Loved vj-2

by Морган Райс

  “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.

&n
bsp; “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.

  But they looked around carefully, and did not see any place, any clue that would point them elsewhere.

  “Well, this must be the ‘meeting house.’ And if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, then the question is: where’s the fourth place?”

  He held up the scroll again.

  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.

  “We’ve left ‘common ground,’” he said, “we’ve entered ‘the ring,’ and we’ve ‘met at the house.’

  Now we have to ‘find the ones they loved, beside the fourth tip of the cross.’ So, if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, that means we have one last destination.”

  They both stood there, thinking.

  “I think that ‘find the ones they loved’ is a reference to finding your father,” he said. “I think there’s just one stop left. But where? What is the ‘fourth tip of the cross?’ Another church?”

  Caitlin thought. She racked her brain again and again. She studied the scroll, then reached over and studied the map. She, too, felt that they were so close. She agreed that there was only one stop left. But it wasn’t immediately coming to her. She looked at all of the other churches on the freedom trail, and none of them felt right to her.

  Then it suddenly hit her. She took a step back, and looked again at the map. She traced her finger along it, along everywhere they had already traveled. And her eyes lit up with excitement.

  “A pen,” she said breathlessly. “Quick. I need a pen.”

  Caleb ran down the aisle, found a pen in one of the pews, and hurried back.

  She began drawing a line on the map of the freedom trail.

  “It’s a pattern,” she said. “We’ve been walking a pattern. We started in the Common,” she said, circling it. “Next, we entered the ring of blood,” she said, connecting it with a line, and circling it.

  “Then, we went to the meeting house,” she connected that with a line, and circled it.

  She held it up, showing him.

  “Look at where we’ve walked. Look at the pattern.”

  He squinted, unsure.

  “It’s not finished yet, that’s why you don’t see it. We’ve only walked three points. But a fourth point would complete it.”

  She drew a straight line to complete the pattern.

  His jaw dropped as he recognized it.

  “A cross,” he said quietly. “We were meant to walk in the shape of a cross.”

  “Yes,” she said excitedly. “And if we follow the line, if we complete the cross symmetrically, it only leads to one place.”

  They both followed the line she drew.

  Right there, at that exact spot, at the fourth tip of the cross, lay the King’s Chapel burying ground.

  “The ones they loved,” Caleb said. “The burying ground.”

  “He’s buried there,” she said.

  “And so, I bet, is the sword.”

  Samantha raced the BMW on the outskirts of Boston, Sam in the passenger seat beside her, heading along the highway towards Salem. She was increasingly annoyed at the growing difficulty in finding his dad. She’d been sure, when she’d seen those Facebook messages, when Sam had told her with such excitement that he’d been in touch with him, that this would be easy. She would just take him to his dad’s house, and from there it would be a direct path to the sword. But things had gotten complicated. She hadn’t expected to encounter that creep, and most of all, hadn’t expected to develop any feelings for Sam. It was complicating things. Making her less sharp.

  Her original plan had been so simple: find his dad, kill them both, and return with the sword. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to kill Sam at all. Especially as she looked over at him, and saw that fresh scar on his cheek, the reminder of how he’d tried to save her.

  More than anything, she was mad at herself for that, mad at her lack of discipline. She hated feelings. They always got in the way.

  After she’d seen his watch, after he’d given her the lead to Salem, she could have easily cut him loose. But for some weird reason, she wanted him around. She didn’t quite understand why. She’d told him she needed his help, for something important to her, and that they’d need to go to Salem.

  Was he game? He’d broke into a big smile. This was clearly a kid who didn’t care about going back to school.

  Besides, she could still use him to find his dad. That had been a lucky break with the watch. But Salem was a big place. And that inscription could mean anything. Having him around might actually come in handy.

  Suddenly, she sensed something, and slammed on the brakes. Their car screeched to a stop in the middle of the highway.

  “Whoa,” Sam said, slamming his palms on the dash. “What’s the deal?”

  Several cars screeched to a stop behind them, leaning on their horns.

  But Samantha didn’t care. She had felt something in the air. A vibration.

  She sat there and raised her chin. Sensing.

  Yes. There it was again. So close. The signal was unmistakable. There was important vampire activity. Right here in Boston. The vibration of it coursed through her veins. It was so close. She felt an urgency. Maybe, even, something to do with the sword itself.

  She suddenly peeled out of traffic, made a sharp U-turn. All the traffic on both sides of the highway screeched to a halt, as she sped down the opposite side of Storrow Drive.

  Sam was thrown against the side of the door, as he tried to get his bearings.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked, surprised, and a bit scared.

  Samantha drove another few hundred yards, then made a sharp left, screeching and cutting off four lanes of traffic.

  “Change of plans,” she said.

  Kyle jumped off the yacht before it even docked, and landed nimbly on the Boston cobblestone.

  The Russian soon landed beside him.

  He had thought of killing the Russian on the boat ride over, many times, but while it would make him temporarily happy, it wouldn’t get him what he needed. So he decided to give him one last chance, to see if he could, this time, point him in the right direction.

  If the Russian was clueless in Boston, then he would kill him for sure. And then just find another way. Kyle looked over at
him impatiently.

  At least the boy still had that big wound on his cheek. Kyle was sure it would leave a nice, big scar. The thought of it made him happy.

  Luckily for the Russian, his eyes lit up, and he pointed.

  “She is definitely here, my master,” he said, excitedly. “I sense her. Strongly. Only blocks away.”

  Kyle broke into a grin. This time, it seemed real. Yes, he believed him. Blocks away. He loved the sound of that.

  Kyle approached a shiny, new Towncar, its driver standing beside the open door.

  As they approached, the Russian opened the passenger door and got in.

  “Hey!” yelled the driver.

  But before he could react, Kyle, with one strong punch, had knocked him back several feet in the air. Without even slowing, Kyle got into the driver’s side, and with the car already running, peeled out.

  Kyle raced through the Boston traffic, veering for the fun of it and slamming hard into a car as he went. Horns began to blare all around him. He smiled widely. It made him feel just a little bit better.

  Within moments, he knew, that sword would be his.

  And then he would kill them all.

  TWENTY NINE

  As Caitlin and Caleb left the Meeting House, turning onto School Street, the King’s Chapel Burying Ground came into view. It was only two short blocks away, and a direct, straight walk.

  The fourth tip of the cross, Caitlin thought. It all makes perfect sense.

  As they walked, she marveled at the fact that they had walked, this entire time, in the shape of a cross, as if they had been led by some invisible hand.

  Caitlin felt her heart beating faster. She was nervous to finally meet her father, if he was alive.

  And nervous to see his grave, if he should be dead. She wasn’t sure how she would react either way.

  But she was also excited, relieved to at last know exactly who he was, where she came from. She was excited to know what her lineage was, and what her destiny would be.

  She was also nervous that this would mean the end between her and Caleb. What if they really found the sword? What would he do then? Would he go and wage his war? Save his coven? And where would that leave her?