Wölfin

"I need more crystals."

"I ought not to. You're killing yourself with them. Believe it or not, you're the last soul I want to see in hell."

Nevertheless, he flicked his hand, and a small leather pouch appeared in it. With a sigh, he placed the pouch beside the bottle of sherry. "Do try to restrain yourself, Rachel. I truly mean it when I say, "I care about you."

Rachel nodded, but she knew damn well that she wasn't going to restrain anything. She was going to use any means possible to get that last soul if it meant finding her sister's killer.

Before disappearing back to whatever circle of hell he resided in, Sam lifted his nose in the air and sniffed like a bloodhound.

"Someone's on their way, and they smell lovely. Bergamot, and a hint of... hmm, deceit? Curious. Could it be my new soul?"

Sam gave a hungry smile. He touched the tip of his hat and sang, "Happy hunting," before finally disappearing with a sulfuric crackle.

A loud knocking came just as he left. A startlingly loud knocking. Rachel jumped as if knocked awake from a weighted nightmare.

Lightning flashed and bleached the living room white, casting fleeting insidious shadows. Thunder crashed, threatening to break the window panes. The storm was directly overhead. Rachel perked her ears, waiting for the knocking to come again. Sensing the possibility of danger, she instinctively reached into her pocket where sat three tiny ampoules. Each ampoule had a different shape so that she could tell even in pitch black which contained what potion. The marble round one contained the shadow-shift. The one shaped like a star, the jimsonweed potion, or 'cat-eyes', as she called it, allowed her to see in the dark as clear as it were day. The cylinder of the ergot, or Magicka, a jellylike salve rather than a potion, once crushed into her hand would give her arcanic convergence with her Magicka-imbued cane. These three potions, she always kept on her nightstand or in a pocket, ready to break in case of emergency. The cat-eyes and the shadow-shift she would pop into her mouth and crush the ampoules with her teeth. The magicka ampoule, she would crush with her hand right before grabbing the cane to fly out the window.

When the knock came again, she clenched the three ampoules in her fist and went to the door.

The knocking came again impatiently.

"I'm coming!" she yelled.

She wanted to crack the door for a peek to see who it might be, but just as she turned the doorknob, the door burst open, and in barged a woman that, at first, she could not recognize, but after getting a good hard look, she realized with a shock was none other than Isolde Fischer.

Isolde shivered and stomped the floor and rubbed her cold hands vigorously. "Mein Gott, what weather we have! It is positively pouring from buckets out there and -"

A loud crashing of thunder interrupted the supposedly lobotomized woman. She lifted her hand as if to present 'Exhibit A.'

"And I am soaked as a sponge. That is a saying in English, yes?"

Rachel could only gape while Isolde shook off her rain-sodden white wool coat and tossed it onto the coat rack. Beneath the coat, she only wore a pale pink satin nightgown of the sort that might be bought in a boutique on the Rive Droit in Paris. To be dressed like this in a storm, and without an umbrella could only mean she had come urgently, and clandestinely, the motives of which were far beyond the rope of comprehension for Rachel, who struggled now to grasp how a woman who was supposed to be lobotomized, was in her apartment.

Isolde finally turned to Rachel. Her eyes brightened as if pleasantly surprised by Rachel's presence. She smiled coyly as she began to tease water from her hair. The dripping water pattered onto the parquet floor.

"I enjoy the rain, but this rain, no, this storm, certainly feels like the wrath of God, yes?"

She went to the window to look outside. "Look at what we have! A man collecting all sorts of animals onto his boat. Two of every species, I suppose. One male, and one female. Surely this storm means the end of the world. I do hope he has room for us!"

Rachel glanced up at the clock on the wall to see that it was two in the morning.

"May I ask the reason for your visit at this hour, Miss Fischer?" Rachel finally asked.

Isolde scrunched her face as if the question was silly. She continued to tease water from her hair. She was shivering, so Rachel grabbed a bathrobe for her from the bathroom and tossed it to her. Isolde caught it and used the soft cotton to mop the water on her face.

"Change into it if you like," Rachel said. "I advise that you do so you don't catch a cold."

"Wouldn't want to catch a cold, would I? Mother would be tremendously upset. Thank you,"

Rachel noted the scorn-tainted tone of her voice -- the icy emphasis of the word 'mother'.

Isolde set the bathrobe on the kitchen counter, then pulled her nightgown over her head. Rachel glanced away from the abrupt nudity.

Isolde tossed Rachel the nightgown. Rachel hung it on the back of a dining chair and positioned it near the radiator to dry.

Once Isolde had wrapped herself in the bathrobe and all the water that was in her hair had been thoroughly squeezed out onto the floor, she picked up the sherry bottle that Sam had just left on the counter and studied its label with growing excitement on her face.

"Oh, super! What good taste you have! You should know, this is my favorite. My, we're off to a good start, aren't we?"

Rachel cringed, realizing that it was no coincidence, but rather Sam's idea of divine intervention, or rather, 'diabolical' intervention, that the sherry in Isolde's hand happened to be her favorite.

Isolde began pulling kitchen drawers out.

"It's in the second drawer from the right," Rachel said, understanding what she was looking for. Isolde acknowledged with a nod and from that drawer, produced the corkscrew. She twiddled it triumphantly in her hand then proceeded to twist it into the cork of the sherry.

Sensing she was not in any immediate threat, Rachel snuck her emergency ampoules back into her nightgown pocket and then went to the cupboard to grab the closest approximation to sherry glasses she could find. Whatever the reason Isolde was here tonight, it was a golden opportunity for Rachel. An opportunity to learn more about the murders. A step towards getting her last soul.

After the cork came off with a pop, Isolde handed Rachel the sherry bottle. Rachel poured the glasses and handed one to Isolde.

"Super," Isolde exclaimed. She raised the glass. "Prost!" She said cheerily, then took a sip. "Mmm," I love it. "Oh, what a wonderful taste. It brings back such good memories."

The smile disappeared. "Uff... and bad ones, I should say."

She took another sip, and her glass was empty before Rachel could even start on hers. She held it out to Rachel for a refill and Rachel obliged then went over to the dining table and sat and stared curiously at the alchemical devices there.

Cautiously, Rachel approached her. "What sort of bad memories do they bring?"

Isolde pulled her eyes away from the devices to look Rachel up and down. "A very private sort, of course. That is until I know I can trust you."

She cocked her head towards Rachel and smiled. Rachel, standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room as if she were the midnight guest rather than the other way around, smiled back tepidly.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Rachel asked.

"Of course not. She does not think me capable of leaving home."

"I cannot imagine why."

Isolde crinkled her nose naughtily as she sipped.

"So why are you here?" Rachel asked.

"I have the same question for you."

"I'm investigating a double homicide."

"Yes, I know. But why?"

"Why? Your mother hired me. Isn't that reason enough?"

Isolde shook her head.

"No. Of course not."

She turned her eyes toward the alchemical devices and added, "It's not like we have a shortage of detectives in Germany."

"Perhaps you do. Perhaps that's why your mother hired me."

"I doubt it. I think it has something to do with whatever all this is." She pointed with her chin at the glassware.

"That too," Rachel replied. "I'm the best there is, and my tools make me the best."

Isolde laughed loudly. She turned red in the face with laughter. She took a sip of the sherry to calm herself down.

"That wasn't meant to be a joke," Rachel responded flatly.

"I'm so sorry. Do forgive me, but you cannot be so naïve."

"That's quite a lot coming from a lobotomized woman."

Isolde snickered. "It is, isn't it? But now here's where I tell you why I'm here. Perhaps it'll help with your puzzlement."

"Oh?"

Isolde nodded. "I'm here to warn you that you are being led astray."

"I'm always being led astray. That's fine. I do my best work when I'm being led astray."

"Wirklich? And how about when your very life is on the line?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "And why would my life be on the line?"

Isolde shrugged like an innocent child who had just been caught in a lie. But this was no lie, Rachel sensed. Not the least because, as she had just discovered, the most important fact in this case had been withheld from her -- that Isolde, whose face Rauschenberg so vividly recollected in his dying memory was not, in fact, lobotomized, as those around her had claimed. If Isolde's face was not imagined, then perhaps, neither was her turning into a monster. Rachel glanced at her cane, to assure herself that it still leaned against the wall where she left it. It, along with her ampoule, was her means of escape should this friendly seeming conversation turn south.

"Why is my life in danger?" Rachel asked again, keeping calm.

Isolde twirled her hair. She took a casual sip of the sherry, then held it out for a refill. When Rachel refused to oblige, Isolde grabbed the bottle and poured it herself.

"I've learned to not trust people," Isolde replied. "I trust no one. It's a rule. One that I'm very serious about. But you're different, Rachel -- may I call you Rachel?"

"Sure," Rachel replied.

Isolde crinkled her nose. "So, Rachel, why am I willing to trust you?"

"I don't have the slightest clue."

"Why don't you give a guess?"

"Because I appear trustworthy?"

Isolde shook her head. "No. It's because I'm desperate. I'm against the wall and I have no other choice. So can I trust you, Rachel?"

"That depends entirely on how much you're willing to risk in your moment of desperation, Miss Fischer."

"Everything."

"Fine. I imagine you can trust me."

Isolde smiled. She turned to gaze out the window. Her face darkened. A fleeting glimmer of sadness sprang into her eyes. A flash of lightning brightened her face fluorescently. She went over to the window and cracked it open. A gust brought in a fresh scent of rain and crisp ozone. She breathed in that scent as if to breathe in strength.

"Are you a married woman?" Isolde asked finally.

"No."

"No?"

Rachel nodded. "Never been."

"Echt? Really? How old are you, Rachel?"

"Thirty-five."

"Thirty-five!"

Rachel chuckled. "Something wrong with that?"

"Just unexpected. Thirty-five and unmarried... That tells me something about you."

"Oh? What does it tell you about me?"

"That I might be right in trusting you."

"I don't see how it matters. How old are you?"

Isolde scratched her head. "What year is it?"

"1955."

"Well, older than you then."

Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"I've lost track of my age. Does that surprise you?"

"I'm surprised by a lot of things about you."

"Really? What else are you surprised by?"

She took a sip of the sherry. Rachel took a sip too after realizing she still had a full glass. It was a good sherry. Floral, sweet, though not a heavy sweetness as she was used to with sherry. Thoroughly enjoyable if she had the capacity to enjoy it.

"How astoundingly cogent you are for being lobotomized for a start," she said after the sherry went down her throat.

"Mmm. Well, that is quite a surprise, isn't it?"

"So why the deceit?"

"Who's being deceitful?"

"You. And everyone who told me you were lobotomized."

"Not once did I claim to be lobotomized."

"But your mother did. And so did Investigator Schmidt. And I saw you myself in the library exhibiting all the hallmarks of a woman with her prefrontal cortex parted from her thalamus.

"Ah, well, you see, your eyes were not deceiving you, and neither were my mother's, nor those of the liebling investigator Schmidt. Not in this context at least. As far as I can tell, they believe me to be lobotomized. And here's the real surprise..."

"Go on."

"I am, in fact, lobotomized. Well, this body is anyway. Isolde is."

Rachel tensed up. A shiver ran up her spine. A possession then.

"Who are you?"

Isolde, or whoever it was that possessed her, wagged a finger. She finished the rest of her sherry and replied,

"I'm in no condition to tell you. And even if I was, would you believe me? I think not. Who can believe a lobotomized woman, after all? But how's this, I can tell you how you can find out my true nature for yourself. Perhaps it will help you with your murder investigation."

Isolde placed the empty sherry glass on the dining table.

Rachel cocked her head. "Tell me."

Isolde frowned. "You can't have it that easy. I came through a storm for this, you know? I want something from you first, mein spatz."

"Fine."

Isolde, or whatever spirit is in possession of Isolde's body, let out a hauntingly rueful giggle. She leaned casually against the wall. Her bathrobe slipped open, revealing her naked body again that, for whatever reason, reminded Rachel specifically of an oil painting of a nude woman she once saw at a museum in Madrid. Isolde had the same effect the painting did. She made her blush.

Rachel had dealt with possession before. Not all are by malevolent souls. Most, in fact, are souls simply dealing with their own trauma in their own confused and often misguided way. But Rachel had never met one that wasn't wrathful. It was safe to assume that it was the same for whatever soul possessed Isolde's body now, so she had to stay on her guard. Still, a soul was a soul. Rachel was a soul hunter, and this soul in particular had already been stricken from its body. That made it infinitely easier to reap. While it was true that Rachel was empowered to mark souls for hell, she did not have the power to reap them, only demons, like Sam, did. She could mark souls, but souls cannot be reaped while they remain safely stowed in their bodies. The only way Sammael's scythe could find its marked soul is when it has gone beyond the mortal plane. Rachel cannot murder the marked soul to pass them into Limbo and Sam's waiting scythe, otherwise, she would condemn herself to hell, so she had to find creative workarounds to ensure the soul's death, often involving the hands of others. This soul she encountered now, however -- the one that possesses Isolde's body, had already been dispossessed from its own body, which meant, she only had to meet one other criterion in order to speak the Soul Hunter's Litany to mark the soul for hell: either undeniable evidence of the soul's sin or a confession made in good faith. In other words, this particular soul was worth more than its weight in gold.

The possessed Isolde pressed her palms against the wall she leaned on and heaved her chest as if preparing for something that would take her breath away.

"Give me a kiss," she said with a grin.

Rachel huffed incredulously. "A kiss?"

"Yes. A kiss. That's all."

Rachel rubbed the back of her neck, surprised by the random nature of the request.

"I don't know if a kiss is a good --"

"No kiss, no help," Isolde interrupted.

Rachel sighed. She had taken worse deals. A kiss was easy. "Ok," Rachel said. "I'll give you a kiss."

"On the lips," Isolde said with a raised finger.

"Fine."

Rachel went to Isolde. Isolde scrunched up. She bit her lower lip in excited anticipation. Her hand went slowly to Rachel's face. Her fingers dragged across the line of Rachel's lower jaw. A very lovely sensation. A human touch. Something Rachel had not had in a very long time. It made her heart flutter.

Isolde licked her lips to moisten them. Her eyes darted across Rachel's. She smelled of bergamot, just like Sam said. A heady smell. A lovely smell.

Rachel leaned in. She paused just before the kiss, not from a fearful hesitation, she realized, but because an instinct inside her wanted her to savor the moment. It wanted her to savor this beautiful woman that stood in front of her. She planted her lips on Isolde's. Isolde's hand crawled up the back of Rachel's head and pulled her in deeper. Isolde opened her mouth. Rachel opened her mouth too, and she felt Isolde's tongue slip in.

Knees weakened, Rachel shut her eyes and let the tongue kiss happen, then, when she felt her instinct satiated by it, she released the kiss and looked into Isolde's eyes. They were blue with desire. A sort of blue that could cause a lot of trouble for Rachel.

"Mmm, how tasty you are, mein spatz," Isolde breathed. She went for another kiss, but Rachel pulled her head back.

"The deal was one kiss," Rachel said. "Now tell me what you know."

Isolde's face drooped like a child denied a treat.

"Aww, and right when you had me spinning."

"That's too bad," Rachel replied, though truthfully, she felt the spinning herself. The kiss was, admittedly, a delectable surprise. It was exhilarating. It awakened something inside her that she had not felt in a long time. But she had to shake off the good feeling. She shook it off vehemently.  She had a soul to collect after all. In all likelihood, the one she had just kissed.

"Very well then. I will tell you. Have you heard of the Odenwald Sanatorium?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes. It's the abandoned sanatorium on the Königstuhl mountain. It belongs to the University."

"Oh very good! Look who's done their homework. Go there tomorrow and see what you can find. Tell no one."

"What will I find there?"

"Dark secrets."

"That's all you can tell me?"

"That's all I'm willing to tell you. Any other questions?"

Rachel frowned. She was hoping for something more. At least what to look for, but had a feeling Isolde was not going to tell her. She just had to trust she would discover something there that would help her case, and not seeing any better leads, she didn't press Isolde. Instead, Rachel asked the only other question that was on her mind.

"Why the kiss?"

Isolde snickered. She grabbed her chemise from the chair, and her waterlogged coat from the coat rack and folded them over her arms. She went to the front door and after swinging it open, turned to Rachel and said,

"Because I wanted to know if I am right to trust you."

"And?"

"We're almost there. You enjoyed the kiss, so at least I know now that we are kindred spirits. That bodes well for me. Good night, Rachel. And good luck."

After the door went shut, Rachel went to her living room window to wait for Isolde to appear in the street below. The rainstorm had stopped. The water pooled in the cobblestone street reflecting the pale moonlight that had just appeared through the breaking clouds. Isolde came into view moving hurriedly. Her white wool coat shimmered mercurially in the moonlight and so did her hair. The color of her hair in the moonlight reminded Rachel of the beast in Rauschenberg's memory. The beast's fur shimmered in the same mercurial way Isolde's hair did.

The daylight, shining like tarnished silver through the misted window, roused Rachel from her restless sleep.

It was much too early for Rachel's liking, and the bustling street much too loud. She would try to return to sleep if she had no business to attend to, but unfortunately, she had business to attend to.