Once I came to my senses, I stood, almost in a stupor staring at the box containing Luis' things. He had been alive mere hours ago. Now, I held the crystalisation of who he was in a drab little tin tox. I checked the address one last time before departing. My head was too clouded to make any kind of coherent attempt at taking stock of my situation. The city, despite the relative stillness of the early morning, was an assault on my senses. The sunlight seemed to pierce my eyes like a lance, while the sounds of my surroundings thundered in my ears.
I awkwardly jogged to my destination, clutching the box to my chest. I reached the appartment block at what I assumed was around eight o' clock, although my watch was broken and at home. It was an old, but well maintained parisian-style building, intended for the wealthy as a city dwelling. Appartment number 12 was the address in Luis' notebook.
I rapped on the door of the correct appartment, waiting for a response. I could hear a shuffling about behind the door, no, I could hear everything. Individual breaths and footsteps. My hearing granted me a sort of ability to map out that which I couldn't see.
The woman in the photo opened the door. She looked visibly distressed and hollow of face. "Can I help you?" She asked, her accent more thickly spanish than Luis'.
"I...", I began, choosing my words very carefully. "I regret to inform you that your husband is dead. I did all I could to try and prevent this outcome, but his affliction was one unknown to medical science. "
The woman said nothing, simply making a sign of the cross, hands trembling a little. She took a second, swallowed, and composed herself, beckoning me in. I nodded, and entered. I really didn't want to drag out the ordeal for her, but she likely had questions. The family always did, I knew all too well the range of reactions one could have to news like this.
The appartment was silent, and in perfect order, save for a makeshift altar in the corner. Rosary beads and other religious paraphanelia adorned the low table, being used to pay reverence to an icon of Christ.
The woman sat down on the sofa, in front of a coffee table, gesturing for me to do the same. I obliged and set the box down on the table, opening it. "May I ask your name?" I said, breaking the thick silence.
"Clara." She answered. "You... knew Luis?"
I shifted a little in my seat. I had been making eye contact, as I'd been told to, but her stare was too intense. "Briefly. He...saw me in difficulty and helped me."
Clara nodded, exhaling sharply. "What kind of difficulty?"
I didn't know how to answer, for fear she didn't have any knowledge of the supernatural. Instead I opened the box, laying out his posessions.
"I was being... attacked. He saved me, but was wounded. I did all I could. I'm sorry."
"They were the Deep Ones, yes?" Clara asked, catching on immediately.
"Yes, that's what he called them too. I said. You're a member of Los Campaneros, too?" I asked, now somewhat at ease.
She pulled her pendant from beneath her blouse. It was a silver bell, matching that of Luis. "Yes. That's how we met. That's why I didn't come looking. May I ask where his body is, I'd like to give him a proper consecration."
"I...had to dispose of it. You must understand that what was left of Luis, it wasn't...him. I gave no consideration to proper burial." I hung my head.
"It's alright. I forgive you." Clara said, in a strained voice. "Our duty leaves little time for ceremony."
I nodded. "Do you know what he was doing, before he..."
"He was attepting to drive back the Deep Ones. My role was to search out and confuscate any occult material in the area. Recently I, among others, raided an appartment full of occult works, although it's uncertain if tbe individual was merely a collector or a genuine warlock. He seemed to have abandoned the appartment."
A branching coldness slid up my spine. That was my collection. They'd ransacked the place after I died. "I see. What became of the collection?" I asked.
Clara seemed a little unnerved by the question. "It...would've went to the Chapter Master for safekeeping. Why ask?"
"Curiosity." I lied.
Clara relaxed somewhat. "Do you have any interest in joining, Mr..?"
"Connors. Aspen Connors." I finished for her. "I... I don't know. I'm a doctor, not a soldier, nor a clergyman."
"Hmm." She grunted. Clara was showing immense fortitude, given her situation.
I motioned to Luis' weapons, laid out on the table. "These... the craftsmanship is..." I trailed off.
"Yes. Our equipment is forged and sanctified, beneath the Iglesia Catedral de las Fuerzas Armadas. You are... welcome to them. The weapons are usually buried with the inquisitor, they may serve you well should you encounter Deep Ones again. London is set to become a dangerous place, should we not succeed in our mission."
"I...I...couldn't possibly..." I stammered.
"Why?" Clara asked, incredulous.
"I'm a doctor, I have no use for weapons." I answered. This was technically untrue, although it was a better answer than admitting they were a monument to my failure to save Luis.
"Nonsense." Clara said. "You must." I noticed she was holding back tears, silently pleading to have them taken away.
"Very well. What do you know of vampires, Ms. Clara? Luis said I have become one, although he was fevered I fear he may have been correct." I said, escaping the topic.
"You're a vampire?" She whispered, standing up.
"I don't know. I injected a tonic of some kind on my deathbed, and now I've been... revived." I explained, unnerved by her sudden movement.
Whe whispered something under her breath, a prayer, seemingly in Latin, and took a scapular from her pocket. "Mr. Connors, forgive me. You brought me... closure for Luis, and gave me his posessions. It breaks my heart, but it is my duty as an Inquistitor... I must put you down. May your soul find peace."
As soon as she finished, her scapular began to crackle with phosphorescent blue light.
"Fuck." I muttered.