by L. J. Smith
“Do you really think—” Meredith began. She broke off as the fire alarm suddenly began to blare, a deafening screech. Despite herself, Elena jumped.
“Some kid always has to set it off and try to ruin everyone’s good time,” Meredith half shouted over the alarm, disgusted.
Elena shook her head. She could smell smoke, faint and faraway for now, but there. “I don’t think so,” she said. In the distance, she could hear frantic shouts, the principal’s voice rising over the loudspeakers, directing everyone out of the building.
It was a real fire, she was sure of it. She was also sure that Damon had started it. Elena looked around wildly, searching for some clue to his whereabouts.
“Over here,” she said, picking a direction and hurrying forward. They hadn’t looked in the theater yet, maybe Damon—or Stefan—was there.
The smoke grew thicker as they made their way deeper into the school. “Elena, stop!” Meredith called, her heels clicking against the floor as she ran after Elena.
“I’m sure he’s down here,” Elena called back. Damon would want to see the chaos he had created. She could picture him, flames reflected in his dark eyes.
Meredith caught up to her, grabbing hold of Elena’s arm with strong fingers. “It’s not safe,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”
Meredith dragged Elena around the corner, but they were faced with a searing wave of heat. Flames licked the ceiling, melting the lockers like they were made of candle wax. Both girls shrieked as the fire crackled and grew.
“I need to find him,” Elena said, sobs beginning to rise in her throat, her eyes stinging from the smoke.
But, as Meredith took began to pull her toward the fire exit, Elena felt suddenly, horrifyingly sure that she was too late. She’d lost Damon. She’d failed.
The windows of the school glowed red as flames within climbed the walls, reaching for the upper floors. The bricks of its façade were cracking in the heat. As Elena and her friends watched from the parking lot, a window shattered.
“Oh my God,” Bonnie said softly. The reflected flames made her pale face rosy. Next to her, Meredith leaned her head on Matt’s shoulder, gazing wide-eyed into the flames.
It seemed like the teachers had gotten everyone out of the dance, smoke-smeared and disheveled in the remains of their formal clothes. Near Elena’s group, a girl sobbed hysterically, long streaks of soot crossing her face, while farther away, one of the football players hacked dryly, a casualty of the smoke.
Only a few minutes after Meredith and Elena had reached the parking lot, the fire trucks pulled in, sirens screaming. But by that time, the flames were already leaping high. Elena had heard Mr. Landon, the science teacher, muttering about the electrical wiring of the old building, saying it was a deathtrap, but Elena knew better. This had to be Damon’s work.
Elean jumped as another window shattered, this time under the blast of water from a fire hose. The firemen were putting up a good fight, dragging hoses across the parking lot, working together quickly and efficiently, and had at least contained the fire to only half of the school.
Elena looked around the circle of firelit faces. There was Caroline, her auburn head held high despite the flakes of black ash falling on the parking lot around her. Next to her, Sue Carson huddled under her boyfriend’s suit jacket that she had pulled over her thin dress. Vickie Bennett was with a group of jocks and cheerleaders, all quiet and subdued. Even among the kids who hated the school, there were no cheers, no laughter. Everyone was shocked into silence.
An ambulance pulled into the lot, its blue light revolving. One of the paramedics got out and jogged across the lot toward a group of firefighters, calling, “Everybody out?”
The firefighter called back in the affirmative, but Elena’s breath caught. She swung around, searching desperately.
“Do you see Stefan anywhere?” she asked the others. They looked around, too, their faces anxious.
Maybe he was gone before the fire started.
That didn’t make sense, though. Why would Damon start this fire, if Stefan hadn’t been here? That was who he wanted to hurt most.
“We’d better tell the fire chief.” Matt strode off in the direction of the fire trucks.
That won’t help.
Fire was one of the few things that could kill a vampire. There wasn’t time for the fire fighters to find Stefan. And if they did, it wouldn’t be safe, for them or for him.
Elena straightened up, squaring her shoulders. There was no way she was standing uselessly by while Stefan died. Not again.
She had to get past the fire fighters. They were grouped closest to the front of the building, where the fire was at its worst. Over at the side, the school was darker, deserted.
Elena shifted her feet, considering the best way to sneak around the building from where she stood.
“What are you doing?” Bonnie asked.
“I’m going to look for Stefan,” Elena told them.
“We’ll come with you,” Meredith said quickly.
“No,” Elena said. “You guys stay here and make sure Stefan isn’t outside. If you see him, keep him with you.”
“Um, what if we see Damon?” Bonnie asked uneasily. “Do you want us to tell him anything?”
Elena hesitated. Was there any message she could send through her friends that would lessen Damon’s anger? She didn’t think so. “If you see him, just stay out of his way, okay?” she asked. He was probably long gone, anyway.
She worked her way across the parking lot, sticking to the shadows. As she reached the edge of the lot, she walked between the trees on one side and the cars on the other, eyes on the corner of the school building.
“Get back, miss,” a fireman told her as he hurried past. She stepped away from the building, watching him until he had forgotten her and disappeared into the mass of men fighting the flames.
There was a puddle of water at her feet, left by one of the fire hoses. Elena knelt, fumbling at the hem of her dress. She felt a twinge of regret for her beautiful dress as she gripped the crimson silk with both hands and tore. A long strip of silk came off the bottom of the dress. She dipped it into the dirty water of the puddle, soaking the fabric thoroughly.
There was a crash from the far side of the building, something inside collapsing, and, in one motion, the crowd and the fire fighters turned in that direction.
Elena seized her chance and ran, cold water dripping over her hand from the torn piece of her dress. Close up, the fire was loud. The flames roared, and the dry wood of the school building snapped and popped as it burned.
Around the corner, it was darker. The flames hadn’t reached here yet. A fire exit gaped open, and Elena braced herself and stepped through.
The heat hit her like a wave. A haze of smoke hung in the air, and Elena pressed the wet silk over her nose and mouth to block it out. Her eyes began to water and ache.
Where would Damon have taken Stefan? Nowhere where the fire was burning yet, Elena thought. He would want Stefan’s suffering more drawn out than that, would want him to hear the crackle of the flames, smell the smoke, and know that the deadly fire—one of the few things that could kill Stefan—was getting closer and closer, and that he had no hope of escape. Damon had said he wanted Stefan to suffer.
Of course. She cocked her head to look up the staircase ahead of her. It still looked stable enough. He’d be somewhere high enough that the smoke and heat would rise around him, where he’d feel the flames rising to lick against the floor beneath him. Damon would have put Stefan in the bell tower.
Elena climbed. The silk at her mouth filtered out the worst of the smoke, but she still choked and gasped, each breath coming with more difficulty than the last. Heavy boots clumped through the halls on the other side of the building. Fire fighters, she supposed, but she saw no one, just the heavy haze of smoke.
From somewhere below came the crash of a falling support beam, and the floor underfoot shook. Elena grabbed at the banister to steady h
erself, then sped up. She wobbled, and her feet ached as she ran. High heels were no good for this, but bare feet would be worse, so she had to keep going.
On the third floor, the staircase ended. She peered around, trying to spot the entrance to the bell tower through the worsening smoke. Her eyes burned, and she coughed—the wet silk was drying, it wasn’t protecting her enough now.
There it was. She crossed the hall and laid her hand against the wood of the small door to the bell tower. It was cool still, no fire behind it. But the knob wouldn’t turn.
It was locked; of course it was locked. The school didn’t want the students messing around up here. Elena squeezed her eyes shut against the smoke. What was she going to do?
She tugged at the door again, and then began to throw herself against it. She had to get through. “Stefan!” she called. “Stefan! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
The door wasn’t made to withstand a continuous assault. Elena threw all her weight against it over and over, ignoring the bruises she could feel blossoming on her shoulder and side. At last, the flimsy lock broke, and the door burst open. She tumbled through and fell to her knees, gasping and coughing.
Elena scrambled back to her feet and up the narrow rickety staircase to the top of the tower. Beneath the heavy bronze bell, archways opened on all four sides, and at last she could breathe. She staggered to one of the arches and took a few deep breaths, looking out over the parking lot below. Police cars were pulling in now, their red and blue lights flashing.
Her head was spinning less now that she had taken a few gulps of air, and Elena turned back around to look at the inside of the bell tower.
There was a weak motion, down in the darkest corner of the cupola. A small sound, barely more than a whimper. Elena crossed toward it and fell to her knees. There was a huddled dark shape there, and he shifted to stare up at her. Stefan mumbled something, his voice thick and choked.
“It’s all right,” she said automatically, running her fingers soothingly through his hair. He was tied up, and there was a band of fabric across his mouth, pulled viciously tight.
He flinched under her hand, scrabbling back toward the wall. He didn’t seem to recognize her. She worked her hands beneath the gag, trying to untie its tight knot with her fingers. She couldn’t loosen it.
She fumbled around on the floor, feeling around in the dark for something sharp. The floor was hot beneath her hands and knees—the fire must be rising below them.
Her fingers closed around a sharp-edged stone, and she worked it against the gag, feeling the cloth’s fibers rip. Finally, it came loose and she pulled it away from Stefan’s mouth.
As she removed the gag, something else spilled over his lips. Elena leaned closer, bracing herself with one hand on the rough brickwork above Stefan’s head, squinting to see what was there.
Thin stalks of vervain sputtered out of Stefan’s mouth. He gagged and choked as he spit them out. Anger rushed through Elena, as hot and sudden as a bolt of lightning.
“How dare he?” she muttered. “How dare he?” Damon had stuffed his brother’s mouth with vervain, muting his powers and muddling his mind. And then he had left him to die, alone, confused, and in pain.
Heedless of Stefan’s sharp canines this time, she used two fingers to scoop out more of the vervain clogging his mouth. One tooth scraped her finger stingingly, but she barely noticed.
As his mouth emptied, she could hear Stefan breathing, long, ragged hoarse breaths. She pushed her forefinger in again, checking that she had gotten every piece.
Stefan’s tongue dragged slowly against her finger. Elena hesitated, and he latched on, sucking desperately at the cut on her finger.
After a moment, Stefan’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes slowly opened. He stared at Elena for a second before recognition filtered into his gaze. Abruptly, he pulled away.
“Elena,” he said roughly, and panic flashed across his pale face. “I … don’t know how to explain this.”
The bricks beneath Elena’s knees were getting uncomfortably hot now. The fire must be climbing. “We have to get out of here,” she said, her pulse pounding.
Stefan’s eyes widened, and he strained visibly. The ropes around his wrists snapped first, and then the ones around his ankles. Without the vervain, they couldn’t hold him. He began, slowly, to climb to his feet. “Is the door blocked?” he asked.
“I-I think so,” Elena said. “The fire was spreading really fast.”
Stefan shook his head as if he was shaking off the last of the vervain’s effects. “Trust me,” he said. Drawing Elena up into his arms, Stefan climbed into the archway.
Holding her tightly, Stefan leaped into the night.
“Who are you?” Stefan asked. “How did you find me tonight?” After their leap from the school, he’d brought her back to his room at Mrs. Flowers’ boardinghouse. He leaned against the wall by the window, his finely drawn features so pale they could have been carved out of marble.
Elena clasped her hands in her lap. “I knew that Damon must have started the fire, and, after what he said to you, I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have let you make it out,” she said slowly.
Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, as if his head hurt. “And how do you know Damon?”
“I met him in the graveyard.” It seemed wise to stick to the simplest answer.
Coming a step closer, Stefan narrowed his eyes. “You knew what was going on with the vervain. It didn’t surprise you or scare you when we leaped from the bell tower, or when I fed from you. You know what Damon and I are.”
There was something threatening about Stefan now as he almost loomed above her. Elena raised her hands in surrender, doing her best to look harmless. “I’m not your enemy,” she said. “Yours or Damon’s. I only want to help.”
She hoped that her sincerity shone through. All she wanted to do was to save them both.
Stefan leaned back against the wall. Rubbing a hand across his face, he laughed, a miserable, rough laugh. “There’s nothing to help, Elena. Damon and I are monsters, and the sooner we get out of this town the better off everyone else will be. If I leave here, he’ll follow me. You’ll be safe.” Shaking his head, he added, “I should have known better than to try, to pretend to be human.”
“No, Stefan, please,” Elena was out of her chair without even thinking about it. Reaching out to take Stefan’s hands in her own, she squeezed them tightly. “It wasn’t a mistake.” He shook his head and started to pull away, and Elena stepped closer still, looking up into his eyes. “We can work together. We can keep Damon under control. You don’t have to be alone.”
Stefan eyes grew darker as he held Elena’s gaze. And then he bent his head to her lips. For a moment, it was as if the whole world was just the two of them, heat rushing through Elena’s body.
It was all so familiar. They were both filthy and stinking of smoke, but it could have been the night of their first Homecoming—when Stefan had rescued her from Tyler in the graveyard and brought her here. Maybe it was destiny after all. They were always going to end up here, tired and drained, secrets stretching the space between them.
At the thought, Elena pulled away, suddenly cold as she stepped out of Stefan’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” Elena stammered. “I didn’t mean … I can’t do this right now.” She felt as if the world was shifting under her feet.
Stefan turned away so she couldn’t quite see his face. “I apologize,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
Elena followed him down the darkened stairway, brushing her fingers against her lips. This is all my fault, she thought, as she left the boardinghouse and crossed the dirt driveway to Stefan’s low, black Porsche. If she hadn’t kissed Stefan, if Damon hadn’t seen her, things between them wouldn’t be deteriorating. The school wouldn’t have burned down today.
Stefan’s car was just as smooth and luxurious a ride as Damon’s. The engine’s purr was the only sound in
the car as Elena and Stefan sat silently, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Stefan’s eyes were fixed on the road, and his body was stiff with tension. Elena sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.
How could Stefan and Damon hate each other so much? Elena thought of the rueful affection she’d seen grow between the brothers over the past few years in her own life. They played pool together. They fenced and played cards, all the entertainments they’d both learned to pass the time over the centuries. They fought side by side, graceful and deadly.
The brothers always came back together when it mattered most. They’d saved each other’s lives more than once.
Elena remembered Damon’s fury after Stefan’s death. And more, she remembered the pure despair on his face, the way he had looked as he told her that now there was no one, no one at all, who remembered him when he was alive, when he was a human. He’d lost his past.
How had they gotten from here to there?
Then, as Stefan’s car purred around the corner onto Elena’s street, she finally got it. The loneliness in Stefan’s eyes, his room carefully designed for one monastic, solitary life. Damon’s vicious hatred for his little brother, paired with the fact that, wherever Stefan went, Damon watched him from afar. Even in tonight’s fire, Damon had left him far away from the flames. If Stefan hadn’t gotten away, would Damon have come back for him?
They always came back to each other.
Stefan and Damon were each other’s family, all they had left. And all their love and history might have gotten tangled up into one big ball of resentment and anger, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there. She knew it was still there. She’d seen it in the future, as strong as ever.
Maybe it wasn’t Elena who had changed Damon, back in her own time. Mylea had said that love would save Damon, would save them all. But it wasn’t Elena’s love that would do it.
From now on, she realized with a blinding flash, she wasn’t going to try to make Damon fall in love with her.
Instead, she needed to fix Stefan and Damon. If they could just be brothers again, everything else would fall into place.
