by L. J. Smith
“Burn the place down if they won’t turn him out!”
“The elders say to bring him to them!”
This seemed to have the effect the crowd desired, clearing the streets of the more decent people and leaving only the bloody-minded sort who’d been hanging about at a loose end, and were only too glad of a fight. Most of them, of course, were vampires themselves. Most of them were fit vampires. But none of them, Damon thought, flashing a diamond-bright smile around the circle that was closing in on him, had the motivation of knowing that the lives of three young human girls depended on him—and that one of them was the jewel in the crown of humanity, Elena Gilbert.
If he, Damon, was torn to pieces in this fight, those three girls would lead lives of hell and degradation.
However, even this logic didn’t seem to help him prevail as Damon was kicked, bitten, head-butted, punched, and stabbed with wooden daggers—the kind that slice vampire flesh. At first he thought he had a chance. Several of the youngest and fittest vampires fell prey to his cobra-quick strikes and his sudden strafes of Power. But the truth was that there were simply too many of them, Damon thought, as he snapped the neck of a demon whose two long tusks had already scored his arm almost through the muscle. And here came a huge vampire, clearly in training, with an aura that made Damon feel bile at the back of his throat. That one went down with a foot in the face, but he didn’t stay down; he came up, clinging to Damon’s leg and allowing several smaller vampires with wooden daggers to dart in and hamstring him. Damon felt black dismay as his legs went out from under him.
“Sunlight damn you,” he grated through a mouthful of blood as another tusked, red-skinned demon punched him in the mouth. “Damn you all to the lowest hells….”
It was no good. Dully, still fighting, still using great swaths of Power to maim and kill as many as he could, Damon realized this. And then everything became dreamlike and dazed—not like his dream of Elena, whom he seemed to see constantly in his side-eye, weeping. But dreamlike in a feverish, nightmare sense. He could no longer use his muscles efficiently. His body was battered and even as he healed his legs, another vampire scored a great cut across his back. He was feeling more and more as if he were in a nightmare where he could not move except in slow motion. At the same time, something in his brain was whispering for him to rest. Just rest…and it would all be over.
Eventually, the greater numbers bore him down, and somebody appeared with a stake.
“Good riddance to new rubbish,” the stake bringer said, his breath reeking of stale blood, his leering face grotesque, as he used leprous-looking fingers to open Damon’s shirt so as not to make a hole in the fine black silk.
Damon spat on him and had his face stamped on hard in return.
He blacked out for a moment and then, slowly, came back to pain.
And noise. The gleeful crowd of vampires and demons, drunk on cruelty, were all doing a stomping, rhythmic, improvised dance around Damon, roaring with laughter as they thrust imaginary stakes, working themselves into a frenzy.
That was when Damon realized that he was actually going to die.
It was a shocking realization, even though he’d known how much more dangerous this world was than the one he’d recently left, and even in the human world he had only escaped death by a hairsbreadth more than once. But now he had no powerful friends, no weaknesses in the crowd to exploit. He felt as if seconds were suddenly stretching into minutes, each one of incalculable worth. What was important? Telling Elena…
“Blind him first! Get that stick blazing!”
“I’ll take his ears! Someone help me hold his head!”
Telling Elena…something. Something…sorry…
He gave up. Another thought was trying to break into his consciousness.
“Don’t forget to knock out his teeth! I promised my girlfriend a new necklace!”
I thought I was prepared for this, Damon thought slowly, each word coming separately. But…not so soon.
I thought I’d made my peace…but not with the one person who mattered…yes, who mattered the most.
He didn’t give himself time to think about that subject further.
Stefan, he sent out on the most powerful but clandestine jettison of Power he could manage in his foggy state. Stefan, hear me! Elena’s come for you—she’ll save you! She has Powers that my death will let loose. And I am…I am…s—
At that moment there was a stumbling in the dance around him. Silence descended on the drunken revelers. A few of them hastily bowed their heads or looked away.
Damon went still, wondering what could possibly have stopped the frenzied crowd in the very midst of their revelry.
Someone was walking toward him. The newcomer had long bronze hair that hung in separate unruly tangles down to his waist. He was naked to the waist, too, exposing a body that the strongest demon might envy. A chest that looked as if it had been carved out of gleaming bronze stone. Exquisitely sculpted biceps. Abs—a perfect six pack. There was not a spare ounce of fat on his entire tall leonine frame. He wore unadorned black trousers with muscles rippling under them at every step.
All along one bare arm he had a vivid tattoo of a black dragon eating a heart.
Nor was he alone. He held no leash, but by his side was a handsome and uncannily intelligent-looking black dog that stood at alert attention every time he paused. It must have weighed close to two hundred pounds, but there was not an ounce of fat on it, either.
And on one shoulder he carried a large falcon.
It wasn’t hooded as most hunting birds were on forays out of their mews. It also wasn’t standing on anything padded. It gripped the bare shoulder of the bronze young man, digging its three front talons into the flesh and sending small streams of blood down his chest. He didn’t seem to notice. There were similar, dried streams beside the fresh ones, undoubtedly from previous journeys. In the back, a single talon made a lonely red trail.
An absolute hush had fallen on the crowd and the last few demons between the tall man and the bloody, supine figure on the ground scrambled out of his way.
For a moment, the leonine man was still. He said nothing, did nothing, emitted no trace of Power. Then he nodded at the dog, which padded forward heavily and sniffed at Damon’s bleeding arms and face. After that it sniffed at his mouth and Damon could see the hairs go up on its body.
“Good dog,” said Damon dreamily as the moist, cool nose tickled his cheek.
Damon knew this particular animal and he knew also that it did not fit the popular stereotype of a “good dog.” Rather, it was a hellhound who was used to taking vampires by the throat and shaking them until their arteries spouted blood six feet high into the air.
That kind of thing could keep you so occupied that having a stake slipped into your heart might seem an afterthought, Damon mused, holding perfectly still.
“Arrêtez-le!” said the bronze-haired youth.
The dog obediently backed off, never taking its shining black eyes off Damon’s, who never took his own eyes off it until it was some feet away.
The bronze-haired youth glanced over the crowd briefly. Then he said with no particular vehemence, “Laissez-le seul.” Clearly, to the vampires no translation was necessary, and they began to edge away immediately. The unlucky ones were those who didn’t edge fast enough and were still around when the bronze young man took another leisurely look about him. Everywhere he looked, he met downcast eyes and cringing bodies, frozen in the act of edging but apparently turned to stone now in an attempt not to attract attention.
Damon found himself relaxing. His Power was returning, allowing him to make repairs. He realized that the dog was going from individual to individual and sniffing at each one with interest.
When Damon was able to lift his head again, he smiled faintly at the newcomer. “Sage. Think of the devil.”
The bronze man’s brief smile was grim. “You compliment me, mon cher. You see? I’m blushing.”
“I ought to have kno
wn you might be here.”
“There is infinite space to wander, mon petit tyran. Even if I must do it alone.”
“Ah, the pity. Tiny violins are playing—” Suddenly Damon couldn’t do it anymore. He just couldn’t. Maybe it was because of being with Elena before. Maybe it was because this hideous world depressed him unutterably. But when he spoke again, his voice was entirely different. “I never knew I could feel so grateful. You’ve saved five lives, though you don’t know it. Though how you stumbled on us…”
Sage crouched down, looked at him with concern. “What is it that has happened?” he said in a serious voice. “Is it that you hit your head? You know: news travels fast here. I heard you arrived with a harem—”
“That’s true! He did!” Damon’s ears caught a bare whisper of sound at the edge of the street where he’d been ambushed. “If we take the girls hostage—torture them—”
Sage’s eyes met Damon’s briefly. Clearly, he had heard the whisper as well. “Saber,” he said to the dog. “Just the speaker.” He jerked his head, once, in the direction of the whisper.
Instantly, the black dog jumped forward, and faster than it took for Damon to describe it in his own mind, had sunk his teeth into the throat of the whisperer, flipped him over once, causing a distinctive crack, and was bounding back, dragging the body between his legs.
The words: Je vous ai informé au sujet de ceci! blasted by on a surge of Power that made Damon wince. And Damon thought, yes, he did tell them before—but not what the consequences would be.
Laissez lui et ses amis dans la paix! Meanwhile, Damon was slowly getting up, only too glad to accept Sage’s protection for himself and his friends.
“Well that certainly should have done it,” he said. “Why not come back and have a friendly drink with me?”
Sage peered at him as if he’d gone mad. “You know the answer to that is no.”
“Why not?”
“I told you: no.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“The reason I will not come back for a friendly drink…mon ange…is that we are not friends.”
“We pulled some pretty scams together.”
“Il y a longtemps.” Abruptly, Sage took one of Damon’s hands. There was a deep and bloody scratch on it, which Damon hadn’t got around to healing. Under Sage’s gaze it closed, the flesh turned pink, and it healed.
Damon let Sage continue to hold the hand for a moment, and then, not ungently, retrieved it.
“Not such a very long time ago,” he said.
“Away from you?” A sarcastic smile formed on Sage’s lips. “We count time very differently, you and I, mon petit tyran.”
Damon was full of befuddled cheer. “What’s one drink?”
“Along with your harem?”
Damon tried to picture Meredith and Sage together. His mind balked. “But you’ve made yourself responsible for them anyway,” he said flatly. “And the truth is that none of them are mine. I give my word on that.” He felt a twinge when he thought about Elena, but his word was true.
“Responsible for them?” Sage seemed to be reasoning it out. “You pledged to save them, then. But I only inherit your pledge if you die. But if you die…” The tall man made a helpless gesture.
“You have to live, to save Stefan and Elena and the others.”
“I’d say no, but that would make you unhappy. So I’ll say yes—”
“And if you don’t perform, I swear I’ll come back to haunt you.”
Sage regarded him for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being unable to perform before,” he said. “But of course that was before I became un vampire.”
Yes, Damon thought, the meeting of the “harem” and Sage was bound to be interesting. At least it would be if the girls discovered who Sage really was.
But maybe no one would tell them.
20
Elena had seldom felt such relief as she did when she heard Damon’s knock at Dr. Meggar’s door.
“What happened at the Meeting Place?” she asked.
“I never made it there.” Damon explained about the ambush, while the others covertly studied Sage with varying degrees of approval, gratitude, or sheer lust. Elena realized that she’d had too much Black Magic when she felt ready to pass out at several points—although she was sure that the wine had helped Damon to survive a mob attack which might otherwise have killed him.
They, in turn, explained Lady Ulma’s story as briefly as possible. The woman was looking white and shaken by the end.
“I do hope,” she said timidly to Damon, “that when you inherit Old Drohzne’s property”—she paused to swallow—“that you’ll decide to keep me. I know the slaves you brought with you are beautiful and young…but I can make myself very useful as a needlewoman and such. It’s just my back that’s lost its strength, not my mind….”
Damon was perfectly still for a moment. Then he walked over to Elena, who happened to be closest to him. He reached up, unclasped the last loop of rope that had been trailing from Elena’s wrist, and threw it hard across the room. It whipped and wiggled like a snake. “Anyone else wearing one can do the same thing, as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“Except the throwing,” Meredith said quickly, seeing the doctor’s eyebrow clashing as he looked at the many breakable glass beakers stacked along the walls. But she and Bonnie lost no time in losing any final vestige of rope that was still trailing.
“I’m afraid mine are…permanent,” Lady Ulma said, pulling the fabric away from her wrists to expose the welded-on iron bracelets. She looked ashamed at being unable to obey her new master’s first command.
“Do you mind a moment of cold? I have enough Power to freeze them so they’ll shatter,” Damon said.
There was a soft sound from Lady Ulma. Elena thought she had never heard such desperation in any one human noise. “I could stand in snow to my neck for a year to get these awful things off,” the Lady said.
Damon put his hands on either side of one bracelet and Elena could feel the rush of Power that emanated from him. There was a sharp cracking sound. Damon moved his hands and came up with two separate pieces of metal.
Then he did it again, on the other side.
The look in Lady Ulma’s eyes made Elena feel more humble than proud. She had saved one woman from terrible degradation. But how many more remained? She would never know, or be able to save them all if she found out. Not with her Power in the state it was now.
“I think Lady Ulma really ought to get some rest,” Bonnie said, rubbing her own forehead under tumbled strawberry curls. “And Elena, too. You should have seen how many stitches her leg took, Damon. But what do we do, go look for a hotel?”
“Use my house,” said Dr. Meggar, one eyebrow up and one down. Obviously, he had become enmeshed in this story, swept along by its sheer power and beauty—and brutality. “All I ask is that you don’t destroy anything, and that if you see a frog, don’t kiss it, and don’t kill it. There are plenty of blankets and chairs and couches.”
He wouldn’t take a single link from the heavy gold chain Damon had brought to use as income in exchange.
“I…by rights I should help you all get ready for bed,” Lady Ulma murmured faintly to Meredith.
“You’re the worst hurt of all; you should get the best bed,” Meredith replied tranquilly. “And we will help you get into it.”
“The most comfortable bed…that would be in my daughter’s old room.” Dr. Meggar fumbled with a ring of keys. “She married a porter—how I hated to see her go. And this young lady, Miss Elena, can have the old bridal chamber.”
For an instant Elena’s heart was torn by conflicting emotions. She was afraid—yes, she was very sure it was fear she felt—that Damon might sweep her up in his arms and make for the bridal suite with her. And on the other hand…
Just then Lakshmi looked up at her uncertainly. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked.
“Do you have anywhere to go?” E
lena asked in turn.
“The street, I guess. I usually sleep in a barrel.”
“Stay here. Come with me; a bridal bed sounds big enough for two people. You’re one of us, now.”
The look Lakshmi gave her was one of sheer thunderstruck gratitude. Not at being given a place to stay, Elena understood. For the statement, “You’re one of us, now.” Elena could feel that Lakshmi had never been “one of” any group before.
Things were quiet until almost “dawn” the next “day,” as the city’s inhabitants called it, although the light hadn’t varied all night.
This time a different sort of crowd had gathered outside the doctor’s complex. It was mostly made up of elderly men wearing threadbare but clean robes—but there were a few old women, too. They were led by a silver-haired man who had a strange air of dignity.
Damon, with Sage as backup, went outside the doctor’s complex and spoke to them.
Elena was dressed but still upstairs in the quiet bridal suite.
Dear Diary,
Oh, God, I need help! Oh, Stefan—I need you. I need you to forgive me. I need you to keep me sane. Too much time around Damon and I’m completely emotional, ready to kill him or to…or to—I don’t know. I don’t know!!! We’re like flint and tinder together—God! We’re like gasoline and a flamethrower! Please hear me and help me and save me…from myself. Every time he even says my name…
“Elena.”
The voice behind Elena made her jump. She slammed the diary shut and turned around.
“Yes, Damon?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, great. Fine. Even my leg is b—I mean, I’m fine all over. How are you feeling?”
“I’m…well enough,” he said, and he smiled—and it was a real smile, not a snarl twisted into something else at the last second, or an attempt to manipulate. It was just a smile, if a rather worried and sad one.
Elena somehow didn’t notice the sadness until she remembered it later. She simply suddenly felt that she weighed nothing; that if she lost grip on herself she could be miles high before anyone could stop her—miles away, maybe even as far as this insane place’s moons.
