Destined (22 page)

Blake stopped and looked at her. “You are speaking of the Baptistry doors,” he said, with all seriousness. “It can be none other than these.”

Caitlin’s eyes opened wide.

“Do they really exist?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “They’re one of the more famous sites in Florence.”

Caitlin’s heart leapt with excitement. Finally, something tangible. A real, solid clue.

Blake took her hand. “Follow me.”

*

As Caitlin and Blake walked down Via Dei Calzaiuoli, it opened up into a huge square, Piazza del Duomo, and Caitlin was taken aback by the site. Across from them stood one of the largest, most ornate churches she had ever seen. It was built in a light stone, every inch covered with carvings, statues, designs, and interlaced with color—orange and green edgings. It was so ornate, so busy.

Its rear cathedral, rose in an enormous, orange dome—the one she had seen when first flying over the city, the same dome that dominated the city skyline. It was very beautiful, and clearly the most important building in the city.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“The Duomo,” he said. “The main church of Florence for hundreds of years. Quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”

It was. But she didn’t see any gold doors.

“But the doors…” she said, “…those aren’t them.”

“No,” he said. “Those doors you speak of are
opposite
the Duomo. In the Baptistry.”

He turned her shoulders and pointed. “Look,” he said.

Suddenly, Caitlin saw it. There, directly across from the Duomo, sat an octagonal shaped building, which looked small compared to the Duomo, yet which was still quite large, about one hundred feet in diameter, and rising about a hundred feet high. It was as ornately carved as the Duomo itself, in a matching stone and matching colors. But what made it special, what made it eye-stopping, was its magnificent, tall doors. All bright, shining gold. All elaborately carved, with images all over them.

Exactly as Caitlin had seen in her dream.

Her heart pounded. It was so surreal to see something in real life that she had only dreamt of.

Now, more than ever, she felt that it was a message, that she was close, once again, to finding her father.

In a daze, she walked up to the doors, and slowly held out her hand and touched them.

It was just as she remembered. She couldn’t believe how smooth the metal felt. She marveled at all their shapes, at the intricate detail.

Blake came up beside her. “This is the oldest building in Florence,” he said. “Built in 1100. It took them 21 years just to build those doors. All by hand. They look like gold. But they are actually bronze.”

She looked up, and marveled at how high the doors went. She looked closely at the depictions, at the small shapes of people and animals and angels.

“These figures,” Caitlin asked. “What are they?”

“Scenes from the Bible,” Blake answered. “The Old Testament, mainly. You see: there is Moses, receiving the tablets of God.”

Caitlin looked closely. She saw angels, demons, people standing with wings….It made her think of her kind.

“Yes,” Blake said, reading the thoughts. “Our kind are included. Do you really think a human could have carved these? These doors were carved by one of us.”

Caitlin surveyed them in wonder.

“My dream…it told me that my father would be behind these doors.”

Blake opened one of them.

Caitlin pulled back the other, slowly. It was heavy, made of solid iron.

“Let’s find out,” he said.

*

It was dim inside the Baptistry, light coming in only through the stained-glass windows. Caitlin looked up at the high ceilings, and in here, she could really see the effect of the octagon-shaped building. The panels of the ceiling, all brightly colored in frescoes against a gold background, came to a point, with a small circle in its center. Their footsteps echoed on the beautiful marble floor as they walked, and as she looked around, she saw other people milling about. Sightseers.

Despite its great beauty, Caitlin could find no hidden messages, nothing of any great significance. It was basically just an empty structure, with a small altar at one end of it. And her father, of course, was nowhere in sight.

She looked around, again and again, looking for any clue, any message. Frustrated, she finally gave up.

“I don’t see anything,” she said.

“Neither do I,” he said.

She thought again and again.

“What exactly happened in your dream?” he asked.

She thought of her dream again, tried to remember every last detail, wondering if she’d left anything out.

Suddenly, it struck her.

“What if the answer doesn’t lie
behind
the doors?” she asked, excitedly. “What if the answer is the door itself?”

He looked at her, puzzled.

She took his hand and led him out of the building.

They stood back outside, before the doors, and she stared intensely at all the carved figures. She circled the structure slowly, walking all the way around, inspecting each and every door. Each had different carvings. She could feel the electricity running through her veins. A message was embedded in one of these carvings, she knew it.

She ran her fingers along them as she walked, trying to sense which one it could be. She closed her eyes, and circled the structure again and again.

Finally, she stopped, feeling something. She opened her eyes and stared.

There it was. Before her was a carved figure of a structure, an old church, with a distinctive shape, tall, capped by three triangles, before which knelt a winged figure. To humans, it might look like an angel, but she knew it was one of her own. This was it. She felt certain of it.

“This place,” she asked Blake urgently, breathless. “What is it?”

He came close, examined it. “That is the church of Santa Croce. It’s not far from here.”

She felt it, more strongly than she ever had. Her father was here. And that was where she had to go.

She turned and took his hand. “Let’s go.”

*

Caitlin’s heart swirled with a range of emotions as she continued down the streets of Florence with Blake. She felt she was coming close, once again, to finding her father, and her heart beat faster at the thought of it. It also brought up a whole series of questions. Had he been living in Florence all this time? What had he been waiting for? What was he like? After he gave her the Shield, would that be it? Would it be over? Or would they be able to spend time together, as father and daughter?

Most of all, would he love her? Be proud of for? In her dreams, she felt that he was. But this was real life. Would it be the same?

She also felt nervous about Blake. Just being with him, holding his hand, walking down the streets of Florence, she felt so at peace, at ease. She had been so heartbroken over Caleb, and now it felt so good to have a man by her side.

But it had all happened so fast, and it was so hard to think clearly around him, and she still couldn’t quite sort it all out in her mind. Did she love Blake for who he was? Or did she only love him now because of what had just happened with Caleb? She wanted to get clear, to know that she truly loved him for
him
; but given her current state of emotions, it was so hard to tell.

Whatever it was that they had together, she didn’t want it to end. At least for the moment, it felt right. She wanted him by her side.

But as they continued walking through the majestic streets of Florence, each block more romantic than the next, she couldn’t help but worry that this would all soon come to an end. She wanted to freeze this moment, to make it last—but she knew that, like everything else in her life, it could not. She feared for what could happen next. What if her father really was there? What about Blake? Would he stay? And did he plan on sticking around? Or flying back to Venice? She was afraid to ask him. She didn’t want to know the answer.

But in the back of her mind, she suspected that she already knew: nothing could last forever.

They were on a beautiful, amazing journey together, but eventually, she feared, she would find what she was looking for, and he would have to go back home. When or how they parted ways, she didn’t want to contemplate right now. She just wanted it to last. She wanted so badly for everything to last.

And this tainted her enjoyment of the moment. She wished she could push all of her worries out of her mind, and just enjoy the moment, just enjoy the beautiful weather, the breeze, walking down the idyllic streets of Florence. And she did enjoy it. But not as fully as she would have liked. She couldn’t help feeling as if she were just in the eye of the storm.

She also felt worried because, for the first time in a long while, she felt at home. As much as she had disliked Venice, she loved Florence. It felt so comfortable, with its red tiled roofs everywhere, its abundance of art, its amazing architecture, fountains, rivers, bridges….For the first time since she’d come back in time, she felt really at peace, at home. She wanted to live here. She wanted to settle down, in one place, one neighborhood, one time. She wanted one family, one husband, to call home. Would this all be taken away?

As they turned down another side street, it opened up into a huge square, with a sign that read

“Santa Croce.” It was one of the bigger squares in Florence, sprawling for hundreds of feet, and lined with stores and cafés. It was dominated by a huge church, nearly as big as the Duomo, with similar coloring. It rose up in a distinctive shape. She recognized it immediately from the image on the doors. This was it.

“The church of Santa Croce,” Blake said, looking at it. “A very special place. It is the burial ground for many luminaries, including Michelangelo and Galileo. It is also home to a cloister.”

Caitlin felt more sure than she ever had. Whatever secrets she was searching for, she would find behind those doors.

They circled it, taking note of all the entrances. As they walked behind it, Caitlin saw that the structure stretched backwards for hundreds of feet, and saw, attached to it, the cloister.

“Our kind once lived here, for thousands of years,” Blake said. “It is a very special place.”

“And now?” Caitlin asked, her heart beating. She wondered if her father was living there now.

“I don’t think so,” Blake answered. “I believe it was abandoned centuries ago.”

Caitlin found a large, arched door leading to the cloister. She reached up, grabbed the metal ring and knocked. The sound reverberated throughout the courtyard.

She tried to open the door, but it didn’t give.

She looked over at Blake and he nodded back. She looked both ways, then leaned back and kicked it in. The door went flying open. They hurried inside, and she closed it behind them.

It was dark in here, lit only by the sunlight streaming in through a small window. It took a moment for Caitlin’s eyes to adjust. Once they did, she saw how beautiful it was. Like most cloisters she had been in, it was made of simple stone, with low arched ceilings, a courtyard, and open-air arched windows all along its side. A narrow corridor ran along the courtyard.

As they walked it, Caitlin looked at the interior, rectangular courtyard, lined with neatly trimmed grass. On all four sides of it were arched walls, so typical of cloisters. It was tranquil, very serene, and very empty. She felt like they had the place to themselves.

“It’s empty,” Caitlin said with disappointment. “I don’t sense my father’s presence. I don’t sense anyone.”

They walked down another corridor. As they walked, Caitlin noticed how much it felt like the cloisters in New York, and the cloisters on Isola di San Michele. They were all so medieval, so spare, so empty.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said, finally. “He’s not here.”

Caitlin sighed as she surveyed the walls, looking for any sign. Nothing.

“I’ve heard rumors of this place,” Blake said. “A very powerful coven lived here once. Centuries ago. Maybe your father was a member.”

“Maybe,” Caitlin said, looking around for any possible clue.

Finally, she realized there was nothing more to find here.

“Let’s see the church,” she said.

*

As Caitlin entered the main church of Santa Croce, she felt a wave of energy. She closed her eyes and felt a tingling in her hands and feet, felt an almost palpable electricity in the air. She was positive that whatever it was she was meant to find was in this room.

“What’s wrong?” Blake asked.

She stood there, frozen, and slowly opened her eyes.

“It’s here,” she said. “Whatever he wants me to find. It’s in this room.”

Blake surveyed the room with a new sense of wonder. So did Caitlin.

The church of Santa Croce was a remarkable feat of architecture. It was the largest that Caitlin had ever entered. The main room was hundreds of feet long, with a ceiling hundreds of feet high.

The enormous room was lined with gigantic columns, and all along its walls were painted beautiful frescoes. The floor was marble, and enormous stained-glass windows allowed in a beautiful, fractured light.

As she walked along the edge of the room, she look closely at the walls, in amazement. Lodged into it, in small alcoves, were sarcophagi. Elaborately carved, these sarcophagi look much like the ones she had seen in the cloisters in New York. They looked like a perfect resting place for a coven of vampires, and she could imagine, back in time, their living here. Indeed, as she looked at them now, she almost felt as if vampires would rise from each one of them.

But as she walked, what really struck her was the floor. There, in the distance, was a series of shapes, protruding from the floor. As she got close, she could see that it was a cluster of tombs, embedded in the floor, marble shapes of human beings, supine, rising up from the floor itself. It was as if the floor were a living graveyard, as if these bodies were getting ready to rise. She thought of the sarcophagi in the cloisters in New York, and she felt certain that this was a sacred place for vampires.

She sensed an energy coming off of one of them, and she leaned in close, and read the inscription. Her heart stopped.