Ghosts of Averoigne

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.