Santa Helena: The Blessing of the Curse - Chapter 2

Santa Helena: the Blessing of the Curse

Chapter 2: What the Hell just Happened?


Matthew Dollar's Account


In a Gothic-style hotel, alone in my room, I heard a voice, a very familiar voice!

Sweat rolled down my face as I screamed, “Satoko, is that you…?”

“My money; quit spending my money!!!!!!!!” a ticked-off eerie voice which sounded like Saint Helen’s said.

I sprung out of my bed and looked around my dark room with moon light seeping through the window near the headboard, yet my eight-barreled shotgun was nowhere to be found! “Crap!” I thought to myself, “I knew Satoko and I should’ve brought our weapons to Paris! Now, I’m screwed!” I instinctively snatched my credit card, which had half the treasure from Mt. Helen (Satoko had the other half), and cried “Satoko?!? Satoko!?!”

The voice of Saint Helen then uttered, “Vile spirits, attack him and get that credit card! My powers aren’t fully restored yet; don’t fail me!!!”

Suddenly, pale humans hovering two feet off the floor made their way into my small, humble room without the use of a door!!! I quickly grabbed the five-foot-tall pole lamp and charged it with the holy energy of my Bright Arithmagics. I grabbed the lamp with so much force that the plug fled the outlet as I swung the lamp like a third-rate kung fu spear master. My pole lamp blazing with a ghastly whitish flame, I swung it around to beat back the ghost to my right; then, I leaped after the spirit to my left to execute four horizontal strikes, six diagonal swings, and a holy-charged dual-kick before landing on my bed to roll away from another ghost’s hellish claw slash. Back on my feet in an instant, I parried away a multiple-hit combo and jumped to the other side of my bed, evading an eerie comet-like projectile that smashed through my window (we’ll refer to magic projectiles as quantum [singular] and quanta [plural]); I—while flying to the doorway by a ghost’s heavy, shadowy kick—emitted a holy helix that burned away another ghost. The spirit that kicked me dashed toward me, spewing a barrage of small, dark, sharp, star-shaped quanta from her out-stretched hands and fingers; swiftly, I got back up and deflected her quanta like an intrepid, fourth-rate fire dancer, launching a searing, shining arc-shaped quantum (to be specific, we may call this an arc) with my last wing, burning away the vile spirit.

“Saint Helen Eleven, where the hell are you!?! Quit sending these fiendish pawns to do thy bidding! C’mon ‘n’ fight me like woman—a real woman!!!” I bluffed as I glanced around for Satoko. My spiritual and physical energies were evaporating as fast as they condensed due to my adrenaline rush. All was quiet when I walked in the hallway to knock on Satoko’s door (she and I had separate rooms; no, we didn’t have a feud; we just wanted to make sure our credit cards wouldn’t get stolen…); there was no answer, and the door was locked!

Suddenly, a pale humanoid darted through the door, attempting to lance my abdomen with his short spear (wow, I never knew ghosts carried weapons; sadly, when the ghosts die, their weapons go with them. Yeah, go ahead—let it out: crap!!!), but fortunately, I was quick enough to pole-lamp-block this attempt, kick him back into the room, and summon another flaring arc that went through the door and took the spirit “home” since he didn’t come back to haunt me. (Bright Arithmagics hardly affect physical objects.)

It shocked me that nobody awoke from all this noise; it then dawned upon me that perhaps Satoko and I were the only ones lodging in this gothic-style hotel. “SATOKO!!!!!!!!!!” I shouted, “This ain’t funny! If you can hear me, I can use some help!!”

(I’ll sometimes use Helena and Helen interchangeably; note that I’m still referring to Saint Helen Eleven.)

A voice seemed to come from the first floor; I gave a little peek, and to my surprise, Helena stood there on the stairs waiting for me. I tried to distract her mind (if she had one) by saying, “Don’t you make good money in Hades? I mean, you were the governor’s daughter—”

“I am the governor’s daughter!” she said like an adamant two-year-old—if two-year-olds could speak good English. “As I said before, Hades isn’t cheap! My salary is high but so are my expenses. Even though I’m a spirit, I still need my make-up, blow dryer, dishwasher, hairspray, lotion, body wash…(This went on forever; so, I’ll fast-forward it for you)…and I still need more money to afford that high-tech scuba gear so I can tour the Lake of Fire!—aaaargggghh!”

I took her by surprise through a powerful blazing drop-kick, and my radiant comet blew her to the foyer of the hotel, but it was a trap—a doggone trap!!! Two werefoxes lurking behind the stairs sprang up to attack me, but I, using the pole lamp for support, jumped in mid-air to do the splits, kicking the werefoxes in their faces at the same time (yep, my legs felt rather uncomfortable after that, thank you). Consequently, this left me open for a ghost woman’s spirit lasso which squeezed my torso as she threw me into the door! Next thing I knew, I was rolling on the lawn of the hotel. The unnaturally bright moonlight shining overhead, I could see all sorts of monsters charging after me—werewolves/foxes/tigresses, skeletons, humanoid ghosts, Kirby-looking ghosts, and of course, the cute, big, yellow-green blob amebas with those big, green eyes that imply “How’s it going?!”

“Crap! How the hell am I gonna kill all twenty of them!?!” I thought while swiping every quantum that came my way. Bold, daring, optimistic, and reckless as ever, I charged at them when I had the chance, cutting through some, throwing spells at some, doing combos on others, and getting beat back by most. After three diagonal hits, two thrusts, three horizontal strikes, and a rushing kick, a werefox managed to take me to the ground by her kick (I block every hit before the kick), and she was about to thrust her spear up my butt; suddenly, I heard a loud thump sound and got up; Satoko, all sweaty from saving herself in her own fight—I guess, managed to tackle the werefox and split her head by means of a strong, glowing knee-strike.

Satoko was still on the ground when a skeleton, werewolf, and weretigress charged toward us; thus, I rolled onto Satoko’s back and performed some fancy break dancing kicks to sweep away their arms, deflecting their attacks. Satoko and I then held hands so Satoko could swing me roundabout as I charged the soles of my shoes for a roundabout running-kick that pushed back ghosts and skeletons.

Then came the blobs… We tried to fend them off with the spears on the ground, but the spears were too dull to do any impressive damage.

“Lord, I’m ready! We can use a miracle just about now; I just wanted You to know—” I thought as Satoko and I dodged some dark, gooey quanta the blobs spat at us. (Remember, White Arighmagics are effective on ghosts only, not monsters!)

Suddenly, a double-helix, ruby flame flashed from behind us, drilling into a blob monster, destroying it; we didn’t have time to see who fired the flare as we evaded/swiped away dark quanta and now focused on Santa Helena, who was cheering the blobs before throwing black lightning at us! Dodging the bolts while the blobs seemed to be dying one by one, I seized the opportunity to shoot Helen to the ground, and Satoko did a flying knee-strike to her belly. Helena slid backwards on the ground and then flew up to unleash eerie auroras that nearly sent my brown skin to oblivion; Satoko high-jumped to attack the “saint” from behind, but Miss Eleven countered by executing multiple kicks that dropped Satoko to the ground. I then launched four radiant arcs from my pole lamp and leaped high to execute four swings, two spinning kicks, and a mighty heel-slam before I fell back on my feet on the ground. Before Eleven could flee from the scene, Satoko hurled a few comets to keep Helen from coming back anytime soon.

“This is soooooo not fair! You three will pay for this!!!” she said as she flew toward the moon…

Satoko and I turned back to see our “miracle worker.” We were expecting cops with high-powered flamethrowers, but instead we saw a single, short-haired, brown-skinned woman in a red jacket, blue jeans, and brown, rugged stockings. The face was all too familiar for us. ‘Twas a good friend of ours.

“Monica!” we said cheerfully, “What are you doing here in Paris? That was some fancy Arithmagics!”

“Your Arithmagics was good, too,” she complimented, “I learned Red Arithmagics a while ago. So, who was that ghost lady that took off?” We explained how we took Saint Helen’s treasure, that Helen wants it back, and how we learned the anti-ghost Bright Arithmagics.

Strangely, no security guards—or anyone, for that matter—came see what’s going on; I guess the ghosts/monsters “silenced” them so they could finish Satoko and me easier. I let the women rest in Satoko’s room and went back to mine to put back the pole lamp; I didn’t want Monica in my room; she might have kept me up for another hour or two…

I had one of those dream-visions again. I was in a dark room illuminated by a desk lamp sitting over a computer monitor. There were four chairs beside the computer desk; they were occupied by Satoko, Monica, and Lord Wyatt—dressed in some red-and-gold armor.

He bid me to have a seat as he explained his research. Typing “witches’ high Sabbath” on his Google search engine, Lord Wyatt clicked on the heading “Journal of an Ancient, Absent-Minded Wise Man” and said, “According to this article, Sigmund Steiner, researcher at the Unknown University of Berlin, seemed to have written down the story of his expedition with this master, Alexus de la Crois (I think it’s pronounced “cwah”)…” The words on the monitor seemed to be in German; unable to read it, the women and I trusted in Wyatt’s paraphrased summary of the journal: “…In the year 2020, Alexus ventured underground to locate the whereabouts of the First Hawaiian Bank that settled somewhere on an island near France since it wasn’t getting much business in Oahu. The bank was buried after a volcanic eruption around 2017, according to ancient news sources. Alexus finally found the bank around November 2020, and one of the most interesting things happened—”

“Hold it, Master Wyatt!” I said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but where’s this French Hawaiian Bank thingy?”

“Sir Steiner didn’t say; I guess it’s location was so recognized a long time ago that everyone knew what you meant if you were to say ‘the First Hawaiian Bank’; I’ll try to find some clues to its location—”

“Um, Wyatt, could you get back to the story? I can’t read German!” said Satoko with a mixture of boredom, excitement, anticipation, and intensity.

“Oh, yes, now where was I?”

Monica reminded, “The part where that French guy found something interesting in that bank!”

“Oh, thanks, Monica!” Lord Wyatt continued: “Sigmund and Alexus found a rather gigantic tree—which they referred to as the ‘Tree of Wealth’; some humanoid spirits floated around its branches, plucking out coin rolls and dollar bills, and other spirits placed some insignificant amounts of money into the safes, where the tree roots originated. Sigmund and Alexus call this phenomenon the ‘Witches’ High Sabbath’—when the barrier between the physical and spiritual realms wears thin; though they weren’t certain why spirits needed money, they believed that the Tree of Wealth regenerates cash! Sadly, when the spirits were about to return to the spiritual realm, they spotted Alexus and went after him; Sigmund fled the underground bank and never saw Alexus de la Crois ever again! Sir Steiner left the keys of the Library of Ancient Myths and Secrets to his descendants in Orleans. I believe this library may hold some clues on where to find the lost First Hawaiian Bank of France!”

“Oh, that reminds me…” I told Wyatt about our incident with Santa Helena. Not as shocked as we expected, Master Wyatt plainly uttered with his soft voice, “Ah, I see; Helena wants your credit cards so she can regenerate them at the Tree.”

Monica pondered aloud, “I wonder why she didn’t do that a long time ago.”

I: “Some folks don’t think right; I guess she was going to do it a few days ago, but Satoko and I—you know—”

Satoko: “So, you want us to find the bank!”

Wyatt: “Yes, Satoko, very clever; besides, this may be your chance to make extra money!”

Monica: “Oh, yes, Wyatt! You can count me in!!!!”

Wyatt: “Very well; I knew I can trust you three.”

I: “Whadya mean ‘three’? Looking around and finding clues ain’t my cup of tea; this ‘adventure’ is almost like getting lost in a shopping mall; this is a woman thing!”

Wyatt: “Not quite, Matthew; I’ve heard that there’s some monster activity going on in some haunted places ‘round the world. You can put your fighting skills to the test.”

I: “Then, count me in, brotha!!!”

After all that, I awoke around 10:00 a.m…

Satoko, Monica, and I were surprised that no investigators came to our hotel—which had a few windows/doors broken; you would expect someone to watch over this two-star hotel, right….?

“Well, Satoko, sorry to cut our vacation short—” I said.

“Don’t worry; adventure and vacation are synonyms in my vocabulary!” she answered joyfully.

Monica replied, “That’s good, for Danger is my middle name!” Satoko and I were stunned at the words “Monica Danger J-Walker” on her ID card! “Now, why don’t we get something to eat!?”

I: “Does France have Burger King or Taco Bell?”

Satoko: “C’mon, Matty Mack! This is FRANCE! No time to be low-class!”

Monica then uttered, “I’d rather be low-class than to spend euros for unfulfilling food—speaking of low-class, you think there’s some food downstairs in the mess hall?”

We went to the empty cafeteria and “stole” a good snack behind the “Employees Only” door; swiftly, we left the deserted gothic-style hotel and waved for a taxi ride. What pulled over nigh (near) our sidewalk was a hover mobile no longer than the twin-sized bed I just slept on last night!

We’re gonna drive in this sh—” I was about to spew out a horrible anathema, but my good conscience held my tongue, “—Well, I guess this is all we can get, eh?”

Monica offered, “Well, I guess we can wait half an hour for a car or SUV to come over—”

“Hell no!” our impatient Satoko shouted as she opened the door and shoved us in as if we were baggage! Speaking of baggage, we didn’t carry any big luggage with us, fortunately…Satoko rode in the front with the driver, who asked, “Where do you wish to go, madame?”


“Orleans?!?” he said, wide-eyed, “Do you foreigners have any idea how far zat eez from here!!!?” He complied when Satoko flashed an overly sufficient amount of euros across his face…The ride was quite uncomfortable; so, in order to revive my spirits of joy, excitement, and peace, I asked the driver to find some French techno music on the radio. I really needed the music once the driver started weaving through traffic, passing in the no-passing zones, and downright driving deliberately on the other side of the road, among other things such as running on the red lights, paying no heed to pedestrians, and trying to out-maneuver the cops! Around 11:00 a.m., by the blessing of Abraham, we arrived in Orleans in one piece!

Getting out of the satanically cramp hover mobile, I took a deep breath and said, “Aw, sweet old Orleans!” Monica and Satoko became quite uncomfortable when used the French pronunciation (“Or-leh-ons”) and suggested that I use the American one (“Or-leens”), but I insisted on using the French pronunciation.

We didn’t know much French or German; so, how the hell are we going to find a descendant of Sir Sigmund Steiner? To our surprise, there were many English-speaking folks near the plaza. There was a two-tone-colored shopping mall (the top half was light brown, and the bottom half, dark brown) about the size of a mansion. The light-blue, transparent neon laser door deactivated when we came nigh; it then reactivated once we past it. (Don’t ask me if this door is dangerous; I don’t know and I don’t want to find out!) The huge golden light bulbs showered their light above us, and the long, wide hall branched off into many shopping areas—too numerous for me to count. The fake gold floor reflected our image back to us like a gold-tinted mirror.

Soon, the women [Satoko and Monica] forgot about our purpose here in Orleans (Or-leh-ons!) and started to drift off like a poor swimmer in a strong current. “Don’t worry, Matty!” Satoko uttered, “We’ll get back to the mission, but first, we need to enjoy our stay here in Or-leens!”

“You mean Or-leh-ons—”

Monica raised her voice, “Or-leens, Matthew! C’mon, Satoko, let’s have some fun!” With that, they vanished (I almost mean that literally)! Ergo (therefore), I strolled down the halls, looking for old folks sitting on the benches to inquire them about the descendants of Sigmund.

The first man I spoke to spoke remarkably good English; he seemed to have a good blend of Orleans and Edinburg blood in him. “What would you want from a bloody old man like me, son?”

“I’m looking for the descendants of a researcher named Sigmund Steiner; might you have any relative information on this subject, sir?”

“Steiner? Hmmn, never heard of him; sorry, son; I’m just a useless old man—”

“Oh, don’t be too modest, sir,” I cheered, “You are still useful, even in your old age!”

“Thank you, son; I needed that…”

I then stopped an old woman on a wheelchair, saying, “Excuse me, madame!”

“What are you doing, young man? Let go ov my chair!”

“I would like to ask you something—”

“No more questions! I had enough ov you salespeople een ziz pless!”

“I—I just wanted to know if you know anything about the descendants of Sigmund—”

Her attitude changed completely, “The Descendants of Sigmund? Eet’s een my house; eet eez ze best book I’ve ever read so far!”

I: “Oh, thank you, madame—” I said depressingly as I slowly walked away.

Elder woman: “Wait a minute, monsieur! You aren’t going to steal eet from my house, are you?”

I: “Of course not, madame!” A new thought then entered my mind.

I: “So, madame, what was ze book about?” Her accent was rubbing off on me.

Elder woman: “I don’t remember too much…The descendants were very special people who held ze key to an ancient library of magical knowledge. Fiction stories are so intriguing, aren’t they, monsieur?”

I: “Yes, Madame; did ze book tell you here zey lived?”

She thought for a moment and said, “I don’t remember all of zem, but zer was a man who lived not far from here; if ze story eez true, he should be…” She gave me the location of his house; fictitious or not, it was worth a try! The elderly lady and I conversed about science fiction for a few minutes, and then she remembered that she was late for a birthday party…suddenly, my French accent faded away…

Afterwards, I overheard two guys talking about something:

“Did you hear about a group of young people looking for some treasure-thingy called ‘Ze Tree ov Life’?”

“I’ve heard about eet. Hmph, young folks—always falling for myths to get reech queekly; why don’t zey work hard for a change?”

“Are they talking about us????” I pondered. Suddenly, Satoko’s voiced struck me from behind: “Hey, Matty Mack, did you do any shopping?”

“Uh, no, but—”

“What!?” condemned Monica, “C’mon, Mack Matty, you’d better take advantage of this opportunity to buy something!”

“Don’t worry; I can order stuff online. Anyways, are you gals finished yet?”

“Mm-hmm,” Satoko hummed, “We had our stuff shipped back to our houses! Now, let’s get back to the mission!” I told them about my new discovery, and we walked to a large, gothic-style house a few blocks away from the noisy plaza. Monica had no compassion on the bronze doornail, and after a moment, the door slowly opened; behind the door was a skinny young man who looked more like a Londoner than anything else; he even looked more Londoner than human!—kidding…

“Are you Sigmund Steiner’s descendant, or do we look for another?” I asked. He responded quite playfully, “What do you think?”

Monica: “I think you’re just some lowly English servant boy who got laid-off in London and came all the way here to get a job and to fool around with the hostess when the host is not around”

Young man: “Hahaha! I like that one, mate; ‘twas bloody good, but actually, I am the host, and I’d be more than jolly to make this yellow fellow of yours my hostess, if you’re interested, my dear—”

“Not interested!” Satoko answered swiftly and roughly, “We’re here to see a descendant of Sir Steiner to obtain the key to the doggone Library of Ancient Myth and Secrets already.”

“Hmm, getting down to business—I like that, my lady,” said the young man to Satoko with his British accent; “I am a descendant of whom you speak by the name of Sherlock E. Steiner; my mother and grandfather were British, and I received much of their genes. Anyways, why do you wish to visit the Library of Ancient Myths and Secrets?”

Monica and I let Satoko answer, since Sherlock was looking at her up and down, then up and down again, then down and up, then left and right. He was about to go from left to right, but Satoko finally uttered, “We just want to see it, and that’s all you need to know!”

Steiner: “I’m sorry to be so intrusive, my lady! Perhaps I should go with you—” (Satoko’s face didn’t look so happy…) “—I’m curious to see what’s in the Library, too, but my friends never wanted to accompany me; you never know what’s in the library until you go, eh?”

Satoko’s face seemed to imply, “Will you please get the doggone key before I explode!!?!!”

“Oh, I’ll get ready in a second—like a doornail in a hand basket!” We never understood his similes; so, when you see an irrelevant simile such as this, just ignore it—for your own psychological well-being. We waited patiently for five minutes.

Satoko: “Should we let this freak come with us!? I mean, I have nothing against Brits, but this guy—”

I: “He might know some fancy Arithmagics; we should take ‘im; besides, he seems to have a crush on you.”

Satoko: “Shut up, Matthew! If he has a crush on me, I’m gonna crush him!!!”

Monica: “Well, if he has no Arithmagics, I guess we could steal his key ‘n’ throw ‘im back in this house ‘n’ run.”

I: “C’mon, ladies, he can’t be that bad.”

Steiner (coming back): “I’m ready!”

I: “Oh, we forgot to introduce ourselves; My name is—”

Monica: “The name’s Monica Danger J-Walker, the sweet monster-slaying maiden of Red Arithmagics!”

I: “Ahem! My name’s Mateo Dinero de la Bendición, but just call me Matty Mack or Mack Matty, since I couldn’t afford a Mac; it makes me feel better.”

Satoko (looking away): “Just call me Satoko Shinobi Shikaku, the greatest assassin of the 37th century.”

Steiner: “Great! Well, let me lock my door, and we’ll be on our way, like a bumblebee in a warm, lovely desert!”

I: “Um, Sherlock, do you know any Arithmagics?”

Steiner: “Why yes, I know the healing powers of Blue Arithmagics and Green Arithmagics, natures power in the form of magic.”

Satoko: “Uh, Sherlock, may we call you ‘Simile’?”

Steiner: “Of course, Lady Satoko; why ‘Simile’?”

Satoko: “Cuz your similes don’t make sense!” With that, she walked away…

Simile didn’t own a car; so, we got a ride from the same driver as before; Simile, Monica, and I were stuffed in the back while Satoko rode shotgun (in the front).

“You want me to take you to ze southern French port? Arr you insane!!!” exclaimed the driver.

“We have to go to Corsica, sir; we have no time to spare,” uttered Simile Steiner.

“Well, I don’t have enough electreecitee in zis hybrid to—” He hushed his lips when Satoko slapped several hundred euros on his lap! (Note: she’s not using the money we got from Mt. Helen!)

Wide-eyed, Simile whispered to me, “Wow; this woman is bloody rich!!!”

I: “You may share her wealth one of these days, if you know what I mean.”

Satoko: “Shut up, Matty! Monica, that’s not funny! Hey, you, quit laughing and drive!!!” Needless to say, we arrived at the port sooner than a defensive driver would…!

The time was now 1:35 p.m., and there were no boats, save a very familiar one… The Polynesian captain gasped in horror as she saw us coming: “You—you CIA guys again!!”

Similie: “CIA? Wow, this is bloody awesome, like a Frisbee in New Jersey!”

Satoko: “Shut up, Sim; Ma’am, we need to get to Corsica ASAP (as soon as possible); do I make myself clear!?”

Polynesian woman: “Hey, you can’t just use my boat, yeah? That’s MY private property! You guys are violating da American Constitution, yeah?”

“Excuse me?!!” said Satoko as she put on her dark sunglasses that transformed her from a cute detective to a cold-blooded manslayer from Tokyo.

“Yes, of course, madame; right this way.” Her wooden junk was no better than before, I assume—because we arrived at Corsica around 6:35!

on 11/25/2009 10:41:21 PM
Mateo Dinero de la bendicion......makes me laugh!! I believe you really are in spite of the fact that you are chistoso!! Pero ten cuidado con la gente que tu escribes, be careful because some people just can't take it. But I shouldn't be worrid...because I believe you have enough talent and strength to confront and overcome.

Novel / Novella
writing Highsmyth
"The mountain only seems so high from the valley; if you're at the end of your rope, tie a knot on it and hang on!" --John Hagee.

Action-adventure writers of the world, UNITE!
Bookmark and Share

You must log in to rate.
Rating: 10.0/10

Yep, I told you money grows on trees! Matty, Monica, and Satoko fend off Santa Helena's ambush, add a new "friend" to the party, and set out to find the Library of Myths and Secrets
A Word from the Writer
If you like funny acrobatic martial arts imbued with a touch of funky magic and a funny/unique plot in a futuristic world, this is your story, loves!