The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Midnight

by L. J. Smith

  5

  “I thought you wanted to get out so we could talk to Damon,” Stefan said, still hand in hand with Elena as she made a sharp right turn onto the rickety stairway that led to the second-floor rooms and, above that, to Stefan’s attic.

  “Well, unless he kills Matt and runs I don’t see what’s to keep us from talking to him tomorrow.” Elena glanced back at Stefan and dimpled. “I took your advice and thought a little about the two of them. Matt’s a pretty tough quarterback and they’re both only human now, right? Anyway, it’s time for your dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Stefan’s canine teeth responded automatically—embarrassingly quickly—to the word. He really needed to have a word with Damon later and make sure Damon understood his place as a guest at the boardinghouse—nothing more—but it was true, he could do that tomorrow. It might even be more effective tomorrow, when Damon’s own pent-up rage was spent.

  He pressed his tongue against his fangs, trying to force them back down, but the small stimulation caused them to sharpen, nicking his lip. Now they were aching pleasantly. All in response to a single word: dinner.

  Elena threw him a teasing glance over her shoulder and giggled. She was one of those lucky females with a beautiful laugh. But this was a clearly mischievous giggle, straight from her wicked, scheming childhood. It made Stefan want to tickle her to hear more; it made him want to laugh with her; it made him want to grab her and demand to know the joke. Instead he said, “What’s up, love?”

  “Someone has sharp teeth,” she responded innocently, and giggled again. He lost himself in admiration for a second and also suddenly lost hold of her hand. Laughing like a musical cascade of white water over rock, she ran up the stairs ahead of him, both to tease and to show him what good shape she was in, he thought. If she had stumbled, or faltered, she knew he would decide that her donation of blood was harming her.

  So far it didn’t seem to be damaging any of his friends, or he would have insisted on a rest for that person. But even Bonnie, as delicate as a dragonfly, hadn’t seemed to be the worse for it.

  Elena raced up the stairs knowing that Stefan was smiling behind her, and there was no shadow of mistrust in his mind. She didn’t deserve it, but that only made her more anxious to please him.

  “Have you had your dinner?” Stefan asked as they reached his room.

  “Long ago; roast beef—cooked.” She smiled.

  “What did Damon say when he finally realized it was you and looked at the food you’d brought?”

  Elena made herself giggle again. It was all right to have tears in her eyes; her burns and cuts hurt and the episode with Damon justified any amount of weeping.

  “He called it bloody hamburger. It was steak tartar. But, Stefan, I don’t want to talk about him now.”

  “No, of course you don’t, love.” Stefan was immediately contrite. And he was trying so hard not to seem eager to feed—but he couldn’t even control his canines.

  And Elena was in no mood to dally either. She perched on the bed, carefully unwinding the bandage Mrs. Flowers had just wound on it. Stefan suddenly looked troubled.

  Love—He stopped abruptly.

  What? Elena finished with the bandage, studying Stefan’s face.

  Well—shall I take it out of your arm instead? You’re already in pain and I don’t want to fool with Mrs. Flowers’s anti-tetanus treatment.

  There’s still plenty of room around it, Elena said cheerfully.

  But a bite on top of those cuts…He stopped again.

  Elena looked at him. She knew her Stefan. There was something he wanted to say. Tell me, she pressed him.

  Stefan finally met her eyes directly, and then put his mouth close to her ear. “I can heal the cuts,” he whispered. “But—it would mean opening them again so they can bleed. That will hurt.”

  “And it might poison you!” Elena said sharply. “Don’t you see? Mrs. Flowers put heaven knows what on them—”

  She could feel his laughter, which sent warm tingles down her spine. “You can’t kill a vampire so easily,” he said. “We only die if you stake us through the heart. But I don’t want to hurt you—even to help you. I could Influence you not to feel anything—”

  Once again, Elena cut him off. “No! No, I don’t mind if it hurts. As long as you get as much blood as you need.”

  Stefan respected Elena enough to know that he shouldn’t ask the same question twice. And he could hardly restrain himself any longer. He watched her lie down and then stretched out beside her, bending to get to the green-stained cuts. He licked gently, at first rather tentatively, at the wounds, and then ran a satiny tongue over them. He had no idea how the process worked or what chemicals he was stroking over Elena’s injuries. It was as automatic as breathing was to humans. But after a minute, he chuckled softly.

  What? What? Elena demanded, smiling herself as his breath tickled.

  Your blood’s laced with lemon balm, Stefan replied. Grandmama’s healing recipe has lemon balm and alcohol in it! Lemon balm wine!

  Is that good or bad? Elena asked uncertainly.

  It’s fine—for a change. But I still like your blood straight the best. Does it hurt too much?

  Elena could feel herself flush. Damon had healed her cheek this way, back in the Dark Dimension, when Elena had, with her own body, protected a bleeding slave from a whiplash. She knew Stefan knew the story, and must know, each time he saw her, that the almost-invisible white line on her cheekbone had been stroked just this gently into healing.

  Compared to that, these scratches are nothing, she sent. But a sudden chill went through her.

  Stefan! I never begged your pardon for protecting Ulma at the risk of not being able to save you. Or, worse—for dancing while you were starving—for keeping up the society pretense so we could get the Twin Fox key—

  Do you think I care about that? Stefan’s voice was mock-angry as he gently sealed one cut at her throat. You did what you had to in order to track me—find me—save me—after I’d left you alone here. Don’t you think I understand? I didn’t deserve the saving—

  Now Elena felt a small sob choke her. Never say that! Never! And I suppose—I suppose I knew you would forgive me—or I would have felt every jewel I wore burning like a brand. We had to chase you down like a fox with hounds—and we were so scared that a single misstep could mean you’d be hanged…or we would be.

  Stefan was holding her tightly now. How can I make you understand? he asked. You gave up everything—even your freedom—for me. You became slaves. You—you—were “Disciplined”…

  Elena asked wildly, How do you know that? Who told you?

  You told me, beloved. In your sleep—in your dreams.

  But, Stefan—Damon took the pain for me. Did you know that?

  Stefan was silent a moment, then responded, I…see. I didn’t know that before.

  Scenes strewn from the Dark Dimension bubbled in Elena’s mind. That city of tarnished baubles—of illusive glitter, where a whiplash that spread blood across a wall was as much celebrated as a handful of rubies strewn on the sidewalk….

  Love, don’t think about it. You followed me, and you rescued me, and now we’re here together, Stefan said. The last cut closed, he lay his cheek on hers. That’s all I care about. You and I—together.

  Elena was almost dizzily glad to be forgiven—but there was something inside her—something that had grown and grown and grown during the weeks she was in the Dark Dimension. A feeling for Damon that was not just the result of her need for his help. A feeling that Elena had thought Stefan understood. A feeling that might even change the relations between the three of them: her, Stefan, and Damon. But now Stefan seemed to assume that everything would return to the way it was before his kidnapping.

  Oh, well, why fret about tomorrow when tonight was enough to make her weep with joy?

  This was the best feeling in the world, the knowledge that she and Stefan were together, and she made Stefan promise her over and over that he would not e
ver leave her on another quest again, no matter how briefly, no matter what the cause.

  By now, Elena could not even focus on what she had been worried about before. She and Stefan had always found heaven in each other’s arms. They were meant to be together forever. Nothing else mattered now that she was home.

  “Home” was where she and Stefan were together.

  6

  Bonnie couldn’t get to sleep after Damon’s words to her. She wanted to talk to Meredith, but there was an unseeing, unhearing lump in Meredith’s bed.

  The only thing she could think of was to go down to the kitchen and huddle up with a cup of cocoa in the den, alone with her misery. Bonnie wasn’t good at being alone with herself.

  But as it turned out, when she got to the bottom floor, she didn’t head for the kitchen after all. She went straight to the den. Everything was dark and strange-looking in the silent dimness. Turning on one light would just make everything else even darker. But she managed, with shaking fingers, to twist the switch of the standing lamp beside the couch. Now if only she could find a book or something…

  She was holding on to her pillow as if it were a teddy bear, when Damon’s voice beside her said, “Poor little redbird. You shouldn’t be up so late, you know.”

  Bonnie started and bit her lip.

  “I hope you’re not still hurting,” she said coldly, very much on her dignity, which she suspected was not very convincing. But what was she supposed to do?

  The truth was that Bonnie had absolutely no chance of winning a duel of wits with Damon—and she knew it.

  Damon wanted to say, “Hurting? To a vampire, a human fleabite like that was…”

  But unfortunately he was a human too. And it did hurt.

  Not for long, he promised himself, looking at Bonnie.

  “I thought you never wanted to see me again,” she said, chin trembling. It almost seemed too cruel to make use of a vulnerable little redbird. But what choice did he have?

  I’ll make it up to her somehow, someday—I swear it, he thought. And at least I can make it pleasant now.

  “That wasn’t what I said,” he replied, hoping that Bonnie wouldn’t remember exactly what he had said. If he could just Influence the trembling woman-child before him…but he couldn’t. He was a human now.

  “You told me you would kill me.”

  “Look, I’d just been knocked down by a human. I don’t suppose you know what that means, but it hasn’t happened to me since I was twelve years old, and still an original human boy.”

  Bonnie’s chin kept trembling, but the tears had stopped. You are bravest when you’re scared, Damon thought.

  “I’m more worried about the others,” he said.

  “Others?” Bonnie blinked.

  “In five hundred years of life, one tends to make a remarkable amount of enemies. I don’t know; maybe it’s just me. Or maybe it’s the simple little fact of being a vampire.”

  “Oh. Oh, no!” Bonnie cried.

  “What does it matter, little redbird? Long or short, life seems all too brief.”

  “But—Damon—”

  “Don’t fret, kitten. Have one of Nature’s remedies.” Damon pulled out of his breast pocket a small flask that smelled unquestionably of Black Magic.

  “Oh—you saved it! How clever of you!”

  “Try a taste? Ladies—strike that—young women first.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I used to get awfully silly on that.”

  “The world is silly. Life is silly. Especially when you’ve been doomed six times before breakfast.” Damon opened the flask.

  “Oh, all right!” Clearly thrilled by the notion of “drinking with Damon,” Bonnie took a very dainty sip.

  Damon choked to cover a laugh. “You’d better take bigger swigs, redbird. Or it’s going to take all night before I get a turn.”

  Bonnie took a deep breath, and then a deep draft. After about three of those, Damon decided she was ready.

  Bonnie’s giggles were nonstop now. “I think…Do I think I’ve had enough now?”

  “What colors do you see out here?”

  “Pink? Violet? Is that right? Isn’t it nighttime?”

  “Well, perhaps the Northern Lights are paying us a visit. But you’re right, I should get you into bed.”

  “Oh, no! Oh, yes! Oh, no! Nononoyes!”

  “Shh.”

  “SHHHHHH!”

  Terrific, Damon thought; I’ve overdone it.

  “I meant, get you into a bed,” he said firmly. “Just you. Here, I’ll walk you to the first-floor bedroom.”

  “Because I might fall on the stairs?”

  “You might say that. And this bedroom is much nicer than the one you share with Meredith. Now you just go to sleep and don’t tell anyone about our rendezvous.”

  “Not even Elena?”

  “Not even anybody. Or I might get angry at you.”

  “Oh, no! I won’t, Damon: I swear on your life!”

  “That’s—pretty accurate,” Damon said. “Good night.”

  Moonlight cocooned the house. Fog misted the moonlight. A slender, hooded dark figure took advantage of shadows so skillfully that it would have passed unnoticed even if someone had been watching out for it—and no one was.

  7

  Bonnie was in her new first-floor bedroom, and was feeling very bewildered. Black Magic always made her feel giggly, and then very sleepy, but somehow tonight her body refused to sleep. Her head hurt.

  She was just about to turn the bedside light on, when a familiar voice said, “How about some tea for your headache?”

  “Damon?”

  “I made some from Mrs. Flowers’s herbs and I decided to make you a cup as well. Aren’t you the lucky girl?” If Bonnie had been listening closely, she might have heard something almost like self-loathing behind the light words—but she wasn’t.

  “Yes!” Bonnie said, meaning it. Most of Mrs. Flowers’s teas smelled and tasted good. This one was especially nice, but grainy on her tongue.

  And not only was the tea good, but Damon stayed to talk to her while she drank it all. That was sweet of him.

  Strangely, this tea made her feel not exactly sleepy, but as if she could only concentrate on one thing at a time. Damon swam into her field of view. “Feeling more relaxed?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Weirder and weirder. Even her voice sounded slow and dragging.

  “I wanted to make sure nobody was too hard on you for the silly mistake about Elena,” he explained.

  “They weren’t, really,” she said. “Actually everybody was more interested in seeing you and Matt fight—” Bonnie put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean to say that! I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s all right. It should heal by tomorrow.”

  Bonnie couldn’t imagine why anyone would be so afraid of Damon, who was so nice as to pick up her mug of tea and say he’d put it in the sink. That was good because she was feeling as if she couldn’t get up to save her life. That cozy. That comfy.

  “Bonnie, can I ask you just one little thing?” Damon paused. “I can’t tell you why, but…I have to find out where Misao’s star ball is kept,” he said earnestly.

  “Oh…that,” Bonnie said fuzzily. She giggled.

  “Yes, that. And I am truly sorry to ask you, because you’re so very young and innocent…but I know you’ll tell me the truth.”

  After this praise and comfort, Bonnie felt she could fly. “It’s been in the same place all the time,” she said with sleepy disgust. “They tried to make me think they’d moved it…but when I saw him chained and going down to the root cellar I knew they hadn’t really.” In the dark, there was a short shake of curls and then a yawn. “If they were really going to move it…they should have sent me away or something.”

  “Well, maybe they were concerned for your life.”

  “Wha’?…” Bonnie yawned again, not sure what he meant. “I mean, an old, old safe with a combination? I told them…that those old safes�
��could be…really be…easy to…to…” Bonnie let out a sound like a sigh and her voice stopped.

  “I’m glad we had this talk,” Damon murmured in the silence.

  There was no answer from the bed.

  Pulling Bonnie’s sheet up as high as it would go, he let it drift down. It covered most of her face. “Requiescat in pace,” Damon said softly. Then he left her room, not forgetting to take the mug.

  Now…“him chained and going down to the root cellar.” Damon mused as he washed out the mug carefully and put it back in the cupboard. The line sounded strange but he had almost all the links now, and it was actually simple. All he needed were twelve more of Mrs. Flowers’s sleeping cachets and two plates heaped with raw beef. He had all the ingredients…but he’d never heard of a root cellar.

  Shortly thereafter, he opened the door to the basement. Nope. Didn’t match the criteria for “root cellar” he’d looked up on his mobile. Irritated and knowing that any moment someone was likely to wander downstairs for something, Damon turned around in frustration. There was an elaborately carved wooden panel across from the basement, but nothing else.

  Curse it, he would not be thwarted at this point. He would have his life as a vampire back, or he didn’t want any life at all!

  To punctuate the sentiment, he slammed a fist against the wooden panel in front of him.

  The knock sounded hollow.

  Immediately all frustration vanished. Damon examined the panel very carefully. Yes, there were hinges at the very edge, where no sane person would expect them. It wasn’t a panel but a door—undoubtedly to the root cellar where the star ball was.

  It didn’t take long for his sensitive fingers—even his human fingers were more sensitive than most—to find a place that clicked—and then the whole door swung open. He could see the stairs. He tucked his parcel under one arm and descended.

  By the illumination of the small flashlight he’d taken from the storage room, the root cellar was just as described: a damp, earthy room to store fruit and vegetables before refrigerators had been invented. And the safe was just as Bonnie had said: an ancient, rusty combination safe, which any whiz cracker could have opened in about sixty seconds. It would take Damon about six minutes, with his stethoscope (he’d heard once that you could find anything in the boardinghouse if you looked hard enough and it seemed to be true) and every atom of his being concentrating on hearing the tumblers quietly click.