Loved (18 page)

TWENTY SIX

As their yacht pulled up into the dock in Edgartown, Kyle could wait no longer. He leapt from the deck, flying twenty feet, and landed nimbly on the pier, leaving the Russian to tie up the boat.

On dry land, he felt better already.

The Russian was quick to follow, killing the engine, anchoring the yacht, and hurrying to catch up.

“Hey, you can’t dock your boat there!” yelled a middle-aged, potbellied man with bright red cheeks, storming up to them. “That dock is private! It’s reserved for—”

Before the man could finish, Kyle grabbed him with one hand by the throat, and squeezed with such force, that he lifted the heavy man off the ground by several feet, dangling him in the air.

The man’s eyes bulged from his head, as his face turned bright red. Kyle grimaced, and then in one motion, threw him off the side of the dock.

The man landed with a splash, far off in the water.

Kyle hope he killed him. He should have squeezed longer.

“Where is she?” Kyle demanded through gritted teeth.

The Russian looked nervously about, trying to get his bearings. He raised his nose and checked the air in every direction.

“If you have lost her, I will kill you,” Kyle said slowly.

The Russian looked again, and stopped in the direction of Main Street.

“She went this way,” he said.

He marched in that direction, Kyle following on his heels.

*

Kyle and Sergei walked up the stairs of the Edgartown whaling church, and without slowing, Kyle kicked in the double doors.

They broke it open with a loud crack, and Kyle marched right through the parlor and into the center of the church, Sergei close behind. They stopped in the middle of the empty room, and looked about.

No one was there.

Kyle reached over and grabbed the Russian by the shoulders.

“I’m tired of this!” he yelled. “WHERE IS SHE!!?”

“Nowhere that you’ll ever find,” came a cool, collected voice from the back of the church.

Kyle and Sergei both spun around.

There stood Roger, in the entrance, staring back calmly.

Kyle sensed the shift in energy, and knew he was facing one of his own. Finally. No more humans to bother with. They were getting closer.

Kyle walk slowly, Sergei by his side.

“On the contrary,” Kyle said, slowly, “you are going to tell me exactly where she is, who she is with, and where she is going,” he said, bearing down on Roger.

Roger took a few steps towards them, then suddenly reached back and hoisted something at them.

Kyle saw it coming, but Sergei was not so quick.

Hurling right at them was a long, tapered, vampire spear. Kyle dodged in time, but Sergei did not. The silver-tipped spear grazed his cheek, cutting through skin, tearing open his cheek before continuing on. It was not a direct hit, but enough to draw a lot of blood.

Sergei screamed out in pain, raising his hands to his face, now covered in blood.

Kyle didn’t hesitate. He took three steps forward, leapt in the air, and planted a hard kick with both feet right on Roger’s chest, sending him flying across the room and crashing into the wall.

Before Roger could get up, Kyle was already on top of him, choking him.

Kyle felt Roger’s energy, and he could feel that Roger was one of the old ones. A vampire so old that his strength had greatly diminished. Kyle outmatched him, and knew he could kill him easily. He was going to enjoy torturing him. Slowly.

Kyle saw a sudden movement of Roger’s hand, a flash of something yellow, and before he could react, he realized.

Roger had just snuck a suicide pill into his own mouth.

It was too late.

Kyle felt the body go limp in his arms.

In the greatest rage of his life, Kyle threw back his head and screeched, a primal roar that made every windowpane in the church shatter.

TWENTY SEVEN

Sam was still reeling.

That scene inside the mobile home had been so intense, he still couldn’t process it. That creep. The knife. The struggle. His cheek. And then Samantha. Killing him like that. It was unbelievable. Who was she?

As he sat in the roadside diner, across from her in a booth, he looked her over. He was more attracted to her than ever—but also wary now. Cautious. She looked totally relaxed, sipping on her vanilla milkshake, and he couldn’t understand. Was this the same chick? Here she was, this totally cool and hot, awesome chick, who he loved hanging out with—and yet she had also been that crazy, psycho girl that totally killed that creep without even blinking an eye. Had she really killed him?

It had all gone down so quickly, and the place was so dark, he couldn’t even really tell what had happened, exactly. But he remembered the noise, that sickening crack when she twisted his neck. And he remembered seeing the guy hit the ground, totally limp. The dude looked dead to him. But he couldn’t say for sure. Maybe she’d just knocked him out. But still. How did she do that? That dude was strong. And he had a knife.

For the millionth time, he hated himself. He had been so stupid. Naïve. How could he have really believed him, have fallen for an internet predator? Was he really such an idiot? What was he thinking? He felt so ashamed. More than anything, he felt more convinced than ever that he’d never find his Dad.

On top of it all, he’d dragged Samantha into it. And worse, he didn’t even protect her. She’d had to protect him. How embarrassing. She must think he was a real jerk.

He worried that she’d just take off. He couldn’t blame her.

“You OK?” she asked, looking at his cheek.

He remembered, and he reached up, and pulled off the paper towel stuck to his face. He checked it. The bleeding had slowed—but it still hurt like hell.

“Yeah,” he said, then looked her over. He noticed she wasn’t bruised at all. “So, like, how did you do that back there? I mean, kick that guy’s ass?”

She shrugged. “I studied karate most my life. Hope it didn’t freak you out. But that guy was dangerous, and I didn’t want to take any chances. It was just a really easy move that I did on him. I can teach you.”

She had a way of always making him feel better. It was like she knew what he was thinking, and knew how to put him at ease. It was incredible. All of his worries flew out the window.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I took you there.”

“Hey,” she said, “we wanted to take a drive anyway, right?”

He stared at her, and then they both burst out laughing.

The tension in the air lifted.

Sam reached out, and took a big bite of his untouched burger, and as he did, Samantha suddenly stared at his wrist. She reached up and grabbed it with her icy hands.

Sam lowered the burger in mid-bite, and wondered what she was doing. She pulled his wrist closer to her, and stared at it. His watch. She was staring at his watch.

As she did, her expression changed. She seemed totally serious now. Transfixed.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, deadly serious.

He looked at his watch. He had totally forgotten he was even wearing it. He’d always worn it, ever since he was a kid. It was like a part of him, and he didn’t even realize when he had it on. It was a weird-looking watch, he had to give her that. But still, he couldn’t understand why she was so obsessed with it.

“It was my dad’s,” he said. “Or at least, I think it was. I was too young to remember. I’ve always had it.”

Sam looked at it himself now, curious. It was encased in some kind of weird metal—he’d always thought it was some kind of platinum—and it had these weird carvings all along the side. It actually looked ancient, and it ticked time in a weird way. It was actually pretty weird that he’d never had to wind it once, or change the battery. It just always ticked, and always told time perfectly.

She ran her fingers along it.

“Here,” he said, taking it off. “Go ahead. Check it out. Try it on, if you want. There’s this really cool stuff on the back. I was never able to figure out what it meant,” he said, handing it to her.

She look like a kid in a candy store as he placed it on her palm. She turned it over, and looked at it carefully, and her eyes opened wide. She seemed genuinely surprised.

“What is it? Can you read it? I think it’s like… French or something,” he said.

“It’s Latin,” she corrected in a whisper, breathlessly.

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes staring right at him, opened wide with surprise and excitement.

“It means:
the Rose and the Thorn meet in Salem
.”

TWENTY EIGHT

Caitlin and Caleb stood in Boston Common, at the top of a small hill, looking out, surveying the park. He held a map of the Freedom Trail which he’d just bought in a store, and he ran his finger along it again and again. Caitlin stood beside him, holding out both halves of the ancient scroll.

“Read it again,” he said.

Caitlin squinted to make out the words. She read:

The Four Horsemen travel a trail to freedom.

They leave common ground,

Enter a ring of blood,

Meet at the house,

And find the ones they loved

Beside the fourth tip of the cross.

“A trail to freedom,” Caleb repeated aloud, concentrating. “It
must
be a reference to the freedom trail. It would make perfect sense. Its right in the middle, right between Salem and Martha’s Vineyard. We’re in the center.

“And the ‘common ground’ reference…that
must
be Boston Common, where we are right now. It would also make sense. In the 1600s, where we’re standing, they hung the witches. It is a very important spot, especially for the vampire race.

“The scroll…it says they ‘leave common ground.’ But that means we
begin
here. I’m not sure why. And the rest of it…‘a ring of blood’… ‘meet at the house,’ ‘the fourth tip of the cross’…I just don’t know where we go from here.”

Caitlin looked around again. The view from up here was commanding. There was still some snow left, despite the warming weather, and several kids were sledding down the other side of it, screaming in delight, their parents joining them. As Caitlin looked out, she saw a very beautiful and idyllic park. It was hard for her to imagine witches being hung here.

She surveyed the hilltop, but all she saw was a large tree. There was no clue whatsoever.

“Why ‘four Horsemen’?” she asked. “What’s that about?”

“It’s a reference to the Apocalypse. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, spreading out to the four corners of the earth. I think what it’s saying is that, if we don’t find the sword, it will bring the Apocalypse.”

“Or maybe,” she said, “we’ll bring the apocalypse if we
do
find it.”

Caleb turned and looked at her, deep in thought. “Perhaps,” he said softly.

He looked around. “But why
here
?” he asked again. “Why this spot?

Caitlin thought, and something occurred to her.

“Maybe it’s not about this place,” she said. “Maybe it’s about leaving this place. About the journey,” she added.

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“The scroll talks about traveling, about leaving one place and going to another. Maybe it just wants us to
go
to these places, to travel the road. But not necessarily find things along the way. Maybe it’s about the
journey
.”

Caleb furrowed his brows.

“It’s like those people who walk those mazes, those Labyrinths,” she said. “It’s the walking—that’s the reason they go. Not the destination. By walking in certain directions, in certain patterns, it’s supposed to, like, change you in some way.”

Caleb looked at her with appreciation. He seemed to like her idea.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll buy that. But even so. Where would we walk? Where would we go next?”

“Well,” she said, examining it again, “it says they leave ‘common ground,’ and enter ‘a ring of blood.’ So our next stop would be the ring of blood.”

“Which is?” he asked.

She stood next to him, and stared at the map. There were 18 sites on the historic freedom trail. Two and a half miles’ worth. She felt overwhelmed just looking at it. She had no idea where to go next. She looked at all of them, and none seemed to be in the shape of a circle, or a ring. And there was certainly no reference to a ring of blood.

She read the captions on the map, and still couldn’t find anything.

Then, she saw it.

There, at the bottom of the map, was a footnote. Beneath the caption for the Old State House. It read: “At the base of the building, on the street, stands the spot commemorating where the Boston massacre occurred.”

“Here,” she said excitedly, pointing. “The Boston Massacre. There’s nothing about a ring, but that certainly qualifies for blood.”

She looked at him. “What do you think?” she asked.

Caleb studied the map. Finally, he looked at her.

“Let’s do it.”

*

As Caitlin and Caleb left the park, turning down Court Street and heading into the heart of the historic district of Boston, the old Statehouse came into view. It was a large, brick building, perfectly preserved from the 1700s, with multiple historic windows and topped by a large, white cupola. It was stunning in its simplicity and beauty.

As they reached its base, they walked around the structure, looking for the site of the Boston massacre. Finally, as they turned the corner, they saw it.

They both stopped in their tracks.

It was a ring. A perfect circle.

The spot marking the Boston massacre was small, hardly bigger than a manhole cover. They came close and examined it.

It held no special markings. It was just a humble circle, made up of small tile, embedded in the ground at the base of the Old State House.

“It makes sense,” Caleb said. “We are definitely on the right trail.”

“Why?”

“That balcony, above it,” he said, gesturing. “That’s where the Declaration of Independence was first read.”

Caitlin looked up at the small balcony on the building.

“So?” she asked.

Caleb breathed deeply, preparing to explain.

“The founding of this nation was really the founding of a
vampire
nation. Freedom and justice for all. Liberty from religious persecution. A small group of people conquering a huge and mighty nation. Do you really think a small group of humans could have achieved this?

“It was
us
.
Our
kind. That is what the textbooks won’t tell you. The founding of America is the founding of
our
nation.

“But the darker vampire races, like the Blacktide Coven, have tried to hijack our work ever since. That’s why there have always been two warring factions. Good and evil. Liberty and persecution. Wherever there is one, there is the other.

“Your father, whoever he was, I’m convinced was one of our founders. The most powerful vampires were. And it is they who held the most powerful weapons, and stored them for future generations.”

“Stored them?” Caitlin asked, trying to process it all.

“The sword we’re searching for—the Turkish sword—is designed to protect, not attack. In the right hands. In the wrong hands, it can be a horrible weapon. That’s why it was hidden so carefully. Only the right people are meant to find it. And if anyone was in a position to hide it, it would have been your Dad.”

It was too much for her to process at once. It was hard for her to take it all in, to believe that all this was true. But it did seem to be adding up. And it did feel like they were nearing the end of the trail.

“I don’t see any clues here,” Caitlin said, looking around.

“Neither do I,” he said. “So, if your theory is right, and it’s about the journey, that would mean that, for whatever reason, we were meant to just see this, and then continue on the trail.”

Caleb took the scroll and studied it again, holding it with her.

“‘Meet at the house’,” he read slowly. He stood there, thinking. “What house?” he asked aloud.

Caitlin took out the freedom trail map once again.

“There are a lot of houses on this trail: the Paul Revere house, John Coburn’s house, the John J. Smith house…It could be any of them. Or it could even be a house that’s not even on the trail,” she added.

“I feel like they put us on this trail for a reason,” Caleb said. “Whatever it is, I feel it must be on the trail.”

They both studied the map again, reading all the captions. Suddenly, Caitlin stopped. Something occurred to her.

“What if it isn’t a house at all?” she asked.

Caleb looked at her.

“For some reason, the reference to an actual house feels too obvious to me. All of the other clues are much more subtle. What if it’s not literal? What if it’s figurative?”

She ran her finger along the trail.

“For instance, what if it’s actually a church? Look,” she said, pointing. “The Meeting House Church. It’s just around the corner.”

Caleb looked at her, and his eyes open wide in approval.

He smiled. “Glad you’re on my side,” he said.

*

They walked quickly down Washington Street, and within moments they stood outside the Meeting House Church. It was another perfectly-restored, historic church.

They entered, and were stopped by an attendant.

“I’m afraid we just closed,” she said. “This is a working museum. It’s five o’clock,” she said. “But feel free to come back tomorrow.”

Caleb turned to Caitlin, and she could feel what he was thinking. He wanted her to test out her mind power on this woman.

Caitlin stared at her, locking eyes, and sent a mental suggestion.
She would let them in. She would make an exception for them.

The woman suddenly stared back at Caitlin. She blinked.

Suddenly, she said, “You know what? You two seem like such a nice couple. I’ll make an exception for you. But don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink.

Caitlin turned to Caitlin and smiled, and the two of them walked inside.

The church was beautiful. It was another huge, open space, with massive windows in every direction, and filled with wooden pews, all empty. They had the place to themselves.

“It’s huge,” Caitlin said. “Now what?”

“Let’s follow the trail, to start,” he said, gesturing at the marked museum trail beneath their feet, the large, red arrows guiding visitors where to walk.

The trail took them to a series of museum exhibits and small plaques, displayed along the wooden railing. They stopped and read.

Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Listen to this,” she said. “‘In this spot in 1697, Judge Sewall apologized for being one of the Salem witch judges who, in 1692, condemned the witches to their death.”

Caleb and Caleb looked at each other. The reference to Salem excited them. They must be in the right place. All the clues from their search were converging. They felt so close. As if the sword were hiding just beneath their feet.