by Morgan Rice
It didn’t take her much time to get into the guts of the catalog, entering several dozen combinations of keywords: Vampire. History of the vampire. Vampire myths. Vampire legends. Vampire rituals. Vampire cure. Vampire weapon. Scholarship. Proof. Facts.
Her searching brought up a wide array of books. She scrolled through them quickly, her expert eye able to weed out the wrong ones, immediately ruling out books that were too modern, books by disreputable publishers, books with titles that were too sensational, books that lacked the sense of history and scholarship she desired. She was looking for books that were older, that had been in print for centuries, put out by reputable publishers, written by scholars and historians. If books had been around long enough, century after century, then more often than not there was something to them. Books that fit her exact criteria were few and far between.
Nonetheless, Caitlin settled on a half dozen titles, books on the history of the vampire, scholarship debunking myth, archaeological evidence of vampires, and archaeological searches for vampire races. She printed out the catalog numbers and hurried to the librarian’s desk, handing the list to the clerk.
The clerk took it without a word and studied the titles. She then looked up at Caitlin with an expression of distaste. Caitlin flushed, embarrassed, realizing what she must be thinking. She probably thought she was some sort of crank invading a library for serious scholars.
“I will have them brought down from the stacks for you,” the woman said, curt.
Without another word, the woman turned and handed the list to a small man, perhaps fifty, frail, wearing an old tweed blazer, too tight, a crooked bow tie, and thick glasses perched at the tip of his nose. He walked around the table, Caitlin following him, and together they walked into the main hall.
“You know there’s a six-book limit, don’t you?” he said sternly, his voice nasal, not looking at her or smiling, as if he were too busy to be bothered with her request.
“I’ve only requested six books,” she said.
He stared at her, obviously not liking being corrected. Then he slid his glasses up his nose and looked down at the titles. He glanced at her with the same expression the clerk had.
“I take it you’re some sort of paranormal writer looking for ideas?” he said, speaking to her as if she were a used-car salesman.
Caitlin frowned, hating his judgmental attitude, and uninterested in sharing her life with him. He wouldn’t understand anyway.
“Something like that,” was all she said.
“Well, I have a lot of serious scholarly requests in the stacks that should come before yours. It may take me a while, due to the…nature of your request.”
Caitlin was fed up; she grabbed his wrist, too firmly, not meaning to, but unable to let go. He stopped and turned and looked at her, horrified.
“Don’t touch me, madam,” he snapped, his voice rising.
She slowly released her grip.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I haven’t time. My matter is urgent.”
“Your matter?” he said disdainfully. “Fantasy books?”
Caitlin blushed. She didn’t know what to say to make him understand how truly pressing this was.
“I need the books now,” she said. “NOW, do you understand me!?”
Her words echoed too loudly in the silent hall, and people sitting quietly looked up from their books and glanced at them.
The librarian, clearly embarrassed, scowled back at her. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, climbing the metal steps to the upper level, to the endless stacks.
Caitlin turned and saw the patrons looking at her, and she slowly looked away, embarrassed. She walked over to one of the reading tables and sat there, waiting.
Caitlin rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes, wondering how long the librarian would take until he returned with her books. She realized what a crank she must seem to be, and wondered if this was all just a waste of time. As Aiden said, scholars had been searching for centuries. What could she really hope to achieve in such a short window?
As Caitlin sat there, head in her hands, there came a tremendous bang beside her, and she jumped. She saw six thick books land on the table beside her, and the short librarian who had slammed them walked right past her, not even acknowledging her.
Caitlin’s heart raced from the surprise; she was both annoyed at him for scaring her, and grateful for getting the books so quickly. What a spiteful little man, she thought.
Caitlin wasted no time. She cracked open the first book, an old tome from the nineteenth century, thick, leather-bound. As she turned its frail and brittle pages, she went into speed-reading mode, reading the pages faster than she ever had in her life, looking for keywords, places, locations, ideas. Anything that would lead to another book, another idea, another lead, another clue. Anything with substance.
Caitlin scanned and scanned, and while she found interesting tidbits here and there, there was nothing that really caught her eye. It was mostly scholars debunking the theories of vampirism, explaining that one theory after another was illegitimate, that there had never been any serious scholarship and research producing evidence of any vampires in history. There had been corpses discovered from the Middle Ages in Europe with bricks in their mouths, corpses whose hearts had been pierced by stakes—yet none of this was proof that they had been vampires. The locals, they believed, were superstitious.
Caitlin waded through fables and rumors and legends, thousands of pages spanning every time and culture and society; she pored through supposed vampire sightings and slayings. She read all of the scholarly context, time and again, the scholars debunking every lead.
Hours had passed, and Caitlin was feeling depressed as she waded her way through the final book, Archaeological Explorations of the Vampire Myth, as dry and scholarly as the others, feeling increasingly certain this was another dead end.
It was only while perusing the last chapter, about to close the book, that she stumbled upon something that made her sit upright, alert. She went back and read it again carefully:
…This is not to say one can discount the notion of a lost vampire society. Whether a supposed race of vampires existed could never be proved. But the mountain of evidence suggesting a lost city cannot be ruled out, either. We don’t know that this was necessarily a vampire city. It could have, for example, been an ancient city of religious fanatics, or zealots. Yet, based on my research, one could say that the existence of such a place is indeed entirely probable.
Caitlin read the passage again and again, her head hurting, trying to understand what the author was saying. She flipped through several pages, all the way to the end of the book, increasingly confused by his long academic, winded sentences, his qualifying his every word.
She could find no mention in the book of a cure, or weapon. But his words made her think. A lost vampire race. A lost vampire city….
On the one hand, this might be taking her further off-topic; yet on the other hand, this might be exactly the lead she needed. If there were indeed a lost vampire race or city, it went to follow that it was eradicated. And it could have only been eradicated by a weapon or cure.
Maybe she been thinking about it the wrong way, she realized. Maybe she shouldn’t be searching for a weapon or cure. Maybe she should be focusing on a lost civilization. A lost race. A lost city. A lost book.
Caitlin got up, encouraged, returning the books to the library clerk, and went back to the computer. She changed her keyword search terms. Lost cities. Mythical cities. Legendary cities. Vampire cities. Vampire races. Lost races. Extinct races….
Caitlin tried dozens of combinations, and this time she ended up with an improbably huge list of books, hundreds of them, having to do with lost civilizations and lost cities and races. They were mostly about mythology and archaeology in general, and not about vampires. Yet she found it encouraging nonetheless. Maybe she needed to think of the vampires as a lost race, a lost people, a
lost city.
Caitlin returned to the librarian with a freshly printed list, and he looked down and frowned.
“There are seventy-one books on this list,” he said forcefully. “You know the limit.”
“I’ll take the first six,” Caitlin said.
He sighed loudly, plainly annoyed.
“It’s four-thirty, ma’am. The library closes in fifteen minutes.”
He stood there, clearly not wanting to go to the stacks again for her.
“Then go quickly,” she replied, not giving in.
He tried to stare her down, but finally, he snatched the list from her hand, turned, and stampeded up the steps, his footsteps echoing off the metal.
Caitlin returned to her table, encouraged yet anxious. She only had fifteen minutes, and they did not allow one to check out the books. There was no way she could come back tomorrow; with Scarlet out there, she didn’t have the luxury of time. She had to think of some other way.
As Caitlin racked her brain, she realized what she had to do: she had to get up there, into the stacks, past this man. She needed to spend the night here, in this place. To go through every book on her list. There was no other way.
The lights in the library suddenly flashed, and a voice came over the loudspeakers: “The library will be closing in fifteen minutes.”
A moment later the librarian returned, setting down six more books for her, and this time, as he did, Caitlin heard a buzzing noise. The man reached into his pocket, glanced at his phone, and scowled.
“Kids,” he said to himself. “I told my daughter to stop texting. She just won’t stop.”
Caitlin looked down at his phone, saw he had the same model as she, and she had an idea. With her phone’s new technology, one could exchange contact info instantly by bumping phones.
Caitlin deliberately slid a book off the table, dropping it with a bang, and he, as she’d predicted, bent over to pick it up; as he did, she raised her phone furtively, while he was distracted, and bumped her phone into his.
She glanced down and saw they had just exchanged phone numbers. Now she had him in her contacts.
The librarian, never realizing what had happened, went back to the stacks. Caitlin knew this was her chance; it was now or never. Especially as another announcement came over the loudspeaker.
Caitlin felt bad doing this, but her daughter’s life was at stake, and she had to try to do something to get past him. Caitlin quickly blocked her number so that her texts would come from a private number, then sent him in a message:
You have gone over the limit for text messaging for the month. You have an overage of $782. If you do not contact us within the ten minutes, your service will be disconnected.
Caitlin clicked send.
She sat there, waiting, and sure enough, moments later she heard a commotion. She heard footsteps as he quickly hurried down the metal stairs, and she turned and saw him hurrying, looking very pale, holding up his phone as he ran to the main hall to get better reception.
Caitlin realized this was her chance. The lights flashed again, another announcement was made, and as all the patrons began to migrate from the hall, Caitlin grabbed the books before her and went against traffic. She looked both ways, took off her shoes, and walked quietly up the metal steps leading to the stacks. With everyone heading in the other direction, no one seemed to notice her.
Caitlin reached the top and looked around, and saw an endless library of scholarly books, precious stack after stack after stack. Holding the catalog numbers in her hand, she knew exactly where to go.
First, though, she would find the darkest corner she could find, and wait. Soon, the lights would go off.
And the library would be hers.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scarlet looked up into the black starry night, elated, her heart soaring with joy as she saw Sage flying down, descending right for her. At first she was sure it was a trick of her eyes, a hopeful dream. But as Sage got closer, she saw his beautiful eyes glistening under the light of the moon, and she knew it was true. It was really him.
Scarlet’s eyes welled with tears as he landed before her, stepped forward, and wordlessly embraced her, holding her so tight, his black leather pants crinkling. She held him tight, too, not wanting to let him go, ever, She felt her tears pour down her cheek, overwhelmed with gratitude that he was alive, that he had come back for her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked over his shoulder.
“I came for you,” he replied.
The sound of his voice reassured her immediately, a sound she could never forget. It was really him, here in the flesh. She clung to him, feeling as if she were holding onto the cornerstone of her world, the only thing left to make her want to live. She realized that without Sage in the world, her life felt meaningless. He had become her entire world.
Now here he was, back with her like a dream, and she squeezed him tight, not ever wanting to let him go. She swirled with conflicting emotions. She was mad at him for leaving her, grateful to him for returning to her, and sad knowing his days were numbered, that he would not live forever. She wept as she held him, knowing their love was fleeting, knowing he was destined to die. A part of her wanted to die with him.
“I don’t want you to die,” she whispered into his ear as he held her tight.
He did not reply as he held her. After all, what could he say?
“Let them take me,” she said, “let them kill me. It will allow your kind to live. It will allow you to live.”
Sage pulled back and shook his head as he looked at her.
“I’d rather die a thousand times than have anything happen to you.”
He leaned in and they kissed, and the feel of his lips electrified her. She knew he was the one true love of her life, the one person she was meant to be with forever. She couldn’t explain it, but there was something about him, something so different from everyone else.
“How did you find me?” she asked, pulling back and looking into his eyes.
“I’ve been searching for you ever since you ran out,” he said. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. And then, while I was flying, searching, this time I felt something. I felt you calling me. I felt it so strongly, you summoning me to you, like a beacon in the night. I followed my gut, and it led me here, to you.”
He took her hand, and the two of them walked through the trails, to the edge of the beach and rock. They found a spot in the sand, right by the lapping shores of the Hudson, and as they sat together, Sage draped an arm around her and they looked up at the starry night.
The entire world was still except for the sound of the lapping waves. Even on this cold November night, the wind coming off the waters, Scarlet felt warm in Sage’s arms, felt heat emanating off him. Everything felt perfect in the world.
“I went to your house,” Scarlet said. “It was all boarded up. I thought you left.”
He shook his head sadly.
“My family has left,” he said. “For the first time in a thousand years.”
“Where did they go?” she asked, curious.
“There is a convening,” he said. “Of all of our kind, from all around the world. They’re coming together for the final days.”
Sage shook his head, his face grim.
“They all know we’re about to die. Some cannot accept it. Some have come to be with each other; some to console each other; others, though, to wreak havoc upon the world. They wish to make others suffer before they die. They will unleash a great terror on mankind, will go out in a burning blaze. None of them want to go quietly, not after two thousand years of living. They all want to go out with a bang.”
Scarlet’s heart pounded, his words terrifying her.
“Don’t worry,” he said, holding her hand, “they are far from here.”
Suddenly, Sage broke into a coughing fit. Scarlet could feel his entire body wracking, and she felt alarmed, her eyes welling with tears. He looked too pale. He looked to be on death’s door.
/> “Are you dying?” she asked him flatly, afraid to know the answer.
He looked away from her, and finally nodded weakly.
“How much time do you have left?” she asked.
Sage looked up at the moon, then looked away.
“The moon is waning,” he said. “In but a few days it will be new. Once this moon goes, so will our kind.”
Scarlet felt horrified at the thought.
“I can’t let you leave me,” she said. “If you die I will die with you.”
She wept as she held him to her.
Sage shook his head.
“Let us not focus on death,” he said softly. “Death will come for us all. Tonight, we have life. We have us. We have this moment. Let us focus on now. Let us live. Let us truly live. Let us be happy here, together, while we’re alive. While no one else tries to tear us apart.”
He looked into her eyes.
“I have a few good days before I die. I want to spend them with you. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, I want to take you somewhere special. Somewhere you’ve never been. I want it to be a day just for us.”
Scarlet’s hands were trembling at the idea.
“There’s nothing I would love more,” she said, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. “Where will we go?”
“I have a surprise for you,” he said with a smile. “You’re going to love it.”
Scarlet could not help smiling, happy for the first time in as long as she could remember.
“I want you to always remember me,” he said. “After all, you are immortal now. I will be dying. But you are the one who’s going to live forever.”
Scarlet’s eyes welled up again. She did not want to live forever. Not with Sage dead.
The two of them lay on the sand under the stars, listening to the sound of the lapping waves, and she held him tight, feeling his warmth, and wanting this night to never end. All the heartbreak she had endured, all the suffering, all the tormenting and confusion from her friends, all the petty people in her school and in her town—all the things she hated—it all meant nothing to her now. It was all washed away by this moment. It all meant nothing just for this moment to be in Sage’s arms.
