The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Nightfall

by L. J. Smith

  And, finally, when there was nothing more to say, and Damon’s blood had restored faint color to Elena’s cheeks they made plans as to how to meet again.

  At the ceremony.

  And then there was only Elena in the room, and a large raven winging its way toward the Old Wood.

  Sitting on the cold stone floor, Elena took a moment to put all she now knew together. No wonder Damon had seemed so schizophrenic. No wonder he had remembered, and then forgotten, and then remembered that he was the one she was running from.

  He remembered, she reasoned, when Shinichi was not controlling him, or at least was keeping him on a very loose rein. But his memory was spotty because some of the things he’d done were so terrible that his own mind had rejected them. They had seamlessly become part of the possessed Damon’s memory, for when possessed Shinichi was controlling every word, every deed. And in between episodes, Shinichi was telling him that he had to find Elena’s tormentor and kill him.

  All very amusing, she supposed, for this kitsune, Shinichi. But for both her and Damon it had been hell.

  Her mind refused to admit that there had been moments of heaven mixed in with the hell. She was Stefan’s, alone. That would never change.

  Now Elena needed one more magical door, and she didn’t know how to find one. But there was the twinkling fairy light again. She guessed it was the last of the magic that Honoria Fell had left to protect the town she had founded. Elena felt a little guilty, using it up—but if it wasn’t meant for her, why had she been brought here?

  To try for the most important destination she could imagine.

  Reaching for the speck with one hand and clenching the key in the other she whispered with all the force at her command:

  “Somewhere I can see and hear and touch Stefan.”

  35

  A prison, with filthy rushes on the floor and bars between her and the sleeping Stefan.

  Between her and Stefan!

  It was really him. Elena didn’t know how she could know. Undoubtedly they could twist and change your perceptions here. But just now, perhaps because nobody had been expecting her to drop into a dungeon, no one was prepared with anything to make her doubt her senses.

  It was Stefan. He was thinner than before, and his cheekbones stuck out. He was beautiful. And his mind felt just right, just the right mixture of honor and love and darkness and light and hope and grim understanding of the world he lived in.

  “Stefan! Oh, hold me!”

  He woke and half sat up. “At least leave me my sleep. And meanwhile go away and put on another face, bitch!”

  “Stefan! Language!”

  She saw muscles in Stefan’s shoulders freeze.

  “What…did you…say?”

  “Stefan…it’s really me. I don’t blame you for cursing. I curse this whole place and the two who put you here….”

  “Three,” he said wearily, and bent his head. “You’d know that if you were real. Go and let them teach you about my traitor brother and his friends who sneak up on people with kekkai crowns…”

  Elena couldn’t wait to debate about Damon now. “Won’t you look at me, at least?”

  She saw him turn slowly, look slowly, then saw him leap up from a pallet made of sickly-looking hay, and saw him stare at her as if she were an angel dropped down from the sky.

  Then he turned his back on her and put his hands over his ears.

  “No bargains,” he said flatly. “Don’t even mention them to me. Go away. You’ve gotten better but you’re still a dream.”

  “Stefan!”

  “I said, go away!”

  Time was wasting. And this was too cruel, after what she had been through just to speak to him.

  “You first saw me just outside the principal’s office the day you brought your papers into school and influenced the secretary. You didn’t need to look at me to know what I looked like. Once I told you that I felt like a murderer because I said, ‘Daddy, look’ and pointed to—something outside—just before the car accident that killed my parents. I’ve never been able to remember what the something was. The first word I learned when I came back from the afterlife was Stefan. Once, you looked at me in the rearview mirror of the car and said that I was your soul….”

  “Can’t you stop torturing me for one hour? Elena—the real Elena—would be too smart to risk her life by coming here.”

  “Where’s ‘here’?” Elena said sharply, frightened. “I need to know if I’m supposed to get you out.”

  Slowly Stefan uncovered his ears. Even more slowly he turned around again.

  “Elena?” he said, like a dying boy who has seen a gentle ghost in his bed. “You’re not real. You can’t be here.”

  “I don’t think I am. Shinichi made a magic house and it takes you wherever you want if you name it and open the door with this key. I said, ‘Somewhere I can hear and see and touch Stefan.’ But”—she looked down—“you say I can’t be here. Maybe it’s all an illusion anyway.”

  “Hush.” Now Stefan was clenching the bars on his side of the cell.

  “Is this where you’ve been? Is this the Shi no Shi?”

  He gave a little laugh—not a real one. “Not exactly what either of us expected, is it? And yet, they didn’t lie in anything they said, Elena. Elena! I said ‘Elena.’ Elena, you’re really here!”

  Elena couldn’t bear to waste any time. She took the few steps through damp, crackly straw and scampering creatures to the bars that separated her from Stefan.

  Then she tilted up her face, clutching bars in either hand, and shut her eyes.

  I will touch him. I will, I will. I’m real, he’s real—I’ll touch him!

  Stefan leaned down—to humor her, she thought—and then warm lips touched hers.

  She put her arms through the bars because they were both weak at the knees: Stefan in astonishment that she could touch him, and Elena in relief and sobbing joy.

  But—there was no time.

  “Stefan, take my blood now—take it!”

  She looked desperately for something to cut herself with. Stefan might need her strength, and no matter what Damon had taken from her, she would always have enough for Stefan. If it killed her, she would have enough. She was glad, now, that in the tomb, Damon had persuaded her to take his.

  “Easy. Easy, little love. If you mean it, I can bite your wrist, but…”

  “Do it now!” Elena Gilbert, the princess of Fell’s Church, ordered. She had even gotten the strength to pull herself off her knees. Stefan gave her half a guilty glance.

  “NOW!” Elena insisted.

  Stefan bit her wrist.

  It was an odd sensation. It hurt a little more than when he pierced the side of her neck as usual. But there were good veins down there, she knew; she trusted Stefan to find the largest so that this would take the least amount of time. Her urgency had become his.

  But when he tried to pull back, she clutched a handful of his wavy dark hair and said, “More, Stefan. You need it—oh, I can tell, and we don’t have time to argue.”

  The voice of command. Meredith had told her once that she had it, that she could lead armies. Well, she might need to lead armies to get into this place to save him.

  I’ll get an army somewhere, she thought fuzzily.

  The starving bloodfever that Stefan had been in—they obviously hadn’t fed him since she had last seen him—was dying into the more normal blood-taking that she knew. His mind melted into hers. When you say you’ll get an army, I believe you. But it’s impossible. No one’s ever come back.

  Well, you will. I’m bringing you back.

  Elena, Elena…

  Drink, she said, feeling like an Italian mother. As much as you can without being sick.

  But how did—no, you told me how you got here. That was the truth?

  The truth. I always tell you the truth. But Stefan, how do I get you out?

  Shinichi and Misao—you know them?

  Enough.

  They each have half
a ring. Together it makes a key. Each half is shaped like a running fox. But who knows where they may have hidden the pieces? And as I said, just to get into this place, it takes an army….

  I’ll find the pieces of the fox ring. I’ll put them together. I’ll get an army. I’ll get you out.

  Elena, I can’t keep drinking. You’ll collapse.

  I’m good at not collapsing. Please go on.

  I can hardly believe it’s you—

  “No kissing! Take my blood!”

  Ma’am! But Elena, truly, I’m full now. Overfull.

  And tomorrow?

  “I’ll still be overfull.” Stefan pulled away, a thumb on the places where he had pierced veins. “Truly, I can’t, love.”

  “And the next day?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “You will—because I brought this. Hold me, Stefan,” she said, several decibels softer. “Hold me through the bars.”

  He did, looking bewildered, and she hissed in his ear, “Act like you love me. Stroke my hair. Say nice things.”

  “Elena, lovely little love…” He was still close enough mentally to say telepathically: Act like I love you? But while his hands were stroking and squeezing and tangling in her hair, Elena’s own hands were busy. She was transferring from under her clothes to under his a flask full of Black Magic wine.

  “But where did you get it?” Stefan whispered, seeming thunderstruck.

  “The magic house has everything. I’ve been waiting for my chance to give it to you if you needed it.”

  “Elena—”

  “What?”

  Stefan seemed to be struggling with something. At last, eyes on the ground, he whispered, “It’s no good. I can’t risk you getting killed for the sake of an impossibility. Forget me.”

  “Put your face to the bars.”

  He looked at her but didn’t ask any questions, obeying.

  She slapped him across the face.

  It wasn’t a very hard slap…although Elena’s hand hurt from colliding with the iron on either side.

  “Now, be ashamed!” she said. And before he could say anything else, “Listen!”

  It was the baying of hounds—far away, but getting closer.

  “It’s you they’re after,” Stefan said, suddenly frantic. “You have to go!”

  She just looked at him steadily. “I love you, Stefan.”

  “I love you, Elena. Forever.”

  “I—oh, I’m sorry.” She couldn’t go; that was the thing. Like Caroline talking and talking and never leaving Stefan’s apartment, she could stand here and speak about it, but she couldn’t do it.

  “Elena! You have to. I don’t want you to see what they do—”

  “I’ll kill them!”

  “You’re no killer. You’re not a fighter, Elena—and you shouldn’t see this. Please? Remember once you asked me if I’d like to see how many times you could make me say ‘please?’ Well, each counts for a thousand now. Please? For me? Will you go?”

  “One more kiss…” Her heart was beating like a frantic bird inside her.

  “Please!”

  Blind with tears, Elena turned around and grasped hold of the cell door.

  “Anywhere outside the ceremony where no one will see me!” she gasped and wrenched the door to the corridor open and stepped through.

  At least she’d seen Stefan, but for how long that would last to keep her heart from shattering again—

  —oh, my God, I’m falling—

  —she didn’t know.

  Elena realized that she was outside the boardinghouse somewhere—at least some eighty feet high—and plummeting rapidly. Her first, panicked conclusion was that she was going to die, and then instinct kicked in and she reached out with arms and hands and kicked in with legs and feet and managed to arrest her fall after twenty agonizing feet.

  I’ve lost my flying wings forever, haven’t I? she thought, concentrating on a single spot between her shoulder blades. She knew just where they should be—and nothing happened.

  Then, carefully, she inched her way closer to the trunk, pausing only to move to a higher twig a caterpillar that was sharing the branch with her. And she managed to find a sort of place where she could sit by sidling and then pushing backward. It was far too high a branch for her personal taste.

  As it was, she found that she could look down and see the widow’s walk quite clearly, and that the longer she looked at any particular thing the clearer her vision got. Vampire vision plus, she thought. It showed her that she was Changing. Or else—yes, somehow here the sky was getting lighter.

  What it showed her was a dark and empty boardinghouse, which was disturbing because of what Caroline’s father had said about “the meeting” and what she had learned telepathically from Damon about Shinichi’s plans for this Moonspire night. Could this be not the real boardinghouse at all, but another trap?

  “We made it!” Bonnie cried as they approached the house. She knew her voice was shrill, was over-shrill, but somehow the sight of that brightly lit boardinghouse, like a Christmas tree with a star on top, comforted her, even if she knew that it was all wrong. She felt she could cry in relief.

  “Yes, we did,” Dr. Alpert’s deep voice said. “All of us. Isobel’s the one who needs the most treatment, the fastest. Theophilia, get your nostrums ready, and somebody else take Isobel and run her a bath.”

  “I’ll do it,” Bonnie quavered, after a brief hesitation. “She’s going to stay tranquilized like she is now, right? Right?”

  “I’ll go with Isobel,” Matt said. “Bonnie, you go with Mrs. Flowers and help her. And before we go inside, I want to make one thing clear: nobody goes anywhere alone. We all travel in twos or threes.” There was the ring of authority in his voice.

  “Makes sense,” Meredith said crisply and took up a place by the doctor. “You’d better be careful, Matt; Isobel is the most dangerous.”

  That was when the high, thin voices began outside the house. It sounded like two or three little girls singing.

  “Isa-chan, Isa-chan,

  Drank her tea and ate her gran.”

  “Tami? Tami Bryce?” Meredith demanded, opening the door as the tune began again. She darted forward, then she grabbed the doctor by the hand, and dragged her along beside her as she darted forward again.

  And, yes, Bonnie saw, there were three little figures, one in pajamas and two in nightgowns, and they were Tami Bryce and Kristin Dunstan and Ava Zarinski. Ava was only about eleven, Bonnie thought, and she didn’t live near either Tami or Kristin. The three of them all giggled shrilly. Then they started singing again and Matt went after Kristin.

  “Help me!” Bonnie cried. She was suddenly hanging on to a bucking, kicking bronco that lashed out in every direction. Isobel seemed to have gone crazy, and she went crazier every time that tune was repeated.

  “I’ve got her,” Matt said, closing in on her with a bear hug, but even the two of them couldn’t hold Isobel still.

  “I’m getting her another sedative,” Dr. Alpert said, and Bonnie saw the glances between Matt and Meredith—glances of suspicion.

  “No—no, let Mrs. Flowers make her something,” Bonnie said desperately, but the hypodermic needle was already almost at Isobel’s arm.

  “You’re not giving her anything,” Meredith said flatly, dropping the charade, and with one chorus-girl kick, she sent the hypodermic flying.

  “Meredith! What’s wrong with you?” the doctor cried, wringing her wrist.

  “It’s what’s wrong with you that’s the matter. Who are you? Where are we? This can’t be the real boardinghouse.”

  “Obaasan! Mrs. Flowers! Can’t you help us?” Bonnie gasped, still trying to hold on to Isobel.

  “I’ll try,” Mrs. Flowers said determinedly, heading toward her.

  “No, I meant with Dr. Alpert—and maybe Jim. Don’t you—know any spells—to make people take on their true forms?”

  “Oh!” Obaasan said. “I can help with that. Just let me down, Jim dear.
We’ll have everyone in their true forms in no time.”

  Jayneela was a sophomore with large, dreamy, dark eyes that were generally lost in a book. But now, as it neared midnight and Gramma still hadn’t called, she shut her book and looked at Ty. Tyrone seemed big and fierce and mean on the playing field, but off it he was the nicest, kindest, gentlest big brother a girl could want.

  “You think Gramma’s okay?”

  “Hm?” Tyrone had his nose in a book, too, but it was one of those help-you-get-into-the-college-of-your-dreams books. As a senior-to-be, he was having to make some serious decisions. “Of course she is.”

  “Well, I’m going to check on the little girl, at least.”

  “You know what, Jay?” He poked her teasingly with one toe. “You worry too much.”

  In moments he was lost again in Chapter Six, “How to Make the Most of Your Community Service.” But then the screams started coming from above him. Long, loud, high screams—his sister’s voice. He dropped the book and ran.

  “Obaasan?” Bonnie said.

  “Just a moment, dear,” Grandma Saitou said. Jim had put her down and now she was facing him squarely: she looking up, and he looking down. And there was something…very wrong about it.

  Bonnie felt a wave of pure terror. Could Jim have done something evil to Obaasan as he carried her? Of course he could. Why hadn’t she thought of that? And there was the doctor with her syringe, ready to tranquilize anyone who got too “hysterical.” Bonnie looked at Meredith, but Meredith was trying to deal with two squirming little girls, and could only glance helplessly back.

  All right, then, Bonnie thought. I’ll kick him where it hurts most and get the old lady away from him. She turned back to Obaasan and felt herself freeze.