The Struggle (16 page)

“You must be proud of her,” said Damon.

“Oh, we are,” Aunt Judith said. “So you’ll try to come then?”

Elena broke in, buttering a roll furiously. “I’ve heard some news about Vickie,” she said. “You remember, the girl who was attacked.” She looked pointedly at Damon.

There was a short silence. Then Damon said, “I’m afraid I don’t know her.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. About my height, brown eyes, light brown hair … anyway, she’s getting worse.”

“Oh, dear,” said Aunt Judith.

“Yes, apparently the doctors can’t understand it. She just keeps getting worse and worse, as if
the attack was still going on.” Elena kept her eyes on Damon’s face as she spoke, but he displayed only a courteous interest. “Have some more stuffing,” she finished, propelling a bowl at him.

“No thank you. I’ll have some more of this, though.” He held a spoonful of jellied cranberry sauce up to one of the candles so that light shone through it. “It’s such a tantalizing color.”

Bonnie, like the rest of the people at the table, looked up at the candle when he did this. But Elena noticed she didn’t look down again. She remained gazing into the dancing flame, and slowly all expression disappeared from her face.

Oh,
no,
thought Elena, as a tingle of apprehension crept through her limbs. She’d seen that look before. She tried to get Bonnie’s attention, but the other girl seemed to see nothing but the candle.

“… and then the elementary children put on a pageant about the town’s history,” Aunt Judith was saying to Damon. “But the ending ceremony is done by older students. Elena, how many seniors will be doing the readings this year?”

“Just three of us.” Elena had to turn to address her aunt, and it was while she was looking at Aunt Judith’s smiling face that she heard the voice.

“Death.”

Aunt Judith gasped. Robert paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Elena wished, wildly and absolutely hopelessly, for Meredith.

“Death,” said the voice again. “Death is in this house.”

Elena looked around the table and saw that there was no one to help her. They were all staring at Bonnie, motionless as subjects in a photograph.

Bonnie herself was staring into the candle flame. Her face was blank, her eyes wide, as they had been before when this voice spoke through her. Now, those sightless eyes turned toward Elena. “Your death,” the voice said. “Your death is waiting, Elena. It is—”

Bonnie seemed to choke. Then she pitched forward and almost landed in her dinner plate.

There was an instant’s paralysis, and then everyone moved. Robert jumped up and pulled at Bonnie’s shoulders, lifting her. Bonnie’s skin
had gone bluish-white, her eyes were closed. Aunt Judith fluttered around her, dabbing at her face with a damp napkin. Damon watched with thoughtful, narrowed eyes.

“She’s all right,” Robert said, looking up in obvious relief. “I think she just fainted. It must have been some kind of hysterical attack.” But Elena didn’t breathe again until Bonnie opened groggy eyes and asked what everyone was staring at.

It put an effective end to the dinner. Robert insisted that Bonnie be taken home at once, and in the activity that followed Elena found time for a whispered word with Damon.

“Get out!”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I said, get out! Now! Go. Or I’ll tell them you’re the killer.”

He looked reproachful. “Don’t you think a guest deserves a little more consideration?” he said, but at her expression he shrugged and smiled.

“Thank you for having me for dinner,” he said aloud to Aunt Judith, who was walking past carrying a blanket to the car. “I hope I can
return the favor sometime.” To Elena he added, “Be seeing you.”

Well,
that
was clear enough, Elena thought, as Robert drove away with a somber Matt and a sleepy Bonnie. Aunt Judith was on the phone with Mrs. McCullough.

“I don’t know what it is with these girls, either,” she said. “First Vickie, now Bonnie … and Elena has not been herself lately….”

While Aunt Judith talked and Margaret searched for the missing Snowball, Elena paced.

She would have to call Stefan. That was all there was to it. She wasn’t worried about Bonnie; the other times this had happened hadn’t seemed to do permanent damage. And Damon would have better things to do than harass Elena’s friends tonight.

He was coming here, to collect for the “favor” he’d done her. She knew without a doubt that that was the meaning of his final words. And it meant she would have to tell Stefan everything, because she needed him tonight, needed his protection.

Only, what could Stefan do? Despite all her
pleas and arguments last week, he had refused to take her blood. He’d insisted that his Powers would return without it, but Elena knew he was still vulnerable right now. Even if Stefan were here, could he stop Damon? Could he do it without being killed himself?

Bonnie’s house was no refuge. And Meredith was gone. There was no one to help her, no one she could trust. But the thought of waiting here alone tonight, knowing that Damon was coming, was unbearable.

She heard Aunt Judith click down the receiver. Automatically, she moved toward the kitchen, Stefan’s number running through her mind. Then she stopped, and slowly turned around to look at the living room she’d just left.

She looked at the floor to ceiling windows and at the elaborate fireplace with its beautifully scrolled molding. This room was part of the original house, the one that had almost completely burned in the Civil War. Her own bedroom was just above.

A great light was beginning to dawn. Elena looked at the molding around the ceiling, at where it joined the more modern dining room.

Then she almost ran toward the stairs, her heart beating fast.

“Aunt Judith?” Her aunt paused on the stairway. “Aunt Judith, tell me something. Did Damon go into the living room?”

“What!” Aunt Judith blinked at her in distraction.

“Did Robert take Damon into the living room? Please think, Aunt Judith! I need to know.”

“Why, no, I don’t think so. No, he didn’t. They came in and went straight to the dining room. Elena, what on earth? …” This last as Elena impulsively threw her arms around her and hugged her.

“Sorry, Aunt Judith. I’m just happy,” said Elena. Smiling, she turned to go back down the stairs.

“Well, I’m glad
someone’s
happy, after the way dinner turned out. Although that nice boy, Damon, seemed to enjoy himself. Do you know, Elena, he seemed quite taken with you, in spite of the way you were acting.”

Elena turned back around. “So?”

“Well, I just thought you might give him a
chance, that’s all. I thought he was very pleasant. The kind of young man I like to see around here.”

Elena goggled a moment, then swallowed to keep the hysterical laughter from escaping. Her aunt was suggesting that she take up Damon instead of Stefan … because Damon was safer. The kind of nice young man any aunt would like. “Aunt Judith,” she began, gasping, but then she realized it was useless. She shook her head mutely, throwing her hands up in defeat, and watched her aunt go up the stairs.

Usually Elena slept with her door closed. But tonight she left it open and lay on her bed gazing out into the darkened hallway. Every so often she glanced at the luminous numbers of the clock on the nightstand beside her.

There was no danger that she would fall asleep. As the minutes crawled by, she almost began to wish she could. Time moved with agonizing slowness. Eleven o’clock … eleven thirty … midnight. One a.m. One thirty. Two.

At 2:10 she heard a sound.

She listened, still lying on her bed, to the
faint whisper of noise downstairs. She’d known he would find a way to get in if he wanted. If Damon was that determined, no lock would keep him out.

Music from the dream she’d had that night at Bonnie’s tinkled through her mind, a handful of plaintive, silvery notes. It woke strange feelings inside her. Almost in a daze or dream herself, she got up and went to stand at the threshold.

The hallway was dark, but her eyes had had a long time to adjust. She could see the darker silhouette making its way up the stairs. When it reached the top she saw the swift, deadly glimmer of his smile.

She waited, unsmiling, until he reached her and stood facing her, with only a yard of hardwood floor between them. The house was completely silent. Across the hall Margaret slept; at the end of the passage, Aunt Judith lay wrapped in dreams, unaware of what was going on outside her door.

Damon said nothing, but he looked at her, his eyes taking in the long white nightgown with its high, lacy neck. Elena had chosen it because it was the most modest one she owned, but Damon
obviously thought it attractive. She forced herself to stand quietly, but her mouth was dry and her heart was thudding dully. Now was the time. In another minute she would know.

She backed up, without a word or gesture of invitation, leaving the doorway empty. She saw the quick flare in his bottomless eyes, and watched him come eagerly toward her. And watched him stop.

He stood just outside her room, plainly disconcerted. He tried again to step forward but could not. Something seemed to be preventing him from moving any farther. On his face, surprise gave way to puzzlement and then anger.

He looked up, his eyes raking over the lintel, scanning the ceiling on either side of the threshold. Then, as the full realization hit him, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an animal snarl.

Safe on her side of the doorway, Elena laughed softly. It had worked.

“My room and the living room below are all that’s left of the old house,” she said to him. “And, of course, that was a different dwelling place. One you were
not
invited into, and never will be.”

His chest was heaving with anger, his nostrils dilated, his eyes wild. Waves of black rage emanated from him. He looked as if he would like to tear the walls down with his hands, which were twitching and clenching with fury.

Triumph and relief made Elena giddy. “You’d better go now,” she said. “There’s nothing for you here.”

One minute more those menacing eyes blazed into hers, and then Damon turned around. But he didn’t head for the stairway. Instead, he took one step across the hall and laid his hand on the door to Margaret’s room.

Elena started forward before she knew what she was doing. She stopped in the doorway, grasping the casing trim, her own breath coming hard.

His head whipped around and he smiled at her, a slow, cruel smile. He twisted the doorknob slightly without looking at it. His eyes, like pools of liquid ebony, remained on Elena.

“Your choice,” he said.

Elena stood very still, feeling as if all of winter was inside her. Margaret was just a baby. He couldn’t mean it; no one could be such a monster
as to hurt a four-year- old.

But there was no hint of softness or compassion in Damon’s face. He was a hunter, killer, and the weak were his prey. She remembered the dreadful animal snarl that had transfigured his handsome features, and she knew that she could never leave Margaret to him.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She saw Damon’s hand on the doorknob; she saw those merciless eyes. She was walking through the doorway, leaving behind the only safe place she knew.

Death was in the house, Bonnie had said. And now Elena had gone to meet Death of her own free will. She bowed her head to conceal the helpless tears that came to her eyes. It was over. Damon had won.

She did not look up to see him advance on her. But she felt the air stir around her, making her shiver. And then she was enfolded in soft, endless blackness, which wrapped around her like a great bird’s wings.

Elena stirred, then opened heavy eyelids. Light was showing around the edges of the curtains. She found it hard to move, so she lay there on her bed and tried to piece together what had happened last night.

Damon. Damon had come here and threatened Margaret. And so Elena had gone to him. He’d won.

But why hadn’t he finished it? Elena lifted a languid hand to touch the side of her neck, already knowing what she would find. Yes, there they were: two small punctures that were tender and sensitive to pressure.

Yet she was still alive. He’d stopped short of carrying out his promise. Why?

Her memories of the last hours were confused and blurry. Only fragments were clear. Damon’s eyes looking down at her, filling her whole world. The sharp sting at her throat. And,
later, Damon opening his shirt, Damon’s blood welling from a small cut in his neck.

He’d made her drink his blood then. If
made
was the right word. She didn’t remember putting up any resistance or feeling any revulsion. By then, she had wanted it.

But she wasn’t dead, or even seriously weakened. He hadn’t made her into a vampire. And that was what she couldn’t understand.

He has no morals and no conscience, she reminded herself. So it certainly wasn’t mercy that stopped him. He probably just wants to draw the game out, make you suffer more before he kills you. Or maybe he wants you to be like Vickie, with one foot in the shadow world and one in the light. Going slowly mad that way.

One thing was sure: she wouldn’t be fooled into thinking it was kindness on his part. Damon wasn’t capable of kindness. Or of caring for anybody but himself.

Pushing the blankets back, she rose from the bed. She could hear Aunt Judith moving around in the hallway. It was Monday morning and she had to get ready to go to school.