Dr Clara Novels & Stories

Luna greeted the lady. “Hello," Clara responded, lifting her head from the computer. “How may I help you ma'am?" She asked with a broad smile. “I'm Luna, and I'm here to see Mr. Jasper." “Ohh. I see. Do you have an appointment with him?" “No, not at all. I'm his wife." “Wow. His wife!" Clara almost screamed, her eyes widened as she stared at Luna. Some employees stopped what they were doing screamed;as they stared at Luna.

But as the doctor’s face was fully revealed under the brilliant, golden morning light pouring through the arched windows, the cold, paralyzing terror in Lydia’s veins vanished, replaced instantly by a wave of absolute, staggering shock. It was Clara. Dr. Clara Sterling. Lydia stared at the woman standing before her, her mind momentarily failing to bridge the massive gap between the past and the present. Clara was her old college best friend, her closest confidante from her university days—the one person who knew every dark secret, every desperate ambition, and every wild lie Lydia had spun before she ever set her sights on the Vane dynasty. They had lost touch years ago after Clara went into

Dr Fang could not answer this but the silence did not remain for long before Clara quickly spoke up, clearing her throat. "The head doctor must have been confused because she is also taking care of the entire Hospital handling alone and also treating me, of course, accidentally she would let something slip off of her mind, right doctor Fang?" Dr Fang did not respond immediately, her eyes had fallen to the floor and she didn't seem to know how to pick them back up again. Clara reached for her, grabbing her hard by the arm, she seemed to have been startled out of a deep sleep as she looked side to side and then back at me.

I was looking at wave mechanics. Clara replied in eight minutes: Where are you? 'Library', Lena typed. Clara: Don't go anywhere. She sat in the library. Clara called twenty minutes later. "The 1994 donation," Clara said. "Yes," Lena said. "I've been looking at this for ten minutes," Clara said. "The Hale-Draven associate listed in the margin note. I cross-referenced." A pause. "Do you want to know who it was?" "Yes," Lena said.

TRACY Concentrating on the lines of code on my monitor, I tried to tune out the low hum of the open-plan office. My progress on the data pipeline was solid, but a shadow fell across my desk before I could finish the latest string. I looked up to see Clara standing there, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was a mix of boredom and sharp, focused resentment.

Elena remained quiet. “Just calm down.” “Take it easy on yourself okay, he’ll call you later.” Clara continued. “I hope so,” Elena replied. The call ended. Clara’s face changed completely again, all the fake kindness disappeared, and her heart was beating so fast. “Oh my God….” She quickly dialed Adrain’s number and after a few seconds, he picked up. “What?” Adrain asked calmly. Clara stood up angrily, “Did you send those pictures to Elena!?”

"The administrators have declared war on you. And war is what they will get." Clara, who I'd forgotten about, spoke from behind her desk. Her smile was gone now. "Dracula. You're violating system protocols by interfering with an extraction operation." "I'm aware." He didn't even look at her. "Report that to your masters. Tell them I'm taking these deadies under my protection. Tell them if they want Mia D'Lorne, they'll have to go through me to get her." Clara's form flickered and for just a moment I saw what she really was. Not a cheerful receptionist. An administrator. One that had been watching us this whole time, reporting our every move.

Every breath felt like a battle. I was searching for something. No. For someone. “Lyrian,” I called. “Lyrian, where are you?” No answer. Only my boots against stone, my ragged breathing, and the distant howl of the wind through broken windows. I turned a corner and froze. Clara stood at the far end of the corridor, her robes shimmering with dark energy. Her amber eyes glowed, too bright, too cold, touched by something not of this world. “Looking for your mate?” Clara’s voice echoed, hollow and mocking. “He is busy. Busy looking for evidence that does not exist.”

The day I got the callback for my second interview, my mother, Sara Bingley, came home with two bags. "You're about to start your job for real, and that means dressing professionally. I bought you girls a suit each, one for each of you, fair and square." Molly Pitcher happily took her bag. Inside was a fitted, deep navy suit, sharp and clearly not cheap. What landed in my hands was an ill-fitting black suit pulled from the clearance rack, so oversized the sleeves swallowed the backs of my hands. Mom smiled and touched my cheek. "Cathy, you'll still grow. I bought it big on purpose. Give it two years, and it'll fit just right. I went to I don't know how many malls just to track down that

Clara asked, reaching across the small table to touch his arm. "Stable," he replied, turning his hand over to interlock his fingers with hers. "The medical director says she has moments of clarity interspersed with severe disorientation. She remembers the past, but her mind is trapped in the week leading up to the fire." A sleek dark sedan with tinted windows was waiting directly on the tarmac next to the mobile stairs. The driver held the door open as Alexander and Clara stepped into the sharp, chilly Swiss air and slid into the back seat. Within minutes, the car cleared the airfield security gates and sped along the rain slicked highway heading toward the quiet hills outside the city.