Chapter 2: A Helping Hand

Three months later…

Parents always marvel at the imagination of a child. In a child's eye tree branches become swords, bed sheets become royal robes, and lizards turn into monsters to be hunted. A child's mind can just as easily turn their bedroom into a castle as they can make their lawn into a fairy tale land. Unfortunately, as the children grow older their imaginations fade with time. Some manage to hold on to it, most cannot. It was this ability to envision the world around you differently that Henry Oldrey tried to harness within his young protégé. The dark haired girl which stood before him would snap at him should she know that he thought of her as a 'girl.' She was now a spry young adult. In his eyes however, she was still just a little girl. But she had come a long way for just a 'girl.' Currently Henry observed the manner in which she held a large white crystal between the palms of her hands. A single beam of light shot out of the crystal and broke into various individual beams. The distinct beams coalesced into a diamond shape which framed a black void that hovered above the floor.

"Focus, Carrie. Picture it exactly how you remember it," he said encouragingly.

The young Carrie Fernandez remained still, eyes closed, and arms outstretched with the white crystal. When first Henry had begun this lesson, he recalled how her frustration would show on her face. Now she was calm and performed the required task effortlessly. The black void began to disperse like a cloud of smoke and revealed the image of a bedroom.

"Excellent," Henry said and clapped his hands. Indeed she had come a long way, he thought. When they first met, she was but a young girl filled with anger and confusion. She had lost her family when she was still a babe. Then tragedy struck her twice when her foster mother was also murdered. The shock and rage, which encapsulated her, was enough to bring her abilities out of dormancy. She was a mystic by blood. Her bloodline could be traced to some of the great magic users of the previous age. With the proper training, she could take her place amongst the greats herself. Her adventure through the castle of the vampire lord Dracula had been a formidable start. At the request of her current guardian, Reinhardt Schneider, he took up instructing her in all things magical that he knew himself. This was of course only one part of her education. Reinhardt's wife insisted that she also receive a 'normal' education and so she also attended 'normal' school.

"Piece of cake," she said with pride. The beams from the crystal dispersed but the portal, which she had created, remained. Walking towards it, Carrie motioned with a hand toward the vortex, "After you."

Henry had been seated in an old rocking chair. After getting up he found that cobwebs had become attached to his jacket. The attic in which they stood was filled with other such webs. They attached themselves to the various disused items that littered the place. The attic was filled with once prized possessions that eventually became either outdated or too spacious thus joined all the other relics that were kept there. After dusting himself off, Henry took Carrie's invitation and stepped into the portal. His human eyes were incapable of perceiving any movement or sense of travel as he passed from one room to the next. From his point of view he just stepped through a doorway from the attic and into the bedroom. As soon as he turned around, he caught Carrie also stepping through and the portal closing behind her.

"Excellent." Henry repeated. He then took the white crystal from Carrie's palm. "In time, you won't need the mystical properties of the crystal to create a portal. Traveling from place to place will be possible by a combination of sheer force of will, visualizations, and the odd spell or two."

"You mean, poof?"

Henry laughed. "Yes, poof!"

The flash of light, which Rosa saw in the corner of her eye, told her that Henry had finished his lesson. She turned anyway and peered upwards at the window of Carrie's bedroom that was on the second floor of their home. She saw Carrie come to the window and wave happily. How she knew that she was looking up at this very moment, Rosa had no idea. But it elated her to see Carrie happy. Their first year together had been difficult for everyone. Events happened so fast. She had no one to stay with, and Reinhardt did not want to put her in an orphanage. The events at the castle had bonded them together, although Carrie did not want to acknowledge it yet. She had lost too many loved ones. She was afraid to allow herself to become attached again. The uncertain future that was before all four of them did not help either. She knew that she felt something for Reinhardt, however love needed to time to grow. But Carrie needed a family's support as soon as possible. That is where Henry came in. Having been orphaned himself, he took on the brotherly role easily. Carrie took to Henry very quickly, so quickly that when she and Reinhardt were married, Carrie was apprehensive about being adopted. She disappeared in the middle of the night. Luckily they all knew exactly where she went. They quickly found her at the grave of her mother. The visit seemed to give Carrie a sense of closure, Rosa thought. Afterwards she opened up, slowly but surely. She accepted Reinhardt and herself as her guardians.

Rosa's attachment to the child had been instant. She had told Reinhardt that she was content with raising Carrie alone if they had no children of their own. Her biggest regret was that she had missed so many years of her growing up. While Reinhardt insisted that she be trained in the mystic arts that were her birthright, it was Rosa's edict that she should study the humanities. She felt that it was important to ground her in the real world in as much as the supernatural. Her education would be the best of both worlds. She also made sure that her education was not limited to such things as only "befitting a lady." Skills such as sewing and cooking were not the beginning or the end of Carrie's world. Her world would be a much bigger one.

She was well versed in the ways of escaping the traditional trappings of "womanhood." When she was young she was never content with being just like her mother. She took to being interested in worldly things. Her fascination with plants, for example, was looked down upon as being too unladylike. Something about getting her hands dirty…

"You won't find a good husband if you've got dirt under your nails!" She could still hear her mother, plain as day. How would she have known that her future husband would end up with a lot more than dirt under his nails? But that was another subject entirely. Reinhardt may not have been the cleanest cut man she could have picked, but he was the bravest. He was strong in every sense of the word. He was also natural, primeval almost. He was not a modern man and therefore not blinded by the trappings of civilization. But he was not completely without culture. He was just something out of the past, like from L'Morte D'Arthur.

Taking a pair of empty flowerpots in her hand, Rosa exited the small green house that Reinhardt had built for her. Outside it was snowing lightly, but just enough to give the impression of winter. It was a difficult time for plants to thrive in. It was cold, not a lot of rain, and many days with very little sun. She deposited her empty pots at the top of a pile of similar ones that sat beside the rear entrance to the house. Inside the house it was warm. It was a point of contrast between Reinhardt and herself. Reinhardt preferred the chilly weather. He was used to living in the cold and damp mountains of Wallachia. Rosa on the other hand had had her fill of the cold. People sometimes use the phrase "cold blooded" to describe those that they find callous or uncaring. Rosa however had truly been cold blooded once. She once craved human blood as drink and human life for satisfaction. No, Rosa much preferred the warmth.

"Miss," called a gentle voice as she entered. Immediately beyond the rear entrance was a narrow hall that ran the length of the house. One could view the front entrance clearly while standing in the rear. A flight of steps walled the left of the hall and led to second floor. The right side of the house was comprised of the kitchen area which was adjacent the dining room. Behind that was the sitting room followed by Reinhardt's study. Immediately beside the rear entrance was an access to the kitchen. There a brunette young woman dressed in a simple black dress waited while holding something in her hand. It was Ann, Rosa's only servant.

Many employers required their servants to dress in uniform. Rosa did not believe in such nonsense. Those black and white maid dresses with frills and hats were ridiculous. They were merely social markers. Something meant to scream to society that one was not worth more than their skills at sweeping the floor and dusting. Rosa had worked before in a servant capacity. It was a revealing experience. It also meant that she did not need a staff of maids and servants. She only needed one extra hand because she could not depend upon Reinhardt to know about how to keep a house orderly. Reinhardt was many things, but he was not orderly. Consequently Rosa hired Ann full in the knowledge that keeping the house in order would in fact be a two-person job. They worked as a team. Many of her friends questioned her as to how she maintained the thin line between employer and employee. Rosa would merely reply, "Carefully." To that she would add that she preferred the thin line versus the wide gulf that many of her friends had between themselves and their servants.

"Miss?" she called again.

"Yes, Ann?" she answered.

"There's a man in the sitting room. He was quite insistent to see Mr. Schneider, ma'am."

"Did you tell him that he was not here?"

"Yes but," she paused, her face frowning with distraught. "I think the man is," and she gestured towards her temple. "He did not seem to understand. As if he were distracted. It was as if he were listening to someone else, ma'am. Then he just handed me this." Ann handed to Rosa a card. The card was originally white cardstock, but something had happened that it now had a blue greenish tint. It seemed to have been soaked in something. It was to Rosa's mind, disgusting. However still legible on the front was:

Harrison Thatcher

Professor of Science

Rosa's eyes widened for she could not hide her surprise recognition of the name. She was familiar with the work and writings of the scientist with a focus on botany. He was very well respected and it came with a certain shock that his card and his manners as described by Ann should be so, unprofessional. More to the point, Rosa was expecting to attend a lecture he was to hold as a fundraiser for the Botanical Society of London.

"I will see him," Rosa simply said before passing Ann and heading for the sitting room. The entrance to the room was a pair of sliding doors that parted smoothly and closed again silently behind Rosa. She glimpsed Thatcher immediately as he stood in one corner with his back to her. He made no motion to indicate that he was aware of her presence.

"Mr. Thatcher?" she called to him. He gave no sign of response. Rosa took small and cautious steps forward. The man was dressed in what must have been a very fine suit. However it was now discolored and stained, possibly with the same substance as his card. It was wrinkled as though slept in. Thatcher was a young man with a full set hair, which was disheveled as though it had not been washed and combed in days. The stench that began to enter Rosa's nose was also a clear indicator of the reputed man of science's current hygiene. However none it prepared Rosa for what she beheld as the man finally turned to face her. She had to hold back her shock as she gazed upon an essentially ruined face. His skin complexion was one of a person who had been exposed to too much sun. The lines that filled his face were not from age but from dryness. It looked as if at any moment he would make some facial gesture and his skin would break apart. His eyes did not look at her but seemingly avoided her as it examined everything else. When he spoke, she was almost unsure if he was speaking to her as he appeared to be drawn to something elusive and visible only to him.

"Where is Reinhardt Schneider?"

"He is not here. He is away on business. I am his wife, Rosa. Might I be able to help you?"

The man's face became a portrait of anger and frustration and he raised one hand in the air. Rosa made no move but only watched to see what his intentions were. His fist came down hard and fast upon a small box that he cradled in his other arm. The ferocity with which he struck the box was at odds with the careful manner in which he held it.

His eyes finally locked with Rosa, "No! I must speak with him!"

He was almost yelling now. Rosa raised her voice in turn. "He is not here! You will need to deal with me. Now what is it you want of my husband?"

Thatcher raised his fist once more and Rosa braced herself, but again he struck the box. He was obviously a tall man, but he was hunched forward. Rosa's negative answer caused him to hunch even further down. She saw in him only a pathetic creature, not the famed botanist. What could have caused such a change in the man, Rosa wondered? She had never met the man before, but surely he could not have attained the level of notoriety he had in this condition.

"Mr. Thatcher, you seem like you need help, or why else would you seek out my husband? He is not here, but I am not without my own resources. If you need help, I can assist you. But you must tell me what is wrong."

"Woman! You can do nothing! Pretty little useless nothing, woman! That's what you are!" Thatcher then let out a loud scream and stormed out of the room pushing Henry who was on his way in.

"What's going on here? Who screamed?" Henry asked perplexed. He turned and watched Thatcher as he slammed the front door open and exited. Thoroughly bothered, he chased after him to the doorway and yelled. "Ruffian, you dare slam our door! I ought to follow you home and see how you like it!"

After closing the door, Henry returned to the sitting room to find Carrie sitting beside Rosa on the sofa. "Who did I just yell at?"

Carrie offered the exposition, "Harrison Thatcher, Professor of Science."

"Who is…?"

"He's an authority on botany." She countered.

"Why was he…?"

"He came to see Reinhardt."

"Is he always like that?"

Carrie looked to Rosa before answering. "We don't know."

"You all right?" Henry asked gesturing toward Rosa.

Rosa nodded. "I'm just surprised. I've read the man's work before. He has a reputation; his name is constantly dropped at the society. Never have I heard that he was irrational or rude as that." She paused. "Well perhaps someone said he could be rude, but nothing like this. No, there is something wrong with him. Some kind of sickness, perhaps." She then recalled what she held in her hand and offered the small card to Henry. "Look at this. The card is dipped in something. He seemed dipped in it as well."

Henry took the card and examined it. "Seems organic, like tree grease. Something more in your line."

Rosa smiled. "Tree grease?"

"Well I don't know the technical term. You're the botanist here."

"Yes, but I don't recognize it."

"What are you going to do?" Carrie interjected.

"Thatcher is supposed to give a lecture later today at a fund raiser. I'm going to go see Deborah Foster; she is orchestrating the event. She should be warned about Thatcher. If he shows up in that condition, it could be disastrous for the society."

"Do you want us to do anything," Carrie asked, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

Rosa smiled once more. "No young lady. You stay here." Then looking to Henry, "you make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Have I ever let you down?"

Rosa grinned and left the question unanswered.

The next hour was spent preparing for the fundraiser. Rosa donned an elegant red dress, one of her favorites. The color red still figured powerfully in her mind. Even after her 'experiences' in Wallachia, she was unable to shake her affinity for the shade. It sometimes troubled Reinhardt who preferred her to wear something else, but then she would ask him to take off that red scarf around his neck and the conversation was over. His scarf was an old family heirloom. Not like the whip, but something more personal. It caught her eye as she sifted through the closet. She had not realized that he had left it. He knew it would be a long journey. His travels would take him to a great many colds places. She wondered why he did not take it. Perhaps he thought…? No, she would not think that way. Reinhardt would have told her if this journey he undertook was anything more than a simple hunt.

Simple hunt? Could there be such a thing? How odd not to find hunting supernatural beings simple. How strange to find the unusual commonplace. How strange to be without her husband. She missed him terribly. Rosa had been fully aware of what their marriage would be like. He had responsibilities. Although he had defeated his family's timeless enemy, it was only the harbinger of endless battles. Without one place for evil to congregate, it would spread all over the world. Only someone like Reinhardt could defeat its various incarnations and keep the rest of the world safe. It was a thankless job, but his ancestors had been doing it for over one hundred years.

It was her job to wait patiently for his return.

"Lord, please bring him home," she prayed silently as she held his prized scarf in her hands. Finally she decided she would honor him by wearing it to the fund raiser. It would help keep him in her thoughts. Rosa descended the steps from the bedroom where at the bottom Carrie, Henry, and Ann awaited her.

"Are you sure you don't want me along? In case he becomes violent?" Henry proffered.

"My dear Henry, I need not remind you of my condition when Reinhardt and I first met? Or that one of our earliest encounters was at the point of a sword? I am not a damsel to be rescued."

Rosa was not concerned about her own safety. She held firm to her convictions that she would be able to handle herself. However one question sprang continuously in her mind.

What was in that box that Thatcher so shielded in his arms?