Scarlet turned back and looked at her marshmallow, now covered in dirt, and the pain in her stomach increased. This night could not get any worse. She just wanted to get out of here. To be away from all this noise. To be with Sage. Wherever he was.
“Don’t mind her, she’s just bitter,” came a voice.
Scarlet turned to see Blake coming over and sitting next to her, smiling.
She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She appreciated his sympathy, but it was too little, too late; she had such conflicting feelings about Blake. So she just looked down at her dirt-covered marshmallow and wondered how she felt.
“Take mine,” he said.
Scarlet looked over to see him handing her his stick, freshly burnt, with a smile. She hesitated; but then her hunger got the best of her, and she took it and ate quickly, savoring the gooey, burnt marshmallow and melted chocolate.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“Listen,” Blake sighed. “I know I’ve been a real jerk. I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance. I’m really not such a bad guy. I’ve just been stupid. And I really like you.”
Scarlet looked around to see if her friends were listening, and she was surprised to see they had moved on, had gone to someone else’s fire and had left her alone here with Blake. She felt slighted that they had not invited her to join them. Was she really friends with them again? She felt more confused than ever.
Scarlet stared at Blake, saw his blue eyes glistening in the firelight, and remembered that she had been attracted to him once. He was a great-looking guy, the ultimate jock, the guy that most girls in the school would die for. There was a time when she had really wanted him. Then she’d met Sage.
But Sage was gone from her life now. He had left her, had stood her up.
Or had he?
Maybe Blake was being sincere, she thought. Maybe she should give him another chance.
“It wasn’t really me,” Blake said. “I was just like under a lot of pressure, you know? Like from Vivian and—”
“Are you going to sit there all night with this lonely girl?” came a voice.
Scarlet’s hair stood on end to hear Vivian’s voice; she looked over, and Vivian came and squatted on the other side of Blake, draping a hand around his shoulder.
Blake looked uncomfortable, shrugging his shoulder.
“I’m okay, thanks,” he said.
“Why would you want to sit with this loser?” Vivian said. “I mean, like everybody hates her. She has no friends in school. Come with us.”
“Vivian, you’re out of line,” Blake said.
“She’s a freak,” Vivian said. “And everybody knows it.”
Scarlet sat there, feeling an anger rising up, feeling like hitting Vivian.
But a part of her didn’t even care anymore; she felt beaten down by life, and she no longer cared what other kids thought. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be anywhere but with Sage.
“Listen, Vivian,” Blake said, standing, “I realize you may not like her. But it’s not okay to treat her like that. And the answer is no. I don’t want to be with you. So just go back to your friends and leave us alone, okay?”
Vivian stood and scowled at him, her face darkening.
“You’re pathetic,” she seethed at him. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”
Vivian stormed off, and Scarlet sat there in shock, impressed that Blake stood up for her like that. Maybe he had changed after all. Maybe she had underestimated him. Maybe she should give him another chance.
He looked down at her and smiled apologetically.
“Sorry about her,” he said. “Want to take a walk?”
Blake held out a hand, and Scarlet sat there, debating.
“Where?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Anywhere but here.”
She debated, looking at his hand, then finally, after a long while, she reached up and placed her hand in his, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Anywhere but here. That sounded good to her.
*
Scarlett walked beside Blake, weeds crunching beneath their feet as they ventured out on the trails leading into the island. She looked up at the night sky, filled with distant stars, and she breathed in the cool November air, trying to clear her head. Her heart swarmed with conflicting emotions. She felt she didn’t know who she was anymore; she didn’t know what she wanted, or where she wanted to go.
As they walked together in a comfortable silence, the weeds crunching, Scarlet looked out into the darkness and wondered where they were going.
“I know you love that guy,” Blake said, breaking the silence. “Sage, is it? Whatever his name is. Anyway, I know I’m not him. But he’s not here. And he’s not coming back.”
“What do you mean?” Scarlett asked, her heart pounding at the thought.
Blake shrugged.
“That’s what I’ve heard. He’s like packed up and gone. So I’m here, and you’re here, and this is real. Why can’t we just enjoy each other?”
“Enjoy each other?” she asked.
Blake chucked his flask into the bushes, turned, leaned in, grabbed her cheeks, and kissed her roughly, completely catching her off guard. The smell of alcohol was strong on his breath, and he kissed her too roughly.
Scarlett, horrified, pulled back, trying to get away from him, not liking being treated like this, not liking his abrupt actions—and sensing how drunk he was. She felt stung, and shocked, as they seemed to have been getting along finally, and this totally came out of nowhere. It was like the one person she could trust in this place—and he, too, had turned on her. She didn’t appreciate it at all.
Scarlet reached up, trying to push him away, but he forced himself on her, kissing her harder and harder.
“Get off of me!” she was finally able to say, shoving him.
But Blake was much stronger, and to her surprise, he did not back off; instead, emboldened, he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her tighter and tighter, kissing her harder and harder.
“You know you want to be with me,” he said between kisses, as she struggled. He was running his hands down her shoulders, and then he started lifting her shirt, trying to pull it off.
Scarlett’s heart was pounding as she began to realize he was actually trying to force himself upon her. She felt sick to her stomach, and without thinking, a sudden visceral reaction overcame her, a power coursing through her that she could not control.
Scarlet reached out with her palm, now burning hot, and shoved Blake in the chest; as she did, she felt a tremendous heat run through her, like a flash of lightning.
Blake suddenly went flying back, a good ten feet through the air, before landing in a thicket of thorns and weeds.
Blake sat there for a few moments, stunned, as he stared up at Scarlet in surprise, and something else—fear.
Scarlett stared back at him, her heart thumping, not sure what had just happened, and not sure she wanted to know. She was relieved, at least, to have gotten him away from her.
“They’re right about you,” he finally said. “You are a freak.”
Scarlett burst into tears, turned, and ran down the trail, heading back towards the shore. She couldn’t take it anymore: she had to get out of here. Everything had gone so wrong; she hated everyone and everything about this place. She didn’t know what she had been thinking to ever agree to come here.
Scarlett, crying, wiped away tears as she ran through the cold air, stumbling on roots, navigating the unfamiliar trails, until finally, she reached the river’s edge. She saw the rowboat, and hesitated. It was her only ticket back.
A part of her wanted to just take it and go home, rowing herself. But the water was rough, and she didn’t want to leave her friends, regardless of their actions, stranded without a boat. Another part of her wanted to just lift off and fly away; but though she willed for her wings to lift, they did not respond. For some reasons, her powe
rs were not entirely working here.
Scarlett stood there, debating. Slowly, her crying stopped as she began to collect herself. At least she was alone now, and it was quiet here, away from all of them.
Scarlet finally decided she would wait it out; she would get in the rowboat and just wait here until the night was over, for the others to return. They had to return eventually, and she wouldn’t abandon them to this place. She was sure, ironically, that they would not do the same for her.
Scarlett stepped into the boat, still beached on the sand, stepped across to the end of it, and sat there, folding her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She lowered her head and cried softly, willing the world to disappear.
“Well, there she is, the freak in her shell,” came a nasty voice.
Scarlett looked up and her heart dropped to see Vivian, marching out onto the beach with a dozen of her friends, holding a flask of liquor. She took a swig and threw it to the sand, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and marched for the tip of Scarlet’s rowboat.
Suddenly, before Scarlet realized what she was doing, Vivian shoved the boat hard. Scarlett grabbed onto the sides, panicked, as the boat suddenly wobbled, and as half of it entered the water, bobbing wildly.
Vivian laughed as she held the edge, rocking it.
“What are you doing?” Scarlett shrieked, terrified. “Pull it back!”
“Why should I?” she said.
“Viv, cut it out,” one of her male friends said, grabbing her shoulder. “You’ve had your fun.”
But Vivian threw his hand off of her and, fury in her eyes, rushed forward, leaning in and shoving the boat with all her might.
A moment later, Scarlett felt her boat drifting out into the strong currents; worse, she saw the oars dropped on the sand. There she was, alone in the boat, without oars, floating wildly every which way in the currents. She had no way to steer, and the boat swayed up and down in the choppy, two-foot waves, the rough current pulling her away quickly from Bannerman’s. Her boat spun in every direction.
Yet at the same time, as Vivian rushed forward and shoved her off, Scarlet watched Vivian slip. Scarlett heard her cry as Vivian went stumbling forward, face-first, right into the deep waters of the Hudson.
Vivian shrieked and flailed as the tides carried her away, down-river, too fast for any of her friends to grab her—though none of them tried. Perhaps it happened too quickly, perhaps they were too drunk, perhaps they were just in shock—or perhaps none of them was fearless enough to jump in and risk their lives to save her. The waters were freezing, the current impossible, and rescuing Vivian, already a good thirty feet down-river, would probably be a death sentence.
“Help!” Vivian screamed, bobbing above water.
Her friends yelled out in terror, and some started dialing on their cell phones, but none dared go after her.
Scarlett, sitting there in her own rowboat, rocking wildly, felt a bit of vindication; after all, Vivian had brought this upon herself with her cruel act. Yet at the same time, as Scarlet watched Vivian sinking into the waters, she knew that no one deserved to be dead—not even Vivian. As evil and cruel as Vivian was, Scarlett just could not let her die. Even if she had meant for Scarlet to die. It just wasn’t right.
Without thinking, Scarlett suddenly stood and dove off her boat, plunging into the icy waters with a shock. She opened her eyes underwater, and to her surprise, she was able to see. She spotted Vivian’s lower body in the distance, saw her legs kicking.
Scarlet’s powers came rushing to her: she felt a heat within her, despite the cold, and she felt a surreal power course through her legs as she kicked. With just one kick she went thirty feet, and caught up to Vivian underwater.
Scarlet grabbed Vivian around the waist, and in the same motion, she used her powers to leap up out of the water, against the current, up into the air. She bounded out of the river and flew with Vivian, a good fifty feet, landing with her on the sandy shore of Bannerman’s, and setting her down safely.
Vivian stood there beside her, shaking, teeth chattering, staring at Scarlett, eyes wide in terror. All of her friends crowded around Vivian, hugging her, getting her warm, and none bothered to try to help Scarlet.
Scarlet stood there, stunned by her own actions, and she looked back at Vivian, expecting her to thank her for saving her life.
But Vivian, instead, just stared back at Scarlet, and eventually shook her head.
“You are a freak,” Vivian said slowly. “You really are. Don’t you ever come near me again.”
With that, Vivian turned to her friends, and they went to their high-priced speedboat, piled in, and quickly took off from Bannerman’s.
Scarlett stood there, wet and shivering, and watched them go. The small of exhaust from their diesel fuel slowly dissipated, as the whine of their engine faded, and they never turned back to look her way.
Scarlet felt overwhelmed by the night; she saw other rowboats on shore, and she knew her friends would find some other way home. But she no longer wanted to wait here for her friends. She did not want to see any of them, ever, ever again. She needed to be alone.
Scarlett hiked back through the trails, this time taking them to the far side of Bannerman’s, to a distant, rocky beach she had never set foot upon, where it was pitch black, and the sound of the music was all but faded. All alone, she sat there, staring at the opposite shore, and as the silence immersed her, she began to feel that she was the only one left.
She looked up at the sky, at the millions of stars, and she couldn’t help herself as she began to cry, feeling as low as she’d ever had. She now saw no point to living anymore, all of her friends against her, her family against her, everyone she knew against her, and Sage gone. She looked up to the stars, and she prayed.
Please, God. Give me a sign. Let me know if I should go on.
As Scarlett slowly opened her eyes, she looked up and saw an apparition coming down, descending right for her. She blinked, confused, wondering if she were seeing things.
But soon she realized she definitely was not.
There, flying down toward her, was the man she thought she would never see again, was the love of her life.
There, was Sage.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caitlin walked quickly across the Yale University campus, clutching her coat, which was too light for this weather, around her shoulders as a stiff breeze whipped through. It was already the coldest November she’d ever felt, and Caitlin felt chilled to the bone as she marched across campus, keeping her head down, trying to shield herself from the wind as she fought her way toward the Sterling Memorial Library. Caitlin glanced up at it, a massive Gothic building looking like a medieval church rising up into the sky, dominating the campus, and she felt as if she were approaching another era. This building was so out of context here, in this modern university, in this modern city, like a portal to another time and place.
It was only fitting, she thought, that it should house some of the rarest books in existence, the most precious and obscure volumes on where the supernatural intersected with scholarship.
It was the intersection that Caitlin was interested in. She did not want to go to a purely occult source, nor did she want to seek out a purely academic one, either. She wanted firsthand information, wanted to unearth what no one had been able to for centuries, and to analyze it all in a way that no one else ever had. Aiden had set her off on the right foot, and in the right place, already giving her dozens of leads for volumes to point her in the right direction. Clearly, he had gone far down this road himself, before, she assumed, he had given up.
Too much time, not enough years, he had said to her.
She could see in his eyes that Aiden, sadly, did want to continue, had wanted to find the answers himself. But he must have finally given up, finding it too vast, too ambitious even for himself.
Caitlin could hardly blame him. After all, this was the Holy Grail of scholars, occultists, and historians for centuri
es, the quest to find the mythical cure for vampirism, and the mythical weapon to eradicate it—or, for that matter, even finding any proof that vampirism existed at all. Caitlin, of course, didn’t need any proof. She had seen it with her own eyes, in her own daughter. But the cure, and the weapon—that was a different matter.
Caitlin marched up the stone steps leading to the vast door, this place looking like an ancient stone cathedral, and tried to push from her mind thoughts of her daughter out there somewhere, missing. It pained her to think of it. A part of her wanted to turn around and run back to her car and race back to Rhinebeck, to go street to street searching for her.
But she forced herself to lift her chin and keep marching through the doors, knowing turning back would do no good. After all, what good would it do to walk block to block? No, this was where she was needed. They needed to divide their efforts. She had to try something new, however remote it was.
Caitlin entered the library, grateful to be out of the cold. She had never been here before in all her years of scholarship, and as she looked out into the main hall, she was in awe. The ceiling rose dozens of feet high, arched, reminiscent of the great medieval churches of Europe. The walls were made of stone and stained glass, and it all made her feel as though she were in a hallowed sanctuary of some sort. Had she just traveled back in time? Especially with the room’s soft lighting, it was so disorienting; she felt as if she had just walked into a fifteenth-century church in Scotland.
With all the silence and reverence in the air, it felt like a church, though in this case it was reverence for the written word, not for God. Several people sat at tables, quietly hunched over books, and yet there was not a sound in the air. There was a thick heavy silence of respect, as if they were all worshiping at their own private temples.
Caitlin saw the rows of computers, and she went and sat before one, instinctively knowing exactly what to look for after all these years of being a scholar, all these years of cataloging rare books.