“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I mean, you handled yourself pretty well back there in Paris—I do have to admit. But…”
She paused.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
Polly cleared her throat.
“Well, if you must know, the last—um—boy—I spent any time with—Sergei—turned out to be a liar and a con-man, who tricked and used me. I was too stupid to see it. But I’m never going to fall for anything like that again. And I’m not ready to trust anybody of the male race—not even you. I just don’t want to spend any time with any more boys right now. Not that you and I—not that I’m saying that we’re—not that I think of you that way—as anything more than a friend—than an acquaintance—”
Polly began stammering, and he could see how nervous she had become, and couldn’t help smiling inwardly.
“—but it’s just that, regardless, I’m sick of boys. No offense.” Sam smiled broadly. He loved her candor, and her spunkiness.
“None taken,” he answered. “The truth be told,” he added, “I’m sick of girls.” Polly’s eyes opened wide in surprise; that clearly wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.
“But it occurs to me that we have a better chance of finding my sister if we search together. I mean—just—” Sam cleared his throat, “—just professionally speaking.” Now it was Polly’s turn to smile.
“Professionally speaking,” she repeated.
Sam reached out his hand, formally.
“I promise, we’ll just be friends—nothing more,” he said. “I’ve sworn off of girls forever. No matter what.”
“And I’ve sworn off of guys forever. No matter what,” Polly said, still examining his hand, as it dangled in the air, unsure.
Sam left his hand out patiently, waiting.
“Just friends?” she asked. “Nothing more?”
“Just friends,” Sam said.
She finally reached out and shook on it.
And as she did, Sam couldn’t help noticing that she held his hand just the slightest bit too long.
CHAPTER THREE
Caitlin sat up in the sarcophagus, and stared back at the man before her. She knew she recognized him from somewhere, but could not place where. She stared at his large, brown, concerned eyes, his perfectly chiseled face, his cheekbones, his smooth skin, his thick, wavy hair. He was gorgeous, and she could sense how much he cared for her. She felt deep down that this was an important person to her, but for the life of her, she could not remember who it was.
Caitlin felt something wet in her palm, and looked down to see a wolf sitting there, licking her.
She was surprised at how caring it was towards her, as if it had known her forever. It had beautiful white fur, with a single grey streak running down the middle of its head and back. Caitlin felt she knew this animal, too, and that at some point in her life she'd had a close connection to it.
But try as she did, she could not remember how.
She looked around the room, trying to take in her surroundings, hoping it might jog her memory. The room slowly came into focus. It was dim, lit only by a torch, and in the distance, she saw adjoining rooms, filled with sarcophagi. It had a low, vaulted ceiling, and the stones looked ancient. It looked like a crypt. She wondered how she had gotten here—and who these people were.
She felt as if she had been awakened from a dream that would not end.
Caitlin closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, and as she did, a collection of random images suddenly flashed through her mind. She saw herself standing in the Roman Colosseum, fighting off multiple soldiers on its hot, dusty floor; she saw herself flying over an island in the Hudson River, looking down at a sprawling castle; she saw herself in Venice, on a gondola, with a boy she did not recognize, but who was also beautiful; she saw herself in Paris, walking along a river with a man who she recognized as the same man across from her. She tried to focus on that image, to hold onto it. Perhaps it would help her remember.
She saw the two of them again, this time in his castle, in the countryside of France. She saw them riding horses on the beach, then saw a falcon, circling high above them, dropping off a letter.
She tried to zoom in on his face, to remember his name. It seemed to be coming back to her; it was so close. But her mind kept flashing something new, and it was so hard to hold onto anything.
Lifetime after lifetime flashed before her in an endless snapshot of images. It was as if her memory were repopulating itself.
"Caleb," came a voice.
Caitlin opened her eyes. He was leaning in close, reaching out a hand, holding her shoulder.
"My name is Caleb. Of the White Coven. Don't you remember?"
Caitlin's eyes closed again, as her mind was jogged by his words, his voice. Caleb. The name rang like a bell in her brain. It felt like an important name to her.
White Coven. That, too, rang a bell. She suddenly saw herself in a city she knew to be New York City, in a cloister at the northern end of the island. She saw herself standing on a large terrace, looking out. She saw herself arguing with a woman named Sera.
"Caitlin," came the voice again, more firmly. "Don't you remember?"
Caitlin. Yes. That was her name. She felt certain of it now.
And Caleb. Yes. He was important to her. He was her…boyfriend? He felt like more than that.
Fiancé? Husband?
She opened her eyes, and stared at him, and it was all starting to flood back. Hope filled within her, as slowly, bit by bit, she was starting to remember everything.
"Caleb," she said back, softly.
His eyes suddenly filled with hope, watering. The wolf whined beside her licked her cheek, as if encouraged. She looked over at her, and suddenly remembered her name.
"Rose,” she said, then realized that wasn't right. “No. Ruth. Your name is Ruth."
Ruth leaned in closer, licking her face. Caitlin couldn't help but smile, and stroked her head.
Caleb broke into a relieved grin.
"Yes. Ruth. And I am Caleb. And you are Caitlin. Do you remember now?” She nodded. "It's coming back to me," she said. "You are my…husband?"
She watched as his face suddenly turned red, as if he were embarrassed, or shamed. And at that moment, she suddenly remembered. No. They were not married.
"We are not married," he said, apologetic, "but we are together."