Resurrected

  The last remaining vampire on earth.

  The thought sent a shiver up his spine. Despite everything, he feared his clan had found her after all, and that the legend was real. Which meant a cure might be out there. Why now? With just a few weeks left to go? Of course, he wanted to live, just like all of them. But he would never want to live at the expense of someone else. Especially at her expense.

  As Sage opened the huge, arched front door, he was greeted by a host of activity: as usual, his clan members loafed around the place, spread out in the grand room, sitting in chairs and couches, reading ancient leather-bound books, or ambling about and strolling on the patio. He’d lost count of how many cousins he had, but he knew at least a dozen of them had come back with them to this sprawling mansion. Being an Immortalist had its advantages, and time had been kind to them: none of them looked older than 18. A mix of boys and girls, while they were all close to 2,000 years old, like him, one would never know it. They were all gorgeous—with perfect, sculpted faces, flawless, looking as if they could grace covers of magazines. Some were dressed in the latest fashions—tight-fitting jeans, slim leather jackets—while others wore more regal, traditional outfits from other centuries—like long, black velvet cloaks with high collars. They all looked fashionable, and it was like walking into a modeling shoot.

  Sage scanned the room, looking for any sign of Lore. It was their first day back here, and he couldn’t believe Lore already had the audacity to go out and sap a human. Already, Sage’s presence here was compromised; Lore had managed to cause trouble, to make life harder for him, to make them even more conspicuous in this town.

  He looked carefully but saw no sign of him—he was probably off on his drug high. Probably lying on the roof, if he knew him.

  “Mom and Dad want to see you,” suddenly came a voice.

  Sage turned and saw walking past him, his older sister, Phoenicia. With long, straight, jet black hair and wide black eyes, she looked nothing like Sage. She acted nothing like him, either. She could be competitive, jealous and territorial. Throughout the centuries, the two of them had a complicated relationship, often fraught with tension. Sage felt that she was always in competition with him, always trying to get their parents’ attention, to shine more than he did. That was fine with Sage—he could care less about his parents’ attention—but nonetheless, they always seemed to favor him, and that drove her crazy. She let it out on him. She seemed perpetually mad at him, and nothing seemed to change it.

  She could also be controlling and manipulative. He never knew what to expect around her, and often felt as if he had to walk on eggshells. But at the same time, sometimes she could surprise him and be unexpectedly sweet and vulnerable, totally catching him off guard. Sometimes she even confided in him. He never knew what to expect.

  “I watched you at school today,” she reported.

  He was shocked; he’d had no idea she’d been spying on him. He wondered if she did it on her own, or if her parents had planted her as a spy, to keep track of him.

  “You didn’t even try to talk to her. I told Mom and Dad, and they’re really pissed. Brace yourself,” she said, as she hurried off.

  “Thanks,” he answered. “Knew I could always count on you to put in a good word.” It was just like her, causing friction between him and his parents already. Already ratting him out. His face turned red with frustration. He resented her, and he resented his parents. He wasn’t sure who he resented more. Not because they were all breathing down his neck and forcing him to.

  Sage hurried through the vast, cavernous rooms of the mansion, through an arched door, down an endless corridor, across a bare room with wide-plank wood floors, up a wide, marble staircase, and finally, to a set of arched, double doors. His parents’ study.

  He knocked three times, and waited.

  “Come in,” came his Dad’s muted voice. He could already sense that he was unhappy. He braced himself as he entered.

  Seated behind the wide desk were his dad and mom. They both sat in high-backed leather chairs, staring back coldly. They did not look happy. Clearly, they had expected Sage to come running home from school and report to them right away. He could sense how impatient they were, on-edge. The end of their lifespan was getting to them, too. They had no time to waste, and they were mad because he’d wasted a precious day.

  They were right. He had not rushed home. He had not even taken his car today, but had chosen to walk. He’d ambled about the school grounds, walked through the town, then took a long walk, slowly, back home. He wanted time to think, to process it all, to sort out his feelings for this girl.

  What he felt terrified him. It was a sense of a deep connection, a deep love towards her.

  Why now? he wondered. Why now, with only a few weeks left to live? When there was no time for their love to blossom? Why had he had to meet her now? Why couldn’t they have met centuries before?

  “Why the delay?” his dad asked, wasting no time.

  “Close the door,” his mom snapped. Clearly, neither of them were in the mood for pleasantries.

  Sage closed the door behind him, running through potential responses in his head. He resented, after all these centuries, still having to answer to them. Somehow it seemed to be a necessary evil, just part of the way things worked. It was especially unsettling because, they, being Immortalists, looked to be his own age, hardly older than 18.

  He crossed the room and sat across from them. He felt like he was a little kid again, and hated it.

  He considered possible responses, and decided it was best, for now, just to set them at ease.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  They stared back, not bothering to respond.

  “You’re on a mission,” his dad reminded sternly. “We have no time. Are you not aware of that?”

  “I am aware.”

  “So why the delay?” retorted his mom, impatient.

  “I lost track of time,” he lied.

  His mother shook her head.

  “Just like your sister. A dreamer. You still don’t realize, do you? In a few weeks, you’ll be dead.

  We’ll all be dead. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “I did that which you asked of me,” he replied. “I went there. I was in the school. I saw her.”

  “And?” his father prodded.

  He paused.

  “I did not have a chance to speak with her yet,” he said.

  His parents both sat up in their chairs, outraged. They were about to speak, but he cut them off.

  “It was a crowded school,” Sage said. “She was surrounded by friends. There was no way to approach her in an inconspicuous way. She was not alone for a second. I’m sorry. Perhaps tomorrow there will be more opportunity.”

  His father slowly shook his head, looking disappointed.

  “I knew we made a mistake choosing your for this task. It is just as it always has been. Excuses.

  Delays. Don’t you understand!?” he suddenly screamed. “This is not a mission of pleasantries! It is one of urgency!” he slammed his fist into the desk, rattling the china cup on it.

  A tense silence fell over the room. Sage wanted to yell back, but thought it best to keep calm for now. If he wanted to save Scarlet, he had to stay calm and divert attention away from her.

  “I’m not convinced she is the one, anyway,” Sage said. “I feel confident that, once again, you’re wasting your time,” he lied.

  “That is for us to decide,” hissed his mother, “not you.” She suddenly jumped up from her chair and paced the room, looking distraught.

  “If you can’t complete this task, then we’ll choose someone else who can. You have plenty of attractive cousins who would be more than happy to finish the job.”

  “Yes, you have many to choose from who could kill her quite easily,” Sage said. “But how many do you have who could gain her confidence? Who can get her to willingly offer the key? After all, the key can’t be taken. And killing her without the key is useless
, isn’t it? So you need me. You know that you do.”

  He knew he had them. After all, he was right: he’d always been known for his tact, his ability to gain trust and confidence. That was because he was sincere. None of his cousins had that trait.

  “If she’s not the one, as you predict,” his father said, “then it doesn’t matter either way, does it?

  In that case, we might as well just kill her. Maybe I should just send Lore to take care of it now?” Sage reddened at his bluff being called.

  “What would you gain by that?” Sage asked, on thin ice.

  “What do you care?” smiled back his father. “Unless you have some reason to protect her?” Sage fumed. As usual, they had caught him, had managed to back him into a corner. He had to think quick. He cleared his throat.

  “All I’m saying,” he began, “is give me another day. Surely one more day is not a lot to ask for.

  These things take time. I will fulfill the mission. I will discover her secrets. And if she is the one, I will get her to give me the key.”

  “And then, we will kill her,” his mother added.

  He glared back at her, his eyes darkening. He’d had enough.

  “You will get your way, mother,” he said back in a steely tone. “After all, you always have, haven’t you? But what if this trick doesn’t work. What if, like the rest of us, you’ll die in a few weeks? Then what, mother? Then who will you have left to order around?” With that, Sage stood, turned, and strutted from the room.

  “Sage, get back here!” his father yelled after him.

  But he’d had enough. He stormed out the room and slammed the door behind him. He couldn’t stand to hear their voices for one more moment.

  As he closed the door behind him, he looked up and saw, standing there, his cousin. Lore. He was grinning back at him with an evil grin, his eyes glazed over in a drug haze. Lore was three inches taller than Sage, at six foot five, and had broad shoulders and a square jaw. He sneered down, dressed in his black leather jacket, unshaven, stubble on his face.

  “Hello, cousin,” he said.

  It took all Sage’s willpower to control his anger.

  “Eavesdropping again?” Sage asked.

  Lore only grinned wider.

  “Your new mission. Is Scarlet her name?” his grin widened. “She sounds delightful. Don’t worry, if you can’t finish her off, I will.”

  Sage wanted to kill him right then and there, with his bare hands.

  But he couldn’t.

  So instead, he forced himself to walk away, bumping Lore’s shoulder hard as he walked past him.

  Sage needed to stay focused. More than anything, he needed to divert attention from this girl.

  Because deep down, in his heart, he knew that Scarlet was the one. The key to his clan’s survival.

  And he would do everything in his power to save her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Scarlet came home from school feeling totally on edge. She kept reliving in her head that fateful moment in the cafeteria, when Blake was about to ask her to the dance and Vivian interrupted them.

  She was so mad just thinking about it. It seemed obvious that Blake liked her; but for some reason, he just didn’t have the backbone to stand up to Vivian. It was like he was afraid to make her mad.

  She hated that about Blake. She was totally obsessed with them, but she hated the fact that he didn’t have the spine to stand up to her, to stand up for what he really wanted, despite what anybody else thought. Scarlet felt that she deserved a guy who wasn’t afraid to express his feelings for her, in front of anyone, no matter what the consequences, who wasn’t afraid to just walk up to her and ask her to the dance. Why was that so hard? Why did guys always have to deliberate, to hedge their bets?

  Why couldn’t they just pick one girl and not think twice? Why did they always seem to keep their options open, always keep one eye on one other girl, just in case?

  Scarlet fumed as she hurried up her steps, across the wide front porch, and entered her house.

  The late October weather was starting to pick up, the temperature dropping. A cold breeze had chased her all the way home from school, and it was nice and warm inside.

  As she walked in, Ruth barked hysterically, whining and jumping on her, dancing around her in circles, so excited. As always, once she saw Ruth, all Scarlet’s troubles faded into the background.

  She knelt down and gave her a big hug, kissing her all over her face.

  The smell of warm food wafted through the house, and as Scarlet stood, she noticed the fire in the fireplace. She was beginning to feel at ease again. There was nothing she loved more than a fire, and the fact that there was one burning only meant one thing: daddy was home from work in time for dinner.

  “First fire of the year!” Caleb announced as he marched into the room, a satisfied grin on his face, carrying a small bundle of logs and setting them down beside the mantel. “What do you think?” he asked, as he came over and gave her a hug.

  She gave him a big hug, thrilled he was home. She loved her dad more than anything, and his presence was always so reassuring in her life.

  “I’m surprised,” she said. “You usually wait until Thanksgiving.”

  “I know,” he answered. “But it got so cold, I figured why wait? After all, it’s practically November.”

  “I love it,” Scarlet said. “Can’t come early enough for me.” Ruth seemed to feel the same, as she walked over to the fireplace and curled up in a ball a few feet away.

  “How are you feeling?” Caleb asked, looking at her earnestly.

  Scarlet hated when he looked at her like that, so worried. She didn’t want anyone to worry about her. She started to make her way towards the dining room.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, and immediately felt bad, sounding a little bit too edgy. “Don’t worry about me. Really. It was just like the flu or whatever.”

  “I’m not worried about you,” Caleb said. “I know that your fine. But your mother is worried.” Scarlet looked at him, suddenly realizing, and dreading seeing her mom. The last thing she wanted was a worry session right now.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Caleb shrugged. “She’s a bit shaken. You gave us a fright. But she’ll be okay.” Scarlet’s stomach dropped at the thought of the dinner ahead. She could already envision how worried her mom would be, and she really didn’t want to be around it right now. Her mom had already texted her three times today to ask how she was. It was annoying. She appreciated how much her parents cared, but at the same time, it could be suffocating. She just wanted them to trust her, to trust that she was fine.

  She hurried into the dining room, and as she did, Ruth jumped up and accompanied her.

  The table was beautifully set, fresh flowers in the middle, and filled with food. A large roasted chicken sat in the center, and there were sides of mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, green beans…. It looked like Thanksgiving. And it smelled delicious.

  As Caleb entered behind her, suddenly her mom burst through the double doors, carrying a small bowl of gravy. She looked up and saw Scarlet and looked startled. Then she smiled back.

  “Perfect timing,” she said.

  She set down the gravy and came over and stood before Scarlet, reaching up and brushing the hair out of her face, just like she used to do when Scarlet was a little girl.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked earnestly. “I was so worried about you all day.” Scarlet just wanted this whole thing to go away. She really didn’t want to dwell on it.

  “I’m fine mom, really. Please don’t worry about me.”

  Caitlin stared into her eyes, and Scarlet could see she was not convinced.

  “Let’s eat,” Scarlet said, impatient, twisting out of her grip.

  The three of them took their seats at the table, Caleb at the head, and Scarlet and Caitlin facing each other on either side of him, Ruth sitting by Scarlet’s side. The first thing Scarlet did was reach out, grab a hunk of meat, and, whe
n no one was looking, reach down and give it to Ruth. She knew her dad would get mad, so she did it stealthily.

  But Ruth gave it away, smacking her lips loudly on the huge hunk of meat. Caleb looked down, then up at Scarlet.

  “Scarlet,” he said ominously, realizing.

  “It was just a small piece—” she began.

  “I just fed her,” her dad said. “She’s going to get fat.”

  “Sorry.”

  He let it go. He reached out and began serving portions onto her plate, then onto Caitlin’s, then onto his own. Once her plate was filled, Scarlet reached up to take her first bite, when suddenly, her mom cleared her throat.

  “I think that before we eat, we should all say grace together.” Scarlet looked at her dad, who looked back at her, equally astonished. They had never said grace once in their entire time together as a family.

  What had gotten into her mom? Scarlet wondered.

  Her dad slowly put down his fork, and Scarlet reluctantly put down hers. Her mom lowered her head, and Caleb did, too. Scarlet refused, annoyed. It was enough already. Clearly, this was about her being sick. Why couldn’t her mom just move on?

  “Dear Lord. Thank you for blessing us with this beautiful meal. Thank you for blessing us with such a beautiful family. And thank you for keeping us all safe and protected. Please continue to watch over us and keep us all healthy. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Caleb replied.

  Scarlet, still mad, feeling in the spotlight, didn’t respond. After a long day of being in the spotlight at school, this was really the last thing she needed know. Instead, she sighed, reached up, and took her first bite. The food, at least, was delicious.

  The three of them sat there in awkward silence, eating. At this point, Scarlet just wanted to get through dinner and get to her room and shut the door, shut out the world. She just wanted to go on Facebook and unwind. She was still reeling from her day.