As she turned page after page, transfixed, read story after story, entry after entry, as she sat there, frozen until long after the sun rose, finally, she realized: this was no joke.
It was her.
It was really her.
CHAPTER ONE
Caitlin’s hands trembled on the steering wheel as she drove. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since this morning, since she’d put down her journal. 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 even 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. She still didn’t know what to think of it.
It excited and terrified her at the same time. She didn’t know what was real and what was imagined anymore, what was her life, and what was a fantasy. The line was blurring so much, she started to wonder 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?
As Caitlin thought about it, she realized that her necklace, the one she’d given to Scarlet, was also ancient. And it 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 some 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, more than anything, surprised her. She was an expert, a world-renowned scholar. She 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.
And that freaked her out more than anything. After all, Caitlin didn’t remember writing any of it. And yet, as she read it, pieces of it seemed to come back to her on some level, in some vague part of her consciousness.
The book had thrown her for a loop. Caitlin had come down from the attic late in the morning, to an empty house, 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, and had lost all sense of time and place. The only one still home 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 book 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 had all the answers she needed.
She floored it on the highway, racing down the Taconic Parkway, heading towards New York City, hands still shaking. There was only one man in the world who would know what to make of this—only one mind that was more brilliant than hers when it came to rare books and antiquities. Only one man who could also explain the deepest truths of history, of religion, of the esoteric.
And that was Aiden. Her old college professor, her mentor all throughout undergraduate and graduate degrees at Columbia, all the way through to her Ph.D. He was the one man she trusted and respected more than any man in the world. The one man who she considered to be a true father.
Aiden was the most venerated professor of antiquities and esoteric studies at Columbia, the shining star of the archaeological faculty, and the greatest scholar they’d ever had. If ever Caitlin 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 that 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 keeping her from losing her mind right now.
Caitlin was shaking with anticipation as she reached Manhattan. She sped down the West Side Highway, then over to Broadway and parked right before the entrance to Columbia. She parked right there, on Broadway, in a no parking zone, but she didn’t care. 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. Life had been a blur since reading that book.
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 then four at a time. She hurried across a wide stone plaza, found the building she knew Aiden would be in, hurried up more steps, through double doors, down a tiled corridor, up another flight of steps, turned down another corridor, and went right to his classroom. She didn’t even think to knock, didn’t even stop to consider whether he might be teaching. She wasn’t in her right state of mind.
Caitlin opened his door and walked right in, as if she were still an undergrad.
She took a few steps in, then stopped, mortified. Aiden was standing there, at his blackboard, holding a piece of chalk—and the classroom was filled with about 30 graduate students.
“And the reason why the archetypical differences between the Roman and Greek values weren’t considered—”
Aiden suddenly stopped speaking, stopped writing on the chalkboard. He turned and looked.
The graduate students all stopped typing notes on their laptops and stared at Caitlin, too, looking her up and down. Suddenly, she realized where she was, what she was wearing.
Caitlin stood there, mortified, like a deer in headlights. She finally snapped out of her daze, and realized what she had done. She must have seemed like a crazy person.
Scattered laughter broke out from the stunned classroom.
“Caitlin?” Aiden asked, looking back at her with astonishment.
Aiden 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 she also sensed surprise, and maybe even 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 explain, or perhaps 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?” Aiden asked, sounding 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 go.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, looking up at him. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
He stared back at her for several seconds, and she could see his eyes narrowing. She watched his eyes look down at her hand, see the book she was holding. And for the slightest moment, she saw something in his eyes like recognition. 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. Slowly, he turned to the class.
“I’m sorry class,” he said. “But that will be all for today.”
And with that, he suddenly turned towards Caitlin, walked to her, gently took her shoulder, and led her out the room, to the surprised gasps and muffled 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 wa
lked in, and he closed the door behind her.
It was the office she remembered, and it felt like a second home to her. It was the office she had spent so many years analyzing and discussing 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 off of one of the seats across his desk, making room for Caitlin, as she sat in the chair beside him. Without hesitating, she reached out and held her journal before her.
Aiden looked down and slowly took it with both hands. Gently, he pulled back the covers, and his eyes opened wide as he read the first page.
But to Caitlin 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 silently, gently closed it, and reached out with two hands 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.
Confusing her even more, he wouldn’t 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. And she knew, she just knew, that there was something here. Something that he knew about. Something he had never told her. And that frightened her all the more. She had so desperately hoped he would just dismiss it all as nonsense.
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.
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 this sooner?”
Slowly, 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?”
Aiden hesitated.
“That you are not who you think you are. That you are special. That you have a special past.”
Caitlin stared back, dumbfounded.
“I still don’t understand,” she said, frustrated.
Aiden 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 monologues. Not now.
Aiden cleared his throat.
“There is a fourth dimension to history. The dimension discounted by scholars. But one that is very, very real. It is the unexplained. The esoteric. Some might even like to dub it a spiritual dimension. It is what we specialize in. Some might call it the occult, but that term has been grossly misused.”
“I still don’t understand,” Caitlin pleaded. “None of this makes any sense. I thought you would be the one person who would explain it away, who would tell me to forget it. 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.”
Aiden sighed.
“Some history had been obscured. By design. I would venture to say that there was, indeed, a time when a race known as ‘vampires’ existed. And what if you were among them? What if you had traveled back in time? Had found the antidote, had wiped out vampirism for all time?”
Aiden paused.
“And what if there was one exception to the rule?” he asked, reflectively.
Caitlin 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 one exception? One vampire who was immune to the antidote? One vampire yet to come? Immune because she had not yet been born, 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?” Caitlin asked, dumbfounded.
“You were warned you would have a very great choice to make, between your lineage, 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.
“Tell me what you’re saying about Scarlet?”
Aiden shook his head slowly, distressed.
“I understand you’re upset,” he said. “And I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you all this. But you must know. Your daughter, Scarlet, is 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 under darkness, besieged by the plague of vampirism.”
Aiden took two steps towards Caitlin and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking 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 are you saying? 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, Caitlin realized what he’d meant: kill her. He was telling that she had to kill her own daughter.
The realization struck Caitlin 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.
Without a word, she turned and bolted out of Aiden’s office, running away, far away, like a madwoman down the halls, determined to never come back here again.
CHAPTER TWO
The entire drive home, Caitlin was sick with worry. She felt not only as if she were losing her mind, but also as if there were no rational person left in the universe. She had thought that driving into the city, speaking to Aiden, would calm her, would make her return home feeling better, with everything explained and back in rational order.
But seeing him had made things a million times worse. Caitlin wished she’d never visited him—and she wished she’d never gone to the attic. She wished she’d never had that dream. She wished she never saw the journal. She wished she could just ma
ke 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, and opening that book, she unleashed something horrible into the universe. Something that was meant to be kept locked away.
A part of Caitlin told her that all of this 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 would drive home, 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 just could not shake. She felt that nothing would be fine again.
Caitlin’s hands were still trembling as she finished her two hour drive back from the city and pulled into her idyllic village, pulled down her quiet side street and into her driveway. She hoped the sight of her house would calm her, as it always did.
But the second she pulled into her driveway, she knew immediately something was wrong. Caleb’s car was in the driveway. He was home from work, in the middle of the afternoon. He never came home from work early.
Caitlin immediately checked her cell, to see if she had any missed calls from him, and that was when she realized, for the first time: her phone had been off all day. She looked down now and saw it flashing: 9 missed calls in the last two hours. All from Caleb.
Caitlin’s heart stopped. Caleb never used his phone. This could only mean an emergency.
Caitlin jumped out of the car, ran up the steps, across the porch, and burst through the front door—which was open and ajar, compounding her sense of dread.
“Caleb!?” Caitlin yelled, as she burst into the house.
“Up here!” he yelled back. “Come up here! Now!”