Caitlin quickly hurried in from the pouring rain, and as she did, the woman slammed and locked the door behind her.
Caitlin stood there, in the low, arched-ceiling room, the rain slamming against the windows, and a puddle of water quickly forming beneath her feet on the ancient wood floors. She looked down, embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
The old woman handed her something soft, and she realized: a towel. She was touched. She dried her hair, so grateful, then dried her face and neck.
“Take off your coat,” the woman ordered.
Caitlin was shocked: she spoke English. And she cared.
Caitlin peeled off her dripping coat, and as she did, the woman placed another dry towel over her shoulders. Caitlin rubbed it, drying her shirt.
“Thank you,” she said, so appreciative.
“It’s warmer here,” the woman said, as she led Caitlin to a small fireplace on the opposite side of the room, inside of which was a raging fire. Caitlin walked to it and held out her hands, relishing in its heat.
Caitlin looked around, surveying the cozy room. It was dimly lit by candle sconces and bedecked with rugs and cozy, antique sitting chairs. What caught her eye most, though, were the bookcases: she saw at a glance that there was an abundance of riches in this small room. She was astonished. It was a treasure trove of ancient, rare volumes. She felt as if she’d stepped back in time, to a lost world.
“I’m looking for a very rare volume,” Caitlin said. “I’m not even certain it exists. Vairo’s De Fascino Libri Tres. I am looking for the other half of a missing page.”
Slowly, Caitlin reached into her bag and removed the folder and the torn page. She held it out, and the old woman’s eyes widened just a bit as she examined it.
After a few moments, she handed it back to Caitlin.
“Do you know it?” Caitlin asked. “Do you have it?”
“Forty years ago, I took in a collection of the most obscure and rare editions of occult titles,” the woman said, her voice scratchy and barely audible over the crackling fire. “I didn’t want to, frankly, but my late husband insisted. I’ve never liked the energy off of those books. I walled them off, so that no one would ever know they were here. Including myself. I’ve had some very unsavory types come looking for them over the years. And I’ve always denied their existence.”
The old woman suddenly crossed the room, reached up and pulled a light fixture on the far wall.
To Caitlin’s amazement, the stone wall suddenly slid to the side, to the sound of stone scraping stone. It revealed a secret room.
The old woman stepped in, raised her candle, and lit several candles sconces inside the room. As she did, Caitlin could see that it was jam packed with rare books, stacks and stacks of them. There was barely room to walk.
“If I have what you’re looking for,” the old woman said, as she came back out and faced Caitlin, “it’s in there.”
If? Caitlin wondered. Her heart sank as she took in the room: it was massive. There were thousands and thousands of titles, all unorganized, throw in random heaps on the floor. Her professional eye told her it could take weeks to go through them all. She didn’t have time.
“Do you have any idea at all if you have it?” Caitlin asked. “Do you have any idea at all where in this room it might be?”
The old woman shook her head.
“It was forty years ago,” she said, “and even back then, I barely glanced at them. You’re going to have to find out the hard way.”
Caitlin took a few tentative steps into the room, ducking as she went beneath the low arched stone, and as she did, the woman turned to her.
“When you’re done, knock three times.”
With that, the old woman pulled the lever and suddenly, the door slid closed on Caitlin.
Caitlin stood there, amazed, scanning the mountains of books, and wondering what she had gotten herself into.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sage crossed his bedroom, gathering his things, packing up ancient artifacts he hadn’t looked at in centuries. He was finally ready to leave this place, his family, for good. He had a large opened suitcase on his bed, and rifled through items, deciding what to let go. He held up a small ivory tusk off his desk, remembering when he had found it five hundred years before. He examined it, then set it down, deciding not to bring it.
As he stood there, by the window, he glanced out, and looked at the Hudson. In the early morning light the water sparkled. In the distance he saw the island he’d spent the night on with Scarlet, the two of them having fallen asleep, clothed, in each other’s arms. It had been innocent, but the most beautiful night he had ever spent on this planet. He could not stop thinking about the moment they woke up together, watched the dawn break together, the sun rise over the Hudson. It had seemed to rise right over them, as if they were in the very center of the world.
Waking with Scarlet in his arms had given him a feeling of being restored that he hadn’t had in years. It made him feel whole again, and it gave him, for the first time in a long time, a reason to live.
They had decided to run away together. Scarlet had decided it would be best to keep up appearances for now, to go back to school in the morning, to face all her friends, to see them one last time, and then for them to leave that night, in the cover of darkness. They made a plan to meet after school, at the big dance that night, and leave from there. They would leave this town, find some place in the world where they could be alone, away from their families, from everyone who wanted to tear them apart. There was nothing Sage wanted more: if these were to be his last few weeks on the planet, he wanted them to be worthy ones. He wanted to live for himself for a change.
Scarlet had even talked about the two of them taking off right then and there, at dawn. Sage had wanted to, too. But he thought it would be more prudent for them to leave at night, in the cover of darkness. Scarlet also wanted to have closure with her friends, and Sage wanted a little bit of time to gather his things, and to internally say his goodbyes to his family. Of course, he could not tell him he was leaving. But maybe there was still a small chance he could convince them, get them to change their minds about Scarlet. After two thousand years together, they owed it to him to at least hear him out. If he was successful, maybe, just maybe, they would let her go, and the two of them could live out their final days here in peace.
Deep down, he knew it was a lost cause. His family’s mortality was at stake, after all. They would, he knew, go after Scarlet with everything they had. After tonight, after his deadline was up, they would hunt her down and kill her.