Destined

his grip.

She turned and saw the girl standing behind her, a broken bottle in her hand, and the man lying limp on the ground: she had clearly smashed a bottle over his head.

Before Caitlin could thank her, the first man, back on his feet, charged at her again. But Rose was mad now, and she took the lead, charging him, leaping into the air, and clamping down hard on his throat. The man dropped to the ground, squirming and screaming, but he could not get Rose off.

Finally, he passed out, and Rose returned to Caitlin’s side.

Caitlin surveyed the damage: the three men lay there, unconscious.

She turned and looked at the girl.

The girl stared back, bewildered and grateful at the same time.

Caitlin stared back at her, and Caitlin was shocked, too. But not because of what had happened.

Rather, because she knew this girl.

In fact, she had once been her best friend.

It was Polly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sam woke to the sound of clanging church bells. He never knew bells could ring that loudly, and he felt as if he were inside the bell itself. His entire body shook with the sound, as he opened his eyes to utter blackness. He reached out, and felt stone in front of him.

He frantically reached out in every direction, and felt himself encased in stone. He was flat on his back. He tried to move side to side, but couldn’t, and that’s when he realized: he was in a coffin.

Panicking, Sam reached up with all his might, and after several seconds, was finally able to move the stone lid; with a scraping noise, it slid just a few inches, as light and fresh air poured in through the crack. He breathed deeply, realizing how badly he needed it.

He slid a few fingers into the crack, and with all his might, pushed the lid to the side. Again it scraped, protesting, but soon he was able to get all his fingers in, then his hands. Within moments, he pushed the stone lid completely off, and with one final heave, it crashed to the floor, cracking into a million pieces.

He sat upright, gasping for air, and shielded his eyes from the light.

Sam jumped up from the coffin, and, stumbling on weak legs, scurried over to the corner, hiding from the direct sunlight. He searched his pockets, and quickly unraveled his skin wraps, and wrapped his arms and shoulders. He found the eye drops in his pocket, too, and put two in each eye.

After a moment, his breathing relaxed. He started to calm, to feel himself again. He looked around.

He was in a tomb of some sort, an ancient, dusty tomb. He saw an open door, leading outside.

Sam steeled himself and walked out, into the sunlight, and realized with a shock where he was.

At the top of a hill, exiting a church’s mausoleum, spread out before him were hundreds of steps, leading down to a city. Rome. The entire city spread out before him, and he was afforded a magnificent view. He turned and examined the church he exited from, then turned back, and looked again at the steps. It all suddenly struck him. He knew where he was. He had seen this picture many times on postcards: the Spanish steps of Rome.

His time travel had worked. He didn’t know exactly why it had taken him to this place, or what year it was, but he hoped it would be the same year that Kyle had gone to. Sam couldn’t remember much—his entire time in New York now felt hazy, like a dream—but he did remember one thing: his single-minded pursuit of Kyle. He remembered finding out that Kyle had gone back in time to kill his sister, and that once he learned this, he couldn’t rest. He was determined to find Kyle, no matter what it took, and kill him before he could harm his sister.

Before he’d discovered this news, Sam has been depressed, at odds, in a deep despair for what he’d done to his sister, and to Caleb. He had never meant any of it. Once he’d found out what Kyle was up to, he’d seen this as his chance to make amends for all that he had done—and to avenge himself on Kyle. Sam knew that he could never expect the forgiveness of Caitlin. But at the very least, perhaps, he could help her in his own, small way.

As Sam descended the steps, through the mobs of people, he noticed several of them parting ways for him, looking at him funny. Some of them were pointing at him, then looking up the hill.

He suddenly realized that he must have made an odd site, probably covered in dust from the tomb.

And some of them may have seen him exiting right from the mausoleum, and had probably heard the shattering of stone.

He quickened his pace, figuring it best not to let them wonder too much, and headed off down the stairs at a quick jog, taking them three at a time.

Sam weaved his way through the crowd, wondering which way to go. He could feel Kyle’s presence strongly in the city. It was hard not to feel it—the man emanated evil, oozed it in a tangible trail. Sam followed the trail, following his senses, as he navigated down the side streets of Rome. He barely took in any of the scene before him, as he was so single-mindedly focused on completing his mission.

Sam felt himself gravitating down a particular street, then down a particular alleyway.

He stopped just in time, nearly tripping: there, beneath him, were two rotting corpses, one of what looked like a prostitute, and the other of a man that looked like her pimp. He sensed strongly that Kyle had been here, and had done this.

Sam followed his senses down several more side streets, and before he knew it, he found himself entering in a large, ancient square: The Piazza Della Rotonda. And there, before him, was the place he sought: the Pantheon.

Sam stared in awe. It was magnificent. With its his huge columns spread out before its entranceway, its circular dome, it was both beautiful and imposing. He had seen it before online, but it had been nothing compared to seeing it in person.

Online, he thought, and nearly laughed aloud. He looked around carefully for the first time, saw the people dressed in ancient garb, saw the lack of cars and any modern conveniences, and marveled at how many years these people were from knowing what online meant.

Sam focused. He sensed Kyle behind those walls. He tightened his fist, preparing for battle.

Sam took off at a sprint for the structure. He felt deep down that he was at least as strong as Kyle, and if he was going to die fighting him, better to get it over with.

Sam ran up the steps and put his shoulder into the huge, open doors; oddly, they were already ajar, as if waiting.

He found himself running down the corridor and right into the center of the main, circular room of the Pantheon. He braced himself, ready for a fight, ready to confront Kyle, ready to go down swinging.

But as he finished charging into the room, as he stopped and looked around, to his surprise, he saw that the room was completely empty. His footsteps echoed off the walls, off the huge dome ceiling, off the marble floor, as he turned in every direction, looking for Kyle, looking for any adversary.

He was stunned. He’d felt certain that Kyle was here, and had never before been so misled by his senses. Was this some sort of trick?

Before he could finish the thought, Sam suddenly felt something moving towards him, impossibly fast, and at the last second, he looked up to see what it was. Hundreds of vampires, their wings out spread like bats, had been clinging to the ceiling, waiting for him.

They now all dropped like spiders, diving right for him, hundreds of them, only feet away.

It was too late for him to react. All Sam could see was the terrible blackness of hundreds of vampires descending, eager to devour its prey. Their squeals and snarls were horrible, and as their huge wings wrapped around him from every direction, he could not help but wonder if this would be the last thing he saw on earth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caitlin stood there, stunned. She could not believe that it was really Polly. She looked exactly the same as she had, with her distinctive translucent white skin, her light brown hair, and her blue eyes, large and shining. She also looked the same age, somewhere around 18. Rationally, Caitlin knew that she should have expected this; but seeing it face to face threw her completely off guard.