The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Shadow Souls (37 page)

The moment she had said
“trust me”
Damon had dumped his pillowcase on top of Sage’s, and by the time she was finished, he had leaped into the hole, which was still so bright with leylight as to hurt any vampire’s eyes.

But Damon made no complaint. He said, “I have it safe now—no, wait! A root! A damned root is curled around one of the star balls! Someone toss me a knife, quick!”

While everyone else was slapping their pockets for knives, Matt did something that Elena couldn’t believe. First he glanced down into the six-foot-deep hole while pointing—a revolver, was it? Yes—she recognized it as the twin of Meredith’s. Then without trying to let himself down easily, he simply jumped as Damon had, into the hole.

“DON’T YOU WANT TO KNOW—” roared Shinichi, but no one was paying any attention to him.

Matt’s jump didn’t end lightly as Damon’s had. It ended with a gasp and a stifled curse. But Matt didn’t waste time; still on his knees, he handed the gun up to Damon.

“Blessed bullets—shoot it!”

Damon moved very fast. He didn’t even seem to aim. But he must have clicked the safety off and aimed immediately, for the root was now streaking for the soft wall of the hole, its end wrapped tightly around something round.

Elena heard two shattering revolver shots; three. Then Damon stooped and picked up a vine-wrapped ball, medium-sized and crystal clear where its true surface could be seen.

“PUT THAT DOWN!”
Shinichi’s rage was beyond all measure. The two burning red spots of his eyes were like flames—like moons of fire. He seemed to be trying to get them to comply by sheer volume. “I SAID, DON’T TOUCH THAT WITH YOUR FILTHY HUMAN HANDS!”

“Oh, my God!” gasped Bonnie.

Meredith said simply, “It’s Misao’s—it has to be. He’d gamble with his own; but not with hers. Damon, hand it up to me, along with the revolver. I bet it’s not bulletproof.” She knelt, reaching into the hole.

Damon, with a raised eyebrow, did as she said.

“Oh, God,” Bonnie cried, from the edge of the hole. “Matt’s sprained his ankle—at least.”

“I TOLD YOU,” roared Shinichi. “YOU’LL BE SORRY—”

“Here,” Damon said to Bonnie, taking not the slightest notice of Shinichi. Without any more ado, he picked up Matt and floated up out of the hole. He deposited the fair-haired boy beside Bonnie, who looked at him with the wide brown eyes of utter confusion.

Matt, though, was a Virginian through and through. After swallowing only once, he got out a “Thank you, Damon.”

“No problem, Matt,” Damon said, and then “What?” as someone gasped.

“You remembered,” Bonnie cried, “You remembered his—Meredith!” she broke off, looking at the tall girl. “The grass!”

Meredith, who had been examining the star ball with a strange expression, now tossed the revolver to Damon and tried with her free hand to tear away the grass that had twined around her feet and up her ankles already. But even as she did so, the grass seemed to leap upward and grab her hand, binding it to her feet. And now it was sprouting, growing, racing up her body toward the ball which she held high in the air.

At the same time, it was tightening around her chest, forcing air out of her lungs.

It all happened so fast that it was only when she gasped, “Somebody take th’ ball,” that the others leaped to her aid. Bonnie was the first to get there, tearing with her fingernails at the greenery that was squeezing Meredith’s chest. But each blade was like steel, and she couldn’t rip away even one of them. Neither could Matt or Elena. Meanwhile, Sage was trying to lift Meredith bodily—to pluck her from the earth—and having no more success than the rest.

Meredith’s face, clearly visible in the light still shining from the hole, was going white.

Damon snatched the star ball from her fingers just before the tangled greenery running up her arm could reach it. He then began moving literally faster than the human eye could track, never stopping in any one place long enough for any plant to grasp him.

But still, the grass around Meredith was tightening. Now her face was turning blue. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open for a breath that would not come.

“Stop it!” Elena screamed at Shinichi. “We’ll give you the star ball! Just let go of her!”

“LET GO OF
HER
?” Shinichi bellowed laughter. “MAYBE YOU’D BETTER LOOK TO YOUR OWN INTERESTS FIRST BEFORE ASKING ME A FAVOR.”

Wildly, Elena looked around—and saw that grass had almost completely enveloped a kneeling Stefan, who had been too weak to move as quickly as the others had.

And he had never made a sound to call attention to himself.

“No!”
Elena’s desperate scream almost drowned out Shinichi’s laughter. “Stefan! No!” Even knowing it was futile, she threw herself at him and tried to rip the grass away from his thin chest.

Stefan simply gave her the faintest of smiles and shook his head sadly.

That was when Damon came to a stop. He held the star ball up toward Shinichi’s lowering visage. “Take it!” he shouted. “Take the ball, damn you, but let the two of them
go
!”

This time the gale of Shinichi’s laughter went on and on. A spiral of grass grew from a point beside Damon and an instant later had formed a hideous, shaggy green fist, which almost reached the star ball.

But—

“Not yet, my dears,” gasped Mrs. Flowers. She and Matt had come breathlessly from the boardinghouse storage room—Matt limping badly—and they both held what looked like Post-it notes in their hands.

The next thing Elena knew, Damon was moving at ferocious speed again, away from the fist, and Matt was slapping a bit of paper on the grass covering Stefan, while Mrs. Flowers did the same to the greenery on Meredith.

As Elena watched in disbelief, the grass seemed to melt, dying away into hay-colored blades that fell to the ground.

The next moment she was holding Stefan.

“Let’s get inside, my dears,” Mrs. Flowers said. “It’s safe in the storage room—the able help the wounded, of course.”

Meredith and Stefan were taking great gasping breaths.

But Shinichi had the last word.

“Don’t you worry,” he said, strangely calm as if he realized he’d lost—for now. “I’ll get that sphere back soon enough. You don’t know how to use that kind of Power anyway! And besides all that, I’m going to tell you what you’ve been hiding from your so-called friends. Just a few secrets, yes?”

“The hell with your secrets,” shouted Bonnie.

“Language, language! How about this: One of you has kept a secret all their life, and is doing so even now. One of you is a murderer—and I am not speaking of a vampire, or a mercy killing, or anything like that. And then there is the question of the true identity of Sage—good luck on your research there! One of you has already had their memory erased—and I don’t mean Damon or Stefan. And what about the secret, stolen kiss? And then there is the question of what happened the night of the motel, that it seems that nobody but Elena can recall. You might ask her sometime about her theories about Camelot. And then—”

That was when the sound as loud as Shinichi’s giant-sized gales of laughter interrupted him. It tore through the face in the sky, leaving it drooping ridiculously. Then the face disappeared.

“What was that—”

“Who has the gun—?”

“What kind of gun could do that to
him
?”

“One with blessed bullets,” Damon said coolly, showing them the revolver, pointed down.

“You mean
you
did that?”

“Good for Damon!”

“Forget Shinichi!”

“He is a liar when it suits him, that I can tell you.”

“I think,” Mrs. Flowers said, “that we can retire to the boardinghouse now.”

“Yeah, and let’s go get our baths.”

“Just one last thing.” Shinichi’s voice, giant-sized seemed to come from everywhere around them; from the sky, from the earth.

“You’re really going to love what I have in mind next for you. If I were you, I’d start negotiating for that star ball right NOW.” But his laughter was off and the muffled feminine sound behind him was almost like crying, as if Misao couldn’t help herself.

“YOU’RE GOING TO
LOVE
IT!” Shinichi insisted in a roar.

E
lena had a feeling she couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t letdown. It was…let
up
. For what seemed like most of her life she had been searching for Stefan.

But now she had him back again, quite safe and clean (he’d had a long bath while she insisted on scrubbing him gently with all sorts of brushes and pumice stones, and then a shower, and then a rather cramped shower with her). His hair was drying into the silky soft dark shock—a little longer than he usually kept it—that she knew. He hadn’t had energy for frivolities like keeping his hair short and clean before. Elena understood that.

And now…there were no guards or kitsune around to spy on them. There was nothing to keep them from each other. They had been playful in the shower, splashing each other, Elena always making sure to keep her feet on the no-slip guard and ready to try to support Stefan’s lanky weight. But they could not be playful now.

The shower’s spray had been very helpful, too—at concealing the teardrops that kept flowing down Elena’s cheeks. She could—oh, dear heaven—count and feel each one of his ribs. He was just bones and skin, her beautiful Stefan, but his green eyes were alive, sparkling and dancing in his pale face.

After they were dressed in nightclothes they simply sat on the bed for a little while. Sitting together, both breathing—Stefan had got into the habit from being around humans so much and, recently, from trying to eke out the small amount of nutrition he received—in synchronicity, and both
feeling
the other’s warm body beside them…it was almost too much. Then, almost tentatively, Stefan groped for Elena’s hand, and catching it, held it in both of his, turning it over wonderingly.

Elena was swallowing and swallowing, trying to make a start in a conversation, felt herself practically radiating bliss. Oh, I never want anything more, she thought, although she knew that soon enough she would want to talk, and to hold, and to kiss, and to feed Stefan. But if someone had asked her if she would have accepted just this, sitting together, communicating by touch and love alone, she would have accepted it.

Before she knew it, she was talking, words that came like bubbles out of molasses, only these were bubbles from her soul. “I thought that somehow I might lose this time. That I’d won so many times, and that this time something would teach me a lesson and you…wouldn’t make it.”

Stefan was still wondering over her hand, bending industriously to kiss each separate finger. “You call ‘winning’ dying in pain and sunlight to save my worthless life—and my even more worthless brother’s?”

“I call this a better kind of winning,” Elena admitted. “Any time we get to be together is winning. Any moment—even in that dungeon…”

Stefan winced, but Elena had to finish her thought. “Even there, to look in your eyes, to touch your hand, to know that you were looking at me and touching me—and that you were happy—well, that’s winning, in my book.”

Stefan lifted his eyes to hers. In the dim light, the green looked suddenly dark and mysterious. “And one more thing,” he whispered. “Because I am what I am…and because your crowning glory isn’t that glorious golden cloud of hair, but an aura that is…ineffable. Indescribable. Beyond any words…”

Elena had thought they would sit and simply gaze at each other, drowning in each other’s eyes, but that wasn’t happening. Stefan’s expression had slipped and Elena realized how close to bloodlust—and to death—he still really was.

Hurriedly, Elena pulled her damp hair to one side of her neck, and then she leaned back, knowing Stefan would catch her.

He did this, but although Elena tilted her chin back, he tilted it down in his two hands to look at her.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked.

His entire face was masked now, enigmatic and strangely thrilling. “I don’t think you do,” he whispered. “I’ve watched and watched how you were willing to do anything,
anything
to save me…but I don’t think you know how much that love has been building up, Elena….”

Delicious shivers were going down Elena’s spine.

“Then you’d better show me,” she whispered. “Or I might not believe that you mean it—”

“I’ll show you what I mean,” Stefan whispered back. But when he bent down it was to kiss her softly. The feelings inside Elena—that this starving creature wanted to kiss her instead of going at once for her throat, reached a peak that she could not explain in thoughts or words, but only by drawing Stefan’s head so that his mouth rested on her neck.

“Please,” she said. “Oh, Stefan,
please
.”

Then she felt the quick sacrificial pains, and then Stefan was drinking her blood, and her mind, which had been fluttering around like a bird in a lighted room, now saw its nest and its mate and swooped up and up and up to at last reach unity with its best-beloved.

After that there was no need for clumsy things like words. They communicated in thoughts as pure and clear as shimmering gems, and Elena rejoiced because all of Stefan’s mind was open to her, and none of it was walled off or dark and there were no boulders of secrets or chained and weeping children…

What!
she heard Stefan exclaim voicelessly.
A child in chains? A mountain-sized boulder? Who could have that in their mind—?

Stefan broke off, knowing the answer, even before Elena’s lightning-swift thought could tell him. Elena felt the clear green wave of his pity, spiced by the natural anger of a young man who has gone through the depths of hell, but untainted by the terrible black poison of hatred of brother for brother.

When Elena had finished explaining all she knew about Damon’s mental processes, she said,
And I don’t know what to do! I’ve done everything I could, Stefan, I’ve—I’ve even loved him. I gave him everything that wasn’t yours alone. But I don’t know if it’s made even the slightest difference.

He called Matt “Matt” instead of Mutt,
Stefan interrupted.

Yes. I…noticed that. I’d kept asking him to, but it never seemed to matter.

It mattered this way: you managed to change him. Not many people can.

Elena wrapped him in a tight embrace, stopped, worried that it was too tight, and glanced at him. He smiled and shook his head. He was already looking like a person rather than a death camp survivor.

You should keep using it,
Stefan said voicelessly.
Your influence over him is strongest.

I will—without any artificial Wings,
Elena promised. Then she worried that Stefan would think her too presumptuous—or too attached.

But one look at Stefan was enough to assure her that she was doing the right thing.

They clung to each other.

It wasn’t as hard as Elena had imagined it would be—handing Stefan over to other humans to be bled. Stefan had a clean pair of pajamas on, and the first thing he said to all three donors was, “If you get frightened or change your mind, just say so. I can hear perfectly well, and I’m not in bloodlust. And anyway, I’ll probably sense it if you’re not enjoying it before you do, and I’ll stop. And finally—thank you—thank you all. I’ve decided to break my oath tonight because there’s still some little chance that if I slept I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow without you.”

Bonnie was horrified and indignant and furious. “You mean you couldn’t sleep
all that time
because you were afraid to—to…?”

“I did fall asleep from time to time, but thank fortune—thank
God
—I always woke up again. There were times when I didn’t dare move to conserve energy, but somehow Elena kept finding ways to come to me, and every single time she came, she brought me some kind of sustenance.” He gave Elena a look that sent her heart spinning out of her chest and high into the stratosphere.

And then she set up a schedule, with Stefan being fed every hour on the hour, and then she and the others left the first volunteer, Bonnie, alone, so as to be more comfortable.

It was the next morning. Damon had already been out to visit Leigh, the antiques-seller’s niece, who had seemed very glad to see him. And now he was back, to look with scorn at the slug-a-beds who were distributed all around the boardinghouse.

That was when he saw the bouquet.

It was heavily sealed down with wards—amulets to help get it through the dimensional gap. There was something powerful in there.

Damon cocked his head to one side.

Hmm…I wonder what?