Destined by Morgan Rice

glow. Caitlin could already tell it was beautiful. It was hardly bigger than Pollepel, stretching only a half a mile in each direction, but, unlike Pollepel, it was flat as a pancake. The trees here were different, too, with the tall, narrow Italian Cypress trees dotting the island, spread out everywhere amidst the lush, verdant grass. There was no grand castle, either, but instead, there was a huge, Renaissance church, it’s glowing white façade built right up against the water, facing the canal. It appeared to be hundreds of years old. Its entrance was flush against the water, and one could boat right up to the front doors, and step right in. She had seen this with other buildings in Venice, but it still amazed her, the idea that she could open a door and step right into the water.

    Attached to the church was a huge cloister, stretching as far back as Caitlin could see, with a sloping, red-tiled roof, and dozens of arched walls and columns. Caitlin could already feel that Polly’s coven lived here.
    It was still hard for Caitlin to reconcile, the idea of vampires living inside a church, or cloister.
    She wondered why they had chosen this place, this island in the middle of nowhere. She assumed they could have chosen any place in Venice to live.
    “Because it keeps us anonymous,” Polly said, reading her mind. Caitlin reddened, always forgetting how adept vampires were at reading minds.
    “Being here keeps us off the beaten path,” Polly continued. “Venetians rarely trek out here, and when we visit them, we keep a low profile. It suits us both perfectly. We stay out of each other’s hair.”
    They approached a low, gated entrance, on top of which stood several vampire guards, standing watch. Polly looked up and waved, but they stared down, straight-faced. Caitlin looked closely, but didn’t recognize any of them.
    “Open the gate,” Polly said, annoyed.
    “Who’s she?” one of them asked, nodding at Caitlin.
    “She’s one of ours,” Polly said.
    “I don’t recognize her,” said the other.
    “Just open the gate,” Polly snapped. “I’m telling you it’s fine. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Aiden.”
    They both paused, looking at each other, unsure. Finally, one of them pulled a lever, and the iron gate slowly rose up.
    They boated right through, and onto the other side.

    Caitlin looked around in amazement. This place was beautiful. In the fields, she could see dozens of vampires training in mock combat.
    “Why this island?” Caitlin asked.
    Polly looked at her.
    “I mean, it seems like Venice has dozens of islands to choose from.”
    “This is a very special place,” Polly said. “We have buried our dead here for thousands of years.
    It is the Isle of the Dead for more reasons than one.”
    Polly gave one last hard row, and their gondola pulled up right to the church door, its long wooden bow hitting the stone with a bang that shook the entire boat.
    Rose ran down the length of it, and leapt onto the dock. Polly threw a rope onto a beam, pulled them in tight, and tied them up. Caitlin steadied herself, slowly standing in the vessel, which rocked as she did, and climbed onto shore.
    Rose ran to the nearest bush and relieved herself, while Polly nimbly climbed out of the boat and finished tying the boat. She then opened wide the large church doors and stepped aside for them to enter.
    Caitlin stepped inside, and was overwhelmed. Like the church in Assisi, this one had high, soaring ceilings, elaborately decorated with frescoes, and the open room was enormous. Light streamed in through the stained-glass windows, and as they walked down the marble aisle, their footsteps echoed all around them.
    “The church of San Michele,” Polly said, as they walked. “Its namesake, of course, is Saint Michael, the holder of the scales on Judgment Day. Legend has it that Saint Michael is the guardian of sleep for the faithful dead. One could hardly find a more appropriate place for