Origins

by L. J. Smith

  “Thank you,” she said. In an instant, her eyes became dark and somber. “And I thank you and your father for hosting me and my maid, Emily. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  “Yes, of course.” I felt suddenly protective. “You’ll be in the carriage house. Would you like me to show you?”

  “We shall find it ourselves. Thank you, Stefan Salvatore,” Katherine said, following the coachman, who carried a large trunk toward the small guest house, which was set back a bit from the main estate. Then she turned around and stared at me. “Or should I call you Savior Stefan?” she asked with a wink before turning on her heel.

  I watched her walk into the sunset, her maid trailing her, and instantly I knew my life would never be the same.

  3

  August 21, 1864

  I can’t stop thinking about her. I will not even write her name; I daren’t. She is beautiful, entrancing, singular. When I’m with Rosalyn, I am Giuseppe’s son, the Salvatore boy, essentially interchangeable with Damon. I know it would not matter one whit to the Cartwrights if Damon took my place. It is only me because Father knew Damon would not stand for it, knew I would say yes, just like always.

  But when I saw her, her lithe figure, her red lips, her eyes that were flickering and sad and thrilling all at once … it was as though I was finally just myself, just Stefan Salvatore.

  I must be strong. I must treat her like a sister. I must fall in love with the woman who is to be my wife.

  But I fear it is already too late….

  Rosalyn Salvatore, I thought to myself the next day, tasting the words as I walked out the door, ready to fulfill my duty by paying a second call on my soon-to-be-betrothed. I imagined living with Rosalyn in the carriage house—or perhaps some smaller mansion my father would build as our wedding present—me working all day, poring through ledgers with my father in his stuffy study, while she took care of our children. I tried to feel excitement. But all I felt was cold dread seeping through my veins.

  I walked around the grand path of Veritas and gazed wistfully up at the carriage house. I hadn’t seen Katherine since she arrived yesterday afternoon. Father had dispatched Alfred to invite her to supper, but she’d declined. I’d spent the evening looking out the window toward the house, but I couldn’t see any flicker of candlelight. If I hadn’t known she and Emily had moved in, I’d have assumed the house had remained unoccupied. Finally, I went to sleep, wondering the whole time what Katherine was doing and whether she needed comforting.

  I tore my eyes away from the drawn upstairs shades and trudged down the driveway. The dirt road under my feet was hard and cracked; we needed a good rainstorm. There was no breeze, and the air felt dead. There wasn’t another person outside as far as the eye could see, yet as I walked, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I got the uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. Unbidden, Robert’s warnings about walking off on my own floated through my mind.

  “Hello?” I called out as I turned around.

  I started. Standing just a few feet behind me, leaning against one of the angel statues that flanked the drive, was Katherine. She wore a white sunbonnet that protected her ivory skin and a white dress dotted with tiny rosebuds. Despite the heat, her fair skin looked as cool as the pond on a December morning.

  She smiled at me, displaying perfectly straight, white teeth. “I had hoped for a tour of the grounds, but it seems you are otherwise engaged.”

  My heart pounded at the word “engaged,” the ring box in my back pocket as heavy as a branding iron. “I’m not … no. I mean,” I stammered, “I could stay.”

  “Nonsense.” Katherine shook her head. “I already am taking lodging from you and your father. I will not take your time as well.” She raised a dark eyebrow at me.

  Never before had I spoken with a girl who seemed so at ease and sure of herself. I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to whip the ring from my pocket and offer it to Katherine on one knee. But then I thought of Father and forced my hand to stay put.

  “May I at least walk with you for a bit?” Katherine asked, swinging her sun umbrella back and forth.

  Companionably, we walked down the road. I kept glancing to my left and right, wondering why she didn’t seem nervous to walk, unaccompanied, with a man. Perhaps it was because she was an orphan and so utterly alone in the world. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for it.

  A light wind blew around us, and I inhaled her lemony ginger scent, feeling as though I could die of happiness, right there, next to Katherine. Simply being near her was a reminder that beauty and love did exist in the world, even if I couldn’t have them.

  “I think I shall call you Silent Stefan,” Katherine said as we walked through the cluster of oaks that marked the line between the village of Mystic Falls and the outlying plantations and estates.

  “I’m sorry …,” I started, fearing that I was as dull to her as Rosalyn was to me. “It’s simply that we don’t get very many strangers in Mystic Falls. It’s difficult to speak to someone who doesn’t know my whole history. I suppose I don’t want to bore you. After Atlanta, I’m sure you find Mystic Falls a bit quiet.” I felt mortified as soon as the sentence left my lips. Her parents had died in Atlanta, and here I was, making it sound like she’d left some exciting life to live here. I cleared my throat. “I mean, not that you had found Atlanta exciting, or that you wouldn’t enjoy getting away from everything.”

  Katherine smiled. “Thank you, Stefan. That’s sweet.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t want to delve into the topic any further.

  We walked in silence for a few long moments. I kept my stride deliberately short so Katherine could keep up. Then, whether by accident or by design I’m not sure, Katherine’s fingers brushed against my arm. They were cold as ice, even in the humid air. “Just so you know,” she said, “I don’t find anything about you boring.”

  My entire body flamed hot as a conflagration. I glanced up the road, as if trying to ascertain the best route for us to follow, though really I was hiding my blush from Katherine. I felt the weight of the ring in my pocket again, heavier than ever.

  I turned to face Katherine, to say what, I’m not even sure. But she was no longer by my side.

  “Katherine?” I called, shielding my eyes against the sun, waiting for her lilting laugh to rise up in the underbrush along the road. But all I heard was the echo of my own voice. She had vanished.

  4

  I didn’t call on the Cartwrights that day. Instead, after searching the path, I sprinted the two miles back to the estate, terrified that Katherine had somehow been dragged into the forest by some unseen hand—perhaps by the very creature that had been terrorizing the nearby plantations.

  When I arrived home, though, I found her on the porch swing, chatting with her maid, a sweating glass of lemonade beside her. Her skin was pale, her eyes languorous, as if she’d never run a day in her life. How had she gotten back to the carriage house so quickly? I wanted to stride up and ask, but I stopped myself. I’d sound like a madman, recounting the whirling thoughts in my head.

  At that moment, Katherine glanced up and shielded her eyes. “Back so soon?” she called, as if surprised to see me. I nodded dumbly as she slid off the porch swing and glided into the carriage house.

  The image of her smiling face kept floating back to me the next day, when I forced myself to make the call on Rosalyn. It was even worse than the first call. Mrs. Cartwright sat right beside me on the couch, and every time I shifted, her eyes gleamed, as if she was expecting me to take out the ring at any second. I’d choked out some questions about Penny, about the puppies she’d had last June, and about the progress Honoria Fells, the town dressmaker, had made on Rosalyn’s pink gown. But no matter how much I tried, all I wanted was an excuse to leave so I could visit with Katherine.

  Finally, I muttered something about not wanting to be out past dark. According to Robert, there had been three more animal killings, including George Brower’s horse right outside th
e apothecary. I almost felt guilty as Mrs. Cartwright ushered me out of the house and into my carriage, as if I were going off to battle rather than a two-mile ride home.

  When I got to the estate, my heart fell when I saw no sign of Katherine. I was about to double back to the stable to brush Mezzanotte when I heard angry voices emanating from the open windows of the kitchen of the main house.

  “No son of mine will ever disobey me! You need to go back and take your place in the world.” It was Father’s voice, tinged with the heavy Italian accent that became apparent only when he was extremely upset.

  “My place is here. The army is not for me. What is so wrong about following my own mind?” another voice yelled, confident, proud, and angry all at once.

  Damon.

  My heart quickened as I stepped into the kitchen and saw my brother. Damon was my closest friend, the person I looked up to most in the world—even more than Father, though I’d never admitted it out loud. I hadn’t seen him since last year, when he joined General Groom’s army. He looked taller, his hair somehow seemed darker, and the skin on his neck was sun-darkened and freckled.

  I threw my arms around him, thankful I had arrived home when I did. He and Father had never gotten along, and their fights occasionally escalated to blows.

  “Brother!” He slapped my back as he pulled out of the embrace.

  “We’re not finished, Damon,” my father warned as he retreated to his study.

  Damon turned to me. “I see Father’s the same as always.”

  “He’s not so bad.” I always felt awkward speaking badly of Father, even as I chafed against my forced engagement to Rosalyn. “Did you just get back?” I asked, changing the subject. Damon smiled. There were slight lines around his eyes that no one would notice unless they knew him well.

  “An hour ago. I couldn’t miss my younger brother’s engagement announcement, could I?” he asked, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Father told me all about it. Seems that he’s depending on you to carry on the Salvatore name. And just think, by the time of the Founders Ball, you’ll be a husband!”

  I stiffened. I’d forgotten about the ball. It was the event of the year, and Father, Sheriff Forbes, and Mayor Lockwood had been planning it for months. Partly a war benefit, partly an opportunity for the town to enjoy the last gasp of summer, and mostly a chance for the town leaders to pat themselves on the backs, the Founders Ball had always been one of my favorite Mystic Falls traditions. Now I dreaded it.

  Damon must have sensed my discomfort, because he started digging through his canvas rucksack. It was filthy and had what looked like a bloodstain on the corner. Finally, he pulled out a large, misshapen leather ball, much larger and more oblong than a baseball. “Want to play?” he asked, palming the ball from hand to hand.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “A football. Me and the boys play when we’ve got time away from the field. It’ll be good for you. Get some color in your cheeks. We don’t want you getting soft,” he said, imitating my father’s voice so perfectly that I had to laugh.

  Damon walked out the door, and I followed, shrugging off my linen jacket. Suddenly the sunshine felt warmer, the grass felt softer, everything felt better than it had just minutes before.

  “Catch!” Damon yelled, finding me off guard. I lifted up my arms and caught the ball against my chest.

  “Can I play?” a female voice asked, breaking the moment.

  Katherine. She was wearing a simple, lilac summer shift dress, and her hair was pulled into a bun at the base of her neck. I noticed that her dark eyes perfectly complemented the brilliant blue cameo necklace that rested in the hollow of her throat. I imagined lacing my fingers through her delicate hands, then kissing her white neck.

  I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her. “Katherine, this is my brother, Damon. Damon, this is Katherine Pierce. She is staying with us,” I said stiffly, glancing back and forth between them to gauge Damon’s reaction. Katherine’s eyes danced, as if she found my formality incredibly amusing. So did Damon’s.

  “Damon, I can tell you’re just as sweet as your brother,” she said in an exaggerated Southern accent. Even though it was a phrase any of the girls in the county would use when talking to a man, it sounded vaguely mocking coming from her lips.

  “We’ll see about that.” Damon smiled. “So, brother, shall we let Katherine play?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, suddenly hesitant. “What are the rules?”

  “Who needs rules?” Katherine asked, flashing a grin that revealed her perfectly straight, white teeth.

  I turned the ball in my hand. “My brother plays rough,” I warned.

  “Somehow I think I play rougher.” In one swoop, Katherine grabbed the ball from my grasp. As they had been the previous day, her hands were cold, like ice, despite the heat of the afternoon. Her touch sent a jolt of energy through my body and up to my brain. “Loser has to groom my horses!” she called as the wind whipped her hair behind her.

  Damon watched her run, then arched an eyebrow toward me. “That is a girl who wants to be chased.” With that, Damon dug his heels into the earth and ran, his powerful body hurtling down the hill toward the pond.

  After a second, I ran, too. I felt the wind whip around my ears. “I’ll get you!” I yelled. It was a phrase I’d have yelled when I was eight and playing games with the girls my age, but I felt that the stakes of this game were higher than anything I’d ever played in my life.

  5

  The next morning, I awoke to breathless news from Rosalyn’s servants that her prized dog, Penny, had been attacked. Mrs. Cartwright summoned me to her daughter’s chambers, saying nothing had stopped Rosalyn from crying. I tried to comfort her, but her wracking sobs never abated.

  The whole time, Mrs. Cartwright kept giving me disapproving glances, as if I should be doing a better job calming Rosalyn.

  “You have me,” I’d said at one point, if only to appease her. At that, Rosalyn had flung her arms around me, crying so hard into my shoulder that her tears left a wet mark on my waistcoat. I tried to be sympathetic, but I felt a stab of annoyance at the way she was carrying on. After all, I’d never carried on like that when my mother had died. Father hadn’t let me.

  You have to be strong, a fighter, he’d said at the funeral. And so I was. I didn’t cry when, just a week after Mother’s death, our nanny, Cordelia, began absentmindedly humming the French lullaby Mother had always sung. Not when Father took down the portrait of Mother that had hung in the front room. Not even when Artemis, Mother’s favorite horse, had to be put down.

  “Did you see the dog?” Damon asked, as we walked into town together that night to get a drink at the tavern. Now that the dinner where I was to publicly propose to Rosalyn was just days away, we were heading out for a whiskey to celebrate my impending nuptials. At least, that’s what Damon called it, elongating his accent to a flat Charlestonian drawl and wiggling his eyebrows as he said it. I tried to smile as if I thought it was a great joke, but if I began talking, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back my dismay about marrying Rosalyn. And there wasn’t anything wrong with her. It was just … it was just that she wasn’t Katherine.

  I turned my thoughts back to Penny. “Yes. Its throat had a gash in it, but whatever the animal was didn’t go for her innards. Strange, right?” I said as I rushed to keep up with him. The army had made him stronger and faster. “It’s a strange time, brother,” Damon said. “Maybe it’s the Yankees,” he teased with a smirk.

  As we walked down the cobblestone streets, I noticed signs affixed to most doorways: A reward of one hundred dollars was being offered to anyone who found the wild animal responsible for the attacks. I stared at the sign. Maybe I could find it, then take the money and buy a train ticket to Boston, or New York, or some city where no one could find me and no one had ever heard of Rosalyn Cartwright. I smiled to myself; that would be something Damon might actually do—he never worried about consequences or other people’s feeling
s. I was about to point out the sign and ask what he’d do with one hundred dollars when I saw someone frantically waving at us in front of the apothecary.

  “Are those the Salvatore brothers?” a voice called from up the street. I squinted across the twilight and saw Pearl, the apothecary, standing outside her shop with her daughter, Anna. Pearl and Anna were two more victims of the war. Pearl’s husband had died at the Vicksburg siege just last spring. After that, Pearl had found a home in Mystic Falls, and she ran an apothecary that was always busy. Jonathan Gilbert, in particular, was almost always there when I walked by, complaining about some ailment or purchasing some remedy or another. Town gossip was that he fancied her.

  “Pearl, you remember my brother, Damon?” I called as we walked over the square to greet them.

  Pearl smiled and nodded. Her face was unlined, and a game among the girls was trying to determine how old she was. She had a daughter who was only a few years younger than me, so she couldn’t be that young. “You two certainly look handsome,” she said fondly. Anna was the spitting image of her mother, and when they stood side by side, the two looked as if they could be sisters.

  “Anna, you look more beautiful each year. Are you old enough to be going to dances yet?” Damon asked, a twinkle in his eyes. I smiled despite myself. Of course Damon would be able to charm both a mother and a daughter.

  “Almost,” Anna said, her eyes sparkling in anticipation. Fifteen was the age when girls were old enough to stay through dinner and hear the band strike up a waltz.

  Pearl used a wrought-iron key to lock the apothecary, then turned to face us. “Damon, can you do me a favor? Can you make sure Katherine gets on tomorrow night? She’s a lovely girl, and, well, you know how people talk about strangers. I knew her in Atlanta.”