Chapter Nineteen
"The Nazis may write like schoolboys, but they're capable of anything. People laugh at them right up until the last moment..." ― Christopher Isherwood
When this remark was met with a glare from Jasper, Alice laughed, palms out in a universal gesture of innocence (though the effect was marred by the dried blood on her hands). "You're so silly! I didn't think you'd actually believe me…"
Heinkel's head ached anew: a combination of stress, fatigue, and frustration. This situation made no sense. It was no secret that she'd joined Hellsing, but how had they known she would visit the Archives? While it was logical to assume a former Vatican operative would return to Rome, few people were aware the Church's vault of secrets even existed, let alone knew its location.
For a moment, Heinkel wondered if a spy had infiltrated Hellsing—besides herself, anyway—but ultimately dismissed the idea. After all, if they already had an informant within the organization, why try to recruit her? Besides, the only people who knew about her mission were Integra, Seras, and…Dorian.
Suddenly everything made sense. No doubt the old man had seized the opportunity to rid Hellsing of its newest operative by informing the Vatican of her travel plans, in hopes Heinkel would be captured or killed by her former comrades. That explained why she'd been attacked at the airport: the enemy had known she was coming long before she arrived. Seeing how quickly she'd dispatched her first assailants, they'd decided to send someone a little more… knowledgeable this time. For once, she'd have been happy to be underestimated.
Her body taut with rage, Heinkel smiled grimly. That bastard better pray I never make it back to England.
Realizing that her companion wasn't going to respond to her jabs, Alice sighed. "This is boring. Can we go now?"
Ignoring her, Jasper removed a photograph from his pocket, holding it up just long enough for Heinkel to make out brown eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. Ana. Her heart clenched. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but we really have no choice."
A combination of guilt and panic tightened her chest until Heinkel could barely breathe. How could she have been so selfish? She'd thought she was being careful, but all her precautions hadn't been enough to keep Ana safe. Her foster mother was the only person she had left; Heinkel couldn't lose her, too. Through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard herself say, "Lay so much as a finger on her, and you're dead."
Unfazed by her threat, Jasper only smirked. "There's no need to threaten us. So long as you cooperate, your friend will remain unharmed."
"And if I refuse?"
"You know what will happen."
Her mind spinning, Heinkel tried desperately to think of another way out, but she had no other choice. She couldn't watch Ana die; she just couldn't. Shoulders slumping, her mouth filled with the bitter taste of defeat. Although acquiescing to the demands of evildoers went against everything she'd been taught, she couldn't allow her loved ones to perish—not again. If anyone else died because of her, she'd never forgive herself.
"I'll do it."
The outskirts of London
Bridget Bishop had cast many spells in her time, but she'd never before attempted to raise the dead. Bridget was no stranger to black magic, but necromancy required more effort than she was normally willing to expend. But this job had been too tempting to refuse—a decision she now regretted. She frowned at the thing lying on her worktable. Why did everything seem to be going wrong lately? First Hellsing had come poking its nose into her business, and now this.
"Something's missing," she mused aloud, "but what?" I'm sure I followed the instructions exactly. Well, at least there was no shortage of ingredients; her last foray into London's back alleys had made sure of that. She would just have to keep trying until she succeeded.
The thing on the table moaned, causing Bridget to raise an eyebrow. She'd expected it to be dead by now; none of the others had lasted this long. Perhaps she was making progress, after all. It was about time she had a breakthrough, particularly since this client was more persistent than usual.
Though she had been a witch-for-hire for over a century, her customers—and their unreasonable demands—never changed. Even this one, while more knowledgeable about magic than most, seemed unable to comprehend that magic was as rigorous an undertaking as any scientific experiment. The meticulous requirements of a spell left no room for error—hence the difficulties she was currently experiencing.
Luckily for this customer, Bridget enjoyed a challenge. I'll just put on a pot of tea before I get started again. The thought made her smile as she pressed the tip of her finger to the thing's forehead; the creature emitted a cry that was cut short when it burst into flames, body crumbling to ash without leaving a single scorch mark behind.
Humming under her breath, Bridget headed for the kitchen—though not before glancing at the photograph next to her workstation: a squat man with a jovial expression. Though he seemed harmless enough, there was something not quite right about him: a hint of mania in his smile, a tinge of bloodlust in his eyes. "It won't be long now…" She promised. "Major."
