Her cell buzzed again and again in her pocket. She knew she should go back home, forget about this night, patch things up with her parents, try to patch things up with Maria. Try to force life back to normal.
But she was tired of normal. She was so tired of trying to control everyone and everything, trying to make life run so perfectly. She’d had enough. She felt like letting go now. Letting the universe take her wherever it wanted to.
So, to her own surprise, she reached out her cold hand and placed it gently in his palm.
She had no idea where he would take her, but she had a feeling it would be different than any place she had ever been. As she looked down at his open palm, she knew, she just knew, that this would be the night that changed everything.
CHAPTER NINE
Caitlin sat there in her living room, in a daze, feeling the world spinning out of control beneath her. More and more, she felt as if she were living in a dream, far removed from reality, trying to grasp hold of the events happening around her. Some days, she felt as if she were losing her mind.
That episode in the church was real. It was very, very real. Those blown-out candles, those shattered windows, were the first tangible thing she could point to to prove to herself that she was not crazy. That her daughter was a vampire. Even the priest had fled. For once, her fears had been confirmed by someone else.
That was all she needed. Now, finally, she felt confident in herself, felt certain about what was happening to Scarlet. Regardless of what Caleb, or anyone else thought, she was more determined than ever to save her daughter before it was too late.
Caleb paced their living room in a manic state, talking to one person after the next on his cell. She had never seen him so worried. When Scarlet hadn’t answered her door, he’d actually put his shoulder into it, breaking it open, terrified that she was sick, or needed help. But when he’d found her room empty, her window open, and realized she’d lied and snuck out—he’d lost it. He went from worried to furious. Now he was on a mission to find her.
Caitlin was worried, too—but this time she wasn’t perplexed. Now, she understood. She knew what was happening to Scarlet. She was changing. Turning. This behavior, in some ways, was to be expected. She wasn’t worried for Scarlet’s safety out there—she was worried for the safety of others, of whomever might cross her path.
While Caleb paced the house, calling everyone he knew, Caitlin took a different approach. She knew that what mattered, in the big picture, wasn’t finding Scarlet right now. She knew Scarlet would eventually come back, on her own terms. She knew that what really mattered was finding out how to cure Scarlet—if there even was a cure. She thought again of the torn page from that rare book, and again debated whether the other half existed—and whether it would really even help.
Caitlin opened her folder and pulled out the page, dissecting it again. She ran her hand along the edges of the frail paper, feeling its thick, rough edges, yellowed with age. She felt along the tear mark, wracking her brain, willing herself to come up with any clues, any leads. But she kept drawing a blank.
As her mind spun, trying to think again of anyone who might be of help, inevitably she focused on one person: Aiden. He was the only one in the world who would know what the page meant, whether the other half existed, and where to look for it. Knowing him, he was probably already familiar with this book—and could probably tell her more about it than she could discover with months of research.
She trembled at the thought of calling him. They had left on such bad terms, she was embarrassed, afraid, to talk to him. A part of her was still mad at him; another part felt he was the only one left who could help her.
She checked her watch: 11 PM. He was probably asleep. She wondered if he would even take her call if he was awake.
But the more she pondered it, the more she felt an urgency to talk to him. She had to swallow her pride. She had to know where this page was. She only hoped that he wouldn’t corner her in with more talk of stopping Scarlet. If he did, she would hang up on him, and never speak to him again. But she had to give him one more chance.
Her heart pounded in her throat as she took out her cell and tapped on his name.
She held the phone to her ear as it rang. She waited, her heart pounding, a part of her hoping he wouldn’t answer.
Finally, there came a sound of the other end, a fumbling of the phone. After a long pause, a groggy voice said: “Caitlin. I was wondering when you would call.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For storming out like that. You were just trying to help me. I realize that. But when you talked about stopping Scarlet…well… I couldn’t hear it. I still can’t. I won’t entertain the idea of stopping her. Never. I’d rather kill myself first.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
“I think I’ve found another way,” she added.
“Tell me.”
“Have you heard of Vairo’s De Fascino Libri Tres?” she asked, hoping, praying, that he had.
“Of course,” came his immediate, confident reply, to her great relief. “It was published in the late sixteenth century. Vairo was a bishop. But what most people don’t know is that he had also studied mathematics and philosophy and science from the time he was a child. He, in turn, was influenced by Plato and Socrates and, to some extent, Hippocrates—and there is some evidence his theories influence Isaac Newton a century later. De Fascino was considered the seminal work of its time. You very rarely get a hold of it these days. Why do you ask?”
Caitlin felt so relieved; she had made the right move to call him.
“I have a copy here, in our school library,” she said.
He paused, and she could sense he was impressed.
“I stumbled across something in it. It’s like a ritual, a ceremony. He claims it will heal the afflicted from vampirism. But the thing is, the page with the ceremony is torn in half. And the other half is missing. It’s an original edition—our library has it on loan—and our database shows no other existing copy. I need to see the other half of that page.”
She paused, and a long silence followed. She hoped he’d have a solution. She knew that if anyone would, it would be him. He was her best and last hope.
The silence went on so long, for a moment, she wondered if he’d hung up. Just as she was about to ask, his voice rang out:
“There are two issues here. The first is whether this so-called ritual has any merit. Despite his insistence on impartiality, in truth, Vairo’s was a highly biased, very controversial work. We have no proof that anything in it was accurate. Keep in mind, too, that some of it was borrowed, some passed down, and some may have even been plagiarized. The chances of such a ritual working are remote. Of course, there’s always hope. I would not say it’s impossible. But I think the likelihood is negligible.”