Helena Rojo Age Novels & Stories

"Of course, dear. How fortunate you found someone so... successful." Helena gritted her teeth through a dozen similar conversations, each one chipping away at her confidence. Where was Alexander? He'd promised he'd be here. Had he changed his mind? Was this all just some elaborate game to him? No, she told herself firmly. He wouldn't do that. He promised. But as another thirty minutes crawled by with no sign of him, doubt began to creep in. Then the lights dimmed. A woman Helena had never seen before walked to the stage and took the microphone. She was maybe forty, dressed in an expensive but slightly dated black dress, her makeup a touch too heavy.

Helena was many years older than Camille and I, but approached everything in life with optimistic joy that seemed infectious. "Oh, my goodness! Did you see the four of them?" Helena cooed, fanning herself dramatically. Her wheat-colored hair drifted in the gentle, warm breeze. She wore a blush pink blouse that was cinched at the waist, highlighting her full, pear shaped figure. The light denim jeans she wore fit her curves perfectly. It seemed I wasn't the only one who had a closet full of clothes in my exact size. "Goodness, the moment they looked at all of us, I thought I'd fall over."

“I don’t know.” “You’re lying.” “I don’t.” Carlo’s voice broke. “You watched me spend six years looking for her.” Helena looked at him. “I watched you survive.” “That isn’t the same thing.” “No.” She lowered her eyes. “It isn’t.” For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Valentina stepped toward Helena. “Tell me where the fourth baby is.” Helena looked at her. “You won’t like the answer.” “I haven’t liked any answer you’ve given me.”

I found out why when Celestine Vare walked in. She had a new attorney with her. The woman was silver-haired, somewhere in her late fifties, wearing a gray suit that obviously cost more than most people's rent. I didn't recognize her face, but I recognized the way she moved like someone who had been in a lot of situations like this one and had never once felt like the smaller person in any of them. Serena leaned close to me. "Helena Cross," she said quietly. "She dismantles corporate identity claims. She’s very good."

“She asked if I wanted eggs.” Nobody answered that. There wasn’t anything to say to it. Dmitri kept working through the ledger, cross-referencing dates against everything we already knew. “This confirms it,” he said finally. “Helena wasn’t a minor contact. She was consistent. Reliable. The Correction used people like her because people like her never draw attention.” I sat back on my heels, the weight of it settling slowly. “How long?” I asked. “Based on the earliest entry,” Dmitri said, “at least eight years. Maybe longer.”

Rowan bowed his head slightly, stepped toward the double oak doors of the secondary parlor, and pulled them back smoothly. Helena was sitting near the edge of a velvet settee positioned by the unlit fireplace. She was dressed in a dark traveling coat that looked slightly rumpled, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a simple knot that was beginning to come loose at the nape of her neck. She looked considerably smaller than the sharp, formidable woman who had once commanded regional political assemblies. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, holding a crumpled lace handkerchief, and her shoulders were drawn inward as if trying to shield herself from the very air of the room.

“Arabella, are you not working today? Or are you not feeling well?” Arabella shook her head and said, “I’m going to America for a business trip with President Garcia.” Gardening was a favorite pastime of Helena, who was born in Willow Town, Calgary. Her hobby had allowed her to develop a gentle and quiet temperament. Serenity Rivera inherited Helena’s good temperament, so no one would doubt that the former was the daughter of the latter. Helena put down the shears and took the towel from the maid to wipe her hands. “Going to the United States on a business trip? That far? How long will you be gone?”

Sabrina and Charlie each raised a wooden stick and barked at her, fierce and frantic. "Who the hell are you? Don't get in the way! Get out!" Helena swept her eyes around the room. The moment she saw me, she finally relaxed. Luckily, she knew how to fight. She swung her fist straight into Sabrina's face and kicked Charlie hard in the gut. Both of them hit the floor, lying unmoved. Helena rushed over, dropped into a crouch, and tried to get the rope off me, her hands shaking with urgency.

Jesse slowly turned in his seat to smile thinly at her. She was dressed in a red dress that left little to the imagination paired with black stilettos and her lips were painted blood red. To other men, she was a sight for sore eyes but to Jesse - well he had to hold himself back to avoid puking all over her shoes. "Hello Helena." He said. "Fancy meeting you here. I don't see your oldie anywhere." "Harry is too old to be hopping from one bar to another..." Her voice trailed off as she finally noticed Bella. "Wow! Isabella Arroyo!".

After their class, Yennifer and Adoneram walked out together from their campus to go for a date. Before that, while walking in the hallway, Yennifer saw Helena on the corner and was talking to a blonde guy who looks like a maniac. She noticed that his eyes were always looking at her luminous long legged legs. She remembered how Helena revealed herself to her last night and she told everything that she's going through. Seeing her like this broke her heart. She only hopes that Helena will finally find her mate after three hundred years. She wants to go to her to talk to her but Adoneram quickly grabs her arms and pulled her.