Contents 2 страница. “I think you’re lying,” she said, meeting his eyes directly, her mouth kiss-swollen.

“I think you’re lying,” she said, meeting his eyes directly, her mouth kiss-swollen.

Damon locked the sight of her inside the boulder full of secrets he dragged

around with him. He gave her his best opaque ebony stare. “Why should I lie?” he

repeated. “I just thought you deserved a chance to make your own choice. Or have

you already decided to abandon little brother while he’s out of commission?”

Elena’s hand flashed up, but then she dropped it. “You used Influence on me,”

she said bitterly. “I’m not myself. I would never abandon Stefan—especially when

he needs me.”

There it was, the essential fire at her core, and the fiery golden truth. Now he

could sit and let bitterness gnaw at him, while this pure spirit followed her

conscience.

He was thinking this, already feeling the loss of her dazzling light receding when

he realized he no longer had the knife. An instant later, horror just catching up with

his hand, he was snatching it from her throat. His telepathic blast was entirely

reflexive:

What in Hell are you doing? Killing yourself because of what I said? This blade

is like a razor!

Elena faltered. “I was just making a nick—”

“You almost made a nick that spurted six feet high!” At least he was able to

speak again, despite the constriction of his throat.

Elena was back on stable ground too. “I told you I knew you knew you’d have to

try blood before you’ll try to eat. It feels as if it’s flowing down my neck again. This

time, let’s not waste it.”

She was only telling the truth. At least she hadn’t seriously hurt herself. He could

see that fresh blood was flowing from the new cut she’d so recklessly made. To

waste it would be idiotic.

Utterly dispassionate now, Damon took her again by the shoulders. He tilted up

her chin to look at her soft, rounded throat. Several new ruby cuts were flowing

freely.

Half a millennium of instinct told Damon that just there was nectar and ambrosia.

Just there was sustenance and rest and euphoria. Just here where his lips were

as he bent to her a second time…and he had only to taste it—to drink…

Damon reared back, trying to force himself to swallow, determined not to spit. It

wasn’t…it wasn’t utterly revolting. He could see how humans, with their degraded

senses, could make use of the animal varieties. But this coagulating, mineraltasting

stuff wasn’t blood… it had none of the perfumed bouquet, the heady

richness, the sweet, velvety, provocative, life-giving, ineffable attributes of blood.

It was like some sort of bad joke. He was tempted to bite Elena, just to skim a

canine over the common carotid, making a tiny scratch, so he could taste the little

burst that would explode onto his palate, to compare, to make sure that the real

stuff wasn’t in there somehow. In fact he was more than tempted; he was doing it.

But no blood was coming.

His mind paused in midthought. He’d made a scratch all right—a scratch like a

scuff. It hadn’t even broken the outer layer of Elena’s skin.

Blunt teeth.

Damon found himself pressing on a canine with his tongue, willing it to extend,

willing it with all his cramped and frustrated soul to sharpen.

And…nothing. Nothing. But then, he’d spent all day doing the same thing.

Miserably, he let Elena’s head turn back.

“That’s it?” she said shakily. She was trying so hard to be brave with him! Poor

doomed white soul with her demon lover. “Damon, you can try again,” she told him.

“You can bite harder.”

“It’s no good,” he snapped. “You’re useless—”

Elena almost slid to the floor. He kept her upright while snarling in her ear, “You

know what I meant by that. Or would you prefer to be my dinner rather than my

princess?”

Elena simply shook her head mutely. She rested in the circle of his arms, her

head against his shoulder. Little wonder that she needed rest after all he’d put her

through. But as for how she found his shoulder a comfort…well, that was beyond

him.

Sage! Damon sent the furious thought out on all the frequencies he could

access, just as he had been doing all day. If only he could find Sage, all his

problems would be solved. Sage, he demanded, where are you?

No answer. For all Damon knew, Sage had managed to operate the Gateway to

the Dark Dimension that was even now standing, powerless and useless, in Mrs.

Flowers’s garden. Stranding Damon here. Sage was always that blindingly fast

when he took off.

And why had he taken off?

Imperial Summons? Sometimes Sage got them. From the Fallen One, who lived

in the Infernal Court, at the lowest of the Dark Dimensions. And when Sage did get

them, he was expected to be in that dimension instantly, in mid-word, in mid-caress,

in mid—whatever. So far Sage had always made the deadline, Damon knew that.

He knew it because Sage was still alive.

On the afternoon of Damon’s catastrophic bouquet investigation Sage had left

on the mantel a polite note thanking Mrs. Flowers for her hospitality, and even

leaving his gigantic dog, Saber, and his falcon, Talon, for the protection of the

household—a note doubtlessly pre-prepared. He had gone the way he always did,

as unpredictably as the wind, and without saying good-bye. Undoubtedly he’d

thought that Damon would find his way out of the problem easily. There were a

number of vampires in Fell’s Church. There always were. The ley lines of sheer

Power in the ground drew them even in normal times.

The problem was that just now all those vampires were infested with malach—

parasites controlled by the evil fox-spirits. They couldn’t be lower in the vampire

hierarchy.

And of course Stefan was a complete nonstarter. Even if he hadn’t been so

weak that trying to change Damon into a vampire would have killed him; even if his

anger over Damon’s “stealing his humanity” could be assuaged, he would simply

never have agreed, out of his feeling that vampirism was a curse.

Humans never knew about things like the vampire hierarchy because the

subjects didn’t concern them—until suddenly, they did, usually because they had

just been changed into a vampire themselves. The hierarchy of vampires was

strict, from the useless and ignoble to the fanged aristocracy. Old Ones fit in that

category, but so did others who were particularly illustrious or powerful.

What Damon wanted was to be made a vampire by the kind of women Sage

knew, and he was determined to have Sage find him a vampire lady of quality, one

who was really worthy of him.

Other things tormented Damon, who had spent two entire sleepless days

pondering them. Was it possible that the white kitsune who had given Stefan the

bouquet had engineered a rose that turned the first person to smell it permanently

human? That would have been Stefan’s greatest dream.

The white fox had listened to days upon days of Stefan’s ramblings, hadn’t he?

He’d seen Elena weeping over Stefan. He’d seen the two lovebirds together, Elena

hand-feeding a dying Stefan her blood through razor wire. Fortune only knew what

ideas that fox had gotten into his furry white head when he’d prepared the rose that

had “cured” Damon of his “curse.” If it turned out to be an irreversible “cure”…

If Sage turned out to be unreachable…

It suddenly broke into Damon’s thoughts that Elena was cold. It was strange,

since the night was warm, but she was shivering violently. She needed his jacket

or…

She’s not cold, the small voice somewhere deep inside him said. And she’s not

shivering. She’s trembling because of all you’ve put her through.

Elena?

You forgot all about me. You were holding me, but you completely forgot my

existence…

If only, he thought bitterly. You’re branded on my soul.

Damon was suddenly furious, but it was different from his anger at kitsune and

Sage and the world. It was the kind of anger that made his throat close and his

chest feel too tight.

It was an anger that made him pick up Elena’s scalded hand, which was rapidly

turning scarlet in patches, and examine it. He knew what he would have done as a

vampire: stroked over the burns with a silky cool tongue, generating chemicals to

accelerate the healing. And now…there was nothing he could do about it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Elena said. She was able to stand now.

“You’re lying, princess,” he said. “The insides of your eyebrows are up. That’s

pain. And your pulse is jumping—”

“You can sense that without touching me?”

“I can see it, at your temples. Vampires,” with vicious emphasis on what he still

was, in essence, “notice things like that. I made you hurt yourself. And I can’t do

anything to help. Also”—he shrugged—“you’re a beautiful liar. About the star ball, I

mean.”

“You can always sense when I’m lying?”

“Angel,” he said wearily, “it’s easy. You are either the lucky holder of the star ball

today…or you know who is.”

Again, Elena’s head drooped in consternation.

“Or else,” Damon said lightly, “the entire story of the drawing of the lots was a

lie.”

“Think what you like,” Elena said, with at least some of her usual fire. “And you

can clean up this mess, too.”

Just as she turned to leave, Damon had a revelation. “Mrs. Flowers!” he

exclaimed.

“Wrong,” Elena snapped.

Elena, I wasn’t talking about the star ball. I give you my word on this. You know

how hard it is to lie telepathically—

Yes, and I know that therefore, if there’s one thing in the world you’d…

practice…at…

She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t make the speech. Elena knew how much

Damon’s word meant to him.

I’ll never tell you where it is, she sent telepathically to Damon. And I swear to

you that Mrs. Flowers won’t either.

“I believe you, but we’re still going to see her.”

He picked Elena up easily and stepped over the smashed cup and saucer. Elena

automatically grabbed his neck with both hands to balance herself.

“Darling, what are you doing—?” Elena cried, then stopped, wide-eyed, two

scalded fingers flying to her lips.

Standing in the doorway, not two yards away from them, was petite Bonnie

McCullough, a bottle of Black Magic wine, nonalcoholic but mystically exhilarating,

held high in her hand. But as Elena watched, Bonnie’s expression changed all in an

instant. It had been triumphant joy. But now it was shock. It was disbelief that

couldn’t hold. Elena knew exactly what she was thinking. The whole house had

devoted itself to making Damon comfortable—while Damon stole what rightfully

belonged to Stefan: Elena. Plus he’d lied about not being a vampire anymore. And

Elena wasn’t even fighting him off. She was calling him “darling”!

Bonnie dropped the bottle and turned, running.

D amon leaped. Somewhere in the middle of the leap Elena felt herself left to the

whims of gravity. She tried to curl into a ball to take the impact on one buttock.

What happened was strange—almost miraculous. She came down, right side up,

on the opposite side of the couch from the plate of steak tartar. The plate did a little

leap of its own, three or four inches, perhaps, and then settled back where it had

been.

Elena was also lucky enough to get a perfect view of the end of the heroic

rescue—which involved Damon diving for the floor and grabbing the bottle of

precious Black Magic wine just before it hit the ground and smashed. He might not

have the kind of lightning-fast reflexes he had when he was a vampire, but he was

still far, far faster than an ordinary human. Leap holding girl, drop girl onto

something soft, turn leap into dive, and at last instant grab bottle, just before it

would hit. Amazing.

But there was another way that Damon wasn’t like a vampire anymore—he

wasn’t invincible to falling onto hard surfaces. Elena only realized this when she

heard him gasp, trying to breathe and not being able to.

She scrambled wildly in her mind for all the accidents she could remember with

jocks, and—yes, recalled one when Matt had had the wind completely knocked out

of him. The coach had seized him by the collar and thumped him on the back.

Elena ran to Damon and grabbed him under the arms, rolling him onto his back.

She put all her strength into hauling him into a sitting position. Then she made a

club of her hands. Pretending she was Meredith, who had been on the baseball

team at Robert E. Lee High and had a.225 ERA, she swung as hard as she could

at Damon, slamming her fists into his back.

And it worked!

Suddenly Damon was wheezing, and then breathing again. A born straightener of

ties, Elena knelt and tried to rearrange his clothes. As soon as he could breathe

properly, his limbs stopped being pliant under her fingers. He gently curled her

hands into each other. Elena wondered if possibly they’d gone so far beyond words

that they would never find them again.

How had it all happened? Damon had picked her up—perhaps because her leg

was burned, or perhaps because he had decided Mrs. Flowers was the one with

the star ball. She herself had said, “Damon, what are you doing?” Perfectly

straightforward. And then halfway through the sentence she had heard for herself

the “darling” and—but who would ever believe her?—it hadn’t been connected with

anything they had been doing earlier at all. It had been an accident, a slip of the

tongue.

But she’d said it in front of Bonnie, the one person most likely to take it seriously

and personally. And then Bonnie had been gone before she could even explain.

Darling! When they had just started fighting again.

It really was a joke. Because he had been serious about just taking the star ball.

She had seen it in his eyes.

To call Damon “darling” seriously, you would have to be—have to be…

hopelessly…helplessly…desperately in…

Oh, God …

Tears began to run down Elena’s cheeks. But these were tears of revelation.

Elena knew she wasn’t in her best form today. No real sleep for going on three

days—too many conflicting emotions—too much genuine terror right now.

Still, she was terrified to find that something fundamental had changed inside her.

It wasn’t anything she had asked for. All she had asked was that the two brothers

stop feuding. And she had been born to love Stefan; she knew that! Once, he’d

been willing to marry her. Well, since then she’d been a vampire, a spirit, and a new

incarnation dropped from the sky, and she could hope that one day he would be

willing to marry the new Elena, too.

But the new Elena was bewildered, what with her strange new blood that to

vampires was like rocket fuel compared to the gasoline most girls carried about in

their veins. With her Wings Powers, such as Wings of Redemption, most of which

she didn’t understand and none of which she could control. Although lately she had

seen the beginning of a stance, and she knew it was for Wings of Destruction.

That, she thought grimly, might be quite useful someday.

Of course a number of them had already been helpful to Damon, who was no

longer simply an ally, but an enemy-ally again. Who wanted to steal something that

her whole town needed.

Elena hadn’t asked to fall in love with Damon—but, oh God, what if she already

had? What if she couldn’t make the feelings stop? What could she do?

Silently, she sat crying, knowing that she could never say any of these things to

Damon. He had a gift of farseeing and a level head in times of emotion, but not, as

she knew all too well, about this particular issue. If she told him what was in her

heart, before she knew it, he would kidnap her. He would believe she had forgotten

Stefan for good, as she had forgotten him briefly tonight.

“Stefan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry…”

She could never let Stefan know about it either—and Stefan was her heart.

“We’ve got to get rid of Shinichi and Misao fast,” Matt was saying moodily. “I mean,

I really need to get into condition soon or Kent State’s gonna send me back

stamped ‘Reject.’” He and Meredith were sitting in Mrs. Flowers’s warm kitchen

nibbling on gingersnap cookies and watching her as she diligently worked at making

beef carpaccio—the second of the two raw beef recipes in the antique cookbook

she owned. “Stefan’s doing so well that in a couple of days we could even be

tossing around the old pigskin,” he added, sarcasm edging his voice, “if everybody

in town would just stop being crazy possessed. Oh, yeah, and if the cops would

stop coming after me for assaulting Caroline.”

At the mention of Stefan’s name, Mrs. Flowers peeked into a cauldron that had

been bubbling away on the stove for so long, and was now emitting such a

fearsome odor that Matt didn’t know who to pity more: the guy getting the huge pile

of raw meat or the one who’d soon be trying to choke down whatever was in that

cooking pot.

“So—assuming you’re alive—you’re going to be glad to leave Fell’s Church when

the time comes?” Meredith asked him quietly.

Matt felt as if she had just slapped him. “You’re joking, right?” he said, petting

Saber with one tanned, bare foot. The huge beast was making a sort of growly

purring sound. “I mean, before that, it’s going to be great to throw a couple of

passes to Stefan again—he’s the best tight end I’ve ever seen—”

“Or ever will see,” Meredith reminded him. “I don’t think many vampires go in for

football, Matt, so don’t even think of suggesting that he and Elena follow you to Kent

State. Besides, I’ll be right beside you, trying to get them to come to Harvard with

me. And worse, we’re both checkmated by Bonnie, because that junior college—

whatever—is much closer to Fell’s Church and all the things around here they

love.”

“All the things around here Elena loves,” Matt couldn’t help correcting. “All Stefan

wants is to be with Elena.”

“Now, now,” Mrs. Flowers said. “Let’s just take things as they come, shall we, my

dears? Ma ma says that we need to keep up our strength. She sounds worried to

me—you know, she can’t foresee everything that happens.”

Matt nodded, but he had to swallow hard before saying to Meredith, “So, you’re

eager to be off for the Ivied Walls, I’m sure?”

“If it wasn’t Harvard—if I could just put it off for a year and keep my

scholarship…” Meredith’s voice trailed off, but the yearning in it was unmistakable.

Mrs. Flowers patted Meredith’s shoulder, and then said, “I wonder about dear

Stefan and Elena. After all, with everyone thinking that she’s dead, Elena can’t live

here and be seen.”

“I think they’ve given up on the idea of going somewhere far, far away,” Matt

said. “I’ll bet that now they think of themselves as Fell’s Church’s guardians. They’ll

get by somehow. Elena can shave her head.” Matt was trying for a light tone, but

the words sank like lead balloons as they left his mouth.

“Mrs. Flowers was talking about college,” Meredith said in a tone just as heavy.

“Are they going to be super-heroes at night and just veg out the rest of the time? If

they want to go somewhere even next year, they need to be thinking about it now.”

“Oh…well, I guess there’s Dalcrest.”

“Where?”

“You know, that little campus in Dyer. It’s small but the football team there is really

—well, I guess Stefan wouldn’t care how good they are. But it’s only half an hour

away.”

“Oh, that place. Well, the sports may be fantastic but it’s sure not an Ivy, much

less Harvard.” Meredith—unsentimental, enigmatic Meredith—sounded as if she

had a stuffed-up nose.

“Yeah,” Matt said—and just for a second took Meredith’s slim, cold hand and

squeezed it. He was even more surprised when she linked her chilled fingers up

with his, holding his hand.

“Ma ma says whatever is fated to happen will happen soon,” Mrs. Flowers said

serenely. “The main thing, as I see it, is to save the dear, dear old town. As well as

the people.”

“Of course it is,” Matt said. “We’re going to do our best. Thank God we have

somebody in town who understands Japanese demons.”

“Orime Saitou,” Mrs. Flowers said with a little smile. “Bless her for her amulets.”

“Yeah, both of them,” Matt said, thinking of the grandmother and mother who

shared the name. “I think we’re going to need a lot of those amulets they make,” he

added grimly.

Mrs. Flowers opened her mouth, but Meredith spoke, still focused on thoughts of

her own.

“You know, Stefan and Elena may not have given up on their far, far away thing

after all,” she said sadly. “And since at this point none of us may even live to make

it to our own colleges…” She shrugged.

Matt was still squeezing her hand when Bonnie dashed in the front door, keening.

She tried to speed through the foyer toward the stairs, avoiding the kitchen, but

Matt released Meredith and they both dashed up to block her. Instantly, everyone

was in combat mode. Meredith grasped Bonnie’s arm tightly. Mrs. Flowers came

into the foyer, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Bonnie, what happened? Is it Shinichi and Misao? Are we being attacked?”

Meredith asked quietly but with the intensity to cut through hysteria.

Something shot like a bolt of ice through Matt’s body. No one really knew where

Shinichi and Misao were right now. Perhaps in the thicket that was all that was left

of the Old Woods—perhaps right here at the boardinghouse. “Elena!” he shouted.

“Oh, God, she and Damon are both out there! Are they hurt? Did Shinichi get

them?”

Bonnie shut her eyes and shook her head.

“Bonnie, stay with me. Stay calm. Is it Shinichi? Is it the police?” Meredith asked.

And to Matt: “You’d better check through the curtains there.” But Bonnie was still

shaking her head.

Matt saw no police lights through the curtains. Nor did he see any sign of Shinichi

and Misao attacking.

“If we’re not being attacked,” Matt could hear Meredith saying to Bonnie, “then

what is happening?”

Maddeningly, Bonnie just shook her head.

Matt and Meredith looked at each other over Bonnie’s strawberry curls. “The star

ball,” Meredith said softly, just as Matt growled, “That bastard. ”

“Elena won’t tell him anything but the story,” Meredith said. And Matt nodded,

trying to keep from his mind a picture of Damon casually waving and Elena

convulsing in agony.

“Maybe it’s the possessed kids—the ones who walk around hurting themselves

or acting insane,” Meredith said, with a side glance at Bonnie, and squeezing

Matt’s hand very hard.

Matt was bewildered and fumbled the cue. He said, “If that S.O.B. is trying to get

the star ball, Bonnie wouldn’t have run away. She’s bravest when she’s scared. And

unless he’s killed Elena she shouldn’t be like this—”

Which left Meredith the grim job of saying, “ Talk to us, Bonnie,” in her most

comforting big-sister voice. “Something must have happened to get you in this

state. Just breathe slowly and tell me what you saw.”

And then, in a torrent, words began to spill from Bonnie’s lips. “She—she was

calling him darling,” Bonnie said, gripping Meredith’s other hand with both of hers.

“And there was blood smeared all around on her neck. And—oh, I dropped it! The

bottle of Black Magic!”

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Flowers said gently. “No use crying over spilled wine. We’ll just

have to—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Bonnie gasped. “I heard them talking as I came up—

I had to go slow because it’s so hard not to trip. They were talking about the star

ball! At first I thought they were arguing, but—she had her arms around Damon’s

neck. And all that stuff about him not being a vampire anymore? She had blood all

over her throat and he had it on his mouth! As soon as I got there he picked her up

and threw her so I couldn’t see but he wasn’t fast enough. She must have given the

star ball to him! And she still was calling him ‘darling’!”

Matt’s eyes met Meredith’s and they both flushed and looked away quickly. If

Damon was a vampire again—if he had somehow gotten the star ball from its

hiding place—and if Elena had been “taking food” to him just to give him blood…

Meredith was still looking for a way out. “Bonnie—aren’t you making too much of

this? Anyway, what happened to Mrs. Flowers’s tray of food?”

“It was—all over the place. They’d just tossed it away! But he was was holding

her with one hand under her knees and one under her neck, and her head was way

back so that her hair was falling all over his shoulder!”

There was a silence as everyone tried to imagine various positions that might

correspond to Bonnie’s last words.

“You mean he was holding her up to steady her?” Meredith asked, her voice

suddenly almost a whisper. Matt caught her meaning. Stefan was probably asleep

upstairs, and Meredith wanted to keep it that way.

“No! They—they were looking at each other,” Bonnie cried. “Looking. Into each

other’s eyes.”

Mrs. Flowers spoke mildly. “But dear Bonnie—maybe Elena fell down and Damon

had to just scoop her up.”

Now Bonnie was speaking remorselessly and fluently. “Only if that’s what’s just

happened to all those women on the covers of those romance books—what-d’youcall-’

ems?”

“Bodice-rippers?” Meredith suggested unhappily when no one else spoke.

“That’s right! Bodice-rippers. That’s how he was holding her! I mean, we all knew

that something was going on with the two of them in the Dark Dimension, but I

thought all that would stop when we found Stefan. But it hasn’t!”

Matt felt sick in the pit of his stomach. “You mean right now Elena and Damon

are in there…kissing and stuff?”

“I don’t know what I mean!” Bonnie exclaimed. “They were talking about the star

ball! He was holding her like a bride! And she wasn’t fighting it!”

With a chill of horror, Matt could see trouble, and he could see that Meredith

could see it too. Even worse, they were looking in two different directions. Matt was

looking upstairs, at the staircase, where Stefan had just appeared. Meredith was

looking at the kitchen door, one glance at which showed Matt that Damon was

entering the foyer.

What was Damon doing in the kitchen? Matt wondered. We were there until a

minute ago. And he was, what, eavesdropping from the den side?

Matt gave the situation his best shot, anyway. “Stefan!” he said in a hearty voice

that made him wince inwardly. “You ready for a little athlete’s-blood nightcap?”

A tiny part of Matt’s mind thought: But just look at him. Only three days out of

prison and he already looks like himself again. Three nights ago he was a skeleton.

Today he just looks—thin. He’s even handsome enough to make the girls all go

crazy over him again.

Stefan smiled faintly at him, leaning on the banister. In his pale face, his eyes

were remarkably alive, a vibrant green that made them actually shine like jewels.

He didn’t look upset, and that made Matt’s heart twist for him. How could they tell

him?

“Elena is hurt,” Stefan said, and suddenly there was a pause—an utter silence—

as every person froze in place. “But Damon couldn’t help her, so he brought her to