by L. J. Smith
“Guard down. Ready,” she said softly, touching her earpiece. In a single movement, she dropped the crossbow, took her stave from its sheath. The others were heading through windows and side doors. Meredith rested her hand for a moment on the rough gray fur of Daniel’s back for reassurance; then together they slipped through the museum’s front entrance.
By the door stood a hoopskirted mannequin, its blank face framed by a full curled wig, meant to represent the lady of the house back in the old plantation days. It filled so much space that it took Meredith a moment to realize there was a person at the admissions desk behind it.
She hesitated for a second too long. The tall, elegant blonde behind the desk looked natural there, like any museum docent—except for the fangs that she bared at them. Another vampire of Solomon’s. She started to lunge at Meredith, and Meredith ducked quickly, raising her stave, knowing she was too late, that her split second of delay would prove fatal.
Then there was a crash of shattering glass as, faster than any human could move, Stefan hurtled through the window, grabbing the woman and swinging her around. He snapped her neck in a single, clean motion. Meredith moved forward to stake the woman in the heart, her movements perfectly matched to Stefan’s, as they always were.
“Thanks,” she said, when she’d caught her breath. He nodded in response, turning toward the hall. Meredith turned with him, raising her stave in anticipation.
They could hear the others all over the mansion, glass shattering and the sound of blows. A wolf snarl came from a room farther down. Daniel tensed and slipped quietly past them, the fur on his shoulders bristling. Footsteps thudded down the stairs.
Stefan stood a little in front of her, his whole body tense and ready, his teeth bared. He held his machete easily in one hand. He looked like something primal and wild, Meredith thought fleetingly, like a warrior out of prehistory.
And then Solomon’s minions burst through the door.
Meredith didn’t think after that, just slid smoothly into battle, kicking and leaping and twisting as her hunter instincts commanded, her stave slicing through the air. A dark-haired vampire girl lunged for her throat, and Meredith stabbed her smoothly through the heart.
She was aware of Stefan working fluidly next to her, their blows and parries complementing each other’s instinctively. They turned together, cutting the heads neatly off a pair of vampires. Blood geysered up from the vampires’ throats, splattering the walls, and the bodies fell to the floor with a thud.
Then the room was empty, except for the four vampire corpses, lying on a floor slick with blood. Meredith and Stefan finally turned to look at each other, breathing heavily.
They could hear the sounds of the battle still going on throughout the lower floor of the mansion—a muffled cry, the angry clang of metal weapons colliding, the sharp barks of the Pack. Nodding at Stefan, Meredith raised her stave once more, and they went forward together into the fight.
They moved swiftly and silently through the museum. A vampire came toward Meredith and she sidestepped his blow, sweeping his feet out from under him with one kick. Before the vampire could hit the floor, Stefan had torn off his head.
It’s like a dance, Meredith thought, half-dazed. Something about the smooth interplay between her and Stefan, the sweep of their weapons and the strikes of their limbs, worked like the best dancing couples. They didn’t need to speak; she could sense his movements almost before they happened.
Three vampires raced across the hall in front of them, Darlene in hot pursuit as she pulled the trigger of her flamethrower. A jet of fire caught one of the vampires, and he gave a high, terrified scream as he burned.
Alex was halfway up the stairs, three vampires surrounding him, but he had a fierce grin on his face and an actual broadsword in his hand—even in the midst of battle, Meredith couldn’t help being amazed by that—moving so quickly it was barely more than a blur of metal.
They passed a roped-off living room, where Tristan was tearing the throat out of a vampire, the fur of his muzzle matted with gore.
There was no sign of a vampire with yellow eyes.
At last, Meredith and Stefan came to a deserted dining room laid as if for a holiday feast. Silver and crystal sparkled, and a fake suckling pig, shiny with varnish, took pride of place on the table. This was the first room Meredith had come to where the walls were not spattered with blood, the hand-blocked wallpaper cleanly traced with Victorian vines and blossoms.
Stefan tensed, hearing a sound Meredith couldn’t make out, and whipped around toward the door—but it was only Jack and Trinity, blood-spattered though seemingly uninjured. Zander and Shay, wolf-formed, padded in through a door at the other end of the room. They were bloody, too, and Zander was limping, but their tails were high with triumph.
“We’ve been through the rooms upstairs, but we didn’t find any sign of Solomon,” Jack said, scrubbing a hand over his tired face and smearing more blood across his cheek. “I think we have to face that he’s disappeared again. Even though Andrés thought he was here.”
Trinity leaned back against the wall, her usually cheerful face glum. “Maybe it was a trick all along,” she said. “He likes to tease us. Finding him like this seemed too easy.”
Meredith’s shoulders slumped. Had they really fought so hard, for nothing? Stefan was gripping the machete so tightly his knuckles were white with strain.
“No,” he said, almost choking on his rage. “It’s not acceptable. We have to end this.”
“Maybe we do,” a light, cultivated voice interrupted from the doorway. Meredith tried to turn, tried to raise her stave, but she suddenly found that she couldn’t move.
Slow, deliberate footsteps crossed the floor behind her. The room had become very cold.
There was a rush of Power, and Zander slammed back against the wall, his paws scrabbling helplessly, long claws scraping against the floor. The Power flung Shay through the window, the glass shattering as her thick-furred body slammed through it.
As frost began to form in Meredith’s hair, Solomon finally stepped into her field of vision. He was good-looking in a harsh way, tall, all lean muscles and graceful, purposeful movement, dressed simply in jeans and a shirt. Tawny hair fell to the nape of his neck, and his features were sharply cut. He could have passed for a human on the street.
He glanced at Meredith as he passed, and she slammed backward as if she’d been shoved, her head banging hard against the wall, her teeth jarring with the impact.
“Stefan.” Solomon stopped to peer into the younger vampire’s face. He sounded amused. “I thought you’d find me.” He raised a hand and touched Stefan’s face gently. Blood began to run from Stefan’s nose, coating his chin and running down his neck. Solomon watched him for a few moments, then made a soft, discontented sound and turned away.
A moment later, he was gazing into Meredith’s face. His eyes were almost golden, she saw, and bright with malice. “Meredith,” Solomon said, as if he knew her. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He watched her carefully, and she felt herself growing colder and colder. Something tightened inside her head with a sharp snap, and a hot stream ran down her face—blood, she realized, like Stefan. “Oh, no,” he said, sighing, and made a wry face. “A pity.” He moved on to Trinity and Jack, across the room. The painful tightness in Meredith’s head eased a little but didn’t end.
Trinity looked as if she’d been caught about to speak, her mouth partially open. She was as still as a mannequin. Beside her, the window was silvered with frost. Meredith was freezing.
“Jack!” Solomon peered delightedly into the hunter’s face. “You’ve been looking for me for a long time, haven’t you?” Meredith wondered what the Old One was doing, why he was toying with them. She was reminded of making rounds at her wedding reception: greeting everyone, making small talk.
She couldn’t see Solomon’s face, but she figured he was doing to Jack whatever it was he’d done to her and Stefan, expected to see Jack’s f
ace running with blood. Instead she heard Solomon chuckle, a sudden, surprised sound. “Oh,” he said. “No, you won’t do at all.”
Solomon moved on again, and Meredith could see that Jack wasn’t bleeding after all. There was a thin coating of frost on him, though, and his eyes looked furious.
“Hello, Trinity,” Solomon said, and there was a new note in his voice, almost … thoughtful. His hand traced over Trinity’s shoulder, long fingers running across her collarbone. “You’re strong. And tall, I like tall. Maybe you’re worth my time.” The cold in the room intensified sharply, and Meredith felt as if her skin, unable to shiver, might crack like the glass of Elena’s windows.
“Maybe,” Solomon said again, sounding pleased. Meredith couldn’t see what he was doing to Trinity—his body was blocking her view of his hands, but they were on Trinity’s face. Then he stepped back and Meredith had a moment to feel relief: The girl was unchanged, her mouth still frozen in shock.
But as Meredith watched in horror, a thin tendril of blood began to run from Trinity’s open mouth, tracing over her chin and onto the floor. A moment later, blood was running from her nose, dripping like tears from her eyes. So much blood, much more than had come from Stefan or Meredith. Solomon cocked his head, watching Trinity closely, his tongue running across his lips. Her hair matted as blood began to run from her ears.
“Pretty,” Solomon said, his voice a warm purr. “I like this one.”
No, no, no, Meredith thought frantically. I have to do something! The blood was freezing on Trinity’s face, her nostrils caking with dark red ice. She was still motionless, but now there was the faintest choking noise coming from her. Solomon leaned forward, intent. Help! Meredith thought, still unable to move.
Near the window, something shifted.
Meredith stared as one of the vines in the wallpaper twisted, lengthening across the wall. Was she going crazy? Suddenly the wallpaper was writhing with vines, the flowers expanding as the tendrils reached the carpet and continued to spread.
And the room was getting warmer. The blood on Trinity’s face was thawing and beginning to flow again.
Andrés, she thought. It must be Andrés. He had Power over life and growing things; this warmth and motion must come from him.
Solomon, focused on Trinity, didn’t seem to notice the wallpaper. A single vine ran across the table, nudging the fake suckling pig with a scraping noise, and Meredith held her breath. Whatever was happening, they needed Solomon unaware.
Wait a second, she realized—she held her breath. However Solomon had frozen her in place, taken her power over her own body, his Influence was fading. Carefully, she flexed her muscles, and her fingers tightened slowly on her stave. She couldn’t move her arms, not yet, but she blinked and shifted her gaze to Stefan. He had straightened and was glaring at Solomon, his whole body tensed.
A vine wrapped itself around Solomon’s ankle. With a grunt, he pulled away, his concentration on Trinity broken. Another, thicker vine whipped itself around his waist, and he snarled, tearing it off.
In that moment, Stefan struck. He leaped forward and swung his machete high overhead, its blade coated in Elena’s blood, slamming it down to slice cleanly through Solomon’s skull and torso.
For one moment, Solomon held together, a line of blood running straight down from his forehead to his waist. Then, with a sickening squelch, his body fell in two clean pieces onto the floor.
Everything was very quiet.
Solomon’s control over her broke with a sudden snap. Shuddering, Meredith took a long, shaky gasp of air, and everything came back into focus.
Stefan was breathing hard, his eyes wide and dark, his canines extended. Meredith hurried to his side and began kicking the sections of Solomon’s body apart, just in case he had some regenerative Power. “We did it,” she started to say, “we—” But she broke off as Trinity collapsed behind her, her body shaking in sudden and terrifying convulsions.
Jack rushed to kneel beside his fellow hunter. “She’s still bleeding,” he said urgently, his hands moving carefully over her.
The doors at both ends of the dining room slammed open as the others started to spill in. “We were frozen in that parlor upstairs,” Darlene explained, then gasped, seeing Trinity. “Oh my God!” She ran to kneel on the girl’s other side. Alex and Roy followed, their faces shocked. Shay scrambled back through the window, girl formed again and swearing, her face and arms dotted with tiny cuts.
There was a pounding of boots in the hall, and Matt pushed his way through a crowd of werewolves, dangling a crossbow from one hand and pulling Andrés with the other. “Andrés did it,” he announced. “He just pulled the life force out of that garden and sent it racing through here. The whole picture of what was going on was hanging before us like some kind of vision or something. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Andrés nodded, looking drained but triumphant.
The smiles dropped off both their faces as they saw Trinity’s body, now terribly still, lying surrounded by her friends. “Is she …?” Matt asked, a quaver in his voice.
Zander rose to his feet, changing from wolf to man in one motion. “We have to get her to a hospital,” he said, nodding to his Pack. “Jared, Dan, find something you can use as a stretcher.” The two nodded and began to rise, but Jack stepped forward, shaking his head firmly.
“Stop,” he said. “We can’t take her to a hospital like this. I don’t think it’ll help. Whatever Solomon did to her, they can’t fix. And those are impossible injuries. There will be too many questions.” He and Zander stared at each other, both steely with determination.
“We can’t let her die,” Roy protested, a note of desperation in his voice.
“No one’s going to die,” Stefan said quietly. There was blood running through his hair and spattered across his face from the death blow he’d dealt Solomon, but his voice was so full of authority that both Jack and Zander, each a leader in his own right, turned to listen. “We’ll take her to my apartment.” He swiftly bit at his wrist and held it to Trinity’s slack mouth, rubbing her throat with his other hand to force the unconscious girl to swallow. “My blood will help for now. I just hope it’s enough.”
Zander and Jack both nodded. At the gesture, Daniel and Jared went and cleared the dining table, taking the cloth to put carefully under Trinity. The girl moaned in pain, her head turning restlessly from one side to the other as they tried to shift her, her eyes moving frantically beneath their lids. Meredith wasn’t sure whether it was a good or bad sign that Trinity didn’t wake up.
She made her way through the crowd of hunters and werewolves over to Matt and Andrés. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly. Matt was frowning, his gaze on Trinity but his eyes distant, as if he was thinking hard. Andrés leaned against him, looking shaky and disoriented.
“Yeah,” Matt said, blinking. “Yeah, I’m fine. I have to go do something, though. Can you help Andrés? Using that much Power took a lot out of him. He can barely stand.” Carefully, he shifted Andrés’s weight onto Meredith’s shoulder.
The Guardian was heavier than she would have guessed. He was practically asleep, dead weight against her. Matt gave her a brief, distracted smile, then slid through the crowd and was gone.
“All right there, Andrés?” Meredith asked, nudging him into an easier position and slipping her arm around him. “What does Matt think he’s doing, taking off now?”
She wasn’t really expecting an answer, but Andrés smiled at her. “Matt has been wrestling with his conscience,” he murmured. “He’s between a rock and a hard place, as I think the expression goes …”
Meredith tightened her grip on him. “What do you mean?” But the Guardian only hmmed softly, his gaze foggy with exhaustion. His thick black lashes fluttered against the shadows beneath his eyes.
They were ready to move Trinity now, the werewolves carrying her carefully, Jack and Stefan keeping pace beside her makeshift stretcher. Jack was holding Trinity’s hand. As they left, he cast a swift gl
ance over the room. “Can you take care of this place?” he asked Darlene.
Meredith looked around the room at the floor coated with blood and gore, the windows shattered, Solomon’s body in pieces, vampire corpses scattered through the hallways. Water was running in long dirty stains through the bloody wallpaper. Andrés’s magic vines, wilting, ran across the floor. Even the suckling pig had smashed. There was no way they could leave the museum this way for innocent curators to find in the morning.
“What does he mean, take care of it?” she asked Darlene.
The older woman smiled grimly, the flamethrower hanging from her hand. “He means burn it to the ground,” she said. “Want to help me find some gasoline?”
#TVD11SaveTrinity
Trinity moaned and thrashed her head against the pillow, trying to pull away. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes moved rapidly. She was still trying to fight.
“You’re safe now,” Elena murmured, trying to soothe her. “We’ve got you.” She stroked Trinity’s hair carefully back from her forehead, and the girl stilled a little, whimpering. She was terribly pale. “It’s taking her a long time to heal,” Elena said nervously, looking up at Stefan.
“I know.” Stefan ran his fingers unconsciously across the wrist he had fed Trinity from. “But giving her any more blood isn’t safe. She’d rather die than be a vampire; any hunter would.”
Elena’s breath caught in her throat. Stefan thought that Trinity—funny, sweet-tempered Trinity, who had sparred with her and sympathized over Sammy’s death—was dying. Elena didn’t want to believe it, but Trinity looked so small and helpless lying there, trapped in her unconscious fight.
Jack nodded, his eyes fixed on his young teammate. His hair and clothes were spattered with blood and his face was exhausted, but he hadn’t left Trinity’s side. “All we can do now is watch over her,” he said softly. “At least we killed Solomon.”
Stefan nodded. “It was all thanks to Andrés,” he said. “Without him, we never could have gotten free.”
