Морган Райс - Loved

Sighing, she turned to Caleb.

“You were right. A waste of time.”

“ The rose and the thorn meet in Salem ,” Caleb said slowly, again and again.

She could see him thinking.

She had been repeating the phrase in her mind, too, and it felt good to hear it out loud. She had been turning it over and over, but still had no idea what it meant. A rose? A thorn?

“Maybe there’s a rose garden somewhere?” she said, thinking out loud. “And maybe there’s some sort of clue hidden underneath it?” she said. “Or maybe it’s the name of a place?” she added.

“Maybe there’s a bar, or an old inn, called the Rose and the Thorn?”

Caitlin turned back to the computer, and tried several variations of the search. She tried just rose .

Then just thorn . Then rose and thorn . Businesses establishments. Parks. Gardens.

No results.

Annoyed, she finally reached over and shut the system down.

They both sat in silence for several minutes, thinking.

“Maybe we’re thinking about this the wrong way,” Caleb suddenly said.

She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve been looking for a living person,” he said, “in today’s world. In this century. But vampires have lived for thousands of years. When one vampire says to another, come meet me , he doesn’t always mean in this century. Vampires think in centuries, not years. It could be that your father is not here now. But that he was. A very long time ago. It could be that we shouldn’t be searching for a living person. But one who lived here at some point. And maybe even died here.”

Caitlin stared at him, not really understanding.

“Died? What are you saying? My father is dead?”

“It’s hard for me to explain this to you, but you need to think about this differently. Vampires live through many incarnations. Many of us have gravestones, even though we are living today. I myself, under different names, am buried in many cemeteries in many countries. Obviously I am not really dead, or buried. But at the time, the locals needed to be assured that I was. We had to stop the evidence, reassure them that I wasn’t coming back to life. And a burial and a tombstone was the only thing that would put them at ease.

“The vampire race does not like to leave trails, and we do not like it when humans know that we have come back. It brings too much unwanted attention. So, sometimes, when there is no other choice, we let them bury us. And then we sneak out, quietly, in the middle of the night, and move on.”

He turned and looked at her.

“It could be that your father was buried here. Maybe we shouldn’t be searching above ground, but below it. We have checked the living Paines. But we have not checked the dead ones.”

Caitlin was taken aback as they walked in the small graveyard, her mind still reeling. She had never been in a place this old before. When they had entered, a large sign had read “The Burying Point, 1637.” She marveled at the fact that people had been coming here for almost 400 years. More than that, she marveled that there were a few tourists wandering the cemetery right now.

She had assumed they would have been the only ones here. But after all, this was Salem. And this cemetery was an attraction. People seemed to come here and treat it as a museum. In fact, she noticed that there was an actual museum adjacent to the burial plots. It didn’t feel right to her. She felt that this place should have been more sacred.

The cemetery was small and intimate, the size of someone’s backyard. A cobblestone path twisted and turned its way throughout the place, and as she strolled, she marveled at how old the tombstones were, at their strange fonts, worn away with age. It was English, but it was so old, and so quaint, it almost read like a different language.

She carefully read the names, particularly scrutinizing the last names.

But she couldn’t find a single “Paine,” or any variation on the name. They had reached the end of the trail. There was nothing.

As Caitlin reached the end, Caleb beside her, she stopped and read a plaque. It described some of the horrific tortures that the witches had suffered. One of them, she read, was “pressed” to death.

She was horrified.

“I can’t believe what they did to them,” Caitlin said. “It seems like all the witches met horrible deaths.”

“They weren’t witches,” Caleb said gravely.

Caitlin looked over at him, hearing sadness in his voice.

“They were our kind,” he said.

Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Vampires?” she asked.

Caleb nodded, looking down at the stones.

Silence settled over them, as Caitlin pondered that.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said. “How were they here?”

Caleb sighed. “The Puritans. They weren’t persecuted in England because of their form of Christianity. They were persecuted because they were our kind. That is why they left Europe, and why they came here. To practice freely. They were trying to escape the oppression of the old world, the European vampires. They knew that if they were to survive, they would need to found a new nation. So they came. They were the benevolent vampire race, and they didn’t want to war with other vampires, or with humans. They just wanted to be left alone.

“But over time, the darker vampire races followed them here, and in increasing numbers. The early wars in the colonies weren’t between humans: they were really wars between good and evil vampire races.

“And the persecution of witches in Salem was just a front for a persecution of vampires.

Wherever there is good, bad follows. A perpetual battle between light and dark. The witches who were persecuted and hung in Salem were all of the good vampire race.

“This is why it would make perfect sense for your father to be buried here. Why Salem, in general, makes perfect sense. Why your necklace makes perfect sense. It all points to the same thing: that you are the one heir. The key to finding the sword they hid, that will protect us all.”

Caitlin looked around the cemetery again, her mind spinning from all the history. She didn’t know what to make of it. But she did know one thing: there was no “Paine” here. It was another dead-end.

“There’s nothing here,” Caitlin finally said.

Caleb surveyed the graveyard one more time, and seemed clearly disappointed.

“I know,” he said.

Caitlin was afraid their search was really over this time. She couldn’t let it end here.

“The rose and the thorn, the rose and the thorn,” she said, again and again, whispering it to herself, willing herself to find the answer.

But nothing came.

Caleb began to wander the path again, and Caitlin began to wander, too, thinking as she went.

She soon came to another large plaque, nailed to a tree. At first she read just to distract herself, but as she continued reading, she suddenly became excited.

“Caleb!” she yelled. “Hurry!”

He hurried over.

“Listen to this: ‘Not all of the witches who were persecuted are buried in this graveyard. In fact, only a small portion of them are. There were over 130 other witches on the ‘accused’ list. Some escaped, and some are buried elsewhere. For the complete list, see the museum’s records.’”

They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing, and turned and stared at the museum beside them.

The sun was setting, and just as they reached the museum door, it was literally being closed in their face. Caleb stepped up and put out a hand, stopping the door. An old lady’s face appeared in the crack, stern and annoyed.

“I’m sorry, folks, but we are closed for the day,” she said. “Come back tomorrow if you like.”