The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Midnight

by L. J. Smith

  First, however, there was the Beast to conquer. Saber the black hellhound had unfolded, awake and alert from the moment the secret door had opened. Undoubtedly, they had used Damon’s clothes to teach him to howl madly at his scent.

  But Damon had his own knowledge of herbs and had ransacked Mrs. Flowers’s kitchen to find a handful of witch hazel, a small amount of strawberry wine, aniseed, some peppermint oil, and a few other essential oils she had in stock, sweet and sharp. Mixed, this created a pungent lotion, which he had gingerly applied to himself. The concoction formed for Saber an impossible tangle of strong smells. The only thing the now-sitting dog knew was that it was surely not Damon sitting on the steps and tossing him hearty balls of hamburger and delicate strips of filet mignon—each of which he gulped down whole. Damon watched with interest as the animal devoured the mix of sleeping powder and raw meat, tail whisking on the floor.

  Ten minutes later Saber the hellhound was sprawled out happily unconscious.

  Six minutes after that, Damon was opening an iron door.

  One second later he was pulling a pillowcase out of Mrs. Flowers’s antique safe.

  In the glow of the flashlight he found that he did indeed have a star ball, but that it was just a little more than half full.

  Now what did that mean? There was a very neat hole drilled and corked at the top so that not one precious droplet more need be wasted.

  But who had used the rest of the fluid—and why? Damon himself had seen the star ball brimful of opalescent, shimmering liquid just days ago.

  Somehow between that time and now someone had used about a hundred thousand individuals’ life energy.

  Had the others tried to do some remarkable deed with it and failed, at the cost of burning so much Power? Stefan was too kind to have used so much, Damon was certain of that. But…

  Sage.

  With an Imperial Summons in his hand, Sage was likely to do anything. So, sometime after the sphere had been brought into the boardinghouse, Sage had poured out almost exactly half the life force from the star ball and then, undoubtedly, left the rest behind for Mutt or someone to cork.

  And such a colossal amount of Power could only have been used for…opening the Gate to the Dark Dimensions.

  Very slowly, Damon let out his breath and smiled. There were only a few ways to get into the Dark Dimensions, and as a human he obviously could not drive to Arizona and pass through a public Gateway as he had the first time with the girls. But now he had something even better. A star ball to open his own private Gateway. He knew of no other way to cross, unless one was lucky enough to hold one of the almost-mythical Master Keys that allowed one to roam the dimensions at will.

  Doubtless, someday in the future, in some nook, Mrs. Flowers would find another thank-you note: this time along with something that was literally invaluable—something exquisite and priceless and probably from a dimension quite far from Earth. That was how Sage operated.

  All was quiet above. The humans were relying on their animal companions to keep them safe. Damon gave the root cellar a single look around and saw nothing more than a dim room completely empty except for the safe, which he now closed. Dumping his own paraphernalia into the pillowcase, he patted Saber, who was gently snoring, and turned toward the steps.

  That was when he saw that a figure was standing in the doorway. The figure then stepped smoothly behind the door, but Damon had seen enough.

  In one hand the figure had been holding a fighting stave almost as tall as it was.

  Which meant that it was a hunter-slayer. Of vampires.

  Damon had met several hunter-slayers—briefly—in his time. They were, in his consideration, bigoted, unreasonable, and even more stupid than the average human, because they’d usually been brought up on legends of vampires with fangs like tusks who ripped out the throats of their victims and killed them. Damon would be the first to admit that there were some vampires like that, but most were more restrained. Vampire hunters usually worked in groups, but Damon had a hunch that this one would be alone.

  He now ascended the steps slowly. He was fairly certain of the identity of this hunter-slayer, but if he was wrong he was going to have to dodge a stave launched straight down at him like a javelin. No problem—if he were still a vampire. Slightly more difficult, unarmed as he was and at a severe tactical disadvantage.

  He reached the top of the stairs unharmed. This was really the most dangerous part of climbing steps, for a weapon of just the right length could send him crashing all the way back down. Of course a vampire wouldn’t be permanently injured by that, but—again—he was no longer a vampire.

  But the person in the kitchen allowed him to climb all the way out of the root cellar unhindered.

  A killer with honor. How sweet.

  He turned slowly to measure up his vampire hunter. He was immediately impressed.

  It wasn’t the obvious strength that allowed the hunter to be able to whip off a figure eight with the fighting stave that impressed him. It was the weapon itself. Perfectly balanced, it was meant to be held in the middle, and the designs picked out in jewels around the handhold showed that its creator had had excellent taste. The ends showed that he or she had a sense of humor as well. The two ends of the stave were made of ironwood for strength—but they were also decorated. In shape, they were made to resemble one of humankind’s oldest weapons, the flint-tipped spear. But there were tiny spikes extruding from each of these “spear flakes,” set firmly into the ironwood. These tiny spikes were of different materials: silver for werewolves, wood for vampires, white ash for Old Ones, iron for all eldritch creatures, and a few that Damon couldn’t quite work out.

  “They’re refillable,” the hunter-slayer explained. “Hypodermic needles inject on impact. And of course different poisons for different species—quick and simple for humans, wolfsbane for those naughty puppies, and so on. It really is a jewel of a weapon. I wish I had found it before we met Klaus.”

  Then she seemed to shake herself back into reality.

  “So, Damon, what’s it going to be?” asked Meredith.

  8

  Damon nodded thoughtfully, glancing back and forth between the fighting stave and the pillowcase in his hand.

  Hadn’t he suspected something like this for a long time? Subconsciously? After all, there had been that attack on the grandfather, which had failed to either kill him or to erase his memory completely. Damon’s imagination could fill in the rest: her parents seeing no reason to blight their tiny daughter’s life with this gruesome business—a whole new change of scenery—and then giving up the practice in the provincial, protected little town of Fell’s Church.

  If they had only known.

  Oh, doubtless they had made sure that Meredith had had self-defense and various martial arts training since she was a child, while swearing her to absolute secrecy—even from her best friends.

  Well, now, Damon thought. The first of Shinichi’s riddles was already solved. “One of you has a lifetime secret kept from everyone.” I always knew there was something about this girl…and this is it. I’d bet my life that she’s a black belt.

  There had been a long silence. Now Damon broke it.

  Your ancestors were hunters too? he asked, as if she were telepathic. He waited a moment—still silence. Okay—no telepathy. That was good. He nodded at the magnificent stave. “That was certainly made for a lord or lady.”

  Meredith wasn’t stupid. She spoke without glancing away from his eyes. She was ready, at any instant, to go into killing mode. “We’re just ordinary folk, trying to get a job done so innocent humans will be safer.”

  “By killing the odd vampire or two.”

  “Well, so far in recorded history saying ‘Naughty, naughty, Mama spank’ has failed to convert a single vampire to vegetarianism.”

  Damon had to laugh. “Pity you weren’t born early enough to convert Stefan. He could have been your grand triumph.”

  “You think that’s funny. But we do have con
verts.”

  “Yes. People will say anything while you’re holding a pointed stick at them.”

  “People who feel that it’s wrong to Influence other people into believing they’re getting something for nothing.”

  “That’s it! Meredith! Let me Influence you!”

  This time it was Meredith who laughed.

  “No, I’m serious! When I’m a vampire again, let me Influence you not to be so much afraid of a bite. I swear I won’t take more than a teaspoon. But that would give me time to show you—”

  “A nice big house of candy that never existed? A relative who died ten years ago and who would have abhorred the thought of you taking my memory of her and using it as a lure? A dream of ending world hunger that doesn’t put food into one mouth?”

  This girl, thought Damon, is dangerous. It’s like a Counter-Influence that they’ve taught to their members. Wanting her to see that vampires, or ex-vampires, or Once and Future Vampires had some good qualities—like courage—he let go of the pillowcase and grasped the end of the fighting stave with both hands.

  Meredith raised an eyebrow. “Did I not just recently tell you that a number of those spikes you’ve just driven into your flesh are poisonous? Or were you not listening?”

  She had automatically grabbed the stave as well, above the dangerous zone.

  “You told me,” he said inscrutably—he hoped.

  “I particularly said ‘poisonous to humans as well as to werewolves and other things’—recall it?”

  “You told me that, too. But I’d rather die than live as a human, so: Let the games begin.” And with that, Damon began to push the two-headed stave toward Meredith’s heart.

  She immediately clamped down on the stave as well, pushing it back toward him. But he had three advantages, as they both soon realized. He was slightly taller and more strongly muscled even than lithe, athletic Meredith; he had a longer reach than hers; and he had taken up a much more aggressive position. Even though he could feel poisoned little spikes biting into his palms, he thrust forward and up until the killing point was once again near her heart. Meredith pushed back with an amazing amount of strength and then suddenly, somehow, they were even again.

  Damon glanced up to see how that had happened, and saw, to his shock, that she also had grasped the stave in the killing zone. Now her hands were dripping blood onto the floor just as his were.

  “Meredith!”

  “What? I take my job seriously.”

  Despite her gambit, he was stronger. Inch by inch, he forced his torn palms to hang on, his arms to exert pressure. And inch by inch she was forced backward, refusing to quit—until there was no more room to back up.

  And there they stood, the entire length of the stave between them, and the refrigerator flat against Meredith’s back.

  All Damon could think of was Elena. If he somehow survived this—and Meredith did not—then what would those malachite eyes say to him? How would he live with what they said?

  And then, with infuriating timing, like a chess player knocking over her own king, Meredith let go of the spear, conceding Damon’s superior strength.

  After which, seeming to have no fear of turning her back on him, she took a jar full of salve from a kitchen cupboard, scooped out a dollop of the contents, and motioned for Damon to hold out his hands. He frowned. He’d never heard of a poison that got into the blood that could be cured by external measures.

  “I didn’t put real poison in the human needles,” she said calmly. “But your palms will be torn and this is an excellent remedy. It’s ancient, passed down for generations.”

  “How kind of you to share,”—at his most sharply ironic.

  “And now what are we going to do? Start all over again?” he added as Meredith calmly began to rub salve into her own hands.

  “No. Hunter-slayers have a code, you know. You won the sphere. I assume you’re planning to do what Sage seems to have done. Open the Gate to the Dark Dimension.”

  “Open the Gate to the Dark Dimensions,” he corrected. “Probably I should have mentioned—there’s more than one. But all I want is to become a vampire again. And we can talk as we go, since I see we’re both wearing our cat burglar costumes.”

  Meredith was dressed much as he was, in black jeans and a lightweight black sweater. With her long shining dark hair she looked unexpectedly beautiful. Damon, who had considered running her through with the stave, just as his obligation to vampire-kind, now found himself wavering. If she gave him no trouble on his way to the Gate, he would let her go, he decided. He was feeling magnanimous—for the first time he had faced down and conquered the fearsome Meredith, and besides, she had a code as he did. He felt a sort of kinship with her.

  With ironic gallantry, he waved her on before him, retaining possession of the pillowcase and the fighting stave himself.

  As Damon quietly shut the front door he saw that dawn was about to break. Perfect timing. The stave caught the first rays of light. “I have a question for you,” he said to Meredith’s long, silky dark hair. “You said that you didn’t find this gorgeous stave until after Klaus—that wicked Old One—was dead. But if you’re from a hunter-slayer family you might have been more help in getting him dispatched. Like mentioning that only white ash could kill him.”

  “It was because my parents didn’t actively pursue the family business—they didn’t know. They were both from hunter families, of course—you have to be, to keep it out of the tabloids and—”

  “—police files—”

  “Do you want me to talk, or can you do your stand-up routine alone?”

  “Point taken”—hefting the extremely pointed stave. “I’ll listen.”

  “But even though they chose not to be active, they knew that a vampire or werewolf might decide to pick on their daughter if they found out her identity. So during school, I took ‘harpsichord lessons’ and ‘riding lessons’ one day a week each—have done since I was three. I’m a Black Belt Shihan, and a Taekwondo Saseung. I might start Dragon Kung Fu—”

  “Point taken once more. But then how exactly did you find that gorgeous killing stick?”

  “After Klaus was dead, while Stefan was babysitting Elena, suddenly Grandpa started talking—just single words—but it made me go look in our attic. I found this.”

  “So you really don’t know how to use it?”

  “I’d just started practicing when Shinichi turned up. But, no, I don’t really have a clue. I’m pretty good with a bo staff, though, so I just use it like that.”

  “You didn’t use it like a bo staff on me.”

  “I was hoping to persuade you, not kill you. I couldn’t think of how to explain to Elena that I’d broken all your bones.”

  Damon kept himself from laughing—barely.

  “So how did a couple of inactive hunter-slayers end up moving to a town on top of a few hundred crossing ley lines?”

  “I’m guessing they didn’t know what a line of natural Power was. And Fell’s Church looked small and peaceful—back then.”

  They found the Gateway just as Damon had seen it before, a neat rectangular piece sliced out of the earth, about five feet deep.

  “Now sit down there,” he adjured Meredith, putting her on the opposite corner from where he lay the stave.

  “Have you given a thought—even the briefest—as to what will happen to Misao if you pour out all the liquid in there?”

  “Actually, not one. Not one microsecond’s worth,” Damon said cheerfully. “Why? Do you think she would for me?”

  Meredith sighed. “No. That’s the problem with both of you.”

  “She’s certainly your problem at the moment, although I may stop by sometime after the town’s destroyed to have a little tête-à-tête with her brother about the concept of keeping an oath.”

  “After you’ve gotten strong enough to beat him.”

  “Well, why don’t you do something? It’s your town they’ve devastated, after all,” Damon said. “Children attacking t
hemselves and each other, and now adults attacking children—”

  “They’re either scared to death or possessed by those malach the foxes are still spreading everywhere—”

  “Yes, and so fear and paranoia keep spreading too. Fell’s Church may be little by the standards of other genocides they’ve caused, but it’s an important place because it’s sitting on top—”

  “Of all those ley lines full of magical power—yes, yes, I know. But don’t you care at all? About us? Their future plans for us? Doesn’t any of it matter to you?” Meredith demanded.

  Damon thought of the still, small figure in the first-floor bedroom and felt a sick qualm. “I told you already,” he snapped. “I’m coming back for a talk with Shinichi.”

  After which, carefully, he began to pour liquid from the uncorked star ball at one corner of the rectangle. Now that he was actually at the Gate, he realized he had no idea what he should do. The proper procedure might be to jump in and pour out the star ball’s entire liquid in the middle. But four corners seemed to dictate four different places to pour, and he was sticking to that.

  He expected Meredith to try to foul things up somehow. Make a run for the house. Make some noise, at least. Attack him from behind now that he had dropped the stave. But apparently her code of honor forbade this.

  Strange girl, he thought. But I’ll leave her the stave, since it really belongs to her family, and, anyway, it’s going to get me killed the instant I land in the Dark Dimension. A slave carrying a weapon—especially a weapon like that—won’t have a chance.

  Judiciously, he poured out almost all of the liquid left into the final corner and stepped back to see what would happen.