She glanced down at her phone as she turned off the car, and saw all the missed calls and texts from them. She felt guilty. She hadn’t wanted to avoid them, but she knew they’d be furious at her for sneaking out. They wouldn’t understand, and answering their calls would have just made everything much worse. There was no way she could explain it to them without their freaking out.
She worried that maybe they were out there looking for her. She felt bad about that. But at the same time, she was relieved the house was empty: at least she wouldn’t have to march in and face the fire. She could sneak back up to her room, close the door, and go to bed. Maybe, if she left early enough in the morning, she to get to school without having to deal with them either. Give them time to cool off.
As Scarlet entered the house she was immediately greeted by Ruth, who jumped on her as she walked in. She knelt down and hugged her, kissing her, as Ruth licked her all over her face.
“I know Ruth,” she said. “I missed you, too.”
Scarlet walked from room to room and realized all the lights were on, as if her mom and dad had left in a rush.
“Hello?” she called out, just in case one of them was home by some chance.
No response.
Scarlet took out her phone and stared, thinking. If her parents were out there looking for her, she figured she should at least let them know she was home, so that they would come back and stop worrying. She could still go to bed before they got back.
She typed a quick text to them both:
Am home. Sorry I didn’t text earlier. Going to bed now. See you tomorrow. Good night.
She sent it then powered it off so she wouldn’t feel it buzzing and vibrating with their angry responses, which she was sure would come instantaneously.
She felt too wound up to go right to bed, and needed something to help her relax. She figured she had a quick ten minutes before her parents got home, and decided to make herself a cup of tea. She headed into the kitchen, Ruth at her heels, and put a pot of boiling water on the stove. She reached into the cabinet for a cup and teabag, and while she was at it, grabbed a treat and threw it to Ruth.
Ruth snatched the bone in midair, then carried it to the corner and started to chew.
Scarlet took her tea and walked with it into the small reading room at the side of the house, her favorite room, Ruth following. It was small and quirky, lined with books from floor to ceiling
She sat in the comfortable, overstuffed chair in the corner, set down her cup of tea on the coffee table and leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. As she closed her eyes, she heard the piano music Sage had played; she quickly tried to push it from her mind.
It had been a crazy day and night. The party. All the drama with Blake, and Vivian, and Maria. And Sage…. She felt a knot in her stomach as she contemplated what tomorrow might bring.
Most of all, she thought of Sage, of their magical time together, of his beautiful home, of his patio, and the moonlight, and the river.
And, of course, their first kiss. It was the most magical kiss she’d ever had. She could not stop thinking about it.
But then her mind turned to thoughts of Sage’s asking her to leave. It had been so unexpected. She didn’t understand. She knew she should be more understanding, but she wasn’t. She really wanted answers. Was he rejecting her? Was there something wrong with her? With him? Why was he being so mysterious? Why couldn’t he just tell her?
Scarlet sighed as she opened her eyes and took another sip of tea. Boys. Her drama with them never seemed to end.
As Scarlet scanned the room, she noticed something, on the far end. It was a book she had never seen before, sitting on the end table, beside the other reading chair. It had unusual look to it, and it dew her in. It looked like one of her mom’s rare books, but it was smaller. Almost like…a journal.
Intrigued, she crossed the room, picked it up and examined it. She ran her hands along its worn edges, and as she turned the cover, the first page crinkled so loudly, she felt as if she were holding an ancient text. She had seen some of her mom’s rare books before—but never anything like this.
As she read the first page, she was puzzled. She looked closer, and read it again and again. She couldn’t understand. It looked like her mom’s handwriting. Was this hers?
As she was reading the text, suddenly, her heart stopped. She could not believe what she was reading. What was this? Some kind of journal?
Scarlet realized this was her mom’s journal, and a part of her told her it was private and she should put it down. But another part of her had to know. She read and read, knowing that she shouldn’t.
It was definitely her mom’s. Caitlin’s journal. But this was not the Caitlin she knew. This was Caitlin as a young girl. As a teenager. She was mesmerized, turning the pages. It talked of falling in love with a man named Caleb. Having a daughter named Scarlet. Of becoming a vampire.
Her mom. A vampire. Changing. Transforming. Having hunger pangs. A sensitivity to light. Super strength. Wanting to feed on others. Just like her.
Scarlet’s heart was pounding in her throat as she thought of herself. She remembered the other day, with Blake, by the river. She had felt it. Was it real? Was this the reason? Had her mom known all along? Was that was she was not telling her?
Scarlet turned the final page and saw a handwritten note, on a new piece of paper, taped to the back. It read:
“Must stop Scarlet.”
Her heart pounded as she read it. What did that mean? Stop Scarlet? Stop her from doing what?
And that was when Scarlet realized: stop her from feeding. From transforming. From becoming a vampire.
There was only one way to do that: to kill her.
Scarlet felt her whole body go icy cold. She could not believe it: her own mom wanted to kill her.
Suddenly the front door banged open, and Scarlet jumped and dropped the book to the floor, knocking over her tea. She hurried into the living room and there, scowling down at her, was her dad.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” he screamed at her.
She was taken aback: she had never heard him use that tone of voice before, and had never seen him look so angry.
“Whose car is that?” he demanded, before she could even answer. “In the driveway? Who? Is he here? In the house? Where is he?”
“No one’s here,” she shot back. “I drove it back myself.”
“You? What do you mean? You’re not even licensed? Do you realize that?”