Found (Book #8 in the Vampire Journals) (8 page)

“How?” she asked.

He looked over at the golden pedestal before the cabinet. Caitlin followed his gaze.

There, in the center of the pedestal, was a hollowed-out shape. As she looked closely, she was shocked to realize that the shape was in the exact size of the Star of David.

She looked at the man for confirmation, and he handed the star back to her and nodded.

She turned and walked over to it. She gently held out the star, and placed it inside the pedestal.

It was a perfect fit, sinking down into the small the space.

Suddenly there was a noise, high above her head. Caitlin looked up and saw a small portion of the ceiling retract, and the sound of scraping stone. As it opened, a shaft of sunlight streamed in at a sharp angle, illuminating a small patch of wall, about a foot wide.

Caitlin was shocked. She hurried over to the wall with Caleb. As she looked closely, she noticed this section was different than the rest of the wall. As the sun hit it, she could just barely make out letters, carved into the stone.

It was a message. Carved in ancient, Hebrew letters, running from right to left.

She had no idea what it meant. She looked over at Caleb, hoping he did.

“Can you read it?” she asked.

He nodded, wide-eyed in surprise. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“It is a message,” he said, and turned and looked at her. “And it is from your father.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Scarlet roamed the narrow streets of Jerusalem with Ruth, feeling unlike she ever had. She felt as if something inside her had been unleashed, something she didn’t understand, and couldn’t contain. She felt more animal than human. She was roving, looking for her next kill, and she didn’t even trust herself.

The taste and smell of blood filled Scarlet’s every pore. Her first kill had been indescribable, something beyond what she could have ever imagined. The feel of that man’s blood filling her veins did something to her, something she couldn’t explain: she felt filled with power and strength at the same time. Reborn.

Yet it also whet her appetite. It turned on a switch inside, made her realize how good it could feel—and it demanded more. She now roamed the streets wildly, watching people’s throats, zooming in on the pulsing of their heartbeat. She felt an itch inside her veins, a thirst for more victims.

She also felt a fresh sense of rage, of entitlement, that she never had before. And of fearlessness. She turned down another alleyway, this one crowded with people, and this time, she no longer cowered, hid from anyone. Instead, she walked boldly, strutting right down the center. And when people got too close to her, she merely put her shoulder into them and knocked them out of the way.

“Hey little girl, watch it!” a man yelled.

Scarlet turned and smiled at him, feeling her fangs protruding, feeling her eyes glowing red, and heard the guttural sound she made. She saw horror and fear on the man’s face, and watched him quickly turn and run away. She knew that, now, she was a thing to fear.

Scarlet heard Ruth snarling beside her, too, and she felt more of a kinship with Ruth than ever. She also could feel Ruth picking up on her rage, sharing it. The two of them were like a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

Scarlet spotted the vendor she had seen before, with his huge rack of meat. This time, she was determined to get Ruth fed.

The vendor saw her coming, and stood out before his booth. He reached up his hands and started whistling like crazy. It was a loud, piercing whistle, cutting through the crowd.

“Guards! GUARDS!” he shrieked.

But Scarlet didn’t pause. She walked right up to him.

“You’re going to jail this time, misses,” he scolded. “Think you can steal someone else’s food? Now you’re going to pay. Stop right there!”

The big, beefy man reached down to grab Scarlet, and she felt his paws on her arm. He was strong, stronger than she could have imagined, and the old Scarlet would have slunk away in fear.

But now, she was unafraid. On the contrary, she hoped for this, relished it.

With an ease unlike any he could have imagined, she twisted his big arm around, leaned up her elbow, and brought it down the back of his, cracking his arm in half. The man shrieked out in pain.

She then reached over, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hurled him through the crowd. The huge man, well over 300 pounds, went flying through the air as if he were a child’s toy, and went crashing into the booths, knocking over dozens of carts, small tables crashing onto all the vendors. People screamed in fear and confusion, and the crowd recoiled, away from Scarlet. They kept a safe perimeter, looking back at her with complete bewilderment.

Scarlet turned back to the meat on the spit. She grabbed the entire hunk, snatched it off, and held it out to Ruth. Ruth snarled as she tore off every last scrap of meat, eating the entire thing, which was even bigger than her. Ruth ate and ate, until Scarlet could feel that she was sated.

Scarlet suddenly heard a sharp whistling noise and turned to see dozens of Roman soldiers marching towards her from one end. She heard another whistling, and turned in the other direction to see dozens more marching at her from the other.

But again, Scarlet was unafraid. On the contrary, she looked forward to the idea of battle, to having an outlet on which to vent her unquenchable need for violence. She didn’t wait for them to approach, but instead, charged right for them. They trotted towards her, hands on their swords and on their shields, but she sprinted for them at lightning speed.

Scarlet jumped into the air, and planted her two feet on the chest of the lead soldier, kicking him with such force that he went flying backwards, knocking down a dozen soldiers like dominoes.

The other soldiers jumped on Scarlet from behind, knocking her to the ground.

But with hardly any effort, she merely jumped up and threw back her arms, and as she did, she sent them flying in every direction. They smashed into the walls, and collapsed onto the ground.

The remaining soldiers faced her, pausing, and she could see the fear in their eyes. Three of the them drew their swords and charged.

But from Scarlet’s perspective it was as if they were moving in slow motion. She ducked and dodged, and their swords swung by harmlessly. She snatched one of their shields, then spun around and smashed one in the head, then pulled it back and threw it like a Frisbee, knocking another one in the chest and sending him to the ground.

Ruth came charging beside her, leapt into the air, and pounced onto the chest of the third soldier, taking him down before he could swing.

Scarlet looked down and saw the dozens of soldiers sprawled out before her, and she felt more invincible than ever.

That was when she felt it. Suddenly, from behind, she felt a net being hurled over her, enveloping her, and Ruth. She tried to yank it off, but as she grabbed it, she felt herself inexplicably weaken. The material was so cold, had such a strange sensation to the touch. And it was so heavy.

That was when she realized: the net was made of silver. And as it touched her body, it drained her strength and power. It made her weak, helpless, just like any other human.

She felt the bodies of the remaining soldiers pouncing down on her, pinning her to the ground.

And the last thing she saw, as she turned her neck, was the furious face of a Roman soldier, bringing his fist down hard, right for cheek.

CHAPTER NINE

As the sun began to set, Sam walked with Samantha in a desolate part of the streets of Jerusalem, far from anyone. They had been walking for hours, Samantha silently leading him, and he had followed without a word. There was something about her—there had always been something about her—that made Sam want to be with her, want to follow her, without even asking why.

Sam thought back to the very first time he’d met her, in the Hudson Valley, when she was living alone in that house. He had been surprised to realize he was on her property—and even more surprised that an older woman would be interested in him. It was the first time he’d ever been smitten, and the first time he’d ever fallen in love.

As they walked for hours, far from the crowds, Samantha leading him through obscure parts of the city, memories of their relationship came flooding back. Sam recalled their drive together that day in the Hudson Valley,
their
going to that trailer park, discovering that man who pretended to be his father was just an impostor, a creep. Sam remembered when he saw Samantha kill him—the first time he’d ever seen a vampire kill anyone. He remembered being transfixed by her.

He remembered their going to Boston, to the King’s church, their losing the sword to Kyle. He remembered being captured, imprisoned, in New York. And most of all, he remembered that fateful night when she turned him. When she became his maker. At that moment the relationship between them changed from mere love to something endless, timeless.

Sam had thought that he’d put her out of his mind long ago—but truthfully, deep down, he knew that he had never quite forgotten. Memories of her had always lurked somewhere, deep in his consciousness. He felt himself drawn to her at times, like a magnet, like a servant wanting to return to its master. And now, with her by his side, he felt in some ways like he had found his way back home.

But he also remembered their parting. He remembered how she had urged him to kill his own sister, when he had fallen so completely under her spell, and had almost done it. Then he remembered breaking free from her, and never wanting to see her again. There remained a part of him that could still never forgive her for what she had done.

But now, here, in this different time and place, he was surprised to find himself happy to be in her presence. After all, he had changed: he was not the same person he used to be. Everything in the past that she had done, all of her violence, and ambition, and rage, and trickery—everything that had once bothered him so much—now, he liked. He admired it. The very same qualities he once despised, now, he looked up to. Now, he found himself wanting to be with her.

Yet as they walked in silence, Sam couldn’t help wondering if all these memories of Samantha had flooded back to him naturally—or if Samantha had played one of her mind tricks, and had implanted all those feelings into his brain. Was she still manipulating him, even now?

But the funny thing was, Sam didn’t care. He wanted to be manipulated. He wanted to be with her. She was so overflowing with vengeance and darkness that he saw himself in her—and he no longer cared about whatever dark place she would lead him.

Samantha reached over and took his hand and squeezed it hard. She looked over at him, and as he looked into her pale blue eyes, he could feel their connection grow even stronger. Before, roaming the streets of Jerusalem alone, he’d felt no sense of direction, of purpose. Now, with her by his side, he felt he was being led in the direction he was meant to go.

They continued walking down a narrow side street, up a steep hill, and as they went, Sam looked up and saw a huge structure waiting before them: an ancient, pagan Temple. Shaped in an octagon, it was surrounded by Roman columns and covered by a shiny, circular dome. There were eight columns and each took the shape of a different pagan God. Gargoyles stuck out from all corners, and even from here, as they walked straight up towards it, into the blood-red sun, Sam could feel the evil energy coming off this place.

Sam could hardly believe they were back in a time and place where people still actively worshipped pagan gods. The old Sam would have recoiled from this place; but the new Sam looked forward to it. He felt that, behind those walls, were those like him. He couldn’t wait to meet them.

“You are about to meet our leader,” Samantha said to him, in a cold, raspy voice. “I’ve been sent to bring you back home. With us. Where you belong. This will be a great place of welcome and honor for you. The place where you can fulfill your destiny. You’re one of us now, Sam. Your time for searching is over.”

“I know,” he replied, and was surprised to realize how gravelly his own voice had become.

They reached the top of the hill, walked across the wide marble plaza, and up a long flight of marble steps leading to the temple entrance. Standing guard under the portico were a dozen huge vampires, dressed in all black. They wore elaborate velvet cloaks, despite the heat, with a broad red sash crossing over them. They hissed back in greeting, and Sam could see their long fangs protruding. He looked down and saw their hands were irregular: each had only two fingers and a thumb, long and pointy, with nails that stretched for inches and were sharpened to a point. Their skin was stark white, and covered in blisters. These were no normal vampires, he realized. He had reached their capitol: the capitol of darkness.

They reached over, grabbed the large knockers, and yanked open the enormous arched brass doors for them. They opened with a creak, and Samantha walked right in, not even hesitating. Sam followed. As he did, he felt a wind behind them and heard the door slam, just inches behind, locking them in.

Sam found himself in an octagonal room, framed by columns, filled with statues of pagan gods. It was a vast and open space that reminded him of the Pantheon in Rome, except on a smaller scale. Milling about were hundreds of vampires, dressed in black, some of them flying about the room, hovering in the air, but most on the ground, squirming. Among them were female humans, naked, sprawled across the floor. The vampires, Sam could see, were busy feeding on them.

The room was filled with the screams and moans of humans, suffering, trying to get away. But there was nowhere for them to go. It was a bloodbath: hundreds of vampires feeding on hundreds of innocent humans. The entire floor was alive, squirming with victims and victimizers.

On the far side of the room, all along the walls, more humans were chained to the walls, some of them crucified on crosses, others bound to columns. More vampires stood over them, beside them, behind them, whipping them, beating them with straps, and torturing them in all kinds of ways. Their cries punctuated the air, rising even over the cries of the vampires on the ground. Sadistic smiles lit up the faces of all the vampires, busy torturing the humans for sport. While in the past Sam would have recoiled from such a sight, now he enjoyed it. He understood it. Even sympathized. These vampires needed an outlet for their boundless rage and lust, needed something on which to unleash it.

In the center of the room, on a throne atop a raised dais built of solid gold, sat a single vampire, watching over it all, his back to them. Around him stood a dozen minions, awaiting his smallest nod.

Sam and Samantha took several steps in, and as they did, the seated vampire spun in his chair and turned to them.

Sam recognized this vampire. He had seen him once before, centuries ago, in New York City. Beneath City Hall. It was their grand leader. The ancient one, who had lived for thousands of years. Rexius.

A shriveled-up old man, his face covered in endless age lines, nearly bald, with white hair and drooping eyes, Rexius sat hunched in his throne, looking down on all of it with satisfaction. Sam could see he was living vicariously through all of it.

Rexius fixed his ancient, pale-blue eyes on Sam, and Sam could feel the evil emanating off of them, aiming right for him. Rexius reached up with his huge, golden staff, banged it several times, and slowly, all the motion in the room stopped. The room gradually quieted, as much as it could amidst the screams and moans.

Sam felt Samantha take his hand, and they walked right through the room, through the crowd of bodies that parted ways, and right up to the dais. They looked up at Rexius, who gazed down at them. He was ancient, inscrutable, and Sam couldn’t tell if he was looking at them with rebuke or approval—or both.

The room quieted, as hundreds of eyes turned to watch the encounter.

“So…” Rexius began slowly, in his deep, gravelly voice, “…the chicken comes home to roost.”

He breathed deeply.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for centuries. I should kill you now, just for making me wait so long.”

Sam was not intimidated; instead, he felt a fresh dose of rage rise up within him. He could tear this man apart. How dare he—or any man—talk to him that way.

“And I should kill
you
for speaking to me this way,” Sam responded, snarling, beginning to walk forward.

But he felt Samantha’s reassuring hand stop him, hold his shoulder, and he hesitated.

Rexius’ eyes opened wide, as an astonished gasp spread throughout the room. It was apparent that no one spoke to Rexius this way.

During the tense silence, Sam braced himself for an attack.

But suddenly, Rexius threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Rexius said. “Good.
Very
good. I like your hatred. It rejuvenates me.”

Rexius surveyed Sam, nodding.

“Yes, yes,” he said slowly. “You are truly one of us now, aren’t you? Yes, very good. You will serve us well. You will serve our cause very well indeed.”

He sighed.

“You have arrived not a moment too late,” Rexius continued, his voice booming, echoing off the walls. “Now is a time of great urgency. Other forces are close to the shield. We must stop them. You are the final key to attaining the shield.”

Sam stared back, racking his brain, trying to remember.
The shield
. He vaguely remembered…there was something about this father…. But it all seemed so hazy now, so far away. And with Kyle’s spirit overwhelming him, and with thoughts of Samantha racing through his head, it was hard for him to think clearly.

“We stand at the precipice of history,” Rexius said. “Now is our moment. If we find the shield before they do, we can dominate all humankind, all vampire kind, forever. There will be nothing but wars and bloodshed and chaos and destruction for all time. It is the moment we have all been dreaming for. For thousands of lifetimes. We are as close as we have ever been. And with you here, there is nothing left to stop us.”

He breathed.

“But, unfortunately, your sister is searching, too. And she is very close. So is her husband. Your sister is the one I most fear, though. She is here, back in time. And she’s aligned herself with powerful people. Even as we speak, she is searching. And she is close. Too close. We must find it before she does!” Rexius suddenly screeched out, slamming his staff against the floor, the veins popping out of his face.

The entire room went silent.

Sam tried to concentrate, to remember all the details. His sister. His father. The shield. Somewhere, deep inside, he thought he detected remnants of feelings. Brotherly love. A desire to protect her.

But these thoughts were confused, muddled by other, new, feelings. Rexius’ words hung in his ears, Kyle’s spirit coursed in his veins, and Samantha squeezed his hand—and he found himself unable to focus, unable to think of anything but destruction.

“There is one other, too,” Rexius continued slowly. “Just as grave a threat to us is this rogue, this rebel named Jesus. He walks about as we speak, preaching his idiotic sermons. We must kill him before he inflicts any more harm. He is the one your sister seeks. And if we don’t reach him in time, they will join forces and find the shield. We cannot let that happen.”

Rexius turned and nodded, and suddenly there stepped forward a single vampire, the only one of them dressed in white. He had long black hair, a long black beard, and large black eyes. They were wide, and glowing with intensity as he stared right at Sam.