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sometimes it felt as if he got awfully close to the line. Yes, it was

definitely Damon’s fault, Elena thought. She didn’t have any feelings for

him that were—well, that were anything other than sisterly. But Damon

never gave up, no matter how many times she rejected him.

Behind Elena was a thump and squelch that undoubtedly meant

Matt had finally gotten off the roof of the Jag. He jumped into the fray

immediately.

“Don’t call Elena, Elena darling!” he shouted, continuing as he

turned to Elena, “Wendy’s probably the name of his latest little

girlfriend. And—and—and do you know what he did? How he woke me

up this morning?” Matt was quivering with indignation.

“He picked you up and threw you on top of the car?” Elena

hazarded. She talked over her shoulder to Matt because there was a faint

morning breeze that tended to mold her nightgown to her body. She

didn’t want Damon behind her just now.

“No! I mean, yes! No and yes! But—when he did, he didn’t even

bother to use his hands! He just went like this”—Matt waved an

arm—“and first I got dropped into a mud hole and next thing I know I

got dropped on the Jag. It could have broken the moonroof—or me! And

now I’m all muddy,” Matt added, examining himself with disgust, as if it

had only just occurred to him.

Damon spoke up. “And why did I pick you up and put you down

again? What were you actually doing at the time when I put some

distance between us?”

Matt flushed to the roots of his fair hair. His normally tranquil blue

eyes were blazing.

“I was holding a stick,” he said defiantly.

“A stick. A stick like the kind you find along the roadside? That

kind of stick?”

“I did pick it up along the roadside, yes!” Still defiant.

“But then something strange seems to have happened to it.” From

nowhere that Elena could see, Damon suddenly produced a very long,

and very sturdy-looking stake, with one end that had been whittled to an

extremely sharp point. It had definitely been carved from hardwood: oak

from the look of it.

While Damon was examining his “stick” from all sides with a look

of acute bafflement, Elena turned on a sputtering Matt.

“Matt!” she said reproachfully. This was definitely a low point in

the cold war between the two boys.

“I just thought,” Matt went on stubbornly, “that it might be a good

idea. Since I’m sleeping outdoors at night and a… another vampire

might come along.”

Elena had already turned again and was making appeasing noises

at Damon when Matt burst out afresh.

“Tell her how you actually woke me up!” he said explosively.

Then, without giving Damon a chance to say anything, he continued, “I

was just opening my eyes when he dropped this on me!” Matt squelched

over to Elena, holding something up. Elena, truly at a loss, took it from

him, turning it over. It seemed to be a pencil stub, but it was discolored

dark reddish-brown.

“He dropped that on me and said ‘scratch off two,’” Matt said.

“He’d killed two people—and he was bragging about it!”

Elena suddenly didn’t want to be holding the pencil anymore.

“Damon!” she said in a cry of real anguish, as she tried to make

something out of his no-expression expression. “Damon—you

didn’t—not really—”

“Don’t beg him, Elena. The thing we’ve got to do—”

“If anybody would let me get a word in,” Damon said, now

sounding truly exasperated, “I might mention that before I could explain

about the pencil someone attempted to stake me on the spot, even before

getting out of his sleeping bag. And what I was going to say next was

that they weren’t people. They were vampires, thugs, hired muscle—but

these were possessed by Shinichi’s malach. And they were on our trail.

They’d gotten as far as Warren, Kentucky, probably by asking questions

about the car. We’re definitely going to have to get rid of it.”

“No!” Matt shouted defensively. “This car—this car means

something to Stefan and Elena.”

“This car means something to you,” Damon corrected. “And I

might point out that I had to leave my Ferrari in a creek just so we could

take you on this little expedition.”

Elena held up her hand. She didn’t want to hear any more. She did

have feelings for the car. It was big and brilliantly red and flashy and

buoyant—and it expressed how she and Stefan had been feeling on the

day that he bought it for her, celebrating the start of their new life

together. Just looking at it made her remember the day, and the weight

of Stefan’s arm around her shoulder and the way he’d looked down at

her, when she’d looked up at him—his green eyes sparkling with

mischief and the joy of getting her something she really wanted.

To Elena’s embarrassment and fury, she found that she was

shaking slightly, and that her own eyes were full of tears.

“You see,” Matt said, glaring at Damon. “Now you’re making her

cry.”

“ I am? I’m not the one who mentioned my dear departed younger

brother,” Damon said urbanely.

“ Just stop it! Right now! Both of you,” Elena shouted, trying to

find her composure. “And I don’t want this pencil, if you don’t mind,”

she added, holding it at arm’s length.

When Damon took it, Elena wiped her hands on her nightgown,

feeling vaguely light-headed. She shivered, thinking of the vampires on

their trail.

And then, suddenly, as she swayed, there was a warm, strong arm

around her and Damon’s voice beside her saying, “What she needs is

some fresh air, and I’m going to give it to her.”

Abruptly Elena was weightless and she was in Damon’s arms and

they were going higher.

“Damon, could you please put me down?”

“Right now, darling? It’s quite a distance…”

Elena continued to remonstrate with Damon, but she could tell that

he had tuned her out. And the cool morning air was clearing her head a

bit, although it also made her shake.

She tried to stop the shivering, but couldn’t help it. Damon glanced

down at her and to her surprise, looking completely serious, began to

make motions as if to take his jacket off. Elena hastily said, “No,

no—you just drive—fly, I mean, and I’ll hang on.”

“And watch for low-going seagulls,” Damon said solemnly, but

with a quirk at the side of his mouth. Elena had to turn her face away

because she was in danger of laughing.

“So, just when did you learn you could pick people up and drop

them on cars?” she inquired.

“Oh, just recently. It was like flying: a challenge. And you know I

like challenges.”

He was looking down at her with mischief in his eyes, those black

on black eyes with such long lashes that they were wasted on a boy.

Elena felt as light as if she were dandelion fluff, but also a little

light-headed, almost tipsy.

She was much warmer now, because—she realized—Damon had

enfolded her in his aura, which was warm. Not just in temperature,

either, but warm with a heady, almost drunken appreciation, as he took

her in, her eyes and her face and her hair floating weightlessly in a cloud

of gold around her shoulders. Elena couldn’t help but blush, and she

almost heard his thought, that blushing suited her very well, pale pink

against her fair complexion.

And just as blushing was an involuntary physical response to his

warmth and appreciation, Elena felt an involuntary emotional

response—of thankfulness for what he had done, of gratitude for his

appreciation, and of unintentional appreciation of Damon himself. He

had saved her life tonight, if she knew anything about vampires

possessed by Shinichi’s malach, vampires who were thugs to begin with.

She couldn’t even imagine what such creatures would do to her, and she

didn’t want to. She could only be glad that Damon had been clever

enough and, yes, ruthless enough to take care of them before they got to

her.

And she would have to be blind and just plain stupid not to

appreciate the fact that Damon was gorgeous. After having died twice,

this fact did not affect her as it would most other girls, but it was still a

fact, whether Damon was pensive or giving one of those rare genuine

smiles that he seemed to have only for Elena.

The problem with this was that Damon was a vampire and could

therefore read her mind, especially with Elena being so close, their auras

intermingling. And Damon appreciated Elena’s appreciation, and it

became a little cycle of feedback, all on its own. Before Elena could

quite focus she was melting, her weightless body feeling heavier as it

molded itself to Damon’s arms.

And the other problem was that Damon wasn’t Influencing her; he

was as caught up in the feedback as Elena was—more so, because he

didn’t have any barriers against it. Elena did, but they were blurring,

dissolving. She couldn’t think properly. Damon was gazing at her with

wonder and a look she was all too used to seeing—but she couldn’t

remember where.

Elena had lost the power to analyze. She was simply basking in the

warm glow of being cherished, being held and loved and cared for with

an intensity that shook her to the bone.

And when Elena gave of herself, she gave completely. Almost

without conscious effort, she arched her head back to expose her throat

and closed her eyes.

Damon gently positioned her head differently, supported it with

one hand, and kissed her.

T ime stopped. Elena found that she was instinctively groping for the

mind of the one who was kissing her so sweetly. She had never really

appreciated a kiss until she had died, become a spirit, and then been

returned to earth with an aura that revealed the hidden meaning of other

people’s thoughts, words, and even their minds and souls. It was as if

she had gained a beautiful new sense. When two auras mingled as

deeply as this, two souls were laid bare to each other.

Semi-consciously, Elena let her aura expand, and met a mind

almost at once. To her surprise, it recoiled from her. That wasn’t right.

She managed to snag it before it could retreat behind a great hard stone,

like a boulder. The only things left outside the boulder—which reminded

her of a picture of a meteorite she had seen, with a pocked, charred

surface—were rudimentary brain functions, and a little boy, chained to

the rock by both wrists and both ankles.

Elena was shocked. Whatever she was seeing, she knew it was a

metaphor only, and that she should not judge too quickly what the

metaphor meant. The images before her were really the symbols of

Damon’s naked soul, but in a form that her own mind could understand

and interpret, if only she looked at it from the right perspective.

Instinctively, though, she knew that she was seeing something

important. She had come through the breathless delight and dizzying

sweetness of joining her soul to another’s. And now, her inherent love

and concern drove her to try to communicate.

“Are you cold?” she asked the child, whose chains were long

enough to allow him to wrap his arms tightly about his drawn-up legs.

He was clothed in ragged black.

He nodded silently. His huge dark eyes seemed to swallow up his

face.

“Where do you belong?” Elena said doubtfully, thinking of ways

to get the child warm. “Not inside that?” She made a gesture toward the

giant stone boulder.

The child nodded again. “It’s warmer in there, but he won’t let me

inside anymore.”

“He?” Elena was always on the lookout for signs of Shinichi, that

malicious fox spirit. “Which ‘he,’ darling?” She had already knelt and

taken the child in her arms, and he was cold, ice cold, and the iron was

freezing.

“Damon,” the little ragamuffin boy whispered. For the first time

the boy’s eyes left her face, to glance fearfully around him.

“ Damon did this?” Elena’s voice started loud and ended up as soft

as the boy’s whisper, as he turned pleading eyes on her and desperately

patted at her lips, like a velvet-clawed kitten.

This is all just symbols, Elena reminded herself. It’s Damon’s

mind—his soul—that you’re looking at.

But are you? an analytical part of her asked suddenly. Wasn’t

there—a time before, when you did this with someone—and you saw a

world inside them, entire landscapes full of love and moonlit beauty, all

of it symbolizing the normal, healthy workings of an ordinary,

extraordinary mind. Elena couldn’t remember the name of the person

now, but she remembered the beauty. She knew that her own mind

would use such symbols to present itself to another person.

No, she realized abruptly and definitively: she was not seeing

Damon’s soul. Damon’s soul was somewhere inside that huge, heavy

ball of rock. He lived cramped inside that hideous thing, and he wanted

it that way. All that was left outside was some ancient memory from his

childhood, a boy who had been banished from the rest of his soul.

“If Damon put you here, then who are you?” Elena asked slowly,

testing her theory, while taking in the black-on-black eyes of the child,

and the dark hair and the features she knew even if they were so young.

“I’m—Damon,” the little boy whispered, white around the lips.

Maybe even revealing that much was painful, Elena thought. She

didn’t want to hurt this symbol of Damon’s childhood. She wanted him

to feel the sweetness and comfort that she was feeling. If Damon’s mind

had been like a house, she would have wanted to tidy it up, and fill every

room with flowers and starlight. If it had been a landscape she would

have put a halo around the full white moon, or rainbows amongst the

clouds. But instead it presented itself as a starving child chained to a ball

that no one could breach, and she wanted to comfort and soothe the

child.

She cradled the little boy, rubbing his arms and legs hard and

nestling him against her spirit body.

At first he felt tense and wary in her arms. But after a little time,

when nothing terrible happened as a result of their contact, he relaxed

and she felt his small body go warm and drowsy and heavy in her arms.

She herself felt a crushingly sweet protectiveness about the little

creature.

In just a few minutes, the child in her arms was asleep, and Elena

thought that there was the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. She

cuddled his little body, rocking him gently, smiling herself. She was

thinking of someone who had held her when she’d cried. Someone who

was—was not forgotten, never forgotten—but who made her throat ache

with sadness. Someone so important—it was desperately important that

she remember him now, now —and that she…she had to…to find …

And then suddenly the peaceful night of Damon’s mind was split

open—by sound, by light, and by energies that even Elena, young as she

was in the ways of Power, knew had been kindled by the memory of a

single name.

Stefan.

Oh, God, she had forgotten him—she had actually, for a few

minutes allowed herself to be drawn into something that meant

forgetting him. The anguish of all those lonely late-night hours, sitting

and pouring out her grief and fear to her diary—and then the peace and

comfort that Damon had offered had actually made her forget Stefan —to

forget what he might be suffering at this very moment.

“No—no!” Elena was struggling alone in darkness. “Let go—I

have to find—I can’t believe that I forgot—”

“Elena.” Damon’s voice was calm and gentle—or at least

unemotional. “If you keep jerking around like that you’re going to get

free—and it’s a long way to the ground.”

Elena opened her eyes, all her memories of rocks and little children

flying away, scattering like white dandelion silk in every direction. She

looked at Damon accusingly.

“You—you—”

“Yes,” Damon said composedly. “Blame it on me. Why not? But I

did not Influence you, and I did not bite you. I merely kissed you. Your

Powers did the rest; they may be uncontrollable, but they’re extremely

compelling all the same. Frankly, I never intended to get sucked in so

deeply—if you’ll forgive a pun.”

His voice was light, but Elena had a sudden inner vision of a

weeping child, and she wondered if he were really as indifferent as he

seemed.

But that’s his speciality, isn’t it? she thought, suddenly bitter. He

gives out dreams, fancies, pleasure that stays in the minds of

his…donors. Elena knew that the girls and young women that

Damon…preyed on…adored him, their only complaint being that he

didn’t visit them often enough.

“I understand,” Elena said to him as they drifted closer to the

ground. “But this can’t happen again. There’s only one person that I can

kiss, and that’s Stefan.”

Damon opened his mouth, but just then there was the sound of a

voice that was as furious and accusing as Elena had been, and which

didn’t care about the consequences. Elena remembered the other person

she’d forgotten.

“DAMON, YOU BASTARD, BRING HER DOWN!”

Matt.

Elena and Damon came to a twirling, elegant stop, right beside the

Jaguar. Matt immediately ran to Elena and snatched her away,

examining her as if she had been in an accident, with particular attention

to her neck. Once again Elena was uncomfortably aware of being

dressed in a lacy white nightgown in the presence of two boys.

“I’m fine, honestly,” she said to Matt. “I’m just a little bit dizzy.

I’ll be better in a few minutes.”

Matt let out a breath of relief. He might not still be in love with her

as he once had been, but Elena knew he cared deeply about her and

always would. He cared about her as his friend Stefan’s girlfriend, and

also on her own merits. She knew he would never forget the time they

had been together.

More, he believed in her. So right now, when she promised that

she was all right, he believed that. He was even willing to give Damon a

look that wasn’t completely hostile.

And then both of the boys headed for the driver’s side door of the

Jag.

“ Oh, no,” Matt said. “You drove yesterday—and look what

happened! You said it yourself—there are vampires trailing us!”

“You’re saying it’s my fault? Vampires are tracing this

fire-engine-red-paint-job giant and it’s somehow my doing?”

Matt simply looked stubborn: his jaw clenched, his tanned skin

flushed. “I’m saying we should take turns. You’ve had your turn.”

“I don’t recall anything ever being said about ‘taking turns.’”

Damon managed to give the word an inflection that made it sound like

some rather wicked activity. “And if I go in a car, I drive the car.”

Elena cleared her throat. Neither of them even noticed her.

“I’m not getting into a car if you’re driving!” Matt said furiously.

“ I’m not getting into a car if you’re driving!” Damon said

laconically.

Elena cleared her throat more loudly, and Matt finally remembered

her existence.

“Well, Elena can’t be expected to drive us all the way to wherever

we’re going,” he said, before she could even suggest the possibility.

“Unless we’re going to get there today,” he added, looking at Damon

sharply.

Damon shook his dark head. “No. I’m taking the scenic route. And

the fewer people who know where we’re going the safer we’re going to

be. You can’t tell if you don’t know.”

Elena felt as if someone had just lightly touched the hairs on the

back of her neck with an ice cube. The way Damon said those words…

“But they’ll already know where we’re going, won’t they?” she

asked, shaking herself back to practicality. “They know we want to

rescue Stefan, and they know where Stefan is.”

“Oh, yes. They’ll know we’re trying to get into the Dark

Dimension. But by what gate? And when? If we can lose them the only

thing we need to worry about is Stefan and the prison guards.”

Matt looked around. “How many gates are there?”

“Thousands. Wherever three ley lines cross, there’s the potential

for a gate. But since the Europeans drove the Native Americans out of

their homes, most of the gates aren’t used or maintained as they were in

the old days.” Damon shrugged.

But Elena was tingling all over with excitement, with anxiety.

“Why don’t we just find the nearest gate and go through it, then?”

“Travel all the way to the prison underground? Look, you don’t

understand at all. First of all, you need me with you to get you into a

gate—and even then it isn’t going to be pleasant.”

“Not pleasant for who? Us or you?” Matt asked grimly.

Damon gave him a long, blank look. “If you tried on your own it

would be briefly and terminally unpleasant for you. With me, it should

be uncomfortable but a matter of routine. And as for what it’s like

traveling for even a few days down there—well, you’ll see for

yourselves, eventually,” Damon said, with an odd smile. “And it would

take much, much longer than going by a main gate.”

“Why?” Matt demanded—always ready to ask questions that Elena

really, really didn’t want to know the answers to.

“Because it’s either jungle, where five-foot leeches dropping from

the trees are going to be the least of your worries, or wasteland, where

any enemy can spot you—and everyone is your enemy.”

There was a pause while Elena thought hard. Damon looked

serious. Clearly, he really didn’t want to do it—and not many things

bothered Damon. He liked fighting. More, if it would only waste time…

“All right,” Elena said slowly. “We’ll go on with your plan.”

Immediately, both boys reached for the driver’s side door handle

again.

“Listen,” Elena said without looking at either of them. “ I am

going to drive my Jaguar down to the next town. But first I am going to

get in it and get changed into real clothes and maybe even catch a few

minutes of sleep. Matt will want to find a brook or something where he

can clean up. And then I’m going to whatever town is closest for some

brunch. After that—”

“—the bickering can begin anew,” Damon finished for her. “You

do that, darling. I’ll meet you at whatever greasy spoon you’ve

selected.”

Elena nodded. “You’re sure you’ll be able to find us? I am trying

to hold my aura down, really.”

“Listen, a fire-engine-red Jaguar in whatever flyspeck of a town

you find down this road is going to be as conspicuous as a UFO,”

Damon said.

“Why doesn’t he just come with…” Matt’s voice trailed off.

Somehow, although it was his deepest grievance against Damon, he

often managed to forget that Damon was a vampire.

“So you’re going to go down there first and find some young girl

walking to summer school,” Matt said, his blue eyes seeming to darken.

“And you’re going to swoop down on her and take her away where no

one can hear her screaming and then you’re going to pull her head back

and you’re going to sink your teeth into her throat. ”

There was a fairly long pause. Then Damon said in a slightly

injured tone, “Am not.”

“That’s what you—people—do. You did it to me.”

Elena saw the need for really drastic intervention: the truth. “Matt,

Matt, it wasn’t Damon who did that. It was Shinichi. You know that.”

She gently took Matt by the forearms and turned him until he was facing

her.

For a long moment Matt wouldn’t look at her. Time stretched and

Elena began to fear that he was beyond her reach. But then at last he

lifted his head so that she could look into his eyes.

“All right,” he said softly. “I’ll go along with it. But you know that

he’s going off to drink human blood.”

“From a willing donor!” Damon, who had very good hearing,

shouted.

Matt exploded again. “Because you make them willing! You

hypnotize them—”

“No, I don’t.”

“—or ‘Influence’ them, or whatever. How would you like it—”

Behind Matt’s back, Elena was now making furious go-away

motions at Damon, as if she were shooing a flock of chickens. At first

Damon just raised an eyebrow at her, but then he shrugged elegantly and

obeyed, his form blurring as he took the shape of a crow and rapidly

became a dot in the rising sun.

“Do you think,” Elena said quietly, “that you could get rid of your

stake? It’s just going to make Damon completely paranoid.”

Matt looked everywhere but at her and then finally he nodded. “I’ll

dump it when I go downhill to wash,” he said, looking at his muddy legs

grimly.

“Anyway,” he added, “you get in the car and try to get some sleep.

You look like you need it.”

“Wake me up in a couple hours,” Elena said—without the first idea

that in a couple hours she was going to regret this more than she could

say.

“Y ou’re shaking. Let me do it alone,” Meredith said, putting a hand on

Bonnie’s shoulder as they stood together in front of Caroline Forbes’s

house.

Bonnie started to lean into the pressure, but made herself stop. It

was humiliating to be shaking so obviously on a Virginia morning in late

July. It was humiliating to be treated like a child, too. But Meredith, who

was only six months older, looked more adult than usual today. Her dark

hair was pulled back, so that her eyes looked very large and her

olive-skinned face with its high cheekbones was shown to its best

advantage.

She could practically be my babysitter, Bonnie thought dejectedly.

Meredith had high heels on, too, instead of her usual flats. Bonnie felt

smaller and younger than ever in comparison. She ran a hand through

her strawberry-blond curls, trying to fluff them up a precious half inch

higher.

“I’m not scared. I’m c-cold,” Bonnie said with all the dignity she

could muster.

“I know. You feel something coming from there, don’t you?”

Meredith nodded at the house before them.

Bonnie looked sideways at it and then back at Meredith. Suddenly

Meredith’s adultness was more comforting than annoying. But before

she looked at Caroline’s house again she blurted, “What’s with the spike

heels?”

“Oh,” Meredith said, glancing down. “Just practical thinking. If

anything tries to grab my ankle this time, it gets this. ” She stamped and

there was a satisfying clack from the sidewalk.

Bonnie almost smiled. “Did you bring your brass knuckles, too?”

“I don’t need them; I’ll knock Caroline out again barehanded if she

tries anything. But quit changing the subject. I can do this alone.”

Bonnie finally let herself put her own small hand on Meredith’s

slim, long-fingered one. She squeezed. “I know you can. But I’m the one

who should. It was me she invited over.”

“Yes,” Meredith said, with a slight, elegant curl of her lip. “She’s

always known where to stick in the knife. Well, whatever happens,

Caroline’s brought it on herself. First we try to help her, for her sake and

ours. Then we try to make her get help. After that—”

“After that,” Bonnie said sadly, “there’s no telling.” She looked at

Caroline’s house again. It looked…skewed…in some way, as if she

were seeing it through a distorting mirror. Besides that, it had a bad aura: