve been the same had she walked in on Kara murdering someone with a hammer.
She also learned about five or six spectacular new curse words that day.
Kara stared out through the great bay window. The snowstorm that had greeted them last night was still raging. The full force of the winds had driven great drifts of snow up against the panes; almost one-third of the window was covered with it. On Kara’s side was a beautiful white frost. She reached out and swiped a finger through it, shivering as she felt the cold radiating through the glass.
“No one’s leaving today, eh?”
A bright-eyed, fat-jowled man was grinning down at her, sipping on some steaming liquid from a chocolate brown mug. If he had the beard, he could’ve easily been Santa Claus.
“No,” Kara agreed politely. “Probably not.” As he turned away she tapped his shoulder. “How long’s it supposed to last?”
“What, the storm? All day, all night,” he smiled. The man definitely looked happy about it. “Might break by tomorrow they’re saying, but for now?” He clapped her on the side of one arm. “Better to enjoy where you are.”
Isn’t that always the truth, thought Kara.
She turned her attention back to the Averoigne. The bar at the lounge was already full, people using the upcoming holiday — and warm spiced eggnog — as an excuse to drink as early as they wanted. Maybe later, she thought. At the moment she had more than enough to do.
For the next hour or two Kara wandered the hotel by herself, exploring every public room, every carpeted hall and stairwell. She checked out the foyer, the waiting areas off the main lobby, the alcoves in the upper hallways on the second floor. She walked the length and breadth of the dining hall, even pushing her way into the kitchen. No one stopped her. No one even asked who she was.
Everywhere she went Kara paused often, focusing on something that could be important; an interesting feature perhaps, or a piece of furniture or decor that looked original to the hotel. Basically anything that might tell Kara a tale. Or more specifically, an old tale.
In the end however, nothing happened. Her mind felt clear and empty — not even the tiniest spark of retrocognition.
Back in the lounge again, things had thinned out considerably. Kara grabbed a glass and filled it with lemon water from a dispenser as she wondered where Logan was. He should’ve been checked into his room way before now. And if he were exploring the hotel, like her, she should’ve bumped into him.
He’s still pissed.
Maybe, she thought to herself. Maybe not. It didn’t make a lot of sense, really. Then again, Logan never had made much sense.
Kara sank into one of the plush chairs near a row of old bookcases that had once made this room a library… back during an age when people still found printed books important. She tapped her glass with one fingernail and glanced around.
“Hey.”
She whirled, and there was Jeremy. He looked sharper, his face more relaxed. His stubble was gone, too. He stood over her now, showered and shaved, pushing his glasses back against the bridge of his nose.
“Hi,” she said simply.
He extended one hand. She took it and rose to her feet.
“I was just—”
Whatever sentence Kara had been about to finish was lost… as Jeremy leaned in and kissed her.
Eighteen
For a split-second she actually swooned.
It all came back — the smell of him, the presence of him, the feel of his mouth on hers. Kara’s lips were soft and pliant against his own, and Jeremy’s pressed firmly but not insistently, with just the right amount of pressure.
Oh my God…
Then he abruptly broke the kiss, before she could. And that made her angry.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kara demanded.
He leaned back and smiled
. “What?”
“What do you mean what?”
Still grinning, Jeremy pointed upward. “Look. Mistletoe.”
Kara looked. There was mistletoe.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
He laughed, and another series of memories came rushing back. Memories of Jeremy laughing in the gardens with her, the two of them flirting and giggling and teasing each other mercilessly. Memories of laying with him and saying nothing, too. Of just eye-fucking him.
Fucking him…
“You’re out of your mind,” she said, twisting away. “Mistletoe? Really? What are you, twelve?”
He shrugged. She felt suddenly like Xiomara, scolding him.
“After all this time…” Kara went on. “After taking off like you did?”
“I didn’t—”
“The complete and total lack of contact?”
She was angry… and that part was no good. Her anger actually infuriated her. It made her weak.
“Kara listen, I just wanted to—”
“No.” The word was harsh, firm. “No, Jeremy don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to hear it. It’s stupid that we’re even talking about this.”
He stared back at her, so tall, so innocent. So not innocent.
“Fine,” he said. “Sorry.”
She took in a deep breath but stopped short of a sigh. A sigh would’ve actually meant something, and Kara didn’t want it to.
“It’s okay. Forget it.” She glanced up at the sprig of green leaves and white berries. “Mistletoe. At Christmas.” She allowed herself half a smirk. “Go figure.”
Kara stepped out from beneath the plant and took a step backward. She pointed to the row of bookcases.
“This where you found the book?”
Jeremy nodded. “Right over there, top shelf. Left side.”
“What about those old photos,” she asked. “I didn’t see them.”
“Over here,” said Jeremy. “Behind the bar.”
He led them over, and the bartender gave Jeremy a familiar nod. He allowed them to walk behind the bar, to where a series of old photographs had been hung on display.
“Most of them are exterior shots of the hotel,” Jeremy explained. “People playing croquet, having picnics outside during the summer. A few winter shots, sledding on a hill, all that stuff.”
Kara could see right away that he was right. The few pictures taken inside the hotel were mostly closeups of people, and none that stuck out. Some had writing on the front, too. There was one marked ‘Christmas 1927’. Another one — faded almost into obscurity — depicted the original owner, a man named Thomas Lefavre by the signature.
“See?” Jeremy said. “Nothing good.”
She was inclined to agree. Kara pulled out her phone and used the camera to take pictures of the photos anyway. When she was done, they made their way back out.
“So you arrived last night?” Logan was saying. Kara had allowed herself to become distracted again by the storm outside.
“Yes. A couple hours after midnight.”
“Anything good happen yet?”
Kara felt butterflies, rumbling around in her belly. Depends on how you look at it…
Her mind wandered back to last night. To Logan… to places it really shouldn’t be. She tried pushing the memories — as fond as they were — off to one side.
“Yes,” she said. “Actually, we had an encounter.”
Sure did, the little voice in her head joked.
Suddenly she had his attention completely. “What kind of encounter?”
“A woman showed up,” said Kara. “She was screaming. No, wait. Wailing. Crying…”
“An actual woman?”
Kara shook her head. “Sorry, we should’ve told you. We were going to tell you after we’d met with—”
“An apparition?” Jeremy eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them. “You witnessed an apparition, and you didn’t—”
“Yes.”
Without another word Jeremy took her hand and pulled her in the direction of the stairwell.
“Show me.”
Nineteen
Back upstairs, Kara led Jeremy through the doorway of room 207. Unfortunately, the hotel was more than a bit busy. Her room hadn’t been made up yet.
Shit.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Still messy in here.”
She stepped forward in one fluid motion and threw the comforter over the unmade bed. Maybe there was some physical evidence of what she and Logan had done last night. Maybe not. Either way, Kara wasn’t taking any chances.
“You guys both slept in the same room?” Jeremy noted immediately.
Logan’s things were gone, but the couch was still made up with a blanket and pillow. Kara was grateful for that… even though he hadn’t really used it.
“Not by choice,” she replied finally. “The hotel was booked, so he took the couch.”
“Uh huh.”
Jeremy circled the room slowly, looking at everything. He was always very good at taking things in. His sense of detail was almost detective-like in that regard.
“So you guys a thing?” he asked casually. “Or…”
“Save it,” snapped Kara.
“Because I know you two once—”
“That was a thousand years ago.” She had the urge to put her hands on her hips, but realized it would only appear defensive. Especially to Jeremy.
He shrugged. “Not my business anyway,” he said.
“No, it’s really not.”
“It’s not like I—”
“Believe me,” Kara interjected, “I begged Xiomara to come here alone. She insisted I take him. Hell, I didn’t even know you were here.”
“She did,” said Jeremy.
“Obviously. And obviously she thought fit not to tell us.” Kara grumbled. “Just another big ‘fuck you Kara’ to add onto all the other ‘fuck yous’ over the years. She’s probably back at the Blackstone right now, laughing her ass off.”
Jeremy chuckled. “Not probably. Definitely.”
“The point is, I wanted this assignment all to myself,” said Kara. She tried not to appear nervous as he picked up one of the pillows. “Now can we get on with this?” she barked. “I thought you wanted to see where it happened.”
Jeremy put down the pillow and nodded. Kara launched back into the same tale she’d told him on the way up — how the strange woman had appeared and then disappeared last night. She described what she looked like, what she was wearing. How loudly she screamed in her face, and the cold feeling of dread that practically locked up her chest.
“Here’s where she left,” said Kara, pulling back the wallpaper. “She floated right through this wall.”
Jeremy smoothed his hand over the plaster, just as Logan had done the night before.
“There was a door here.”
“No shit Sherlock?”
Jeremy made a face at her. It was very satisfying.
“So what’s on the other side of this?”
“Maintenance closet,” Kara said. “Or so I’m told.”
“Let’s check it out.”
The maintenance closet next to room 207 was locked. It took Jeremy less than a minute to pick it open.
“Forgot you could do that,” Kara smiled.
She watched as he slipped the feeler pick and torsion bar back into his tiny lockpicking set. He held up the thin leather sheath.
“What, you don’t remember this?”
“Of course I do.”
Jeremy’s lockpicks had come in handy for them back at the Manor’s huge estate. They used them to unlock doors that hadn’t been open in decades, to explore strange hallways and places they really shouldn’t have been. And of course, they came in handy whenever they wanted to be alone. To be out of the way of prying eyes…
She recalled one sweltering day out in the gardens where Jeremy had picked the lock to an old root cellar. They spent that afternoon in the cooler shadows, screw
ing like rabbits between pallets of dried fruit and nuts. Making love again and again on the soft earth floor…
Kara blinked and looked up. He was staring back at her, smiling. Probably running full-tilt through the same memory she was.
“Open the door already.”
He did, and they entered. The maintenance closet was cramped and cluttered and filled with shelf after shelf of cleaning supplies. A large push broom took up a good part of one corner. Jeremy dragged the mop bucket out into the hallway temporarily, so they could both fit inside.
“This room isn’t right,” he said. “It’s way too—”
“Small,” Kara finished.
He nodded his agreement. They knelt together in poor lighting at the back of the room, running their hands over what looked like a painted plywood wall. Jeremy wedged his fingers behind it and tried to pull. It didn’t budge.
“Get that me that hammer.”
Kara reached over a shelf and handed it to him. A minute later he’d used the claw to pry the wood just far enough away from the wall to get a good grip. He pulled again, and this time there was the creak of nails squeaking through wood. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled though his shirt.
“Need help?”
“I think I got it.”
Jeremy pulled once more and the board came free. He slid it to the side, and the same familiar plaster of the other walls came into place.
There was another opening there. Another doorway.
“What now?”
Kara kicked out her leg, punching her boot straight through the wall in a cloud of dust. Chips of plaster flew everywhere.
“Holy shit,” Jeremy laughed.
She reared back and kicked again. And again after that. Jeremy joined her, and together they destroyed a good section of the lower wall.
“This feels just like being back at the Blackstone,” he quipped. “Getting in trouble with you all over again.”
Kara smashed out another section with her heel. “Xiomara was very specific on the phone this morning,” she said through clenched teeth. “Access to anywhere we wanted.”