by L. J. Smith
“Wait,” Bonnie had said authoritatively. “Can’t you feel it? It’s Elena. She wants you to do this. Can’t you tell?”
Stefan had looked at her blankly. If this was some new way of manipulating him. . . .
But Bonnie had been serious, her small head tilted as if listening to faraway music; her expression almost beatific.
And then he had felt it too. Like a benison from the heavens, a whisper from his goldenhaired angel. Do it, Stefan. Let them make their sacrifice for Fell’s Church, let them give what they can. As you are. It will be to their credit afterward, even if they don’t survive. As for breaking your vow; well, let the condemnation for that be weighed against the merit you’ve gained by staying to protect these humans who—many of them—hate and fear you. Beloved, you are very brave, but sometimes a little too stubborn to be practical.
Voices from beyond? But that was Elena; that was the way she spoke, and that was the way he felt when she spoke. The next words were not just for him, and something inside him watched Matt and Meredith as they heard the voice too, Matt astonished; Meredith with her usual composure.
This is our reunion and I give you to each other. I give my friends to you, Stefan, so that you can fight with all your combined strength. And to you, my friends, I give Stefan . . . who may be able to keep you alive. Take each other. . . and trust.
And then trust. Aye, there was the rub. How to trust even the beneficence of heaven after what that monsterinhumanform had done to this innocent little town.
But when Elena commanded, he listened. When Elena spoke, even from the afterlife, he obeyed. He’d promised her that in his heart, long ago.
And so he had agreed, his only condition being that they do this one at a time, with the other two waiting in the car. He, Stefan Salvatore, who had given up drinking human blood so long ago, and bound himself with fearsome oaths not to do it, was going to do it.
The only thing left was to determine the order, which Meredith did with three twigs from the white ash branch. Meredith. Bonnie. Then Matt.
Stefan was glad that Meredith was going to be first. Meredith would remain calm during The Last Judgment. She was a rock. He was relying on her to help steady him a little as he broke this pledge that had been his one guidance since becoming a vampire nearly half a millennium ago.
Bonnie and Matt headed for the car. Stefan looked around the landing for Mrs.
Flowers, but the landlady had disappeared. Together, he and Meredith went back upstairs.
“If Bonnie were here,” Meredith said, “she’d be sure it was a good omen that Mrs.
Flowers was gone.”
“Fortunately, the door has a good sturdy lock. We don’t have any need for good omens; it can make sure nothing human gets in, and I can keep anything inhuman out. I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this right now?” Stefan spoke without changing his tone in the slightest on the last sentence.
Meredith smiled. “And flout an edict of Elena’s? I’m not that dumb.”
“That’s what all three of you think it was? An edict?” Stefan looked at Meredith pleadingly. “I was hoping to get you to talk some sense into Matt. You’ll be alone with him while I’m with Bonnie.”
“Sense? Matt? Now? In the same sentence?”
“Yes. We have to get him to give this up. You have to, Meredith, because I don’t think he’ll listen to a word I say. It’s all very fine and noble, offering your blood to make me stronger so I can fight that . . . thing. But Matt can’t handle it.” Meredith’s bright dark eyes were as sad as he had ever seen them, like still water in deep pools. "You don’t know Matt well enough by now? He wants to save Fell’s Church even if it kills him. And do you have any idea how he’d feel if you said you’d take blood from Bonnie and me, but not him?"
“I thought we could fob him off with something about the two of you being girls.” Meredith laughed shortly. “Nyet, Yvette. He knows Damon takes blood from guys. He knows about Mr. Tanner. He knows it’s not a sexual thing.” Stefan groaned. “It’s not. But—how do I explain?”
He studied Meredith, the quiet elegance of line of her body, the timeless beauty of her high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, and the striking features that had been the downfall of countless males in Fell’s Church. He studied the way her eyelashes tangled together when she shut her eyes. And even as he looked at her he was aware that she was studying him from under those seemingly demure eyelashes. Meredith was like the abyss that looked back at you when you looked into it.
He sighed.
“Meredith—can I try to explain something to you? I know there’s no time, but we have to make time for it. Unless you want one of your friends ending up in a psychiatric hospital—
do you remember Vicky?”
She didn’t snap off a superficial answer, pointing out that of course she knew a girl she’d gone to school for years with. He watched her face as her mind roved back over the seasons until she could picture what he wanted her to picture: Vicky, a splash of white as she stumbled down a dark country road, wearing nothing but a thin torn slip; her hair disarrayed; her eyes like two black holes to some other dreadful dimension; her mouth one long silent scream.
“I remember,” Meredith whispered. Stefan could feel her shock. “But Vicky was—she was attacked and forced, and God only knows what horrible things she saw or—or felt. This is totally different—”
“Tell me that again after you’ve taken your turn.” Stefan deliberately spoke in harsh, clipped tones, and hardly glanced at Meredith as he continued. “Vicky was forced.” He stared off into a middle distance. “Matt’s forcing himself. Vicky was attacked. Matt has the selfdiscipline to hold himself down. Vicky saw or experienced things that, to put it crudely, drove her crazy. And whether those things were in the mind of a supernatural creature, or in her mind, or in the world around them, I don’t know and Vicky isn’t saying.” He swung back toward her, letting the harshness drain out of his voice, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “Meredith, if vampire and donor are, well, friends, with no need to overcome mental or physical resistance—either by mind control or by physical force, then everything should be fine. But it isn’t, always. There are monsters lurking in human minds scarier than anything I’ve ever imagined in my own nightmares. And vampires are just the sort of things likely to make them pop up.”
“And you think one could pop up with Matt?”
“I’m afraid of it. I’m afraid of a lot of things, if he makes himself do this.” Meredith cocked her silky dark head, highlights running up and down the length of her hair. Then she met his eyes and nodded, once. “I’ll try to talk him out of it. I’ll . . . let’s see . . . I’ll help try to make him believe that by the time his turn comes around that you’re as full as a tick and ready to burst. That will be Plan T.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be quite as full as a tick, but I may not exactly be myself by that time. It’ll be good to feel that you’re backing me up.”
“Oh, I’m a famous backupper. Elena wasn’t just a Big Picture Person; she loved figuring out all the grungy little details, but I was her number one backer.” Meredith spoke, not with bitterness or sarcasm, nor even with the tolerance usually accorded to the faults of the recently dead, but with love. Just love. The absent love of a true friend, who has had time to learn all, know all, and forgive all. Watching her, thinking about all the years that she had known Elena while he had not—all the simple daytoday fun they had had—Stefan felt a hand clutch at his heart. He had only loved Elena a few short months because he had only known her that long.
“Meredith?” He sat down and tried to keep envy, like a haggard shrieking banshee, out of his voice.
He wasn’t quite sure if he succeeded. Meredith was perceptive and she was watching him. “Yes, Stefan.”
“Meredith, when this starts, I’d appreciate it so much if you could . . . well . . . think about Elena. About things you did together. Stuff like the night you tried to make toffee.
You did that, didn’t you?”
They had. He knew. He’d read Elena’s diaries before they’d been enshrined in the library. And he had an eidetic memory.
June 18: ohmygodinthemorning: Bonnie’s house. Bonnie’s greatgrandmother must have been a witch. I am NOT kidding. If she could make something edible out of the toffee recipe in her Simple Home Cookery Book—I’m not even saying “delicious,” I’m saying simply something that a person could choke down without ruining the kitchen, setting fire to the curtains, and scalding both hands and the inside of her mouth, then she definitely had supernatural powers. We are going to need a jackhammer to get all that $%
^*!! sugar concrete out of the stove burners . . . And yet it never hardened when we tried to pull it, oh, no . . . This is the end of Bonnie’s candy making craze, and if she doesn’t agree, the world is going to see its first Homicide By Toffee case . . . OH, GOD, WE HAD
FUN.
But knowing the words by heart wasn’t the same as being there, as seeing Elena’s face flushed with the heat of the stove, as counting the wisps of damp gold hair curling on her forehead; as watching her laugh and snap out orders and apologize by turn.
He wanted to see that.
“I vaguely remember. Bonnie had to have it cut out of her hair,” Meredith was saying.
Her eyes were mildly curious.
“I’d like to see that. Little things like that, if you can remember them. Just any little thing—”
He was repeating himself—and he was starting to break down. Meredith put a hand on his elbow, guiding him to the threadbare brokenspringed couch in this room that had been his home for the happiest days of his life.
Meredith
Meredith was worried about Stefan. Those haunted green eyes . . . they’d used to be a brighter leaf green. Now they were dark as emerald. The tightly molded planes of his face, the beauty of his features, the soft promise of his mouth were all there . . . but still, somehow, these days Stefan managed to look like a condemned man. It wasn’t just since the monster had started attacking Fell’s Church. It was since losing Elena. Stefan had become the most beautiful walking shadow of his former self.
Fear assailed her suddenly, and she had to know about their champion. “Stefan?
With human blood in your veins, and White Ash in your hands, how do you rate your chances?” she asked him.
“How can I know? All I do know is that I’ll fight him with everything I have; with everything you’re giving me.”
With what they were giving him. A wry, mocking voice started in Meredith’s head.
Making a bargain with the devil? You’re going to let this lesser fiend have his way with you, breech your veins, just so he can go into a hopeless battle with a greater devil?
Yes. Oh, yes, indeed. She’d do much more than give her blood to a halfbroken lost soul like Stefan if it would allow her a chance to save Fell’s Church. Revenge . . . even revenge for her grandfather and Sue Carson . . . was pointless. If everyone insisted on revenge then the world would be full of maimed things: widows and orphans and gibbering phantoms. But if Stefan wasn’t able to stop that monster tonight, the monster would blaze through Fell’s Church, and leave it ruined in his wake. Hundreds of gibbering phantoms . . .
Grandfather . . .
Grandfather, there’s a real devil loose and nobody fit to stand up to him. And Damon may have—how would Stefan put it?—already played us false. He’s not a very good choice of ally. But what I know is that Stefan won’t. Stefan will hang in there until he stops that thing, even if it means he has to die.
I have to help him in any way I can.
She wondered why she was telling herself this, why she was so vehement. But the answer was too obvious. She was facing an old fear now with Stefan. Since her grandfather’s—breakdown—she had a terror and a disgust for vampires. She’d been young enough to believe him and develop that. Now, was she woman enough to hold herself still and face those translucent needlelike fangs when they were hovering over her throat?
It was time to see.
Stefan
Stefan thought, God help me, don’t let me let her down—or Bonnie,
either. If it hadn’t been that Elena was in every atom of his body, every
breath of air he did not take; that she was in the marrow of his bones,
and in his vision, somehow always there in his sidesight no matter
what desperate situation was in front, he would have mistrusted
himself. The gallantry of these two girls in facing a horror all humans
shared made him admire them almost too much. He had no fears of forgetting Elena for a millisecond, but both Bonnie and Meredith, in their own ways, were so dear to him, so fine in their characters and in their graceful bodies, that tonight he was close to loving them.
And what that could lead to, while he was drinking their blood . . . . . .
“We’re your friends,” Meredith said, still helping him, as they sat. “Friends pooling their strength—out of lovingkindness—for the sake of all the ignorant people who don’t even know they’re in danger.”
Lovingkindness, now there was an apt word. Had it been used since the days of long skirts and governesses? But it was exactly right. Meredith and Bonnie both knew the value of lovingkindness.
Then Meredith did something that would seem to offset what she had just said.
Deliberately, she snapped the lamp beside her on. This brightened the room so much that Stefan found it almost painful; Mrs. Flower’s had changed his lowwattage bulb for a slightly higher one. But it also seemed to bring the matter into the sane, level ground of the daylight world. It acted as a shock and a restorative for both of them.
“I want this in the light,” she said. “No vampire mind control—I won’t need it. I’ve made up my own mind, and I’ll stick to my decision; if you can believe that.”
“Yes,” Stefan said simply. He added, “I’ll do my best without controlling your mind. I know how—uneasy—you are about anything interfering with your thoughts.” Meredith smiled, a little sadly. “That’s not the only issue, my friend, and I think you know it. But if you don’t mind . . .”
“I don’t mind.”
And then for a moment they both just sat, looking at each other in the toobright light, searching each other’s eyes, and neither of them able to think of a thing to say.
Finally Stefan said, somewhat huskily, “We should really . . .”
“ . . . get started.” Meredith nodded. She unbuttoned her blouse again. “Just . . .
tell me what to do . . .”
Terrified. She was terrified. Stefan made himself smile warmly, and he held out an arm wide for her to rest against, but all the time his mind was racing wildly through options.
Terrified meant that she would rebel. He had promised not to use mind control. She would experience agonizing pain; she might even lose her balanced, diamondbright mind.
He was about to put her through hell.
What could he do to help her? How could he get her past the fear that was making her rigid in his arm, with little tremors running through her? He knew what she was thinking about: the crystalline fangs with their double sting and the long, frozen moments after as her life substance leaked away.
And then he thought of something. A “Plan C,” as Elena might have said.
“Meredith, could you shut your eyes for a moment?” he asked, his voice still husky. “I wanted to ask you something and it’s a little embarrassing. I remember one thing Elena told me, and that was that you used to—well, to take on her discarded boyfriends for a little while, to comfort them, before turning them lose in the world again. And I was wondering—
could you think of me that way?”
Meredith’s eyes flew open and her held breath exploded in laughter. “You!”
“I fulfill all the requirements, I’m sure. Low selfesteem. Can’t sleep, can’t eat. I think about Elena night and day. I can’t picture myself—ever�
�wanting another girl—” Meredith laughed and laughed and the tension that had been holding her rigid broke.
“All right, all right. You’re an Elena’sex. Join the very large club. But what can I do for you?”
“Meredith, my friend, my sane, levelheaded friend . . . for a few minutes, will you pretend with me? Just for a few minutes will you pretend that everything we’re doing here is not for a desperate cause?”
Meredith’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “What are you saying, Stefan? What is it you want?”
Always so forthright. Stefan felt a wave of relief. Meredith was very close to full womanhood—although she had probably been that way since she was twelve or thirteen.
She was not a tightly closed blossom, but a fragrant, soft rose in full bloom. He could treat her as an adult.
“Would you—would you let me kiss you? I—”
He stopped, surprised, because Meredith was laughing again, her dark eyes flashing and sparkling in a rainbow of colors. And then he realized that Meredith was actually closer to crying than merriment. The rainbow glittering was tears.
“Would I let you?” Meredith repeated. “Oh, my dear dimwitted friend. You’re serious, aren’t you? You don’t know your own power, do you?”
Stefan felt himself flush a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stefan, let me tell you something. I may be fond of Alaric Saltzman—and someday, someday I may marry him, true—but you can kiss me anytime you like. Yes, I’ll pretend with you, Stefan. If I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow, I would be glad to go having a memory of comfort instead of fear.”
She understood that it could be either. That was the important point. And when she rested back into the crook of Stefan’s arm, her body was relaxed. Stefan didn’t wait for new doubts or fears to overtake her. He put a gentle hand to her cheek and shut his eyes.
Then he bent to his first real kiss—not dream, not reverie—since Elena had died. He noted that Meredith’s lips were soft and surprisingly warm—and then there was a sort of silken explosion in his mind. Meredith was opening to him, giving of herself, showing him that Elena was not the only one who could turn a kiss into a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. Or into the garden of Eden; the garden of green valleys which Stefan could glimpse, but never again enter. Heartstricken, he clung to her, and the kiss stretched on far longer than he had ever meant it to. It resonated like a chord so pure and beautiful that it builds and builds until everything is vibrating to its tone, until Stefan felt it in his bones and in his aching body . . . and his aching fangs.