Морган Райс - Loved

“It makes sense,” Caleb said. “We are definitely on the right trail.”

“Why?”

“That balcony, above it,” he said, gesturing. “That’s where the Declaration of Independence was first read.”

Caitlin looked up at the small balcony on the building.

“So?” she asked.

Caleb breathed deeply, preparing to explain.

“The founding of this nation was really the founding of a vampire nation. Freedom and justice for all. Liberty from religious persecution. A small group of people conquering a huge and mighty nation. Do you really think a small group of humans could have achieved this?

“It was us . Our kind. That is what the textbooks won’t tell you. The founding of America is the founding of our nation.

“But the darker vampire races, like the Blacktide Coven, have tried to hijack our work ever since. That’s why there have always been two warring factions. Good and evil. Liberty and persecution. Wherever there is one, there is the other.

“Your father, whoever he was, I’m convinced was one of our founders. The most powerful vampires were. And it is they who held the most powerful weapons, and stored them for future generations.”

“Stored them?” Caitlin asked, trying to process it all.

“The sword we’re searching for—the Turkish sword—is designed to protect, not attack. In the right hands. In the wrong hands, it can be a horrible weapon. That’s why it was hidden so carefully. Only the right people are meant to find it. And if anyone was in a position to hide it, it would have been your Dad.”

It was too much for her to process at once. It was hard for her to take it all in, to believe that all this was true. But it did seem to be adding up. And it did feel like they were nearing the end of the trail.

“I don’t see any clues here,” Caitlin said, looking around.

“Neither do I,” he said. “So, if your theory is right, and it’s about the journey, that would mean that, for whatever reason, we were meant to just see this, and then continue on the trail.”

Caleb took the scroll and studied it again, holding it with her.

“‘Meet at the house’,” he read slowly. He stood there, thinking. “What house?” he asked aloud.

Caitlin took out the freedom trail map once again.

“There are a lot of houses on this trail: the Paul Revere house, John Coburn’s house, the John J. Smith house…It could be any of them. Or it could even be a house that’s not even on the trail,” she added.

“I feel like they put us on this trail for a reason,” Caleb said. “Whatever it is, I feel it must be on the trail.”

They both studied the map again, reading all the captions. Suddenly, Caitlin stopped. Something occurred to her.

“What if it isn’t a house at all?” she asked.

Caleb looked at her.

“For some reason, the reference to an actual house feels too obvious to me. All of the other clues are much more subtle. What if it’s not literal? What if it’s figurative?”

She ran her finger along the trail.

“For instance, what if it’s actually a church? Look,” she said, pointing. “The Meeting House Church. It’s just around the corner.”

Caleb looked at her, and his eyes open wide in approval.

He smiled. “Glad you’re on my side,” he said.

They walked quickly down Washington Street, and within moments they stood outside the Meeting House Church. It was another perfectly-restored, historic church. They entered, and were stopped by an attendant.

“I’m afraid we just closed,” she said. “This is a working museum. It’s five o’clock,” she said. “But feel free to come back tomorrow.”

Caleb turned to Caitlin, and she could feel what he was thinking. He wanted her to test out her mind power on this woman.

Caitlin stared at her, locking eyes, and sent a mental suggestion. She would let them in. She would make an exception for them.

The woman suddenly stared back at Caitlin. She blinked.

Suddenly, she said, “You know what? You two seem like such a nice couple. I’ll make an exception for you. But don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink.

Caitlin turned to Caitlin and smiled, and the two of them walked inside.

The church was beautiful. It was another huge, open space, with massive windows in every direction, and filled with wooden pews, all empty. They had the place to themselves.

“It’s huge,” Caitlin said. “Now what?”

“Let’s follow the trail, to start,” he said, gesturing at the marked museum trail beneath their feet, the large, red arrows guiding visitors where to walk.

The trail took them to a series of museum exhibits and small plaques, displayed along the wooden railing. They stopped and read.

Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Listen to this,” she said. “‘In this spot in 1697, Judge Sewall apologized for being one of the Salem witch judges who, in 1692, condemned the witches to their death.”

Caleb and Caleb looked at each other. The reference to Salem excited them. They must be in the right place. All the clues from their search were converging. They felt so close. As if the sword were hiding just beneath their feet.

But they looked around carefully, and did not see any place, any clue that would point them elsewhere.

“Well, this must be the ‘meeting house.’ And if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, then the question is: where’s the fourth place?”

He held up the scroll again.

The Four Horsemen travel a trail to freedom. They leave common ground, Enter a ring of blood, Meet at the house, And find the ones they loved Beside the fourth tip of the cross.

“We’ve left ‘common ground,’” he said, “we’ve entered ‘the ring,’ and we’ve ‘met at the house.’

Now we have to ‘find the ones they loved, beside the fourth tip of the cross.’ So, if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, that means we have one last destination.”

They both stood there, thinking.

“I think that ‘find the ones they loved’ is a reference to finding your father,” he said. “I think there’s just one stop left. But where? What is the ‘fourth tip of the cross?’ Another church?”

Caitlin thought. She racked her brain again and again. She studied the scroll, then reached over and studied the map. She, too, felt that they were so close. She agreed that there was only one stop left. But it wasn’t immediately coming to her. She looked at all of the other churches on the freedom trail, and none of them felt right to her.

Then it suddenly hit her. She took a step back, and looked again at the map. She traced her finger along it, along everywhere they had already traveled. And her eyes lit up with excitement.

“A pen,” she said breathlessly. “Quick. I need a pen.”

Caleb ran down the aisle, found a pen in one of the pews, and hurried back.

She began drawing a line on the map of the freedom trail.

“It’s a pattern,” she said. “We’ve been walking a pattern. We started in the Common,” she said, circling it. “Next, we entered the ring of blood,” she said, connecting it with a line, and circling it.

“Then, we went to the meeting house,” she connected that with a line, and circled it.

She held it up, showing him.

“Look at where we’ve walked. Look at the pattern.”

He squinted, unsure.

“It’s not finished yet, that’s why you don’t see it. We’ve only walked three points. But a fourth point would complete it.”

She drew a straight line to complete the pattern.

His jaw dropped as he recognized it.

“A cross,” he said quietly. “We were meant to walk in the shape of a cross.”

“Yes,” she said excitedly. “And if we follow the line, if we complete the cross symmetrically, it only leads to one place.”