by Морган Райс
Caitlin reached up, and scraped away stone and dirt. As she did, the shape became clearer. It was indeed a tiny indent. In the shape of a key.
Caitlin reached into her pocket, and extracted the key the small key to the Vincent house. She held it up and looked at Caleb. He nodded back.
She slipped it inside, and it fit perfectly.
They looked at each other, dumbfounded.
She turned the key, and it clicked. A small compartment open in the wall of the rock.
She reached in and extracted it. It was a scroll. Torn in half.
They both looked at each other, speechless. It was the second half of the scroll.
Caitlin reached into her pocket and took out her half of the scroll. She was grateful it was still in its airtight metal container, spared from air and water damage. They held them both up together and walked closer to the fire, holding them to the light.
As they did, the entire inscription became clear:
The Four Horsemen travel a trail to freedom. They leave common ground, Enter a ring of blood, Meet at the house, And find the hones they loved Beside the fourth tip of the cross.
They both looked at each other, in awe that they found it here.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I’m…not sure. But these words…a ‘trail to freedom,’ the ‘common’…. I might be mistaken, but I believe it all points to the Freedom Trail. Boston. That would explain the ‘trail to freedom.’
And the ‘common’ could be the Boston Common. I don’t know where, exactly, it’s pointing us, but I would guess it’s somewhere on the Freedom Trail. It would make sense. Salem, Edgartown, Boston. All three are very strongly connected.”
Caitlin struggled to get her mind around this.
“But…how is it possible?” she asked. “It seems so random. Why would we find it here? In this cave? In this place? It doesn’t make any sense. What if we had gone somewhere else?”
“But it does make sense,” he replied. “Think about it. We did not come here by accident. Your father visited you. He led us here. And those horses took us right to this cave and stopped.”
She looked at him.
“Horses are a great aid to the vampire race. They are mystical. Messengers. They have been with us from the beginning of time. They came when we needed them. It was no coincidence. They led us here. Sometimes,” he continued, “events that seem like a coincidence are the most pre-planned of all.”
She stared at the scroll, marveling at the old writing, at the events that brought them here. More than ever, she began to feel that all of this was destined.
And she began to hope that maybe her relationship with Caleb could be destined, too.
“So where now?” she asked. “Boston?”
He nodded. “Looks like we need to get back on that boat.”
TWENTY FIVE
Kyle paced the deck of the small yacht, anxious as they sped in the early morning towards Martha’s Vineyard. He could not stand still. He hated boats, and he hated water. Worse, he hated crossing water, like most of his kind. Perhaps even more than most.
That Russian boy had insisted that Caitlin was in this direction. So he’d went with him, up the coast, along a highway. But then their search had ended in a harbor. The Russian had pointed out to the ocean. He had insisted that stupid girl, the source of all his trouble, was on the island.
Kyle had gotten into such a rage, he hadn’t been able to control himself. Not only had this girl made him chase her up the entire East Coast, not only had she made him miss the war, but now she was forcing him to board a boat, to cross water. He had marched up to the first docked yacht he had seen, leapt on board, and had killed the entire crew on the spot. He’d thrown them all overboard, had hijacked their boat, and he and the Russian had taken off. At least killing them had taken the edge off of his rage.
But now that they were out at sea, surrounded by nothing but blue, his rage flared up again. He had had enough of chasing this girl. He wanted to find her already, kill her, after making her show him exactly where her father was—or where the sword was.
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he paced on deck, wanting the yacht to go faster. He ran up to Sergei, who was steering, and yelled at him again.
“Make it go faster!” he screamed.
“I can’t, my master,” he pleaded, afraid. “This is as fast as this boat will go.”
“You are certain she is on this island?” he asked for the tenth time.
“I am certain that she has crossed water in this direction,” he answered. “I feel her scent in my veins.”
“That is not what I asked you,” Kyle responded, threateningly.
The Russian lifted his head, looking at the air, breathing in. For a moment, he seemed confused.
Almost as if he were unsure, or changing his mind. As if he had lost her scent.
If he had, Kyle would kill him.
“I…am sure they came in this direction. I sense their presence strongly. But…that is all I know,” he said.
Kyle stormed back to the railing. He face burned red with anger. He was missing it all. After thousands of years of waiting, the war— his war—was beginning without him. Right now, back in New York, the plague was beginning to spread. His work, unleashed. And here he was, far away from it all, stuck on a boat with some stupid Russian opera singer. Not able to enjoy it. Not able to watch the pathetic humans screaming, running for their lives. It was the part he had been looking forward to most.
He would really make this girl pay.
Kyle gripped the railing with both of his hands in such a rage that he bent it in half, then tore it completely off the deck.
As Caitlin stood on the ferry, holding the railing, the water moving quickly below, Rose tucked into her jacket and Caleb beside her, she looked out at the horizon. She couldn’t see land, but she knew it would be coming soon. A part of her wished she would never see land. As long as they were out at sea, surrounded by blue, things would remain the same. She and Caleb would still be together. But when she spotted the first sign of land, she knew that life would begin, inexorably, to change. Once they reached land, they would be drawn, like a magnet, right into the heart of Boston, onto the Freedom Trail. She just knew that this would be the final stop in their search. She could feel it. And that terrified her.
Apparently Caleb was nervous, too. She looked over and saw him clutching the railing, looking out, and she could see the worry etched in his face. She was beginning to recognize his facial expressions, and she knew that this was not one he wore often. She could see that it was not from his fear of water. It was something else. Was he also afraid of their future? Of what would happen once they found the sword?
They both knew that, once he found it, he couldn’t take her with her. He would be on the warpath. Likely, back with his coven, in the midst of a vampire war. She could not see a role for herself in that. And yet she could not see a life without him, either.
Things were different between them now. As he slipped his arm around her waist, and held her close, she realized that she had never felt so close to anyone. It was almost as if they were one mind, looking out of the water. She was a changed woman. And she felt that somehow, even if in a small way, he had been changed by last night, too.
This time, on the ride back, they were both silent. Neither obsessed about the latest clue, neither spent time trying to decipher the riddle, to speculate as to where it might be. They were simply content to stand next to each other, to be with each other. Neither felt the need to talk. It was the calm before the storm, and they both just wanted to enjoy it.
Suddenly, Caleb grimaced. His jaw set hard, the way it sometimes did when he was getting ready to fight.
She looked at him.
“What is it?” she asked.
He stared at the horizon, squinting, clenching his jaw. Several seconds of silence followed.
“I sense something,” he said.
She waited for him to add m
ore, but he didn’t.
“What?” she asked, finally.
He stared for several more seconds.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There is a great disturbance. I can feel my people suffering.… I feel…people searching for us. And I feel…we are heading into grave danger.”
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 alw
ays 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. It’s right in the middle, right between Salem and Martha’s Vineyard. We’re in the center.
