Inside this box were a dozen books. Most looked the same—typical bindings, mostly classics.
But one book stood out immediately. It didn’t look anything like the others. It was thick, overstuffed and weathered, with leather binding. It looked as if it had been through a war. And it looked ancient.
Caitlin was intrigued. As a rare book scholar, there was almost no book she could not decipher in an instant. Yet this was different. She had never seen anything like it. And that both thrilled and terrified her. How could it be? It was unlike any book she had ever seen, and she had seen it all.
Caitlin’s heart pounded as she reached in and delicately removed the book. She was trembling, and she didn’t know why. It was strange, but somehow, she felt as if she were being led to this box.
To this book. She pulled back the cover, and ran her hand along the first page, and began to study the handwriting.
As she did, her heart stopped. She couldn’t understand it. It was a handwriting she recognized.
It was her own.
Caitlin could not process what was happening. She felt as if she were outside of herself, looking down, and she became more and more confused.
She read. And read. And read.
Finally, it hit her like a lightning bolt: this book, it was hers. Her journal. The journal of a teenage girl. A story of coming of age. Of going back in time. Of falling in love with a man named Caleb. Of having a daughter named Scarlet. Of becoming a vampire.
She wondered if she were losing her mind. Was this some sort of practical joke? Some sort of fantasy she’d had as a young girl? What was it doing here? How did her grandmother have it? And why was she only drawn to open it now, at this time?
As she turned page after page, transfixed, read entry after entry, as she sat there, frozen until long after the sun rose, she finally realized: this was no joke.
It was real.
It was all real.
This was her teenage journal. And she had been a vampire.
CHAPTER ONE
Caitlin’s hands trembled as she drove. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she’d put down her journal hours before. She’d read every page, then started over, and read it all over again. It was like watching her life flash before her eyes. It was like reading about a life that had been kept secret from her, a life she’d always suspected she’d had, but was afraid to believe was possible. It was like holding a piece of herself she never knew existed.
It excited and terrified her at the same time. She no longer knew what was real and what was imagined. The line was blurring so much, she wondered if she was losing her mind.
Being a scholar, a rare book expert, she also analyzed and scrutinized the book itself, with an expert’s eye. She could tell, scientifically, objectively, that it was real. An ancient book. Thousands of years old. Older than any book she’d ever held. That in itself would have been enough to stump her.
It didn’t make any sense. How was it possible? In her own attic?
As Caitlin thought about it, she realized that her necklace, the one she’d given to Scarlet, was also ancient, and had also come from her grandmother. She wondered who her grandmother really was, and what else she had in hiding. Her grandmother had said at the time that it had come from her grandmother. Caitlin couldn’t help feeling an intense connection to the generations. But she didn’t know what.
As she turned it all over in her head, it only raised more and more questions. And that surprised her. She was a world-renowned scholar, and could dissect and analyze any book within a matter of minutes. But now, with her own book, in her own attic—in her own handwriting of all things—she was completely stumped. That freaked her out more than anything. After all, she didn’t remember writing any of it. And yet, as she read it, pieces of it seemed to come back to her, in some vague part of her consciousness.
When Caitlin had finally come down from the attic, it had been late morning and the house was empty, Scarlet already gone to school, and Caleb already long gone to work. She was supposed to be at work herself hours ago, and hadn’t even called in. She’d been in a daze, had lost all sense of time and place. The only one to greet her had been Ruth, and Caitlin, in a daze, had merely walked past her, out the door, to her car, and had taken off, the journal still in hand.
Caitlin knew there was only one person in the world she could turn to for answers. And she needed answers now, more than ever. She couldn’t stand to have something unsolved, and she would stop at nothing until she’d figured it out. She sped down the highway, racing down the Taconic Parkway towards New York City, hands still shaking. There was only one man in the world, she knew, who would know what to make of this—only one mind more brilliant than hers when it came to rare books and antiquities. He was the only one who could explain the deepest truths of history, of religion, of the esoteric. Aiden.
Her old college professor, her mentor throughout her undergraduate and graduate degrees at Columbia, Aiden was the one man she trusted and respected more than any man in the world. He was also the one man she considered to be her true father. The most venerated professor of antiquities and esoteric studies at Columbia, the shining star of the archaeological faculty, Aiden was the greatest scholar they’d ever had. If Caitlin ever encountered any rare book or piece of history or antiquity that left her stumped, Aiden was the one she could call. He always had an answer for everything.
She knew he would have an answer for this book, a scholarly way to explain it away that would both make her feel better and make her wonder why she hadn’t thought of it. And he would do it with grace and charm, in a way that didn’t make her feel stupid. In fact, knowing that he would have the answer was the only thing that kept her from losing her mind as she sped down the highway.
Caitlin trembled with anticipation as she reached Manhattan, speeding down the West Side Highway, over to Broadway, and parking right in front of the entrance to Columbia. She parked on Broadway, in a no parking zone, but was too preoccupied to notice. She was hardly aware of her surroundings, hardly aware that she had left the house still wearing pajama pants, flip-flops and an old sweater, her hair undone.
Caitlin jumped out of the car, snatched the journal, and ran through the gates of Columbia, stumbling on the uneven, brick-lined walkway. She hurried through the campus, and turned and ran up the wide, stone steps, taking them three at a time. She raced across the wide stone plaza, found the building she knew Aiden would be in, flew up the steps, through double doors, down a tiled corridor, up another flight of steps, down another corridor, and right to his classroom. She didn’t even think to knock, didn’t even stop to consider he might be teaching. She wasn’t in her right state of mind. She just opened the door and walked right in, as if she were still an undergrad.
She stopped, mortified. Aiden was standing there, at his blackboard, holding a piece of chalk—
and the classroom was filled with about 30 graduate students, who all turned and stared.
“And the reason why the archetypical differences between the Roman and Greek values weren’t considered—”
Aiden suddenly stopped lecturing, stopped writing on the chalkboard. He turned and looked.
The graduate students all stopped typing on their laptops and stared at Caitlin, too, looking her up and down. Suddenly, she realized where she was, what she was wearing.
She stood there like a deer in headlights, mortified. She finally snapped out of her daze, realizing what she had done. She must have seemed like a crazy person.
Scattered laughter broke out from the stunned classroom.
“Caitlin?” Aiden asked, looking at her in astonishment.
He looked just as she’d remembered, with his short, gray hair and beard, and intelligent light blue eyes. He stared back at her with kindness, but also surprise, and maybe annoyance. Of course: she had interrupted his class.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Aiden stood there, perhaps waiting for her to e
xplain, or waiting for her to leave.
But Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to leave. She couldn’t go anywhere, do anything, think about anything, until she had answers.
“Is there…something I can help you with?” he asked, unsure.
Caitlin looked down at the floor. She didn’t know what to say. She hated to interrupt him. But at the same time she didn’t feel like she could leave.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally, looking up at him. “But I need to talk to you.” He stared back at her for several seconds, and his eyes narrowed. He slowly looked down at her hand and saw the book, and for the slightest moment, she saw something in his eyes, like recognition, then astonishment. It was a look she had never seen before: Aiden had never been astonished by anything. He seemed to know about everything in the universe.
Now Aiden was the one who seemed caught off guard. He turned to the class.
“I’m sorry, class,” he said. “But that will be all for today.” He suddenly turned towards Caitlin, gently took her shoulder and led her out the room, to the surprised whispers of the students.
“To my office,” he said.
She followed him down the hall, wordlessly, up the stairs, to the top floor, down another hall, and then finally, into his office. She walked in, and he closed the door behind her.
It was the office she remembered, the room that was a second home to her. It was the office she had spent so many years in analyzing and debating ideas with Aiden, as he advised her on her essays, on her thesis. It was a small office, but comfortable, every inch of it jam-packed with books, all the way up to the 14 foot ceilings. Books were stacked on the desk, on the windowsill, on the chairs.
And not just any books—all sorts of rare and unusual books, esoteric volumes on the most obscure academic subjects. It was the quintessential scholar’s office.
He hastily removed a pile of books from one of the seats across his desk, making room for her to sit. She sat, and then without hesitating, held out her journal.
Aiden slowly took it with both hands. Gently, he pulled back the cover. His eyes opened wide as he read the first page.
But to Caitlin’s surprise, he didn’t go through the book, inspect it, turn it every which way, as he always did with an unusual volume.
Instead, he gently closed it, then reached to give it back to her.
Caitlin could not believe it. He didn’t even try to read more. She was even more confused by his reaction.
He wouldn’t even look at her. Instead, he slowly got up, a grim look on his face, walked to his windowsill, and stood there, hands clasped, looking out. He was staring, looking down on the campus, on the hundreds of bodies scurrying below.
Caitlin could feel him thinking. She knew, she just knew, he was hiding something. Something he had never told her. That frightened her all the more. She had so desperately hoped he would just dismiss it all as nonsense. But he wasn’t.
After moments of thick silence, Caitlin couldn’t take it anymore. She had to know.
“Is it real?” she asked, cutting right to the chase.
After a long silence, Aiden finally turned.
And slowly, he nodded.
Caitlin couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He was confirming her reality. This book. It was real. Everything was real.
“But how is that possible?” Caitlin asked, her voice rising. “It talks about the most fantastical things. Vampires. Mythical swords. Shields. Antidotes. It’s thousands of years old—and it’s all in my handwriting. None of it makes any sense.”
Aiden sighed.
“I was afraid this day would come,” he said. “It just came sooner than I thought.” Caitlin stared back, trying to understand. She felt as if some great secret had been withheld from her, and it frustrated her to no end.
“What day would come?” she demanded. “What are you telling me? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Aiden shook his head.
“It wasn’t for me to tell you. It was for you to discover. When the time was right.”
“To discover what?”
He hesitated.
“That you are not who you think you are. That you are special.” Caitlin stared back, dumbfounded.
“I still don’t understand,” she said, frustrated.
He paced.
“As you know, history is part fact, part myth. It is our job to determine what is truth and what is fiction. Yet it is not as much of a science as we’d like to pretend. There are no absolute facts in history. History is written by the victors, by the biographers, by those with a cause and purpose and agenda to document it. History will always be biased. And it will always be selective.”
“Where does that leave me?” Caitlin asked, impatient. She was in no mood for one of Aiden’s lectures. Not now.
He cleared his throat.
“There is a fourth dimension to history. A dimension discounted by scholars, but one that is very real. The unexplained. The esoteric. Some might call it the occult, but that term has been grossly misused.”
“I still don’t understand,” Caitlin pleaded. “I thought you would be the one person who would explain it away. But it sounds as if you’re saying that it’s all true, that everything in this book is true.
Is that what you’re saying!?”
“I know what you came here wanting me to say. But I’m afraid I cannot.” He sighed. “What if some history has, in fact, been obscured? By design? What if there was, indeed, a time when a race known as ‘vampires’ existed? What if you were one of them? What if you had traveled back in time?
Had found an antidote, had wiped out vampirism for all time?” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “And what if there was one exception to the antidote?” he asked.
She stared at him, hardly believing what she was hearing. Had he lost his mind?
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The antidote. The end to vampirism. What if there was an exception? One vampire who was immune? Immune because she was not yet born at the moment you chose to come back?” Not yet born? Caitlin wondered, racking her brain. Then, it struck her.
“Scarlet?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“You were warned once, long ago, that you would have a very great choice to make, between your legacy, and the future of mankind. I’m afraid that time has come.”
“Stop talking in riddles!” Caitlin demanded, standing, her fists bunched, red in the face. She couldn’t listen anymore; she felt as if she were losing her mind. Aiden was the one man in the world from whom she expected rational answers. And he was only making things much, much worse.
“What are you saying about my daughter?”
Aiden shook his head slowly, distressed.
“I understand you’re upset,” he said. “And I am sorry to have to tell you this. But your daughter, Scarlet, is the last of her kind. The last remaining vampire.” Caitlin looked at Aiden as if he’d lost his mind. She didn’t even know how to respond.
“She is coming of age,” he continued. “She will soon change. And when she does, she will unleash it on the world. Once again, our world will be besieged by the plague of vampirism.” Aiden took two steps towards Caitlin. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looked into her eyes, as serious as she had ever seen him.
“That is why this journal came to you now. As a warning. You must stop her. For the sake of mankind. Before it’s too late.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Caitlin snapped back, but feeling unsure. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? That my daughter is a vampire? Are you for real? And what do you mean, stop her?
What is that even supposed to mean?”
Aiden looked down at the floor, grim, looking much older in that moment than Caitlin had ever seen him.
And then, suddenly, she realized what he’d meant: kill her. He was telling her to kill her own daughter.
The realization struck her like a knife in the gut. She was so horrified, so physically sick from it, that she couldn??
?t bear to be near Aiden for another second.
“Caitlin, wait!” he called out.
But she couldn’t. Without a word, she turned and bolted out of his office.
She ran, as fast as she could, like a mad woman down the halls, determined to never, ever, come back again.
CHAPTER TWO
The entire drive home, Caitlin was sick with worry. She felt there was no rational person left in the universe. She had thought that driving into the city and speaking to Aiden would calm her, would make her return home feeling better, with everything explained and back in its rational order.
But he had just made everything a million times worse. Now she wished she’d never visited him—and more than anything, she wished she’d never gone to the attic. She wished she’d never had that dream, and had never seen that journal. She wished she could just make it all go away.
Just yesterday, everything was perfect in her life; now, she felt that everything was upside down.
She almost felt that, by going to the attic, and opening that box, opening that book, she unleashed something horrible into the universe. Something that was meant to be kept locked away.
A part of her still told her that all of this was ridiculous. Maybe Aiden had lost touch with reality after all these years of teaching. Maybe that book was just some weird relic of her childhood, some collection of fantasies she had scrawled as a young girl. Maybe she could just put that book back in the attic, put today out of her mind, and everything would be fine, go back to normal, just as it always was.
But another part of Caitlin, a deeper part, felt an increasing sense of foreboding, one she could not shake. It told her that nothing would be fine again.
Caitlin’s hands trembled as she finished her two hour drive back and pulled into her idyllic village. She pulled down her quiet side street and hoped the sight of her house would calm her, as it always did.