by Morgan Rice
Thousands of people milled about, engaging in a dizzying array of activity. As she ventured tentatively out into the square, strangers approached her from every direction, all trying to sell their wares. They held out small, wooden dolls, brightly colored glass, flasks of wine, and most of all, masks. Everywhere she looked, there were masks. Even stranger, everywhere she looked, she was shocked to see people wearing them. The predominant mask was white, with a long, beaked nose, but there were masks of all shapes and sizes. Even stranger, many people walked about in full costume, some fully cloaked. It was as if she’d arrived in one huge Halloween party. She had no idea what the occasion was. Did people here always dress like this?
As if that were not enough, everyone seemed to be drunk, or quickly getting drunk. People laughed too loud, sang songs to themselves, jostled each other, and openly drank from jugs of wine.
There was music everywhere, every few feet another guitarist, or violinist, sitting on a crate or stool, playing away with an open hat and asking for tips.
Completing the scene were jugglers, comics, clowns, and performers of all sorts. Before her, one man juggled brightly colored balls, while another man juggled torches of fire. Caitlin stopped, in awe, watching.
She was soon jostled roughly, and turned to see a large man, dressed in a cloak and mask, drunk, stumbling, his arm around an elaborately dressed courtesan. As Caitlin watched, he reached down and grabbed her rear roughly, and she screamed with laughter.
This city was like a circus. It was the rowdiest, most chaotic place she had ever seen. She marveled that all this licentiousness could be taking place right here, in front of these churches. It was the strangest dichotomy she had ever seen. Was the city just one, endless party? Or had she arrived at some special time?
Caitlin spotted a small group of finely dressed woman cutting their way through the crowd. They were each dressed in elaborate gowns, ruffling their way, and held a small pouch to their noses as they went.
Caitlin wondered what they were holding, and at just that moment, it hit her. The stench. She had been too stunned to notice it at first, but now, as she walked, she was overwhelmed by the horrible smell of everyone and everything around her. It smelled like no one here had bathed. Ever.
And then she remembered: of course, no one had. It was 1790, after all. Plumbing hadn’t been invented yet. As the sun grew higher, and the temperature grew warmer, the stench grew even worse. Caitlin held her nose, but no matter which way she turned, she couldn’t get away from it.
That’s why those women were holding those pouches to their noses: to block out the smell.
Caitlin suddenly felt claustrophobic, and spotted what looked like a side street; she cut her way through a group of jugglers and guitar players, and as she crossed the square, she saw that there were many side streets leading in and out of the square. They were more like narrow alleyways, underneath arched buildings, and she ducked into the nearest one.
Finally, she could breathe; Rose looked relieved, too. They headed down the narrow side street, and it weaved its way left and right. The streets were so narrow, and the buildings blocked out most of the light, and she began to feel confined in this city. She stood there, debating which way to go.
She had barely ventured a few blocks, and already she felt disoriented, turned around. She had no idea where she was going, or where to look for Caleb—if he was even here. She wished she had a map—but then again, she had no money—or, at least, no real money—to pay for one.
Worse, she felt the hunger gnawing away at her again, and felt herself growing more irritable.
Rose, as if reading her mind, whined. The poor thing was hungry, too. Caitlin was determined to find a way to get them both food.
She suddenly heard a wooden shutter opening up above, followed by a loud splashing. She jumped back, as a bucket of water hit the ground, close to her, startling her. She looked up and saw an old woman, missing teeth, looking down as she finished emptying a bucket, and then slammed closed the shutters.
Caitlin smelled a horrible stench, and didn’t need anyone to explain to her what the woman had just done: thrown a bucket of urine out the window. She was revolted. She heard another shutter opening, in the distance, and looked over and watched someone else do the same. She looked down and realized that the streets were lined with urine and feces. She also noticed several rats scurrying to and fro. She nearly wretched. It made her, for the first time, really appreciate the inventions and comforts of her time that she had always taken for granted. Plumbing. Sewage systems. She longed for cleanliness, and felt more homesick than ever. If this was a sneak preview of urban life in 1790, she wasn’t sure she could handle it.
Caitlin hurried along, before any more shutters opened, and finally saw what looked like an opening up ahead. She reached the end of the alleyway, and it indeed opened up onto another square, this one less crowded. She was relieved to be out of the side streets and back out into the open light and air again.
She crossed the square, and sat on the edge of the large, circular fountain, in one of the few empty seats amidst the crowd. Rose jumped up beside her, and sat looking up at her, whining.
As Caitlin sat there, trying to collect her thoughts, a person approached, holding out a canvas and pointing at it with a paintbrush. She looked up at him, puzzled, and he kept pointing. “I draw your picture,” he said. “Very pretty. Very nice. You pay me.”
Caitlin shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t have any money.”
The man quickly hurried off. Caitlin looked around the square, and noticed street artists everywhere, all trying to get people to pay them. And then she noticed something which alarmed her: packs of wild dogs. They combed along the sides of the square, rifling through trash, and she saw one dog stop and look her way. It seemed to focus on Rose—and soon, it was trotting in their direction.
Rose must have sensed it, too, because she turned slowly and faced the oncoming animal. Caitlin could feel Rose tense up, and she tensed, too. The large, mangy dog looked somewhat like a German Shepherd, and it came up to Rose, and sniffed her. Rose sniffed back, her hair standing up on her back; as the dog tried to walk behind Rose, Rose suddenly snapped, snarling with an unearthly noise, baring her teeth, and biting the dog’s neck—hard.
The dog yelped. Although it was bigger, Rose was clearly more powerful and she did not let go.
Finally, the dog took off.
Rose, worked up, sat there, snarling, a vicious, unearthly sound, and several people backed away, giving them space.
Caitlin was shocked. She had never seen Rose like that before. It made her realize Rose was not the small, innocent pup she remembered; she was growing up, and would soon be a full-bred wolf, and a force to be reckoned with.
Caitlin felt the unwelcome stares in their direction, and decided to move on, before someone realized that Rose was not just another dog. The last thing she wanted was to call more attention to them.
Caitlin got up and led Rose to the opposite side of the square. She looked at all the side streets and alleyways leading into and out of the square, and felt overwhelmed. Had she been foolish to come here? How could she ever possibly find Caleb amidst these masses, in this maze of a city?
Maybe she should have followed the Priest’s advice, and gone to Florence instead. Had she been foolish to follow her heart?
Before she could finish the thought, something caught her attention. On the far side of the square, she noticed a girl get dragged down an alleyway, and heard her muffled cry, before a hand was clasped over her mouth. Clearly, she was in trouble.
Without thinking, Caitlin sprang into action, chasing towards her.
She ran into the alleyway, Rose by her side, and soon found herself running down a set of twisting and turning alleys. She heard the muffled cries in the distance, and turned down another alleyway, then another, getting lost in the maze of narrow side streets.
Finally, she spotted the girl up ahead. She was being dragg
ed by three men towards the end of an alley, one of them with a hand over her mouth, and the others each grabbing an arm. They were huge men, all bald, covered in scars, and evil-looking.
The girl fought back valiantly, biting one of their hands, eyes open wide in fear as she jerked her arms and elbows and legs—but it was of little use. These men were clearly stronger than her.
“Let her go!” Caitlin screamed, as she ran towards them and stopped.
The three men stopped, turned, and looked at Caitlin. They must have been shocked to see a single girl confronting them. At first, they didn’t know what to make of it.
“I said, let her go,” Caitlin said, in a low, steely voice. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
Caitlin thought back to the all the times in her life when she’d been bullied, overpowered, especially when she’d been human. She hated bullies, more than anything. And if there was anything she hated worse than that, it was seeing a guy trying to hurt a girl. She felt the rage overwhelm her, felt the heat rise up from her toes, up through her legs and shoulders and hands; she felt it transform her, give her power she never knew she had. It was blinding, all-encompassing. She had no choice. It drove her.
The three cretins dropped the girl, roughly, on the stone, smiled at each other, and turned and walked towards Caitlin. The girl could have ran, but instead she stayed where she was, watching.
Caitlin heard Rose growl beside her.
Caitlin didn’t wait. She took three steps forward, leapt into the air, and planted two feet hard on the lead man’s chest, kicking him so hard that he flew back several feet.
Before the others could react, she wheeled and elbowed one hard across the face, cracking his cheek with a loud noise, and sending him to the ground.
The third man grabbed her from behind with all he had. Caitlin struggled, surprised for a moment. This one was much stronger than she’d expected.
Just as she prepared to flip him over her shoulder, she heard the sound of breaking glass, and felt him drop his grip.
She turned and saw the girl standing behind her, a broken bottle in her hand, and the man lying limp on the ground: she had clearly smashed a bottle over his head.
Before Caitlin could thank her, the first man, back on his feet, charged at her again. But Rose was mad now, and she took the lead, charging him, leaping into the air, and clamping down hard on his throat. The man dropped to the ground, squirming and screaming, but he could not get Rose off.
Finally, he passed out, and Rose returned to Caitlin’s side.
Caitlin surveyed the damage: the three men lay there, unconscious.
She turned and looked at the girl.
The girl stared back, bewildered and grateful at the same time.
Caitlin stared back at her, and Caitlin was shocked, too. But not because of what had happened.
Rather, because she knew this girl.
In fact, she had once been her best friend.
It was Polly.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Sam woke to the sound of clanging church bells. He never knew bells could ring that loudly, and he felt as if he were inside the bell itself. His entire body shook with the sound, as he opened his eyes to utter blackness. He reached out, and felt stone in front of him.
He frantically reached out in every direction, and felt himself encased in stone. He was flat on his back. He tried to move side to side, but couldn’t, and that’s when he realized: he was in a coffin.
Panicking, Sam reached up with all his might, and after several seconds, was finally able to move the stone lid; with a scraping noise, it slid just a few inches, as light and fresh air poured in through the crack. He breathed deeply, realizing how badly he needed it.
He slid a few fingers into the crack, and with all his might, pushed the lid to the side. Again it scraped, protesting, but soon he was able to get all his fingers in, then his hands. Within moments, he pushed the stone lid completely off, and with one final heave, it crashed to the floor, cracking into a million pieces.
He sat upright, gasping for air, and shielded his eyes from the light.
Sam jumped up from the coffin, and, stumbling on weak legs, scurried over to the corner, hiding from the direct sunlight. He searched his pockets, and quickly unraveled his skin wraps, and wrapped his arms and shoulders. He found the eye drops in his pocket, too, and put two in each eye.
After a moment, his breathing relaxed. He started to calm, to feel himself again. He looked around.
He was in a tomb of some sort, an ancient, dusty tomb. He saw an open door, leading outside.
Sam steeled himself and walked out, into the sunlight, and realized with a shock where he was.
At the top of a hill, exiting a church’s mausoleum, spread out before him were hundreds of steps, leading down to a city. Rome. The entire city spread out before him, and he was afforded a magnificent view. He turned and examined the church he exited from, then turned back, and looked again at the steps. It all suddenly struck him. He knew where he was. He had seen this picture many times on postcards: the Spanish steps of Rome.
His time travel had worked. He didn’t know exactly why it had taken him to this place, or what year it was, but he hoped it would be the same year that Kyle had gone to. Sam couldn’t remember much—his entire time in New York now felt hazy, like a dream—but he did remember one thing: his single-minded pursuit of Kyle. He remembered finding out that Kyle had gone back in time to kill his sister, and that once he learned this, he couldn’t rest. He was determined to find Kyle, no matter what it took, and kill him before he could harm his sister.
Before he’d discovered this news, Sam has been depressed, at odds, in a deep despair for what he’d done to his sister, and to Caleb. He had never meant any of it. Once he’d found out what Kyle was up to, he’d seen this as his chance to make amends for all that he had done—and to avenge himself on Kyle. Sam knew that he could never expect the forgiveness of Caitlin. But at the very least, perhaps, he could help her in his own, small way.
As Sam descended the steps, through the mobs of people, he noticed several of them parting ways for him, looking at him funny. Some of them were pointing at him, then looking up the hill.
He suddenly realized that he must have made an odd site, probably covered in dust from the tomb.
And some of them may have seen him exiting right from the mausoleum, and had probably heard the shattering of stone.
He quickened his pace, figuring it best not to let them wonder too much, and headed off down the stairs at a quick jog, taking them three at a time.
Sam weaved his way through the crowd, wondering which way to go. He could feel Kyle’s presence strongly in the city. It was hard not to feel it—the man emanated evil, oozed it in a tangible trail. Sam followed the trail, following his senses, as he navigated down the side streets of Rome. He barely took in any of the scene before him, as he was so single-mindedly focused on completing his mission.
Sam felt himself gravitating down a particular street, then down a particular alleyway.
He stopped just in time, nearly tripping: there, beneath him, were two rotting corpses, one of what looked like a prostitute, and the other of a man that looked like her pimp. He sensed strongly that Kyle had been here, and had done this.
Sam followed his senses down several more side
streets, and before he knew it, he found himself entering in a large, ancient square: The Piazza Della Rotonda. And there, before him, was the place he sought: the Pantheon.
Sam stared in awe. It was magnificent. With its his huge columns spread out before its entranceway, its circular dome, it was both beautiful and imposing. He had seen it before online, but it had been nothing compared to seeing it in person.
Online, he thought, and nearly laughed aloud. He looked around carefully for the first time, saw the people dressed in ancient garb, saw the lack of cars and any modern conveniences, and marveled at how many years these people were from knowing what online meant.
Sam focused. He sensed Kyle behind those walls. He tightened his fist, preparing for battle.
Sam took off at a sprint for the structure. He felt deep down that he was at least as strong as Kyle, and if he was going to die fighting him, better to get it over with.
Sam ran up the steps and put his shoulder into the huge, open doors; oddly, they were already ajar, as if waiting.
He found himself running down the corridor and right into the center of the main, circular room of the Pantheon. He braced himself, ready for a fight, ready to confront Kyle, ready to go down swinging.
But as he finished charging into the room, as he stopped and looked around, to his surprise, he saw that the room was completely empty. His footsteps echoed off the walls, off the huge dome ceiling, off the marble floor, as he turned in every direction, looking for Kyle, looking for any adversary.
He was stunned. He’d felt certain that Kyle was here, and had never before been so misled by his senses. Was this some sort of trick?
Before he could finish the thought, Sam suddenly felt something moving towards him, impossibly fast, and at the last second, he looked up to see what it was. Hundreds of vampires, their wings out spread like bats, had been clinging to the ceiling, waiting for him.
