The War of Roses

by L. J. Smith

  “What?” she demanded. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  Meredith said gently: “Bonnie—wild dogs? Here on campus?”

  “I suppose,” Matt said, “that the campus kind of backs up onto forestland, but still . . . I never heard of wild dogs living in Dyer Wood.”

  Elena was still looking at Damon, and Bonnie realized that he was looking uncomfortable.

  “Maybe,” Elena said slowly, still looking at Damon, “you just dreamed the parts about the dogs, too—all three of them. Maybe you thought you were awake then, but you were really still asleep.”

  “But I wasn’t asleep! I was too cold to be asleep! And Damon saw the white dog, didn’t you, Damon?”

  Damon was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, yes. She said it was an Alaskan Husky. I wouldn’t know, but it was damn big and white all over.”

  “It had beautiful golden eyes,” Bonnie contributed. “It didn’t wag much; and it was afraid of the bad dogs.”

  “These bad dogs—” Matt began.

  “They were ginormous. More Alaskan Huskies, but they were brindled on top and only white on their stomachs—”

  “Brindled . . . like a wolf?”

  Everyone stopped talking and looked at Matt.

  “People were always breeding wolf-dog hybrids back in Fell’s Church. They thought it was cool—but then after the puppies grew up, they dumped them around the Old Wood. I’ll bet that people do it around Dyer Wood, too,” Matt said, thinking it out.

  “Wolf-dogs?” Meredith asked skeptically. “Wild ones?”

  “And maybe Bonnie’s white dog, too. They might even run wild in a pack somewhere in Dyer Wood.”

  “But—that’s impossible!” Caroline said, her voice tight. “There may be coyotes around here, but there aren’t any—”

  She broke off, seeming uncomfortable. Matt just plunged on: “They’re way more vicious than dogs or wolves are. They might even track a human—especially if she was with the lowest-ranking member of their pack.”

  Bonnie felt injured. “Why the lowest-ranking? He was just scared, and so was I. Does that make me the lowest ranking girl in our—”

  “Animals that are all white or all black are often discriminated against—in packs in the wild,” Meredith said in her explaining-from-a-book voice. “But, Matt, do you really think a pack of wild wolf-dogs is roaming the Dalcrest campus?”

  “They might be hanging out in the woods,” Damon said. He had a way of speaking that made everyone stop and wait for him to say more. “They might even have kicked the white dog out of their pack . . . and then followed him with unfriendly intentions when he went to hide on the campus where big blundering humans live.”

  “But you didn’t let me keep him!” Bonnie wailed, turning toward Damon. Now she was really upset. “They’ll eat him or something! I could have saved him!”

  Damon, looking somber, just shook his head. “Redbird, you can’t keep an enormous, untamed, unneutered dog in your room. It’s not fair to him, and eventually you’d get expelled.”

  “Rusticated,” Elena began, and then fell silent, frowning.

  “Rusticated . . . sounds familiar somehow,” she murmured, shaking her head.

  “But I have to protect him! I’m going back right now and getting him—”

  “You’re not going anywhere in your nightgown and bare feet!”—Meredith.

  “You can’t keep a wolf-dog in a dorm room!”—Caroline.

  “You’re not going anywhere without protection for yourself!”—Elena.

  “The dog or hybrid or whatever is already gone—I’m sure.” That was Damon, seeming perfectly serious, looking perfectly competent. “He ran away at the sight of Indoors. That’s not where he wants to be.”

  Everyone nodded at this, and Bonnie knew that they would all take his word for it; because he was a junior and they were freshmen, because he had traveled, and they hadn’t; because he could deal with the bitch queen on wheels that Elena could be sometimes, and nobody else could. And because of a whole different reason that she couldn’t even think of right now.

  The unfairness of this made her so angry that she said, while more or less in her right mind: “Maybe he ran away when he saw you. You were the one who said that ‘damon’ meant run away in every language. He growled at you. If he did run, maybe he ran away because you were so mean!”

  Everyone turned to stare at Bonnie in silence. She realized she’d confounded them. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she didn’t care. Her heart was beating fiercely.

  Damon looked less confounded than the others. He did look hurt, though, and very tired.

  “Little redbird—”

  “I’m not your little red bird!” Bonnie cried through the sting of tears, burning her bridges behind her. She had no idea why she was saying all this, but she felt betrayed and unhappy, and . . . and fuming mad. She felt even more betrayed and miserable and angry than the loss of the beautiful white dog would seem to justify. And because she couldn’t fight with her muscles; she had to use words.

  “You’re Elena’s boyfriend; you shouldn’t even be calling me that! And it’s not your job to protect me! It’s none of your business!”

  “It’s my business if you go out there again tonight and freeze,” Damon said. Something inside Bonnie noted that he looked harried and pale, but another, more selfish thing noted that his voice was almost harsh—and he had almost never before been harsh toward her. “In fact, I will make it my very own personal business if you even try to do that.”

  “And it’s my business, period, because I’m the one who would have to live with the ginormous mangy, flea-bitten, wild wolf-dog if you did find him,” Meredith said flatly. Bonnie couldn’t believe that she was siding with Damon, especially when he was being so . . . mean!

  He didn’t even look right, Bonnie thought wretchedly. His eyes looked too dark. Not a bit like spring leaves—but then why should he have green eyes like Caroline? That was a weird idea. She didn’t know any guy with vivid green eyes.

  Meanwhile, her mouth was saying to Meredith, “He wasn’t mangy or flea-bitten! He was gorgeous! And he was there with me when I woke up—and when you disappeared!”

  “Bonnie, that’s cra—that’s unreasonable thinking!” Meredith flashed back.

  Bonnie knew it was unreasonable. She couldn’t help it. If she was going crazy anyway, and everybody knew it, why should she even try to be reasonable?

  “Okay,” Elena said in her clearing-away-obstacles-in-one-fell-swoop voice. “We’re all tired. We’re all on edge. We all need a little time to cool down—”

  “I’m already cold enough, and so is your boyfriend!” Bonnie snapped, feeling as if she were drowning in a bitter, salty sea. “He’s as cold as—ice! He doesn’t even care about a poor, scared dog that’s outside getting frozen—”

  “He’s an Alaskan Husky—or a wolf-dog,” Damon said. “They’ve both got coats that let them sleep on glaciers! I don’t think a little October Virginia weather is going to freeze him. Even if it snowed on him, he—”

  “You’re going to make it snow on him! Don’t make it snow on him!” Bonnie cried, bursting into all-encompassing sobs. Even as she heard the words she realized that she must be having one of her psycho trances, where she said peculiar things without knowing it. Weird that this time she was aware of speaking.

  Damon made a gesture of flinging out his hands and looking pointedly for other-worldly intervention. Instead of rolling his eyes upward, however, he looked sideways, toward the wall with the large wooden turquoise and gold letter E. Matt, Caroline and Meredith glanced back and forth between the wall, Damon, Elena, and Bonnie. Eventually, though, they all focused on Bonnie, maybe because Elena had never taken her eyes off her.

  Matt ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up even higher on one side. He wet his lips. “She’s . . .”

  “Yeah,” Meredith said.

  “No,” Elena corrected. “She isn’t having an episode. She’s scared to dea
th, is all. And I don’t think I feel well, either.” She massaged her forehead with both hands, then began rubbing her closed eyes with her palms. “Bonnie? Why . . . do you think that Damon can . . . damn it! . . . make it snow?”

  Bonnie was surprised into trying to stop her sobbing, although she couldn’t really, not on full flow like that. Hearing Elena say that she, Bonnie, was scared to death, made Bonnie feel even more frightened. Having Elena ask her a question with no sensible answer was even worse, because Bonnie knew Elena and Elena was in earnest.

  “I didn’t mean it,” Bonnie said feebly, still crying.

  “Of course you meant it. But why?” Elena’s hand beat on the air, softly impatient.

  “Yes,” Damon said suddenly, his voice grim. “Look at me, Bonnie. Can I make it snow? Look hard.”

  Something deep inside Bonnie unfurled and looked. It stared at Damon and all around him and came back with a shocking report.

  “No,” Bonnie said, surprised that she was shocked. “You’re totally . . . you don’t even have any . . .”

  “Can you make it snow?” Damon persisted, still grim, watching her narrowly.

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “All right, then. Did I have anything to do with the attack on Elena? I mean, that’s what Elena really wants to know. Isn’t it, princess?”

  Bonnie hiccupped. She was too shocked now to keep crying. “Of course you didn’t! You . . . no! Anyone could tell that.”

  Elena nodded at Bonnie and then turned to Damon. “Okay. Fine. I’m still going to hit you, though, because I dreamed that you did it.”

  “You dreamed that I did it,” Damon echoed, sounding as if nothing would surprise him anymore. “Bonnie sleepwalks and you dream that . . . I mean, how? With a giant straw? No, on second thought, don’t answer that.”

  “Can everybody just stop being so . . . bizarre? Just for a few minutes?” Meredith pleaded.

  “Some of us are crazy,” Bonnie said darkly.

  “And some us are dreamers,” Elena said, at her most mysterious and deliberately obstinate.

  “Yeah, and some of us are a purple duck, or a mountainside, or a quarter after three,” Matt contributed, brightening suddenly.

  “Is it that late?” Caroline asked, frowning.

  “It’s Hans Christian Andersen.”

  “I thought it was an ugly duckling,” Damon muttered. “Purple—wouldn’t it end up a slightly effeminate lavender swan?”

  “Why is it that saying a woman is like a man is usually positive, while calling anything masculine feminine is the kiss of death?” Elena burst out.

  “Just . . . just could everybody stop before someone starts asking

  why a raven is like a writing desk, and I have a complete nervous breakdown,” Meredith said, with an intensity that was unlike her.

  “Oh!” Elena said. “A raven—not a raven! No, no, no, no—”

  “I believe you mean ‘nevermore,’” Damon said, distantly polite now, watching something that no one else could see the way lions in the savanna watch waterholes.

  “No, I didn’t mean ‘nevermore.’ I meant—”

  “Well, why is a raven like a—” Caroline began simultaneously.

  “Because Poe wrote on both,” Meredith said, dangerously quietly. “Or maybe because the notes for which they are noted are not noted for being musical notes. That’s not the question. The question is why everybody has freaking lost their minds.”

  “Elena and I aren’t big enough to be everybody,” Bonnie offered absently, thinking about the white dog whimpering as he slept on a glacier.

  “Who is big enough to be everybody?” Caroline demanded, stiffening. “Are you implying—”

  “You know, raven is ‘nevar’ backwards,” Matt interrupted.

  “It’s not just you and Elena,” Meredith said to Bonnie. “I think he’s asleep, too, Matt is. You are all freaking raving.”

  “And by the way, you made me forget,” Elena said to Meredith. “I almost had something, but then you went and—”

  “And you’re not raving?” Bonnie asked Meredith as courteously as possible.

  “Am I invisible and inaudible?” Caroline demanded of Bonnie with no courtesy at all. “Because my questions keep getting—”

  “SHUT UP. ALL OF YOU. RIGHT NOW.”

  Silence.

  Bonnie looked at Elena. Elena was looking at Damon. Damon was looking at the doorway.

  Bonnie turned to see who was there and fell fast asleep.

  * * *

  Stefan pulled his sweater, which had been hiding most of his face, down and stared at Damon. There were bits of ragged leaves in his hair, Damon noted. Not big ones, but still. He knew that he had never looked as if he was living in a tree, but then his little brother had all that wavy, unmanageable hair. He also probably didn’t carry a small comb along with a silver-edged switchblade in his jeans pocket.

  Stefan was already ranting. “Che diavolo pensi di fare? Sei pazzo? Guarda tutti questi matti! Hai completamente rovinato tutto quello che ho fatto io, idiota! Lo sapevo che non potevo fidarmi di te, deficiente pigro, senza cervello e inaffidabile!”

  There was a pause. Even vampires had to breathe to speak. Damon waited it out, and after a moment raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as if to say, “That’s all you’ve got?”

  Stefan opened his mouth as if to continue, but this time Damon jumped in. “Stai zitto bestia! In primo luogo, tu gridi come una ragazzina di sei anni. E poi, mezza sega, stupido come un asino ma infuocato come i demoni dell’inferno! Terzo. . .

  “Third”—he switched to English—“I’m going to tell you what’s wrong with everything you’re thinking. The most important thing is that I didn’t need to screw everything up. You already did that very efficiently yourself. I’ll explain more later. For now watch these humans; keep them frozen that way for fifteen minutes.”

  “Why? You—”

  “A, because they’re your responsibility; and, Two, because I am starving. Ye gods, I had to Influence Elena and Bonnie both by burning life energy! Right now, I’m going to find something soft and warm and I’m going to feed. You can either go to hell or watch over the people whose lives you’ve ruined; your choice.”

  Stefan looked mutinous. “Your noise woke me up when I’d finally just gotten to sleep, and now I find—”

  “I did not make noise. Scan me. I can hardly stand up and I couldn’t wake a flea. I’ve been trying to keep Elena safe . . .” Damon broke off. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Ten.”

  “Don’t you try to bargain with me, cazzo! I’m the only thing standing between this lot of humans and bedlam.”

  Without waiting for Stefan to frame a response, he turned and hastened out of the room. Once the door was shut behind him, his famished senses took him prowling down the hallway as if blown by a hot wind. He barely had the Power to see auras but a vivid one about seven rooms down was brilliant enough to attract him like a bee to a sweetly scented, pollen-loaded rose.

  The nice thing about the dormitories was that one invitation into the building sufficed for every room that had been part of the same construction. In other words, Damon didn’t have to wake his newest best friend with the dazzling aura to get permission to enter her room.

  Two minutes later, he was slaking his thirst from the throat of a girl with soft mouse-brown hair and a pair of glasses on her nightstand. Damon thought she was as beautiful as a half-open Jacqueminot rose. He’d given her one of his most charming dreams too; if she remembered it in the morning, she’d be surprised at how much she knew about Renaissance Florence.

  He raised his head when ten minutes had gone by. Of course, he might delight Stefan’s heart by appearing early, but . . . it was such a wonderful idea, this roommate business. Just two steps away was another sleeping girl: bonier, more angular, more conventionally beautiful, but less cuddly and with only half the aura of his sweet-smelling rose, who, incidentally, was now smiling as she slept. Damon eyed the roommate t
houghtfully.

  Oh, what the hell?

  * * *

  Stefan’s cold anger had melted as soon as Damon left the room. Now he was standing where he thought he would never stand again, directly in front of Elena, looking into her eyes. The problem was that those eyes were open but unseeing. He could see the flecks of gold in the dark blue, steady as the inclusions in a piece of lapis lazuli since she was simply staring without blinking.

  That worried him suddenly. He’d held more people than this frozen at Mercy Havenwick ICU, but he hadn’t wondered if they were able to blink. There was probably something bad that could happen if you stared for fifteen minutes—twenty more likely, if he knew his brother—without blinking.

  Stefan tossed out a tendril of Influence and everyone: Elena, Meredith, Bonnie, Matt, and Caroline all blinked at once. Then they all shut their eyes, as Stefan had an inspiration.

  He focused on Elena again. It wasn’t so bad to watch her standing still when her eyes were shut. He had marveled over Elena asleep often enough that this didn’t seem unnatural.

  It was dangerous, though. Looking led to the desire to touch. He only wanted to trace the curve of her cheek with one finger, he bargained. Just that—and perhaps to kiss her warm lips.

  Madness. He wasn’t stupid enough to start a domino effect like that. This was a hunger that grew when you fed it. That was Shakespeare, wasn’t it? “But she makes hungry, where she most satisfies . . .” Antony and Cleopatra. Oh, right. Hamlet, too. “As if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on . . .”

  He was dully surprised at how much he missed her already. Images and sensations whirled through his mind: moments that they’d shared; the flash of her eyes as she glanced back at him, pointing out a joke that no one else besides Stefan could comprehend; the taste of rusty iron when she kissed him after holding a mouthful of nails; her expression as tears traced white paths on her dusty, sweaty face when she was mourning Damon’s death; the way her hair whipped into a thousand priceless silk snakes in the wind. The warmth of her lissome body when they slept curled together, and—even more delicious than that—the knowledge that she trusted him absolutely to take no liberty with her while she was at her most vulnerable.