“But there’s hope?” she asked. “You admit that there’s at least a slim possibility?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Certainly, there are some rituals and formulas in that book which scholars have been unable to discount, despite centuries of trying. So, yes. While remote, there is hope.
“But you still have the second issue, which is finding the other edition. You are overlooking one very important fact, of course: what most people don’t realize is that Vairo’s work was, in fact, published in two editions. I assume your edition is Venice, 1589?”
Caitlin paused, taken aback.
“Yes, it is.”
“What most people don’t realize is that that was, in fact, the second edition. The first edition is much more rare. It was published in Paris, in 1583. Thus, a second edition does indeed exist.”
Caitlin was speechless, blown away by his scholarship, as she always was. She had no idea there was an earlier version.
“But why is there no mention of that anywhere?” she asked.
“It’s an unofficial copy,” he said.
Caitlin tried to understand. “Unofficial?”
“There are a few volumes in the world so important that their existence is not public knowledge. These are passed down through generations, held by a network of rare occult bookkeepers. These are volumes they don’t want the public to get a hold of, volumes they would never admit they had. I doubt any library or university would have one. And I doubt any rare bookshop would have any edition officially on record. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have it. You would just need to come to them with the right credentials.”
“So are you saying that the other copy definitely exists?” she asked, her heart beating.
“I’m not saying there is—I’m saying there is a chance. And if anyone has it, it would be Rose. She runs the rare bookshop in Marais, on 6 Rue Charlemagne.”
Caitlin’s eyes opened wide surprise.
“Paris?” she asked
“Yes. It’s their oldest rare bookshop, with the most esoteric occult volumes in the world. She would never admit this to a stranger, but she has a back room. For volumes she doesn’t make public. If you ask her, she’ll deny it. But if you use my name, and express the urgency of your mission, she just might let you in. It’s your best bet.”
“But Paris?” she asked, overwhelmed at the thought. “Before I go all the way there, maybe I can just call her and she’d tell me if she even hasn’t it. And then maybe fax it to me? Or scan it?”
Aiden sighed.
“She must be nearly a hundred years old by now, and she doesn’t use technology. In fact, you’re lucky if she even answers the door. Most of the time, her storefront is gated. But that doesn’t mean she’s not there. She only opens for certain people. She won’t fax or scan anything. She won’t even answer her phone. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. You’d have to go.”
“Thank you, Aiden,” she said, meaningfully. “Really.”
“I hope it works,” he said. “I truly do.”
He hung up, and she sat there, her mind racing. Clearly, there was no other choice: she had to go to Paris.
Caleb entered, putting his phone down.
“What are you doing?” he snapped at her. She didn’t like the tone of his voice. “I’m calling frantically for Scarlet, and you’re just sitting here. Don’t you care about our daughter?”
Caitlin stood, ready to pack her things. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”
“I’m calling and calling her, and she’s not picking up,” Caleb said, pacing again. “I’ve called all her friends and their parents and nobody knows a thing. I just got off the phone with Samantha, who checked her Facebook for me. Apparently, there’s a lot of chatter about a house party tonight. At the Wilsons. I think she’s there. I think she’s with that boy, Blake—I think he’s the source of all this trouble.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Caitlin said. “Blake has nothing to do with this.”
She crossed the room, gathering books and papers into her briefcase.
“Well I’m going over there,” Caleb said. “I’m going to find her and bring her back.”
He stopped and looked up at her.
“Where are you going?” he asked, looking at her briefcase, incredulous. “To work?”
“To Paris,” she replied.
“Paris?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Are you joking?”
“No,” she answered, busy packing, not having time for his questions and not caring what he thought. She knew he’d just try to stop her. “There’s a book I need there. I think it can help Scarlet.”
“A book? In Paris? Have you lost your mind?”
He stared at her as if she had three heads.
“Listen,” Caitlin said, trying to explain, “you don’t know what happened at church today. When Scarlet was there, the windows—they shattered. Our daughter did that. Don’t you realize? After all this time? That none of this is a coincidence? Scarlet is becoming a vampire. And I’m the only one who can save her.”
“You’re sick,” Caleb stammered. “You need help. You really do. You’re falling apart. I can’t believe it, at a time like this, when we need you the most. You’re just going to abandon ship, with our daughter lost out there, and fly to Paris?” he asked, his voice rising.
“You still don’t understand,” she shot back, her own voice rising: “My going to Paris is the only thing that will save her.”
Caleb stood there, looking crushed.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
His words stung Caitlin, and she felt like crying. She felt their relationship was breaking apart.
She couldn’t stand another minute of this. So without another word, she snatched her briefcase, strutted out the door and hurried to her car, intent on catching the next flight to Paris.
CHAPTER TEN
Scarlet’s heart beat with excitement as they pulled up to Sage’s mansion. He had driven her here from the party, and she recalled the shocking moment when she’d first seen his car: a black Lamborghini. She’d never seen one before. As she had sat in it, sinking into the hard, leather seats, so low to the ground, she couldn’t help feeling as if her life were becoming more and more surreal.