by L. J. Smith
Instead Elena swerved toward the widow’s walk at the last moment, snatched the pruning shears out of Meredith’s upraised hand, and then caught a handful of long, silky black-and-scarlet hair. Misao shrieked. And then…
That was when Elena really needed some belief. So far she had really just been gliding, not flying. But now she needed uplift; she needed the wings to work…and once again, although there was no time, she was with Stefan, and feeling…
…the first time she had kissed him. Other girls might have waited until it was the other way around, letting the boy take the lead, but not Elena. Besides, at first Stefan had thought that all kissing meant was seducing prey….
…the first time he had kissed her, understanding that it wasn’t a predatory relationship…
And now she needed to really fly….
I know I can….
But Misao was just so heavy—and Elena’s memory was faltering. The great golden wings trembled and became still. Shinichi was trying to climb a creeper to get to her, and Damon was holding Meredith motionless.
And, too late, Elena realized that it wasn’t going to work.
She was alone, and she couldn’t fight this way. Not against so many.
She was alone, and pain that made her want to shriek was lancing through her back. Misao was somehow making herself heavier, and in another minute she would be too heavy for Elena’s trembling wings to hold up.
She was alone, and like the rest of the humans, she was going to die—
And then, through the agony that was causing fine sweat to break out all over her body, she heard Stefan’s voice.
“Elena! Let go! Fall and I’ll catch you!”
How strange, Elena thought, as if in a dream. His love and panic had distorted his voice somehow—making him sound different. Making him sound almost like—
“Elena! I’m with you!”
—like Damon.
Shaken out of her dream, Elena looked below her. And there was Damon, standing protectively in front of Meredith, looking up at her, with his arms held out.
He was with her.
“Meredith,” he went on, “girl, this is no time to be sleepwalking! Your friend needs you! Elena needs you!”
Slowly, dully, Meredith turned her face up. And Elena saw life and animation restored to it as her eyes focused on the trembling of the great golden wings.
“Elena!” she shouted, “I’m with you! Elena!”
How did she know to say that? The answer was—that she was Meredith—and Meredith always knew what to say.
And now the cry was being taken up by another voice: Matt’s.
“Elena!” he shouted, in a sort of acclamation. “I’m with you, Elena!”
And Dr. Alpert’s deep voice: “Elena! I’m with you, Elena!”
And Mrs. Flowers, surprisingly strong: “Elena! I’m with you, Elena!”
And even poor Bonnie: “Elena! We’re with you, Elena!”
While deep in her heart, the real Stefan whispered, “I’m with you, my angel.”
“We’re all with you, Elena!”
She didn’t drop Misao. It was as if the great golden wings had caught an updraft; in fact, they almost lifted her straight up, out of control—but somehow she managed to keep herself steady. She was still looking down and she saw the tears spill from her eyes and fall toward Damon’s outstretched arms. Elena didn’t know why she was crying, but part of it was sorrow for ever having doubted him.
Because Damon wasn’t just on her side. Unless she was wrong, he was willing to die for her—was courting death for her. He threw himself into the entangling creepers and vines, all reaching for Meredith or for Elena.
It had only taken an instant to get hold of Misao, but Shinichi was already leaping toward Elena, in fox form, lips drawn back, aiming to tear her throat out. These were no ordinary foxes. Shinichi was almost as big as a wolf—certainly the size of a large dog—and as vicious as a wolverine.
Meanwhile the entire widow’s walk burst into a maze of vines, creepers, and fibrous tendrils, and Shinichi was being lifted by them. Elena didn’t know which way to dodge. She needed time, and she needed a clear shot out of here.
All Caroline was doing was screaming.
And then Elena saw her opening. A gap in the creepers that she threw herself at, knowing in her subconscious that she was throwing herself over the railing as well, and somehow keeping her hold on Misao’s hair. In fact, it must have been an extremely painful experience for the female kitsune as she swung back and forth like a pendulum below Elena.
The one glance Elena was able to give over her shoulder showed Damon, still moving faster than anything Elena had ever seen. He had Meredith in his arms now and was hurrying her through a gap that led to the cupula door. As soon as she stepped in, she appeared down on the ground and ran toward the altar where Bonnie was lying, only to slam into one of the Tree-Men. For a moment, as Damon glanced toward Elena, their gazes met and something electric passed between them. It made Elena tingle all over, that look did.
Then she refocused: Caroline was screaming again; Misao was using her whip to get a grip on Elena’s leg and was calling on Tree-Men to give her a lift. Elena needed to fly higher. She had no idea how she was controlling her golden gossamer wings, but nothing seemed to snarl them; and they obeyed her slightest whim as though she had always had them. The great trick was to not think of how to get somewhere, but just to imagine being there.
On the other hand, the Tree-Men were growing. It was like some childhood nightmare of giants, and at first it made Elena feel that it was she who was shrinking. But the hideous creatures were actually overtopping the house now, and their upper, snake-like branches slashed into her legs while Misao lashed out with her whip. Elena’s jeans were in shreds now. She swallowed a cry of pain.
I have to fly higher.
I can do it.
I’m going to save you all.
I believe.
Faster than the swoop of a hummingbird, she was darting up in the clear air again, still holding Misao by her long black-and-red hair. And Misao was screaming, screams that Shinichi echoed even as he fought with Damon.
And then, just as she and Damon had planned, just as she and Damon had hoped, Misao turned into her true form and Elena was holding a large and heavy, writhing vixen by the scruff of its neck.
There was a difficult moment while Elena got the balance right. She had to remember that there was more weight in back because Misao had six tails and was heaviest where a real fox would be lightest.
By then she had swooped back to her perch in the tree, and she stood there, able to look down on the scene below, the Tree-Men too slow to keep up. The plan had gone perfectly, except that Damon, of all people, had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. Far from retreating into possession, he had fooled Shinichi and Misao beautifully—and Elena, too. Now, according to their plan he was supposed to be taking care of any innocent bystanders, letting Elena lure Shinichi on.
Instead something inside him seemed to have snapped; and he was methodically beating the human-shaped Shinichi’s head against the house, shouting: “Damn…you! Where…is…my…brother?”
“I—could kill you—right now—” Shinichi shouted back, but he was short of breath. He wasn’t finding Damon an easy opponent.
“Do it!” Damon returned immediately. “And then she”—pointing to the perching Elena—“will cut your sister’s throat!”
Shinichi’s contempt was scathing.
“You expect me to believe that a girl with an aura like that will kill—”
There comes a time when you have to make a stand. And for Elena, blazing with defiance and glory, this was that time. She took a deep breath, begged the Universe’s forgiveness, and leaned down, positioning the pruning shears. Then she squeezed as hard as she could.
And a red-tipped black vixen’s tail fell twisting to the ground, while Misao shrieked in pain and rage. As the tail fell it writhed, and it lay in the middle of the cl
earing, squirming like a snake that wasn’t quite defeated yet. Then it became transparent and faded away.
That was when Shinichi really screamed, “Do you know what you’ve done, you ignorant bitch? I’ll bring this place down on top of you! I’ll tear you apart!”
“Oh, yes, of course you will. But first,” Damon spoke each word deliberately, “you have to get past me.”
Elena barely registered their words. It hadn’t been easy for her to squeeze those shears. It had meant thinking about Meredith with the shears in her own hands, and Bonnie lying on the altar, and Matt, earlier, writhing on the ground. And Mrs. Flowers, and the three lost little girls, and Isobel and—a great deal—about Stefan.
But as for the first time in her life she drew another’s blood with her own hands, she had a sudden strange sense of responsibility—of new accountability. As if an icy wind had blown her hair back sharply and said into her frozen, gasping face: Never without reason. Never without necessity. Never unless there’s no other solution available.
Elena felt something inside her grow up, all at once. Too fast to say good-bye to childhood, she had become a warrior.
“You all thought I couldn’t fight,” she called to the assembled group. “You were wrong. You thought I was powerless. You were wrong there, too. And I’ll use the last drop of my Power in this fight, because you twins are real monsters. No, you’re—abominations. And if I die I’ll rest with Honoria Fell, and I’ll watch over Fell’s Church again.”
Fell’s Church will rot and die writhing with maggots, a voice near her ear said, and it was a deep bass voice, nothing like Misao’s shrill screaming. Elena knew even as she turned that it was the white pine tree. A hard scaly bough, laden with those serrated, resin-sticky needles, slammed into her midriff, throwing her off balance—and making her involuntarily open her hands. Misao promptly escaped, and burrowed into the Christmas-tree-like branches.
“Bad…trees…go…to…Hell,” Elena cried, throwing her entire body weight into digging the shears she held into the base of the branch that had tried to crush her. It tried to pull away, and she twisted the shears in the wounded dark bark, relieved when a large piece fell off, with only a long string of resin left to show where it had been.
Then she looked for Misao. The fox wasn’t finding it as easy as she might have thought, navigating a tree. Elena looked at the cluster of tails. Strangely, there was no stump, no blood, no sign that the fox had been injured.
Was that why she wasn’t turning human? The loss of a tail? Even if she were naked when she changed back to her human self—as some stories of werewolves had it—she’d be in better condition to climb down.
Because Misao seemed finally to have chosen the slow but sure method of descent—to have branch after branch take hold of her fox body and pass it down to the next. Which meant she was only about ten feet below Elena.
And all Elena had to do was to coast over the needles down to her and then—by wings or other means—stop. If she believed in her wings. If the tree didn’t throw her off.
“You’re too slow,” Elena shouted. Then she began the coast to overcome the distance—not far in human body-lengths—to her goal.
Until she saw Bonnie.
Bonnie’s slight body was still lying on the altar, pale and cold-looking. But now four of the hideous Tree-Men had hold of her, one at each hand and one at each foot. They were already pulling so hard that she was lifted up into the air.
And Bonnie was awake. But not screaming. Not making a noise to attract attention to herself; and Elena realized with a rush of love and horror and desperation that that was why she hadn’t been making a fuss before. She wanted the major players here to fight their fight without the bother of rescuing her.
The Tree-Men leaned back.
Bonnie’s face contorted in agony.
Elena had to get to Misao. She needed the double fox key to free Stefan, and the only people who could tell her where it was were Misao and Shinichi. She looked up at the darkness above and noticed that it seemed a little less dark than when she had last seen it, the sky a dark swirling gray instead of dead black—but there was no help there. She looked down. Misao, making a little better time with her escape. If Elena let her get away…Stefan was her love. But Bonnie—Bonnie was her friend—ever since childhood….
And then she saw Plan B.
Damon was fighting Shinichi—or trying.
But Shinichi was always an easy centimeter away from where Damon’s fist was. Shinichi’s fists, on the other hand, always connected solidly with their targets, and right now Damon’s face was a bloody mask.
“Use wood!” Misao was coaching in a shriek, her childlike manner having suddenly vanished. “You men, you idiots, all you think of is your fists!”
Shinichi broke a pillar support from the widow’s walk one-handed, showing his true strength. Damon smiled beatifically. He was, Elena knew, going to enjoy this, even though it meant all the many little wounds those wooden splinters would entail.
It was in the middle of this that Elena shouted, “Damon, look down!” Her voice seemed weak over the cacophony of shrieks and sobs and screams of fury all around. “Damon! Look down—at Bonnie!”
Nothing so far had been able to break Damon’s concentration—he seemed determined to find out where Stefan was being kept—or to kill Shinichi trying.
Now, to Elena’s slight surprise, Damon’s head jerked around immediately. He looked down.
“A cage,” shouted Shinichi. “Build me a cage.”
And tree branches leaned in from all sides to pin him and Damon into their own little world, a lattice to keep them contained.
The Tree-Men leaned back farther. And despite herself, Bonnie screamed.
“You see?” laughed Shinichi. “Each of your friends will die in that agony or worse. One by one, we will take you!”
That was when Damon really seemed to go crazy. He began moving like quicksilver, like a leaping flame, like some animal with reflexes far faster than Shinichi’s. Now there was a sword in his hand, undoubtedly conjured up by the magical housekey, and the sword slashed through the branches even as the branches reached out to trap him. And then he was airborne, leaping over the railing for the second time that night.
This time Damon’s balance was perfect, and far from breaking bones, he made a graceful, catlike landing just beside Bonnie. And then his sword was flashing in an arc, sweeping all around Bonnie, and the tough, fingerlike tips of the branches that held her were cut cleanly away.
A moment later, Bonnie was being lifted, being held by Damon as he leaped easily off the rough-hewn altar and was lost in the shadows near the house.
Elena let out the breath she’d been holding and turned back to her own affairs. But her heart was beating more strongly and faster, with joy and with pride and with gratitude, as she slid down the painful, cutting-edged needles, and almost flashed past Misao, who was being whisked out of her way—not quite in time.
She got a good grip on the nape of the fox’s neck. Misao keened a strange animal lament and sank her teeth into Elena’s hand so hard that it felt as if they were going to meet. Elena bit her lip until she felt blood come, trying not to scream.
Be crushed, and die, and turn to loam, the tree said in Elena’s ear. Your kind can feed my kin for once. The voice was ancient, malevolent and very, very frightening.
Elena’s legs reacted without pausing to consult her mind. They pushed off hard and then the golden butterfly wings unfurled again, not beating but undulating, holding Elena steady above the altar.
She pulled the snarling vixen’s muzzle up—not too close—to her own face. “Where are the two pieces of the fox key?” she demanded. “Tell me or I’ll take off another tail. I swear I will. Don’t fool yourself—it’s not just your pride that you’re losing, is it? Your tails are your Power. What would it feel like to have none at all?”
“Like being a human—except you, you freak.” Now Misao was laughing again in her panting-dog way,
her fox ears flat to her head.
“Just answer the question!”
“As if you would understand the answers I could give. If I told you that one was inside the silver nightingale’s instrument, would that give you any kind of idea?”
“It might if you explained it a little more clearly!”
“If I told you that one was buried in Blodwedd’s ballroom, would you be able to find it?” Again the panting grin as the fox gave clues that led nowhere—or everywhere.
“Are those your answers?”
“No!” Misao shrieked suddenly and kicked with her feet, as if they were dog’s legs scrabbling in the dirt. Except that the dirt was Elena’s midriff, and the scrabbling legs felt as if they might well puncture her entrails. She felt her camisole tear.
“I told you; I’m not playing around here!” Elena cried. She lifted the vixen with her left arm, even though it ached with tiredness. With her right hand, she positioned the shears.
“Where is the first part of the key?” Elena demanded.
“Search for yourself! You only have the whole world to look through, and every thicket besides.” The fox went for her throat again, white teeth actually scoring Elena’s flesh.
Elena forced that arm to hold Misao higher. “I warned you, so don’t say that I didn’t or that you have any reason to complain!”
She squeezed the shears.
Misao gave a squeal that was almost lost in the general commotion. Elena, feeling more and more tired, said, “You’re a complete liar, aren’t you? Look down if you want. I didn’t cut anywhere close to you. You just heard the shears click and screamed.”
Misao very nearly got a claw into Elena’s eye. Oh, well. Now, for Elena, there were no more moral or ethical issues. She wasn’t causing pain, she was simply draining Power. The shears went snap, snap, snap, and Misao screamed and cursed her, but below them the Tree-Men were shrinking.
“Where is the first part of the key?”
“Let me go and I’ll tell.” Suddenly Misao’s voice was less shrill.
