Found (Book #8 in the Vampire Journals) Page 2

  Scarlet looked everywhere, hoping for a glimpse of her mom and dad. She scrutinized every face that passed, hoping, willing, that one of them would stop and turn to her.

  But they were nowhere. And with every passing face, she felt more and more alone.

  Scarlet was beginning to feel a sense of panic. She didn’t understand how she could have come back alone. How could they have left her like that? Where could they be? Did they make it back, too? Didn’t they care enough to come and find her?

  The longer Scarlet stood there, watching, waiting, the more the realization sank in. She was alone. Completely on her own, in a strange time and place. And even if they were back here, she had no idea where to look for them.

  Scarlet looked down at her wrist, at the ancient silver bracelet with the dangling cross that had been given to her right before they left Scotland. As they’d stood there in the courtyard of that castle, one of those old men in the white robes had reached out and slipped in on her wrist. She thought it was very pretty, but she didn’t know what it was, or what it meant. She had a feeling that it might be some sort of clue. But she had no idea what.

  She felt Ruth rubbing up against her leg, and she knelt down, kissed her head, and hugged her. Ruth whined in her ear, licking her. At least she had Ruth. Ruth was like a sister to her, and Scarlet was so grateful she had made it back with her, and so grateful she had protected her from that soldier. There was no one she loved more.

  As Scarlet thought back to that soldier, to their encounter, she realized her powers must run deeper than she thought. She couldn’t understand how she, as a small girl, had stopped him, had overpowered him. She felt that somehow she was changing, or had already changed, into something she had never been. She remembered, back in Scotland, her mom explaining it to her. But she still didn’t quite understand it.

  She wished it would all just go away. She just wanted to be normal, wanted things to be normal, back to the way they were. She just wanted her mommy and daddy. She wanted to close her eyes and be back in Scotland, in that castle. With Sam, and Polly, and Aiden, too. She wanted to be back at their wedding ceremony. She wanted everything to be right in the world.

  But when she opened her eyes, she was still here, all alone with Ruth in this strange city, this strange time. She didn’t know a soul. No one seemed friendly. And she had no idea where to go.

  Finally, Scarlet couldn’t take it anymore. She had to move on. She couldn’t hide here, waiting forever. Wherever her mommy and daddy were, she figured, it was out there somewhere, not in this little nook. She felt a hunger pang, and heard Ruth whining, and knew she was hungry, too. She had to be brave, she told herself. She had to go out there, and try to find them. Or at least try to find food for them both in the meantime.

  Scarlet stepped out into the bustling alleyway, on the lookout for any soldiers. She spotted groups of them in the distance, marching, patrolling the streets; but none of them seemed to be in any particular urgency. It didn’t seem like they were looking out for her specifically—rather, it just seemed as if soldiers filled this city as a matter of rule.

  Scarlet and Ruth squeezed their way into the masses of humanity, jostled left and right as they headed down the twisting and turning alleyways. It was so crowded here, people bustling in every direction in the heat. She passed vendors with wooden carts, selling fruits and vegetables, loaves of bread, bottles of olive oil and wine. There were vendors everywhere, adjacent to each other, crammed in the thick alleys, screaming out for customers. People haggled with them left and right.

  As if it were not crowded enough, also filling the streets were animals—camels and donkeys and sheep and all sorts of livestock—being led by their owners. Amidst these ran wild chickens, roosters and dogs. They smelled terribly, and made the noisy marketplace even noisier, with their constant braying and bleating and barking.

  Scarlet could feel Ruth’s hunger mounting at the sight of these animals, and kneeled down and grabbed her by the neck, holding her back.

  “No Ruth!” Scarlet said firmly.

  Ruth reluctantly obeyed. Scarlet felt bad, but she didn’t want Ruth to kill these animals and cause a huge commotion in this crowd.

  “I’ll find you food, Ruth,” Scarlet said. “I promise.”

  Ruth whined back, and Scarlet felt a hunger pang, too.

  Scarlet hurried past the animals, leading Ruth down more alleys, twisting and turning past vendors, down more alleyways. It seemed like this maze would never end; Scarlet could hardly even see the sky.

  Finally, Scarlet found a vendor with a huge piece of roasting meat. She could smell it from afar, the smell infiltrating her every pore; she looked down and saw Ruth looking up at it, and licking her lips. She stopped before it, gawking.

  “Buy a piece?” the vendor, a large man with a smock covered in blood, asked her.

  Scarlet wanted a piece more than anything. But as she reached into her pockets, she found no money whatsoever.

  Scarlet reached down and felt her silver bracelet, and more than anything she wanted to take it off and sell it to this man, to get a meal.

  But she forced herself not to. She sensed it was important, and so she used all her force of will to stop herself.

  Instead, she slowly, sadly shook her head in response. She grabbed Ruth and led her away from the man. She could hear Ruth whining and protesting, but they had no choice.

  They pressed on, and finally, the maze opened up into a bright and sunny, wide-open plaza. Scarlet was taken aback by the open sky. Coming out of all those alleyways, it felt like the most wide-open thing she’d ever seen, with thousands of people milling around inside it. In its center sat a stone fountain, and framing the plaza was an immense stone wall, rising hundreds of feet into the air. Each stone was so thick, it was ten times her size. Against this wall stood hundreds of people, wailing, praying. Scarlet had no idea why, or where she was, but she sensed that she was in the center of the city, and that this was a very holy place.

  “Hey you!” came a nasty voice.

  Scarlet felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck at the sound, and slowly turned.

  There sat a group of five boys, sitting on a crop of stone, staring down at her. They were filthy from head to toe, dressed in rags. They were teenagers, maybe 15, and she could see the meanness on their faces. She could sense that they were looking, hoping, for trouble, and that they’d just spotted their next victim. She wondered if it was obvious how alone she was.

  Among them was a wild dog, huge, rabid looking, and twice the size of Ruth.

  “What you doing out here all alone?” the lead boy asked in a mocking way, to the laughter of the other four. He was muscular and stupid-looking, with broad lips and a scar on his forehead.

  As she looked at them, Scarlet felt a new sense overcome her, one she had never experienced before: it was a heightened sense of intuition. She didn’t know what was happening, but suddenly, she was able to read their thoughts clearly, to feel their feelings, to know their intentions. She felt immediately, clear as day, that they were up to no good. She knew that they wanted to harm her.

  Ruth snarled beside her. Scarlet could sense a major confrontation coming—which was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

  She leaned down and began to lead Ruth away.

  “Come on Ruth,” Scarlet said, as she began to turn and walk away.

  “Hey, girl, I’m talking to you!” yelled the boy.

  As she walked away, Scarlet turned over her shoulder and saw the five of them jump down off the stone and begin walking after her.

  Scarlet burst into a run, back into the alleyways. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and these boys as she could. She thought of her power with the Roman soldier, and for a moment wondered if she should stop and try to defend herself.

  But she didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. Or take any chances. She just wanted to find her mommy and daddy.

  Scarlet turned down an alley empty of people.
She looked back, and within moments, could see the group of boys chasing after her. They weren’t far behind, and they were gaining speed fast. Too fast. Their dog ran among them, and Scarlet could see that in moments, they’d catch up. She had to make a good turn to lose them—and fast.

  Scarlet turned another corner, hoping she’d find a way out. But as she did, her heart stopped.

  A dead-end.

  Scarlet turned slowly, Ruth by her side, and faced the boys. They were now maybe ten feet away. They slowed as they approached, taking their time, savoring the moment. They stood there laughing, cruel smiles on the faces.

  “Looks like your luck has run out, little girl,” the lead boy said.

  Scarlet was thinking the same thing. They had backed her into a corner.

  Before she could even react, their dog suddenly ran forward, leapt into the air and aimed for Scarlet, his teeth pointing right for her throat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sam woke to a splitting headache. He reached up with both hands and held his head, trying to make the pain go away. But it wouldn’t. It felt like the entire world was coming down on his skull.

  Sam tried to open his eyes, to figure out where he was, and as he did, the pain was unbearable. Blinding sunlight bounced off of desert rock, forcing him to shield his eyes and lower his head. He felt himself lying on a rocky, desert floor, felt the dry heat, felt the dust rising up into his face. He curled up in a fetal position and held his head tighter, trying to make the pain go away.

  Memories came flooding back.

  First, there was Polly.

  He remembered Caitlin’s wedding night. The night he proposed to Polly. Her saying yes. The joy on her face.

  He remembered the next day. His going on his hunt. His anticipation of their night to come.

  He remembered finding her. On the beach. Dying. Her telling him about their baby.

  Waves of grief came rushing back. It was more than he could handle. It was like a terrible nightmare re-running in his head, one he could not switch off. He felt that all he had left to live for was stripped away from him, all in one grand moment. Polly. The baby. Life as he knew it.

  He wished he’d died at that moment.

  Then he remembered his vengeance. His rage. Killing Kyle.

  And the moment that everything changed. He remembered Kyle’s spirit infusing him. He remembered the indescribable feeling of rage, of another person’s spirit and soul and energy invading his, possessing him completely. It was the moment Sam stopped being who he was. It was the moment he became someone else.

  Sam opened his eyes completely, and he sensed, he knew, they were glowing bright red. He knew they were no longer his. He knew they were now Kyle’s.

  He felt Kyle’s hatred, felt Kyle’s power, racing through him, through every ounce of his body, from his toes, through his legs, up his arms, all the way to his head. He felt Kyle’s need for destruction pulsing through every ounce of him, like a living thing, like something stuck in his body that he could not get out. He felt as if he were no longer in control of himself. A part of him missed the old Sam, missed who he was. But another part of him knew he would never be that person again.

  Sam heard a hissing, rattling noise, and opened his eyes. His face lay flat on the rocks of the desert floor, and as he looked up, he saw a rattlesnake, just inches away, hissing at him. The rattlesnake’s eyes looked right into Sam’s, as if it were communing with a friend, sensing a similar energy. He could sense that the snake’s rage matched his—and that it was about to strike.

  But Sam was not afraid. On the contrary—he found himself filled with a rage not only equal to the snake’s, but greater. And reflexes to match.

  In the split second in which the snake geared up to strike, Sam beat him to it: he reached out with his own hand, grabbed the stake by the throat in mid-air area, and stopped it from biting him while just an inch away from his face. Sam held the snake’s eyes close to his, staring at it so close that he could smell its breath, its long fangs only an inch away, dying to enter Sam’s throat.

  But Sam overpowered it. He squeezed harder and harder, and watched as he slowly drained the life from it. It went limp in his hand, crushed to death.

  Sam leaned back and hurled it across the desert floor.

  Sam jumped to his feet and took in his surroundings. All around him were dirt and rocks—an endless stretch of desert. He turned, and as he did, he noticed two things: first, there was a group of small children, dressed in rags, standing close, looking up at him curiously. As he spun towards them they scattered, hurrying back, watching warily, as if watching a wild animal rise from the grave. Sam felt Kyle’s rage rush through him, and felt like killing all of them.

  But the second thing he noticed made him change his focus. A city wall. An immense, stone wall, soaring hundreds of feet into the air, and stretching forever. That was when Sam realized: he had awakened on the outskirts of an ancient city. Before him sat a huge, arched gate, in and out of which streamed dozens of people, dressed in primitive clothing. They looked like they were in Roman times, wearing simple robes or tunics. Livestock hurried in and out, too, and Sam could already sense the heat and noise of the crowds beyond its walls.

  Sam took a few steps towards the gate, and as he did, the kids scattered in every direction, as if running from a monster. He wondered how scary he looked. But he didn’t really care. He felt the need to enter this city, to figure out why he had landed here. But unlike the old Sam, he didn’t feel the need to explore it: rather, he felt the need to destroy it. To smash this city to bits.

  A part of him tried to shake it off, to bring back the old Sam. He forced himself to think of something that might bring him back. He forced himself to think of his sister, Caitlin. But it was hazy; he couldn’t really summon her face anymore, as much as he tried. He tried to summon his feelings for her, their shared mission, their father. He knew deep down that he still cared for her, that he still wanted to help her.

  But that small part of him was soon overwhelmed by the new, vicious part. He could barely recognize himself anymore, and that part could barely recognize him. It was as if he were no longer in control of himself. And the new Sam forced him to stop his thoughts and to move on, right into the city.

  Sam marched through the city gates, elbowing people out of the way as he went. An old woman, balancing a basket on her head, got too close, and he bumped her shoulder hard, sending her flying, knocking off her basket, sending fruit spilling everywhere.

  “Hey!” yelled a man who witnessed it. “Look what you did! Apologize to her!”

  The man marched up to Sam and stupidly, reached out and grabbed his coat. The man should have realized that it was a coat he couldn’t recognize, black, and leather, and skin-tight. The man should have realized that Sam’s garment was from another century—and that Sam was the last man he wanted to mess with.

  Sam looked down at the man’s hand as if it were an insect, then reached out, grabbed his wrist and with the force of a hundred men, he turned it back. The man’s eyes open wide in fear and pain, as Sam kept turning. The man finally turned over sideways, and dropped to his knees. Sam kept turning, though, until he heard a sickening crack, and the man shrieked out, his arm broken.

  Sam leaned back and finished the man off by kicking him hard in the face, knocking him, unconscious, to the ground.

  A small group of passersby watched, and they gave Sam plenty of space as he continued walking. No one seemed eager to get anywhere near him.

  Sam kept walking, heading into the throng, and was soon enveloped by a new crowd, blended into the never-ending stream of humanity that seemed to fill the city. He wasn’t sure which way to go, but he felt new desires overwhelming him. He felt the desire to feed coursing through him, like a real thing. He wanted blood. He wanted a fresh kill.

  Sam let his senses take over, and felt himself being led down a particular alleyway. As he turned down it, the alley became narrow, darker, higher, shut off from the rest of th
e city. This was clearly a seedy part of the city, and as he went, the crowd grow more sketchy.

  Beggars, drunks and prostitutes filled the streets, and Sam brushed elbows with several roguish, fat men, unshaven, missing teeth, who stumbled by. Sam made sure he leaned over and bumped shoulders hard with them, sending them flying in every direction. Wisely for them, none stopped to challenge him, other than shouting an indignant: “Hey!”

  Sam kept going and soon found himself in a small square. Standing there, in the middle, backs to him, was a circle of about a dozen men, cheering. Sam walked up and pushed his way through to see what they were cheering about.

  In the midst of the circle were two roosters, tearing each other apart, covered in blood. Sam looked over and saw the men placing bets, trading ancient coins. Cockfighting. The oldest sport in the world. So many centuries had passed, yet nothing had really changed.

  Sam had enough. He was getting antsy, and he felt the need to stir up some havoc. He marched into the center of the ring, right up to the two birds. As he did, the crowd burst into an indignant cry, cursing.

  Sam ignored them. Instead he reached out, grabbed one of the roosters by its throat, lifted it high and spun it over his head. There was a cracking noise, as he felt it go limp in his hand, its neck broken.

  Sam felt his fangs protract, and sunk his teeth into the rooster’s body. He gorged with blood, and it poured out and ran over his face, down his cheeks. Finally, he threw down the bird, unsatisfied. The other rooster scurried away as fast as it could.

  The crowd stared at Sam, clearly shocked. But these were rough, crude types, not ones to walk away easily. They scowled back, prepared for a fight.

  “You ruined our sport!” one of them snapped.

  “You will pay!” another yelled.

  Several burly men pulled out short daggers and lunged at Sam, slashing right for him.

  Sam hardly flinched. He saw it all happening as if in slow motion. His reflexes a million times faster, he simply reached out, grabbed the man’s wrist in mid-air and twisted it back in the same motion, breaking his arm. Then he leaned back and kicked the man in the chest, sending him flying back to the circle.