The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Shadow Souls (5 page)

She couldn’t help but hide her face again in his throat as she thought,
I’m glad. Oh, I’m so glad. But I wish we could
touch
each other. I want to feel your arms around me.

“At least I can look at you,” Stefan whispered, and Elena knew that even this is like water in the wasteland to him. “And if we
could
touch, I’d put my arm around your waist here, and kiss you here and here….”

They spoke to each other this way for a while—just exchanging lovers’ nonsense, each sustained by the sight and sound of the other. And then, softly but firmly, Stefan asked her to tell him all about Damon—everything since they’d started. By now Elena was cool-headed enough to tell him about the incident with Matt without making Damon sound too much like a villain.

“And Stefan, Damon really is protecting us as best he can.” She told him about the two possessed vampires who had been tracking them and what Damon had done.

Stefan merely shrugged and said wryly, “Most people write with pencils; Damon writes people off with them.” He added, “And your clothes got dirty?”

“Because I heard a great big crash—which ended up being Matt on top of the car,” she said. “But, to be fair, he was trying to stake Damon at the time. I made him get rid of the stake.” She added, in the barest of whispers: “Stefan,
please
don’t mind that Damon and I have to—to be together a lot right now. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

“I know.”

And the amazing thing was that he did know. Elena was bathed in the deep glow of his trust for her.

After that they “held” each other, Elena snuggling weightlessly above the curve of Stefan’s arm…and it was bliss.

And then abruptly the world—the entire universe—shuddered at the sound of a gigantic slamming sound. It jerked at Elena. It didn’t belong in here with love and trust and the sweetness of sharing every part of her
self
with Stefan.

It began again—a monstrous booming that terrified Elena. She clutched uselessly at Stefan, who was looking at her with concern. He didn’t hear the clanging that was defeaning her, she realized.

And then something even worse happened. She was torn out of Stefan’s arms bodily, and she was rushing backward, back through objects, back faster and faster until with a jar she landed in her body.

For all her reluctance she landed perfectly on the solid body that until now had been the only one she’d known. She landed on it and melded into it and then she was sitting up and the sounds were the sounds of Matt rapping at the window.

“It’s been over two hours since you went to sleep,” he said as she opened the door. “But I figured you needed it. Are you all right?”

“Oh, Matt,” Elena said. For a moment it seemed impossible that she was going to be able to keep from crying. But then she remembered Stefan’s smile.

Elena blinked, forcing herself to deal with her new situation. She hadn’t seen Stefan for nearly long enough. But her memories of their short, sweet time together were wrapped in jonquils and lavender and nothing could ever take them away from her.

Damon was irritated. As he flew higher on his wide, black crow’s wings, the landscape beneath him unfolded like a magnificent carpet, the breaking day making the grasslands and rolling hills glow like emerald.

Damon ignored it. He’d seen it too many times. What he was looking for was
una donna splendida.

But his mind kept drifting. Mutt and his stake…Damon still didn’t see why Elena wanted to take a fugitive from justice along with them. Elena…Damon tried to conjure up the same irritated feelings for her as he had for Mutt, but just couldn’t manage it.

He circled down toward the town below, keeping to the residential district, searching for auras. He wanted a strong aura as much as a beautiful one. And he’d been in America long enough to know that this early in the morning you could find three sorts of people up and outdoors. Students were the first, but this was summer, so there were fewer to pick from. Despite Mutt’s assumptions, Damon seldom sank to high school girls. Joggers were the second. And the third, thinking beautiful thoughts, just like…
that
one down there…were home gardeners.

The young woman with the pruning shears looked up as Damon turned the corner and approached her house, deliberately hurrying and then slowing his stride. His very footsteps made it clear that he was delighted to take in the floral extravaganza in front of the charming Victorian house. For a moment the girl looked startled, almost afraid. That was normal. Damon was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket, in addition to his Ray-Bans. But then he smiled and at the same moment began the first delicate infiltration of
la bella donna’s
mind.

One thing was clear even before that. She liked roses.

“A full flush of Dreamweavers,” he said, shaking his head in admiration as he looked at the bushes covered with brilliant pink bloom. “And those White Icebergs climbing the trellis…. Ah, but your Moonstones!” He lightly touched an open rose, its petals moonlight-colored but shading to palest pink at the edges.

The young woman—Krysta—couldn’t help smiling. Damon felt the information flow effortlessly from her mind to his. She was just twenty-two, not married, still living at home. She had precisely the kind of aura he was looking for, and only a sleeping father in the house.

“You don’t look like the type to know so much about roses,” Krysta said frankly, and then gave a self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ve met all sorts at the Creekville Rose Shows.”

“My mother is an avid gardener,” Damon lied fluently and without a trace of misgiving. “I guess I got my passion from her. Now I don’t stay in one place long enough to grow them, but I can still dream. Would you like to know what my ultimate dream is?”

By this time Krysta felt as if she were floating on a delicious rose-scented cloud. Damon felt every delicate nuance with her, enjoyed seeing her flush, enjoyed the slight tremor that shook her body.

“Yes,” Krysta said simply. “I’d love to know your dream.”

Damon leaned forward, lowered his voice. “I want to breed a true black rose.”

Krysta looked startled and something flashed through her mind too quickly for Damon to catch. But then she said in an equally hushed voice, “Then there’s something I’d like to show you. If—if you have time to come with me.”

The backyard was even more splendid than the front and there was a hammock gently swinging, Damon noted with approval. After all, he would soon need a place to put Krysta…while she slept it off.

But at the rear of the bower was something that caused his pace to quicken involuntarily.

“Black Magic roses!” he exclaimed, eyeing the wine-dark, almost burgundy-colored blooms.

“Yes,” Krysta said softly. “Black Magics. The closest anyone has ever gotten to a black rose. I get three flushes a year,” she whispered tremulously, no longer questioning who this young man might be, overwhelmed by her feelings which almost took Damon with her.

“They’re magnificent,” he said. “The deepest red I’ve ever seen. The closest to black ever bred.”

Krysta was still trembling with joy. “You’re welcome to one, if you like. I’m taking them to the Creekville show next week but I can give you one in full bloom now. Maybe you’ll be able to smell it.”

“I’d…like that,” Damon said.

“You can give it to your girlfriend.”

“No girlfriend,” Damon said, glad to get back to lying. Krysta’s hands shook slightly as she cut one of the longest, straightest stems for him.

Damon reached out to take it and their fingers touched.

Damon smiled at her.

When Krysta’s knees went boneless with pleasure, Damon caught her easily and went on with what he was doing.

Meredith was right behind Bonnie as she stepped into Caroline’s room.

“I said, shut the damn door!” Caroline said—no, snarled.

It was only natural to look to see where the voice was coming from. Just before Meredith cut off the only sliver of light by shutting the door Bonnie saw Caroline’s corner desk. The chair that used to sit in front of it was gone.

Caroline was underneath.

It might have been a good hiding space for a ten-year-old, but as an eighteen-year-old Caroline had curled into an impossible position in order to fit there. She was sitting on a pile of what looked like shreds of clothing. Her
best
clothes, Bonnie thought suddenly, as a twinkle of gold lamé flashed and was gone when the door shut.

Then it was just the three of them together in the darkness. No illumination came from above or below the door to the hall.

It’s because the hall is in another world, Bonnie thought wildly.

“What’s wrong with a little light, Caroline?” Meredith asked quietly. Her voice was steady, comforting. “You asked us to come and see you—but we can’t see you.”

“I said come and talk to me,” Caroline corrected instantly, exactly as she always had in the old days. That should have been comforting, too. Except—except that now that Bonnie could hear her voice sort of reverberating under the desk, she could tell it had a new quality. Not so much husky as—

You really don’t want to be thinking this. Not in the midnight darkness of this room,
Bonnie’s mind told her.

Not so much husky as
snarly
, Bonnie thought helplessly. You could almost say Caroline growled her answers.

Little sounds told Bonnie that the girl under the desk was moving. Bonnie’s own breathing quickened.

“But
we
want to see
you
,” Meredith said quietly. “And you know that Bonnie’s scared of the dark. Can I just turn on your bedside lamp?”

Bonnie could feel herself trembling. That wasn’t good. It wasn’t smart to show Caroline you were afraid of her. But the pitch-blackness was making her tremble. She could feel that this room was wrong in its angles—or maybe it was only her imagination. She could also hear things that made her jump—like that loud double clicking noise directly behind her. What had made that?

“All rrright then! Turrn on the one by the bed.” Caroline was definitely snarling. And she was moving toward them; Bonnie could hear rustling and breathing getting closer.

Don’t let her get to me in the dark!

It was a panicked, irrational thought, but Bonnie couldn’t help thinking it any more than she could help stumbling blindly sideways into…

Something tall—and warm.

Not Meredith. Never since Bonnie had known her had Meredith smelled like rancid sweat and rotten eggs. But the warm something took hold of both Bonnie’s upraised hands, and there were strange little clicking noises as they clenched.

The hands weren’t just warm; they were hot and dry. And the ends poked oddly into Bonnie’s skin.

Then, as a light by the bedside went on, they were gone. The lamp Meredith had found put out a very, very dim ruby light—and it was easy to see why. A ruby negligee and peignoir had been tied around the shade.

“This is a fire hazard,” Meredith said, but even her level voice sounded shaken.

Caroline stood before them in the red light. She seemed taller than ever to Bonnie, tall and sinewy, except for the slight bulge of her belly. She was dressed normally, in jeans and a tight T-shirt. She was holding her hands playfully hidden behind her back, and smiling her old insolent, sly smile.

I want to go home, Bonnie thought.

Meredith said, “Well?”

Caroline just kept smiling. “Well, what?”

Meredith lost her temper. “What do you want?”

Caroline just looked arch. “Have you visited your friend Isobel today? Had a little talk with her?”

Bonnie had a powerful urge to slap that smug smile off Caroline’s face. She didn’t. It was just a trick of the lamplight—she knew it had to be—but it looked almost as if there was a red dot shining in the center of each of Caroline’s eyes.

“We visited Isobel at the hospital, yes,” Meredith said expressionlessly. Then, with unmistakable anger in her voice, she added, “And you know very well that she can’t talk yet. But”—with a triumphant little pounce—“the doctors say she will be able to. Her tongue will heal, Caroline. She may have scars from all the places she pierced herself, but she’s going to be able to talk again just fine.”

Caroline’s smile had faded, leaving her face looking haggard and full of dull fury. At what? Bonnie wondered.

“It would do you some good to get out of this house,” Meredith told the copper-haired girl. “You can’t live in the dark—”

“I won’t forever,” Caroline said sharply. “Just until the twins are born.” She stood, hands still behind her, and arched her back so that her stomach protruded more than ever.

“The—twins?” Bonnie was startled into speaking.

“Matt Junior and Mattie. That’s what I’m going to call them.”

Caroline’s gloating smile and impudent eyes were almost too much for Bonnie to stand. “You can’t do that!” she heard herself shouting.

“Or maybe I’ll call the girl Honey. Matthew and Honey, for their daddy, Matthew Honeycutt.”

“You can’t
do
it,” Bonnie shouted, more shrilly. “Especially with Matt not even here to defend himself—”

“Yes, he did run away very suddenly, didn’t he? The police are wondering why he had to run. Of course”—Caroline lowered her voice to a meaningful whisper—“he wasn’t alone. Elena was with him. I wonder what the two of them do in their spare time?” She giggled, a high, fatuous giggle.

“Elena isn’t the only person with Matt,” Meredith said, and now her voice was low and dangerous. “Someone else is, too. Do you remember an agreement you signed? About not telling anyone about Elena or bringing publicity around her?”

Caroline blinked slowly, like a lizard. “A long time ago. In a different lifetime, for me.”

“Caroline, you’re not going to
have
a lifetime if you break that oath! Damon would
kill
you. Or—have you already—?” Meredith stopped.