CHAPTER SEVEN

Scarlet walked with her mom down the cobblestone pathway to the church’s front door, feeling self-conscious. She had never been to church before, even though it was just two blocks from her house, and she didn’t want any of her friends to see her walking up to it now. The church was so conspicuous, right on main street in the middle of town; she lowered her baseball cap, which she’d snatched off the coat rack at the last second, hoping nobody saw her. It wasn’t that she thought there was anything wrong with going to church—it was just that it just wasn’t her. It wasn’t her family. She thought it would be weird for some of her friends or neighbors to suddenly see her walking with her mom to church in the middle of the day. After all, why would anyone do that? Unless something was wrong with the family.

But she knew that going to church would make her mom happy, and for some weird reason, she sort of looked forward to it, too, given how unsettled she was feeling these days. She wouldn’t mind actually having someone to talk to, assuming this priest was cool, which her mom said he was, and not some strict, old guy. She doubted that he could relate to her, but maybe he could help shed some light on what was wrong with her. Or maybe he could at least make her feel more calm.

As they walked, Scarlet reflected on her day. It had been another lousy one. After first period, everything was anti-climactic: she didn’t see Sage again all day, even though she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She wondered if he hated her now, for leaving like that. Despite herself, she hoped that he liked her. She looked for him all day, but saw no sign of him. It was so weird—it was like he disappeared.

At least thinking about him had taken the edge off of Blake. With Sage in her thoughts, she had hardly thought of Blake again that day; the one or two times she had seen him, out of the corner of her eye, she was sure that he had seen her too, and had quickly turned away. He definitely hadn’t texted her all day. So it was obvious that he wasn’t into her anymore. Which was starting to feel okay with her, as long as she thought of Sage.

Despite her efforts, she hadn’t crossed paths with Maria again that day; she was sure that Maria was giving her the cold shoulder—and worse, she could have sworn that Jasmin and Becca were avoiding her, too. She wondered if Maria had told them what had happened and had cast Scarlet in a bad light. She hadn’t seen any of them at lunch, which was unusual. Scarlet was increasingly feeling as if she had no one left to turn to. Her friends, Blake, her parents—she was feeling that everyone was aligned against her.

The final bell of the day had been a welcome sound and she’d hurried back home and checked her cell again, but had still received no texts from Maria, or any of her other friends. That was a sure sign. Maria was a chronic texter, as were the others. Clearly something was up. Maria had probably told them all Scarlet tried to steal her boyfriend—which was ridiculous, because Sage wasn’t Maria’s boyfriend, and because he didn’t even like her. Not to mention that Maria didn’t even have the guts to ask him, and that Scarlet had actually looked out for her by swapping partners. But still, obviously, in Maria’s mind, that was what had happened.

Scarlet figured she should be the bigger person, and finally texted Maria after school, giving her her perspective of what had happened. But Maria didn’t reply. It was so typical. Maria could be the most loyal friend in the world—but she could also be the most spiteful and territorial.

Scarlet had finally had enough, and had put her phone away and powered it off. These days, it seemed to give her nothing but aggravation anyway. She’d waited eagerly for her mom to get home from work and now that it was almost sunset, she was actually looking forward to hearing what this priest had to say. Clearly, her life couldn’t get any worse.

The heavy door to the church creaked open, and as they walked inside, Scarlet felt transported to another world. It was quiet and dark in here, and as she took in the smooth stone floors, the old, worn pews, the stained-glass windows, it gave her a sense of peace. She was surprised at how at-home she felt—and even more surprised that she had never been here before.

Suddenly, the church bells rang out, striking six o’clock. After the traditional bells, there followed a song, ringing out in chimes. It was the most beautiful thing Scarlet had ever heard, and she felt grateful to her mom.

“Thanks for bringing me,” she said to her mom.

Her mom squeezed her hand as her face broke into a smile, and Scarlet felt guilty she had been so stubborn.

A side door opened at the far end of the church, and in came Father McMullen, wearing a welcoming smile.

“And you must be Scarlet,” he said in a cheery voice, as he strutted towards them. He extended his hand way out in front of him, before he even reached them. Scarlet shook his hand, and he shook hers back, encasing it with both of his hands heartily.

“I’ve heard so many lovely things about you. Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for having me,” she said, not knowing how to reply.

As he held her hands in his, he stared into her eyes, and as she looked up into his light blue eyes, she couldn’t help but feel as if he were dissecting her. As if he sensed something that surprised him.

He quickly withdrew his two hands. As he did, his expression changed to one of hesitation—maybe even fear.

He cleared his throat.

“Please, come this way,” he said as he turned and led them down the aisle.

They followed him down the long aisle, passing the pews, and as they did, Scarlet noticed him looking side to side, his expression increasingly worried. She turned to see what he was looking at, and noticed the rows of tall, burning candles: as they passed, one at a time, each candle burned out.

By the time they reached the end of the aisle, all the candles along the walls had been extinguished—and as they approached the altar, the dozens of small votive candles all suddenly blew out, too.

The Father stopped cold in his tracks. He stood there, his back to them, as if afraid to turn around.

Scarlet stared at the candles, not understanding what was happening. Had it been a draft? She hadn’t felt one.

The Father slowly turned and looked at her. From his fearful expression, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she were to blame.

She saw small beads of sweat form on his forehead, as his eyes travel down to her throat.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” he said.

Scarlet detected a shakiness in his voice that wasn’t there a moment before. Clearly, he was freaked out. He was freaked out by her, she realized. That scared her, and she started to tremble.

“May I ask where you got it?” he asked.

“I gave it to her,” her mom chimed in. “For her sixteenth birthday. Just a few days ago.”

He turned and looked at her.

“Where did you get it?” he asked, with intensity.

“It’s been in my family for generations,” she responded. “My grandmother gave it to me. And her grandmother gave it to her.”

“May I look at it?” he asked, turning to Scarlet.

Scarlet nodded, not knowing what to say.

He reached out and gently lifted the cross with two fingers, staring at it in the light. As he did, his eyes widened in fear.

“The cross of the Resurrection,” he whispered to himself, in terror.

“You know it?” her mom asked.

He let it go, pulling back his hand as if he’d touched a snake.

“Of course,” he said. “It is said to trace back all the way to the times of Christ. It is one of the most famous crosses of Christianity. It was rumored to have been lost centuries ago. It is a holy relic. I can’t understand how you have it. Something like this, it belongs in the Vatican. In a museum. On display.”

Scarlet reached up and fingered the necklace, feeling a whole new appreciation for it. And a fear of it. Why was he so scared by it?

“That cross,” he continued, “is rumored to have been used to protect the first vampires.”

“Vampires?” Scarlet asked, heart pounding.

“What do you mean protect them?” her mom asked.

“In the early days of Christianity, the vampires were rumored to be the chosen ones. The good ones. When barbarians waged war against the holy people, it was the vampires, the super race, that was called to protect mankind. Back then, you see, it was a great blessing to be a vampire. It was somewhat like being a priest today. They were the chosen kind, and blessed with immortality.

“But somewhere along the way, it changed. One too many vampires were turned. An evil strain occurred among them. Over time, the evil strain became dominant, and wiped out the good ones. Only a handful of good ones remained throughout the centuries. And this cross was there symbol. They were the Knights Templar of vampires, their most elite sect.”

He suddenly turned to Caitlin.

“Your grandmother…who was she exactly?” he asked.

“Um…well…” she began, flustered.

Suddenly the sun shifted, its huge red ball aligning directly in the path of the stained-glass window, in the center of the far wall. It lit her up, sending a single beam of sunlight right to Scarlet. Light flooded her.

Scarlet suddenly felt a horrific pain, right in her forehead. It was so bad, she had to clutch her head. Her eyes burned, too, as if they were on fire. She keeled over. It felt like it was tearing her up inside, and she couldn’t stand it for another second.

She shrieked as she dropped to her knees, clutching her head.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” she screamed.

“Scarlet what’s wrong?” her mom cried out, dropping to her side, putting an arm around her.

The priest took a step back, eyes widening in fear.

“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium,” he began to chant, raising a hand in the sign of the cross. He reached into his cloak, grabbed a small decanter of holy water, and sprinkled it on Scarlet.

As the water hit her skin, in the sunlight, it felt like acid. She shrieked.

But this time, it was no normal shriek. It was the guttural roar of animal, several octaves lower. It was a horrific noise, one that sent the hairs standing on the back of the human’s necks. She shrieked and shrieked, standing, throwing back her arms, sending her mom flying, crashing into the wooden pews.

The shriek grew so loud that the entire room began to shake; as it did, all the stained-glass, on every wall, shattered, exploding in every direction.

Father McMullen turned and fled, sprinting for all he had.

Scarlet threw back her head and roared. The roar rose higher and higher, louder than the sound of the bells, louder than the sound of the exploding glass, as fragments of every color showered down all around her.