I don't know why I wrote that. It's crazy. There'sno reason for me to be upset and every reason
for me to be happy, but…
But here I am at 5:30 in the morning, awake and scared. I keep telling myself it's just that I'm all
messed up from the time difference between France and here. But that doesn't explain why I feel
so scared. So lost.
The day before yesterday, while Aunt Judith and Margaret and I were driving back from the
airport, I had such a strange feeling. When we turned onto our street I suddenly thought, "Mom
and Dad are waiting for us at home. I bet they'll be on the front porch or in the living room
looking out the window. They must have missed me so much."
I know. That sounds totally crazy.
But even when I saw the house and the empty front porch I still felt that way. I ran up the steps
and I tried the door and knocked with the knocker. And when Aunt Judith unlocked the door I
burst inside and just stood in the hallway listening, expecting to hear Mom coming down the stairs
or Dad calling from the den.
Just then Aunt Judith let a suitcase crash down on the floor behind me and sighed a huge sigh
and said, "We're home." And Margaret laughed. And the most horrible feeling I've ever felt in my
life came over me. I've never felt so utterly and completely lost.
Home. I'm home. Why does that sound like a he?
I was born here in Fell's Church. I've always lived in this house, always. This is my same old
bedroom, with the scorch mark on the floorboards where Caroline and I tried to sneak cigarettes
in 5th grade and nearly choked ourselves. I can look out the window and see the big quince tree
Matt and the guys climbed up to crash my birthday slumber party two years ago. This is my bed,
my chair, my dresser.But right now everything looks strange to me, as if I don't belong here. It's me that's out of place.
And the worst thing is that I feel there's somewhere I do belong, but I just can't find it.
I was too tired yesterday to go to Orientation.
Meredith picked up my schedule for me, but I didn't feel like talking to her on the phone. Aunt
Judith told everyone who called that I had jet lag and was sleeping, but she watched me at dinner
with a funny look on her face.
I've got to see the crowd today, though. We're supposed to meet in the parking lot before school.
Is that why I'm scared? Am I frightened of them?
Elena Gilbert stopped writing. She stared at the last line she had written and then shook her head, pen
hovering over the small book with the blue velvet cover. Then, with a sudden gesture, she lifted her head
and threw pen and book at the big bay window, where they bounced off harmlessly and landed on the
upholstered window seat.
It was all so completely ridiculous.
Since when had she, Elena Gilbert, been scared of meeting people? Since when had she been scared of
anything ? She stood up and angrily thrust her arms into a red silk kimono. She didn't even glance at the
elaborate Victorian mirror above the cherrywood dresser; she knew what she'd see. Elena Gilbert, cool
and blond and slender, the fashion trendsetter, the high school senior, the girl every boy wanted and
every girl wanted to be. Who just now had an unaccustomed scowl on her face and a pinch to her
mouth.
A hot bath and some coffee and I'll calm down, she thought. The morning ritual of washing and dressing
was soothing, and she dawdled over it, sorting through her new outfits from Paris. She finally chose a
pale rose top and white linen shorts combo that made her look like a raspberry sundae. Good enough to
eat, she thought, and the mirror showed a girl with a secret smile. Her earlier fears had melted away,
forgotten.
"Elena! Where are you? You're going to be late for school!" The voice drifted faintly up from below.
Elena ran the brush one more time through silky hair and pulled it back with a deep rose ribbon. Then
she grabbed her backpack and went down the stairs.
In the kitchen, four-year-old Margaret was eating cereal at the kitchen table, and Aunt Judith was
burning something on the stove. Aunt Judith was the sort of woman who always looked vaguely flustered;
she had a thin, mild face and light flyaway hair pushed back untidily. Elena landed a peck on her cheek.
"Good morning, everybody. Sorry I don't have time for breakfast."
"But, Elena, you can't just go off without eating. You need your protein—"
"I'll get a doughnut before school," said Elena briskly. She dropped a kiss on Margaret's tow head and
turned to go.
"But, Elena—""And I'll probably go home with Bonnie or Meredith after school, so don't wait dinner. Bye!"
"Elena—"
Elena was already at the front door. She closed it behind her, cutting off Aunt Judith's distant protests,
and stepped out onto the front porch.
And stopped.
All the bad feelings of the morning rushed over her again. The anxiety, the fear. And the certainty that
something terrible was about to happen.
Maple Street was deserted. The tall Victorian houses looked strange and silent, as if they might all be
empty inside, like the houses on an abandoned movie set. They looked as if they were empty ofpeople ,
but full of strange watching things.
That was it; something was watching her. The sky overhead was not blue but milky and opaque, like a
giant bowl turned upside down.
The air was stifling, and Elena felt sure that there were eyes on her.
She caught sight of something dark in the branches of the old quince tree in front of the house.
It was a crow, sitting as still as the yellow-tinged leaves around it. And it was the thing watching her.
She tried to tell herself that this was ridiculous, but somehow sheknew . It was the biggest crow she had
ever seen, plump and sleek, with rainbows shining in its black feathers. She could see every detail of it
clearly: the greedy dark claws, the sharp beak, the single glittering black eye.
It was so motionless that it might have been a wax model of a bird sitting there. But as she stared at it,
Elena felt herself flush slowly, heat coming in waves up her throat and cheeks. Because it was… looking
at her. Looking the way boys looked at her when she wore a bathing suit or a sheer blouse. As if it were
undressing her with its eyes.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had dropped her backpack and picked up a stone from
beside the driveway. "Get out of here," she said, and heard the shaking anger in her own voice. "Go on!
Getaway !" With the last word, she threw the stone.
There was an explosion of leaves, but the crow soared up unharmed. Its wings were huge, and they
made enough racket for a whole flock of crows. Elena crouched, suddenly panicked as it flapped directly
over her head, the wind of its wings ruffling her blond hair.
But it swooped up again and circled, a black silhouette against the paper-white sky. Then, with one
harsh croak, it wheeled away toward the woods.
Elena straightened up slowly, then glanced around, self-conscious. She couldn't believe what she had
just done. But now that the bird was gone, the sky felt ordinary again. A little wind made the leaves
flutter, and Elena took a deep breath. Down the street a door opened and several children poured out,
laughing.She smiled at them, and took another breath, relief sweeping through her like sunlight. How could she
have been so silly? This was a beautiful day, full of promise, and nothing bad was going to happen.
Nothing bad was going to happen—except that she was going to be late getting to school. The whole
crowd would be waiting for her in the parking lot.
You could always tell everyone you stopped to throw stones at a Peeping Tom, she thought, and almost
giggled. Now,that would give them something to think about.
Without a backward glance at the quince tree, she began to walk as quickly as she could down the
street.
The crow crashed through the top of the massive oak, and Stefan's head jerked up reflexively. When he
saw it was only a bird, he relaxed.
His eyes dropped to the limp white form in his hands, and he felt his face twist in regret. He hadn't meant
to kill it. He would have hunted something larger than a rabbit if he'd known how hungry he was. But, of
course, that was the very thing that frightened him: never knowing how strong the hunger would be, or
what he might have to do to satisfy it. He was lucky that this time he'd killed only a rabbit.
He stood beneath the ancient oak trees, sunlight filtering down onto his curly hair. In jeans and T-shirt,
Stefan Salvatore looked exactly like a normal high school student.
He wasn't.
Deep in the woods, where no one would see him, he'd come to feed. Now he licked at his gums and lips
painstakingly, to make sure there was no stain on them. He didn't want to take any chances. This
masquerade was going to be hard enough to pull off as it was.
For a moment he wondered, again, if he should just give it all up. Perhaps he should go back to Italy,
back to his hiding place. What made him think that he could rejoin the world of daylight?
But he was tired of living in shadows. He was tired of the darkness, and of the things that lived in it.
Most of all, he was tired of being alone.
He wasn't sure why he'd chosen Fell's Church, Virginia. It was a young town, by his standards; the
oldest buildings had been put up only a century and a half ago. But memories and ghosts of the Civil War
still lived here, as real as the supermarkets and fast-food joints.
Stefan appreciated respect for the past. He thought he might come to like the people of Fell's Church.
And perhaps—just perhaps—he might find a place among them.
He'd never be accepted completely, of course. A bitter smile curved his lips at the idea. He knew better
than to hope forthat . There would never be a place where he could belong completely, where he could
truly be himself.
Unless he chose to belong to the shadows…
He slapped the thought away. He'd renounced the darkness; he'd left the shadows behind him. He wasblotting all those long years out and starting afresh, today.
Stefan realized he was still holding the rabbit. Gently, he laid it down on the bed of brown oak leaves.
Far away, too far for human ears to pick up, he recognized the noises of a fox.
Come along, brother hunter, he thought sadly. Your breakfast is waiting.
As he slung his jacket over his shoulder, he noticed the crow that had disturbed him earlier. It was still
perched in the oak tree, and it seemed to be watching him. There was a wrongness about it.
He started to send a probing thought toward it, to examine the bird, and stopped himself. Remember
your promise, he thought. You don't use the Powers unless it is absolutely necessary. Not unless there is
no other choice.
Moving almost silently among the dead leaves and dry twigs, he made his way toward the edge of the
woods. His car was parked there. He glanced back, once, and saw that the crow had left the branches
and dropped down on the rabbit.
There was something sinister in the way it spread its wings over the limp white body, something sinister
and triumphant. Stefan's throat tightened, and he almost strode back to chase the bird away. Still, it had
as much right to eat as the fox did, he told himself.
As much right as he did.
If he encountered the bird again, he'd look into its mind, he decided. Just now, he tore his eyes from the
sight of it and hurried on through the woods, jaw set. He didn't want to be late arriving at Robert E. Lee
High School. Elena was surrounded the instant she stepped into the high school parking lot. Everyone was there, the
whole crowd she hadn't seen since late June, plus four or five hangers-on who hoped to gain popularity
by association. One by one she accepted the welcoming hugs of her own group.
Caroline had grown at least an inch and was slinkier and more like aVogue model than ever. She
greeted Elena coolly and stepped back again with her green eyes narrowed like a cat's.
Bonnie hadn't grown at all, and her curly red head barely came up to Elena's chin as she flung her arms
around Elena. Wait a minute—curls? thought Elena. She pushed the smaller girl back.
"Bonnie! What did you do to your hair?"
"Do you like it? I think it makes me look taller." Bonnie fluffed up the already fluffy bangs and smiled, her
brown eyes sparkling with excitement, her little heart-shaped face alight.
Elena moved on. "Meredith. You haven't changed at all."This hug was equally warm on both sides. She had missed Meredith more than anyone, Elena thought,
looking at the tall girl. Meredith never wore any makeup; but then, with perfect olive skin and heavy
black lashes, she didn't need any. Right now she had one elegant eyebrow raised as she studied Elena.
"Well, your hair is two shades lighter from the sun… But where's your tan? I thought you were living it
up on the French Riviera."
"You know I never tan." Elena held up her hands for her own inspection. The skin was flawless, like
porcelain, but almost as fair and translucent as Bonnie's.
"Just a minute; that reminds me," Bonnie interjected, snatching one of Elena's hands. "Guess what I
learned from my cousin this summer?" Before anyone could speak, she informed them triumphantly:
"Palm reading!"
There were groans, and some laughter.
"Laugh while you can," said Bonnie, not at all disturbed. "My cousin told me I'm psychic. Now, let me
see…" She peered into Elena's palm.
"Hurry up or we're going to be late," said Elena a bit impatiently.
"All right, all right. Now, this is your life line—or is it your heart line?" In the crowd, someone snickered.
"Quiet; I'm reaching into the void. I see… I see…" All at once, Bonnie's face went blank, as if she were
startled. Her brown eyes widened, but she no longer seemed to be staring at Elena's hand. It was as if
she were lookingthrough it—at something frightening.
"You will meet a tall, dark stranger," Meredith murmured from behind her. There was a flurry of giggles.
"Dark, yes, and a stranger… but not tall." Bonnie's voice was hushed and faraway.
"Although," she continued after a moment, looking puzzled, "hewas tall, once." Her wide brown eyes
lifted to Elena's in bewilderment. "But that's impossible… isn't it?" She dropped Elena's hand, almost
flinging it away. "I don't want to see any more."
"Okay, show's over. Let's go," Elena told the others, vaguely irritated. She'd always felt psychic tricks
were just that—tricks. So why was she annoyed? Just because that morning she'd almost freaked out
herself…
The girls started toward the school building, but the roar of a finely tuned motor stopped them all in their
tracks.
"Well, now," Caroline said, staring. "Quite a car."
"Quite a Porsche," Meredith corrected dryly.
The sleek black 911 Turbo purred through the parking lot, searching for a space, moving as lazily as a
panther stalking prey.
When the car came to a stop, the door opened, and they glimpsed the driver."Oh, my God," Caroline whispered.
"You can say that again," breathed Bonnie.
From where she stood, Elena could see he had a lean, flat-muscled body. Faded jeans he probably had
to peel off at night, tight T-shirt, and a leather jacket of unusual cut. His hair was wavy—and dark.
He wasn't tall, though. Just average height.
Elena let out her breath.
"Whois that masked man?" said Meredith. And the remark was apt—dark sunglasses completely
covered the boy's eyes, shielding his face like a mask.
"That maskedstranger ," someone else said, and a babble of voices rose up.
"Do you see that jacket? That's Italian, as in Roma."
"How would you know? You've never been farther than Rome, New York, in your life!"
"Uh-oh. Elena's got that look again. The hunting look."
"Short-Dark-and-Handsome had better be careful."
"He isn't short; he's perfect!"
Through the chatter, Caroline's voice suddenly rang out. "Oh, come on, Elena. You've already got Matt.
What more do you want? What can you do with two that you can't do with one?"
"The same thing—only longer," drawled Meredith, and the group dissolved into laughter.
The boy had locked his car and was walking toward school. Casually, Elena started after him, the other
girls right behind her in a close-knit pack. For an instant, annoyance bubbled up inside her. Couldn't she
goanywhere without a parade on her heels? But Meredith caught her eye, and she smiled in spite of
herself.
"Noblesse oblige," Meredith said softly.
"What?"
"If you're going to be queen of the school, you have to put up with the consequences."
Elena frowned at this as they entered the building. A long corridor stretched before them, and a figure in
jeans and leather jacket was disappearing through the office doorway up ahead. Elena slowed her pace
as she walked up to the office, finally stopping to glance thoughtfully at the messages on the cork bulletin
board by the door. There was a large window here, through which the entire office was visible.
The other girls were openly gazing through the window, and giggling. "Nice rear view." "That isdefinitely
an Armani jacket." "You think he's from out of state?"
Elena was straining her ears for the boy's name. There seemed to be some kind of trouble in there: MrsClarke, the admissions secretary, was looking at a list and shaking her head. The boy said something,
and Mrs. Clarke lifted her hands in a "What can I say?" gesture. She ran a finger down the list and shook
her head again, conclusively. The boy started to turn away, then turned back. And when Mrs. Clarke
looked up at him, her expression changed.
The boy's sunglasses were now in his hand. Mrs. Clarke seemed startled by something; Elena could see
her blink several times. Her lips opened and closed as if she were trying to speak.
Elena wished she could see more than the back of the boy's head. Mrs. Clarke was fumbling through
piles of paper now, looking dazed. At last she found a form of some kind and wrote on it, then turned it
around and pushed it toward the boy.
The boy wrote briefly on the form—signing it, probably—and returned it. Mrs. Clarke stared at it a
second, then fumbled through a new pile of papers, finally handing what looked like a class schedule to
him. Her eyes never left the boy as he took it, inclined his head in thanks, and turned to the door.
Elena was wild with curiosity by now. What had just happened in there? And what did this stranger's
face look like? But as he emerged from the office, he was settling his sunglasses in place again.
Disappointment coursed through her.
Still, she could see the rest of his face as he paused in the doorway. The dark curly hair framed features
so fine that they might have been taken from an old Roman coin or medallion. High cheekbones, classical
straight nose… and a mouth to keep you awake at night, Elena thought. The upper lip was beautifully
sculpted, a little sensitive, a whole lot sensual. The chatter of the girls in the hallway had stopped as if
someone had thrown a switch.
Most of them were turning away from the boy now, looking anywhere but at him. Elena held her place
by the window and gave a little toss to her head, pulling the ribbon out of her hair so that it fell loose
around her shoulders.
Without looking to either side, the boy moved on down the hallway. A chorus of sighs and whispers
flared up the moment he was out of earshot.
Elena didn't hear any of it.
He'd walked right by her, she thought, dazed. Right by without a glance.
Dimly, she realized the bell was ringing. Meredith was tugging her arm.
"What?"
"I said here's your schedule. We've got trig on the second floor right now. Come on!"
Elena allowed Meredith to propel her down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and into a classroom. She
slid into an empty seat automatically and fixed her eyes on the teacher at the front without really seeing
her. The shock still hadn't worn off.
He'd walked right by. Without a glance. She couldn't remember how long it had been since a boy had
done that. They all looked, at least. Some whistled. Some stopped to talk. Some just stared.
And that had always been fine with Elena.After all, what was more important than boys? They were the mark of how popular you were, of how
beautiful you were. And they could be useful for all sorts of things. Sometimes they were exciting, but
usually that didn't last long. Sometimes they were creeps from the beginning.
Most boys, Elena reflected, were like puppies. Adorable in their place, but expendable. A very few
could be more than that, could become real friends. Like Matt.
Oh, Matt. Last year she'd hoped that he was the one she was looking for, the boy who could make her
feel… well, something more. More than the rush of triumph at making a conquest, the pride in showing
your new acquisition off to the other girls. And shehad come to feel a strong affection for Matt. But over
the summer, when she'd had time to think, she'd realized it was the affection of a cousin or sister.
Ms. Halpern was passing out trigonometry books. Elena took hers mechanically and wrote her name
inside, still wrapped in thought.
She liked Matt more than any other boy she'd known. And that was why she was going to have to tell
him it was over.
She hadn't known how to tell him in a letter. She didn't know how to tell him now. It wasn't that she was
afraid he'd kick up a fuss; he just wouldn't understand. She didn't really understand herself.
It was as if she were always reaching for… something. Only, when she thought she'd got it, it wasn't
there. Not with Matt, not with any of the boys she'd had.
And then she had to start all over again. Fortunately, there was always fresh material. No boy had ever
resisted her successfully, and no boy had ever ignored her. Until now.
Until now. Remembering that moment in the hall, Elena found that her fingers were clenched on the pen
she held. She still couldn't believe he'd brushed by her that way.
The bell rang and everyone flooded out of the classroom, but Elena paused in the doorway. She bit her
lip, scanning the river of students flowing through the hall. Then she spotted one of the hangers-on from
the parking lot.
"Frances! Come here."
Frances came eagerly, her plain face brightening.
"Listen, Frances, you remember that boy this morning?"
"With the Porsche and the—er—assets? How could I forget?"
"Well, I want his class schedule. Get it from the office if you can, or copy it from him if you have to. But
do it!"
Frances looked surprised for a moment, then grinned and nodded. "Okay, Elena. I'll try. I'll meet you at
lunch if I can get it."
"Thanks." Elena watched the girl go."You know, you really are crazy," Meredith's voice said in her ear.
"What's the use of being queen of the school if you can't pull a little rank sometimes?" returned Elena
calmly. "Where do I go now?"
"General Business. Here, take it yourself." Meredith thrust a schedule at her. "I've got to run for
chemistry. Later!"
General Business and the rest of the morning passed in a blur. Elena had hoped to catch another glimpse
of the new student, but he was in none of her classes. Mattwas in one, and she felt a pang as his blue
eyes met hers with a smile.
At the lunch bell, she nodded greetings right and left as she walked to the cafeteria. Caroline was
outside, posed casually against a wall with chin up, shoulders back, hips forward. The two boys she was
talking to fell silent and nudged each other as Elena approached.
"Hi," Elena said briefly to the boys; and to Caroline: "Ready to go in and eat?"
Caroline's green eyes barely flickered toward Elena, and she pushed glossy auburn hair out of her face.
"What, at theroyal table ?" she said.
Elena was taken aback. She and Caroline had been friends since kindergarten, and they had always
competed with each other good-naturedly. But lately something had happened to Caroline. She'd begun
to take the rivalry more and more seriously. And now Elena was surprised at the bitterness in the other
girl's voice.
"Well, it's hardly as if you were a commoner," she said lightly.
"Oh, you're so right about that," said Caroline, turning to face Elena fully. Those green cat-eyes were
slitted and smoky, and Elena was shocked by the hostility she saw there. The two boys smiled uneasily
and edged away.
Caroline didn't seem to notice. "A lot of things changed while you were gone this summer, Elena," she
continued. "And just maybe your time on the throne is running out."
Elena had flushed; she could feel it. She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Maybe," she said. "But I
wouldn't buy a scepter just yet if I were you, Caroline." She turned and went into the lunchroom.
It was a relief to see Meredith and Bonnie, and Frances beside them. Elena felt her cheeks cool as she
selected her lunch and went to join them. She wouldn't let Caroline upset her; she wouldn't think of
Caroline at all.
"I got it," said Frances, waving a piece of paper as Elena sat down.
"And I have some good stuff," said Bonnie importantly. "Elena, listen to this. He's in my biology class,
and I sit right across from him. And his name is Stefan, Stefan Salvatore, and he's from Italy, and he's
boarding with old Mrs. Flowers on the edge of town." She sighed. "He isso romantic. Caroline dropped
her books, and he picked them up for her."
Elena made a wry face. "How clumsy of Caroline. What else happened?""Well, that's all. He didn't really talk to her. He's ver-r-ry mysterious, you see. Mrs. Endicott, my biology
teacher, tried to get him to take off his glasses, but he wouldn't. He has a medical condition."
"What kind of medical condition?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's terminal and his days are numbered. Wouldn't that be romantic?"
"Oh, very," said Meredith.
Elena was looking over Frances's sheet of paper, biting her lip. "He's in my seventh period, History of
Europe. "Anybody else have that class?"
"I do," said Bonnie. "And I think Caroline does, too. Oh, and maybe Matt; he said something yesterday
about how it was just his luck, getting Mr. Tanner."
Marvelous, Elena thought, picking up a fork and stabbing at her mashed potatoes. It looked as if seventh
period was going to beextremely interesting.
Stefan was glad the school day was almost over. He wanted to get out of these crowded rooms and
corridors, just for a few minutes.
So many minds. The pressure of so many thought patterns, so many mental voices surrounding him, was
making him dizzy. It had been years since he had been in a swarm of people like this.
One mind in particular stood out from the others. She had been among those watching him in the main
corridor of the school building. He didn't know what she looked like, but her personality was powerful.
He felt sure he'd recognize it again.
So far, at least, he'd survived the first day of the masquerade. He'd used the Powers only twice, and
then sparingly. But he was tired, and, he admitted ruefully, hungry. The rabbit hadn't been enough.
Worry about that later. He found his last classroom and sat down. And immediately he felt the presence
of that mind again.
It glowed at the edge of his consciousness, a golden light, soft and yet vibrant. And, for the first time, he
could locate the girl it was coming from. She was seated right in front of him.
Even as he thought it, she turned around and he saw her face. It was all he could do not to gasp in
shock.
Katherine! But of course it couldn't be. Katherine was dead; no one knew that better than he did.
Still, the resemblance was uncanny. That pale golden hair, so fair it almost seemed to shimmer. That
creamy skin, which had always made him think of swans, or alabaster, flushing faintly pink over the
cheekbones. And the eyes… Katherine's eyes had been a color he had never seen before; darker than
sky blue, as rich as the lapis lazuli in her jeweled headband. This girl had those same eyes.
And they were fixed directly on his as she smiled.He looked down from the smile quickly. Of all things, he did not want to think about Katherine. He
didn't want to look at this girl who reminded him of her, and he didn't want to feel her presence any
longer. He kept his eyes on the desk, blocking his mind as strongly as he knew how. And at last, slowly,
she turned around again.
She was hurt. Even through the blocks, he could feel that. He didn't care. In fact, he was glad of it, and
he hoped it would keep her away from him. Other than that, he had no feelings about her at all.
He kept telling himself this as he sat, the droning voice of the teacher pouring over him unheard. But he
could smell a subtle hint of some perfume—violets, he thought. And her slender white neck was bowed
over her book, the fair hair falling on either side of it.
In anger and frustration he recognized the seductive feeling in his teeth—more a tickling or a tingling than
an ache. It was hunger, a specific hunger. And not one he was about to indulge.
The teacher was pacing about the room like a ferret, asking questions, and Stefan deliberately fixed his
attention on the man. At first he was puzzled, for although none of the students knew the answers, the
questions kept coming. Then he realized that that was the man's purpose. To shame the students with
what they didn't know.
Just now he'd found another victim, a small girl with clusters of red curls and a heart-shaped face. Stefan
watched in distaste as the teacher badgered her with questions. She looked wretched as he turned away
from her to address the entire class.
"You see what I mean? You think you're pretty hot stuff; you're seniors now, ready to graduate. Well,
let me tell you, some of you aren't ready to graduate kindergarten. Like this!" He gestured toward the
red-haired girl. "No idea about the French Revolution. Thinks Marie Antoinette was a silent film star."
Students all around Stefan were shifting uncomfortably. He could feel the resentment in their minds, and
the humiliation. And the fear. They were all afraid of this thin little man with eyes like a weasel, even the
husky boys who were taller than he was.
"All right, let's try another era." The teacher swung back to the same girl he'd been questioning. "During
the Renaissance—" He broke off. "Youdo know what the Renaissance is, don't you? The period
between the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries, in which Europe rediscovered the great ideas of ancient
Greece and Rome? The period that produced so many of Europe's greatest artists and thinkers?" When
the girl nodded confusedly, he continued. "During the Renaissance, what would students your age be
doing at school? Well? Any idea at all? Any guesses?"
The girl swallowed hard. With a weak smile she said, "Playing football?"
At the ensuing laughter, the teacher's face darkened. "Hardly!" he snapped, and the classroom quieted.
"You think this is a joke? Well, in those days, students your age would already be proficient in several
languages. They would also have mastered logic, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, and grammar.
They would be ready to go on to a university, in which every course was taught in Latin. Football would
be absolutely the last thing on—"
"Excuse me."
The quiet voice stopped the teacher in midharangue. Everyone turned to stare at Stefan."What? What did you say?"
"I said, excuse me," Stefan repeated, removing his glasses and standing up. "But you're wrong. Students
in the Renaissance were encouraged to participate in games. They were taught that a healthy body goes
with a healthy mind. And they certainly played team sports, like cricket, tennis—and even football." He
turned to the red-haired girl and smiled, and she smiled back gratefully. To the teacher, he added, "But
the most important things they learned were good manners and courtesy. I'm sure your book will tell you
that."
Students were grinning. The teacher's face was red with blood, and he was sputtering. But Stefan
continued to hold his eyes, and after another minute it was the teacher who looked away.
The bell rang.
Stefan put his glasses on quickly and gathered his books. He'd already drawn more attention to himself
than he should, and he didn't want to have to look at the blond girl again. Besides, he needed to get out
of here quickly; there was a familiar burning sensation in his veins.
As he reached the door, someone shouted, "Hey! Did they really play football back then?"
He couldn't help throwing a grin over his shoulder. "Oh, yes. Sometimes with the severed heads of
prisoners of war."
Elena watched him as he went. He'd deliberately turned away from her. He'd snubbed her on purpose,
and in front of Caroline, who'd been watching like a hawk. Tears burned in her eyes, but at that moment
only one thought burned in her mind.
She'd have him, even if it killed her. If it killed both of them, she'd have him. The first light of dawn was streaking the night sky with pink and palest green. Stefan watched it from the
window of his room in the boarding house. He had rented this room specifically because of the trapdoor
in the ceiling, a trapdoor that opened onto the widow's walk on the roof above. Just now that door was
open, and a cool damp wind blew down the ladder below it. Stefan was fully dressed, but not because
he was up early. He had never been to sleep.
He'd just returned from the woods, and a few scraps of wet leaf clung to the side of his boot. He
brushed them off fastidiously. The comments of the students yesterday had not escaped him, and he
knew they had been staring at his clothes. He had always dressed in the best, not merely out of vanity,
but because it was the right thing to do. His tutor had often said it: Anaristocrat should dress as befits
his position. If he does not, he is showing contempt for others . Everyone had a place in the world,
and his place had once been among the nobility. Once.Why was he dwelling on these things? Of course, he should have realized that playing the role of a
student was likely to bring his own student days back. Now the memories came thick and fast, as if he
were skimming through the pages of a journal, his eyes catching an entry here and there. One flashed
before him vividly now: his father's face when Damon had announced he was quitting the University. He
would never forget that. He had never seen his father so angry…
"What do you mean, you are not going back?" Giuseppe was usually a fair man, but he had a temper,
and his elder son brought out the violence in him.
Just now that son was dabbing at his lips with a saffron-colored silk handkerchief. "I would have thought
even you could understand such a simple sentence, father. Shall I repeat it in Latin for you?"
"Damon—" Stefan began tightly, appalled at this disrespect. But his father interrupted.
"You are telling me that I, Giuseppe, Conte di Salvatore, will have to face my friends knowing that my
son is ascioparto ? A ne'er-do-well? An idler who makes no useful contribution to Florence?" Servants
were edging away as Giuseppe worked himself into a rage.
Damon did not even blink. "Apparently. If you can call those who fawn on you in the hopes that you will
lend them money your friends."
"Sporco parassito!" cried Giuseppe, rising from his chair. "Is it not bad enough that when youare at
school you waste your time and my money? Oh, yes, I know all about the gambling, the jousting, the
women. And I know that if it were not for your secretary and your tutors you would be failing every
course. But now you mean to disgrace me utterly. And why? Why?" His large hand whipped up to grasp
Damon's chin. "So that you may return to your hunting and hawking?"
Stefan had to give his brother credit; Damon did not wince. He stood, almost lounging in his father's grip,
every inch the aristocrat, from the elegantly plain cap on his dark head to his ermine-trimmed cloak to his
soft leather shoes. His upper lip was curved in a line of pure arrogance.
You've gone too far this time, thought Stefan, watching the two men whose eyes were locked together.
Even you won't be able to charm your way out this time.
But just then there was a light step in the study doorway. Turning, Stefan had been dazzled by eyes the
color of lapis lazuli, framed with long golden lashes. It was Katherine. Her father, Baron von
Swartzschild, had brought her from the cold lands of the German princes to the Italian countryside,
hoping it would help her recover from a prolonged illness. And since the day she had arrived, everything
had changed for Stefan.
"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude." Her voice was soft and clear. She made a slight motion
as if to leave.
"No, don't go. Stay," Stefan said quickly. He wanted to say more, to catch her hand—but he didn't
dare. Not with his father here. All he could do was gaze into those jewellike blue eyes that were raised to
his.
"Yes, stay," Giuseppe said, and Stefan saw that his father's thunderous expression had lightened and that
he had released Damon. He stepped forward, straightening the heavy folds of his long fur-trimmed gown."Your father should be returning from his business in the city today, and he will be delighted to see you.
But your cheeks are pale, little Katherine. You are not ill again, I hope?"
"You know I am always pale, sir. I do not use rouge like your bold Italian girls."
"You don't need it," said Stefan before he could stop himself, and Katherine smiled at him. She was so
beautiful. An ache began in his chest.
His father continued, "And I see all too little of you during the day. You seldom give us the pleasure of
your company until twilight."
"I have my studies and devotions in my own rooms, sir," said Katherine quietly, her lashes dropping.
Stefan knew this was not true, but he said nothing; he would never betray Katherine's secret. She looked
up at his father again. "But I am here now, sir."
"Yes, yes, that is true. And I must see that tonight we have a very special meal for your father's return.
Damon… we will speak later." As Giuseppe motioned to a servant and strode out, Stefan turned to
Katherine in delight. It was seldom they could speak to each other without the presence of his father or
of Gudren, her stolid German maid.
But what Stefan saw then was like a blow to his stomach. Katherine was smiling—the little secret smile
that she had often shared with him.
But she was not looking at him. She was looking at Damon.
Stefan hated his brother at that moment, hated Damon's dark beauty and grace and the sensuality that
drew women to him like moths to a flame. He wanted, in that instant, to strike Damon, to smash that
beauty to pieces. Instead he had to stand and watch as Katherine moved slowly toward his brother, step
by step, her golden brocade gown whispering on the tiled floor.
And even as he watched, Damon held out a hand to Katherine, and smiled the cruel smile of triumph…
Stefan turned away from the window sharply.
Why was he reopening old wounds? But, even as he thought it, he drew out the slender gold chain he
wore under his shirt. His thumb and forefinger caressed the ring that hung from it, then he held it up to the
light.
The little circlet was exquisitely worked in gold, and five centuries had not dimmed its luster. It was set
with one stone, a lapis the size of his little fingernail. Stefan looked at it, then at the heavy silver ring, also
set with lapis, on his own hand. In his chest was a familiar tightness.
He could not forget the past, and he didn't really wish to. Despite everything that had happened, he
cherished Katherine's memory. But there was one memory he must truly not disturb, one page of the
journal he must not turn. If he had to relive that horror, that… abomination, he would go mad. As he had
been mad that day, that final day, when he had looked upon his own damnation…
Stefan leaned against the window, his forehead pressed to its coolness. His tutor had had another saying:
Evil will never find peace. It may triumph, but it will never find peace .Why had he even come to Fell's Church?
He had hoped to find peace here, but that was impossible. He would never be accepted, he would
never rest. Because he was evil. He could not change what he was.
Elena was up even earlier than usual that morning. She could hear Aunt Judith pottering about in her
room, getting ready for her shower. Margaret was still fast asleep, curled up like a little mouse in her bed.
Elena passed her younger sister's half-open door noiselessly and continued down the hallway to let
herself out of the house.
The air was fresh and clear this morning; the quince tree was inhabited only by the usual jays and
sparrows. Elena, who had gone to bed with a throbbing headache, lifted her face to the clean blue sky
and breathed deeply.
She felt much better than she had yesterday. She'd promised to meet Matt before school, and though
she wasn't looking forward to it she was sure it was going to be all right.
Matt lived only two streets away from the high school. It was a simple frame house, like all the others on
that street, except that maybe the swing on the porch was a little shabbier, the paint a little more peeled.
Matt was already standing outside, and for a moment her heart picked up at the sight of him as it used to.
Hewas good-looking. There was no doubt about that. Not in the stunning, almost disturbing way
that—that some people were, but in a healthy American way. Matt Honeycutt was all-American. His
blond hair was cropped short for the football season, and his skin was sunburnt from working outdoors
on his grandparents' farm. His blue eyes were honest and straightforward. And just today, as he held out
his arms to hug her gently, they were a little sad.
"You want to come inside?"
"No. Let's just walk," Elena said. They went side by side without touching. Maples and black walnut
trees lined this street, and the air still had a morning hush. Elena watched her feet on the wet sidewalk,
feeling suddenly uncertain. She didn't know how to start after all.
"So you still haven't told me about France," he said.
"Oh, it was great," said Elena. She glanced sideways at him. He was looking at the sidewalk, too.
"Everything about it was great," she continued, trying to put some enthusiasm in her voice. "The people,
the food, everything. It was really…" Her voice trailed off, and she laughed nervously.
"Yeah, I know. Great," he finished for her. He stopped and stood looking down at his scuffed tennis
shoes. Elena recognized them from last year. Matt's family barely got by; maybe he hadn't been able to
afford new shoes. She looked up to find those steady blue eyes on her face.
"You know,you look pretty great right now," he said.
Elena opened her mouth in dismay, but he was speaking again.
"And I guess you have something to tell me." She stared at him, and he smiled, a crooked, rueful smile.Then he held out his arms again.
"Oh,Matt ," she said, hugging him hard. She stepped back to look into his face. "Matt, you are the nicest
guy I've ever met. I don't deserve you."
"Oh, so that's why you're dumping me," said Matt as they started walking again. "Because I'm too good
for you. I should have realized that before."
She punched him in the arm. "No, that isn't why, and I am not dumping you. We're going to be friends,
right?"
"Oh, sure. Oh, absolutely."
"Because that's what I've realized we are." She stopped, looking up at him again. "Good friends. Be
honest, now, Matt, isn't that how you really feel about me?"
He looked at her, then rolled his eyes heavenward. "Can I take the Fifth on that?" he said. As Elena's
face fell, he added, "It doesn't have anything to do with that new guy, does it?"
"No," Elena said after a hesitation, and then added quickly, "I haven't even met him yet. I don't know
him."
"But you want to. No, don't say it." He put an arm around her and gently turned her. "Come on, let's
head toward school. If we have time, I'll even buy you a doughnut."
As they walked, something thrashed in the walnut tree above them. Matt whistled and pointed. "Look at
that! Biggest crow I've ever seen."
Elena looked, but it was already gone.
School that day was merely a convenient place for Elena to review her plan.
She had woken up this morning knowing what to do. And today she gathered as much information as
she could on the subject of Stefan Salvatore. Which wasn't hard, because everyone at Robert E. Lee
was talking about him.
It was common knowledge that he'd had some sort of run-in with the admissions secretary yesterday.
And today he'd been called to the principal's office. Something about his papers. But the principal had
sent him back to class (after, it was rumored, a long-distance call to Rome—or was it Washington?), and
everything seemed to be settled now. Officially, at least.
When Elena arrived for Euro History class that afternoon, she was greeted by a low whistle in the hall.
Dick Carter and Tyler Smallwood were loitering there. A couple of prize jerks, she thought, ignoring the
whistle and their staring. They thought being tackle and safety on the varsity football team made them hot
stuff. She kept an eye on them as she loitered in the corridor herself, refreshing her lipstick and fiddling
with her compact. She'd given Bonnie her special instructions, and the plan was ready to be put into
effect as soon as Stefan showed up. The compact mirror gave her a wonderful view of the hall behind
her.Still, she missed him coming somehow. He was beside her suddenly, and she snapped the compact shut
as he passed. She meant to stop him, but something happened before she could. Stefan tensed—or, at
least, there was something about him that seemed wary all at once. Just then Dick and Tyler stepped in
front of the door to the history classroom. Blocking the way.
World-class jerks, thought Elena. Fuming, she glared at them over Stefan's shoulder.
They were enjoying the game, slouching in the doorway, pretending they were completely blind to Stefan
standing there.
"Excuse me." It was the same tone he'd used with the history teacher. Quiet, detached.
Dick and Tyler looked at each other, then all around, as if hearing spirit voices.
"Scoozi?" Tyler said in a falsetto. "Scoozi me? Me scoozi? Jacuzzi?" They both laughed.
Elena watched muscles tighten under the T-shirt in front of her. This was completely unfair; they were
both taller than Stefan, and Tyler was about twice as broad.
"Is there a problem here?" Elena was as startled as the boys were at the new voice behind her. She
turned to see Matt. His blue eyes were hard.
Elena bit her lips on a smile as Tyler and Dick moved slowly, resentfully out of the way. Good old Matt,
she thought. But now good old Matt was walking into class beside Stefan, and she was left following
them, staring at the backs oftwo T-shirts. When they sat down, she slid into the desk behind Stefan,
where she could watch him without being watched herself. Her plan would have to wait until after class.
Matt was rattling change in his pocket, which meant he wanted to say something.
"Uh, hey," he began at last, uncomfortably. "Those guys, you know…"
Stefan laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Who am I to judge?" There was more emotion in his voice than
Elena had heard before, even when he had spoken to Mr. Tanner. And that emotion was raw
unhappiness. "Anyway, why should I be welcome here?" he finished, almost to himself.
"Why shouldn't you be?" Matt had been staring at Stefan; now his jaw squared with decision.
"Listen," he said. "You were talking about football yesterday. Well, our star wide receiver tore a
ligament yesterday afternoon, and we need a replacement. Tryouts are this afternoon. What do you
think?"
"Me?" Stefan sounded caught off guard. "Ah… I don't know if I could."
"Can you run?"
"Can—?" Stefan half turned toward Matt, and Elena could see a faint hint of a smile curve his lips.
"Yes."
"Can you catch?"
"Yes.""That's all a wide receiver has to do. I'm the quarterback. If you can catch what I throw and run with it,
you can play."
"I see." Stefan was actually almost smiling, and though Matt's mouth was serious his blue eyes were
dancing. Astonished at herself, Elena realized she was jealous. There was a warmth between the two
boys that shut her out completely.
But the next instant Stefan's smile disappeared. He said distantly, "Thank you… but no. I have other
commitments."
At that moment, Bonnie and Caroline arrived and class started.
Throughout Tanner's lecture on Europe,
Elena repeated to herself, "Hello. I'm Elena Gilbert. I'm on the Senior Welcoming Committee, and I've
been assigned to show you around the school. Now, you wouldn't want to get me in trouble, would you,
by not letting me do my job?" That last with wide, wistful eyes—but only if he looked like he might try to
get out of it. It was virtually foolproof. He was a sucker for maidens who needed to be rescued.
Halfway through class, the girl sitting to her right passed her a note. Elena opened it and recognized
Bonnie's round, childish handwriting. It read: "I kept C. away for as long as I could. What happened?
Did it work???"
Elena looked up to see Bonnie twisted around in her front-row seat. Elena pointed to the note and
shook her head, mouthing, "After class."
It seemed a century until Tanner gave some last-minute instructions about oral reports and dismissed
them. Then everybody sprang up at once. Here goes, thought Elena, and, with her heart pounding, she
stepped squarely into Stefan's path, blocking the aisle so that he couldn't get around her.
Just like Dick and Tyler, she thought, feeling a hysterical urge to giggle. She looked up and found her
eyes exactly on a level with his mouth.
Her mind went blank. What was it she was supposed to say? She opened her mouth, and somehow the
words she'd been practicing came tumbling out. "Hi, I'm Elena Gilbert, and I'm on the Senior Welcoming
Committee and I've been assigned—"
"I'm sorry; I don't have time." For a minute, she couldn't believe he was speaking, that he wasn't even
going to give her a chance to finish. Her mouth went right on with the speech.
"—to show you around the school—"
"I'm sorry; I can't. I have to—to get to football tryouts." Stefan turned to Matt, who was standing by
looking amazed. "You said they were right after school, didn't you?"
"Yes," Matt said slowly. "But—"
"Then I'd better get moving. Maybe you could show me the way."
Matt looked helplessly at Elena, then shrugged. "Well… sure. Come on." He glanced back once as theyleft. By the time Elena reached her locker, the numbness was wearing off and the lump in her throat was
trying to dissolve into tears. But she wouldn't cry at school, she told herself, shewouldn't . After closing
her locker, she made for the main exit.
For the second day in a row, she was coming home from school right after the last bell, and alone. Aunt
Judith wouldn't be able to cope. But when Elena reached her house, Aunt Judith's car was not in the
driveway; she and Margaret must have gone out to the market. The house was still and peaceful as Elena
let herself in.
She was glad for that stillness; she wanted to be alone right now. But, on the other hand, she didn't
exactly know what to do with herself.
Now that she finallycould cry, she found that tears wouldn't come. She let her backpack sag to the floor
in the front hall and walked slowly into the living room.
It was a handsome, impressive room, the only part of the house besides Elena's bedroom that belonged
to the original structure. That first house had been built before 1861, and had been almost completely
burned in the Civil War. All that could be saved was this room, with its elaborate fireplace framed by
scrolled molding, and the big bedroom above. Elena's father's greatgrandfather had built a new house,
and Gilberts had lived in it ever since.
Elena turned to look out of one of the ceiling-to-floor windows. The glass was so old that it was thick
and wavery, and everything outside was distorted, looking slightly tipsy. She remembered the first time
her father had showed her that wavery old glass, when she had been younger than Margaret was now.
The fullness in her throat was back, but still no tears would come. Everything inside her was
contradictory. She didn't want company, and yet she was achingly lonely. Shedid want to think, but now
that she was trying to, her thoughts eluded her like mice running from a white owl.
White owl… hunting bird… flesh eater… crow, she thought. "Biggest crow I've ever seen," Matt had
said.
Her eyes stung again. Poor Matt. She'd hurt him, but he'd been so nice about it. He'd even been nice to
Stefan.
Stefan. Her heart thudded once, hard, squeezing two hot tears out of her eyes. There, she was crying at
last. She was crying with anger and humiliation and frustration—and what else?What had she really lost today? What did she really feel for this stranger, this Stefan Salvatore? He was
a challenge, yes, and that made him different, interesting. Stefan was exotic… exciting.
Funny, that was what guys had sometimes told Elenashe was. And later she heard from them, or from
their friends or sisters, how nervous they were before going out with her, how their palms got sweaty and
their stomachs were full of butterflies. Elena had always found such stories amusing. No boy she'd ever
met in her life had made her nervous.
But when she'd spoken to Stefan today, her pulse had been racing, her knees weak. Her palms had
been wet. And there hadn't been butterflies in her stomach—there had been bats.
She was interested in the guy because he made her feel nervous? Not a very good reason, Elena, she
told herself. In fact, a very bad reason.
But there was also that mouth. That sculpted mouth that made her knees weak with something entirely
different than nervousness. And that night-dark hair—her fingers itched to weave themselves into its
softness. That lithe, flat-muscled body, those long legs… and thatvoice . It was his voice that had
decided her yesterday, making her absolutely determined to have him. His voice had been cool and
disdainful when talking to Mr. Tanner, but strangely compelling for all that. She wondered if it could turn
night-dark as well, and how it would sound saying her name, whispering her name…
"Elena!"
Elena jumped, her reverie shattered. But it wasn't Stefan Salvatore calling her, it was Aunt Judith rattling
the front door open.
"Elena? Elena!" And that was Margaret, her voice shrill and piping. "Are you home?"
Misery welled up in Elena again, and she glanced around the kitchen. She couldn't face her aunt's
worried questions or Margaret's innocent cheerfulness right now. Not with her eyelashes wet and new
tears threatening any minute. She made a lightning decision and quietly slipped out the back door as the
front door banged shut.
Once off the back porch and into the yard, she hesitated. She didn't want to run into anyone she knew.
But where could she go to be alone?
The answer came almost instantly. Of course. She'd go see Mom and Dad.
It was a fairly long walk, almost to the edge of town, but over the last three years it had become familiar
to Elena. She crossed over Wickery Bridge and climbed up the hill, past the ruined church, then down
into the little valley below.
This part of the cemetery was well-kept; it was the old section that was allowed to run slightly wild.
Here, the grass was neatly trimmed, and bouquets of flowers made splashes of bright color. Elena sat
down by the big marble headstone with "Gilbert" carved into the front.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," she whispered. She leaned over to place a purple impatiens blossom she'd picked
along the way in front of the marker. Then she curled her legs under her and just sat.
She'd come here often after the accident. Margaret had been only one at the time of the car crash; she
didn't really remember them. But Elena did. Now she let her mind leaf back through memories, and thelump in her throat swelled, and the tears came easier. She missed them so much, still. Mother, so young
and beautiful, and Father, with a smile that crinkled up his eyes.
She was lucky to have Aunt Judith, of course. It wasn't every aunt who would quit her job and move
back into a little town to take care of two orphaned nieces. And Robert, Aunt Judith's fiancé, was more
like a stepfather to Margaret than an uncle-to-be by marriage.
But Elena remembered her parents. Sometimes, right after the funeral, she had come out here to rage at
them, angry with them for being so stupid as to get themselves killed. That was when she hadn't known
Aunt Judith very well, and had felt there was nowhere on earth she belonged anymore.
Where did she belong now? she wondered. The easy answer was, here, in Fell's Church, where she'd
lived all her life. But lately the easy answer seemed wrong. Lately she felt there must be something else
out there for her, some place she would recognize at once and call home.
A shadow fell over her, and she looked up, startled. For an instant, the two figures standing over her
were alien, unfamiliar, vaguely menacing. She stared, frozen.
"Elena," said the smaller figure fussily, hands on hips, "sometimes I worry about you, I really do."
Elena blinked and then laughed shortly. It was Bonnie and Meredith. "What does a person have to do to
get a little privacy around here?" she said as they sat down.
"Tell us to go away," suggested Meredith, but Elena just shrugged. Meredith and Bonnie had often come
out here to find her in the months after the accident. Suddenly, she felt glad about that, and grateful to
them both. If nowhere else, she belonged with the friends who cared about her. She didn't mind if they
knew she had been crying, and she accepted the crumpled tissue Bonnie offered her and wiped her eyes.
The three of them sat together in silence for a little while, watching the wind ruffle the stand of oak trees
at the edge of the cemetery.
"I'm sorry about what happened," Bonnie said at last, in a soft voice. "That was really terrible."
"And your middle name is 'Tact,' " said Meredith. "It couldn't have been that bad, Elena."
"You weren't there." Elena felt herself go hot all over again at the memory. "Itwas terrible. But I don't
care anymore," she added flatly, defiantly. "I'm finished with him. I don't want him anyway."
"Elena!"
"I don't, Bonnie. He obviously thinks he's too good for—for Americans. So he can just take those
designer sunglasses and…"
There were snorts of laughter from the other girls. Elena wiped her nose and shook her head. "So," she
said to Bonnie, determinedly changing the subject, "at least Tanner seemed in a better mood today."
Bonnie looked martyred. "Do you know that he made me sign up to be the very first one to give my oral
report? I don't care, though; I'm going to do mine on the druids, and—"
"On the what?"
"Droo-ids. The weird old guys who built Stonehenge and did magic and stuff in ancient England. I'mdescended from them, and that's why I'm psychic."
Meredith snorted, but Elena frowned at the blade of grass she was twirling between her fingers. "Bonnie,
did you really see something yesterday in my palm?" she asked abruptly.
Bonnie hesitated. "I don't know," she said at last. "I—Ithought I did then. But sometimes my
imagination runs away with me."
"She knew you were here," said Meredith unexpectedly. "I thought of looking at the coffee shop, but
Bonnie said, 'She's at the cemetery.' "
"Did I?" Bonnie looked faintly surprised but impressed. "Well, there you see. My grandmother in
Edinburgh has the second sight and so do I. It always skips a generation."
"And you're descended from the druids," Meredith said solemnly.
"Well, it's true! In Scotland they keep up the old traditions. You wouldn'tbelieve some of the things my
grandmother does. She has a way to find out who you're going to marry and when you're going to die.
She told me I'm going to die early."
"Bonnie!"
"She did. I'm going to be young and beautiful in my coffin. Don't you think that's romantic?"
"No, I don't. I think it's disgusting," said Elena. The shadows were getting longer, and the wind had a
chill to it now.
"So who are you going to marry, Bonnie?" Meredith put in deftly.
"I don't know. My grandmother told me the ritual for finding out, but I never tried it. Of
course"—Bonnie struck a sophisticated pose—"he has to be outrageously rich and totally gorgeous. Like
our mysterious dark stranger, for example. Particularly if nobody else wants him." She cast a wicked
glance at Elena.
Elena refused the bait. "What about Tyler Smallwood?" she murmured innocently. "His father's certainly
rich enough."
"And he's not bad-looking," agreed Meredith solemnly. "That is, of course, if you're an animal lover. All
those big white teeth."
The girls looked at each other and then simultaneously burst into laughter. Bonnie threw a handful of
grass at Meredith, who brushed it off and threw a dandelion back at her. Somewhere in the middle of it,
Elena realized that she was going to be all right. She was herself again, not lost, not a stranger, but Elena
Gilbert, the queen of Robert E. Lee. She pulled the apricot ribbon out of her hair and shook the hair free
about her face.
"I've decided what to domy oral report on," she said, watching with narrow eyes as Bonnie
finger-combed grass out of her curls.
"What?" said Meredith.Elena tilted her chin up to gaze at the red and purple sky above the hill. She took a thoughtful breath and
let the suspense build for a moment. Then she said coolly, "The Italian Renaissance."
Bonnie and Meredith stared at her, then looked at each other and burst into whoops of laughter again.
"Aha," said Meredith when they recovered. "So the tiger returneth."
Elena gave her a feral grin. Her shaken confidence had returned to her. And though she didn't
understand it herself, she knew one thing: she wasn't going to let Stefan Salvatore get away alive.
"All right," she said briskly. "Now, listen, you two. Nobody else can know about this, or I'll be the
laughingstock of the school. And Caroline would just love any excuse to make me look ridiculous. But I
do still want him, and I'm going to have him. I don't know how yet, but I am. Until I come up with a plan,
though, we're going to give him the cold shoulder."
"Oh,we are?"
"Yes,we are. You can't have him, Bonnie; he's mine. And I have to be able to trust you completely."
"Wait a minute," said Meredith, a glint in her eye. She unclasped the cloisonne pin from her blouse, then,
holding up her thumb, made a quick jab. "Bonnie, give me your hand."
"Why?" said Bonnie, eyeing the pin suspiciously.
"Because I want to marry you. Why do you think, idiot?"
"But—but—Oh, all right. Ow!"
"Now you, Elena." Meredith pricked Elena's thumb efficiently, and then squeezed it to get a drop of
blood. "Now," she continued, looking at the other two with sparkling dark eyes, "we all press our thumbs
together and swear. Especially you, Bonnie. Swear to keep this secret and to do whatever Elena asks in
relation to Stefan."
"Look, swearing with blood is dangerous," Bonnie protested seriously. "It means you have to stick to
your oath no matter what happens, no matterwhat , Meredith."
"I know," said Meredith grimly. "That's why I'm telling you to do it. I remember what happened with
Michael Martin."
Bonnie made a face. "That was years ago, and we broke up right away anyway and—Oh, all right. I'll
swear." Closing her eyes, she said, "I swear to keep this a secret and to do anything Elena asks about
Stefan."
Meredith repeated the oath. And Elena, staring at the pale shadows of their thumbs joined together in
the gathering dusk, took a long breath and said softly, "And I swear not to rest until he belongs to me."
A gust of cold wind blew through the cemetery, fanning the girls' hair out and sending dry leaves
fluttering on the ground. Bonnie gasped and pulled back, and they all looked around, then giggled
nervously.
"It's dark," said Elena, surprised."We'd better get started home," Meredith said, refastening her pin as she stood up. Bonnie stood, too,
putting the tip of her thumb into her mouth.
"Good-bye," said Elena softly, facing the headstone. The purple blossom was a blur on the ground. She
picked up the apricot ribbon that lay next to it, turned, and nodded to Bonnie and Meredith. "Let's go."
Silently, they headed up the hill toward the ruined church. The oath sworn in blood had given them all a
solemn feeling, and as they passed the ruined church Bonnie shivered. With the sun down, the
temperature had dropped abruptly, and the wind was rising. Each gust sent whispers through the grass
and made the ancient oak trees rattle their dangling leaves.
"I'm freezing," Elena said, pausing for a moment by the black hole that had once been the church door
and looking down at the landscape below.
The moon had not yet risen, and she could just make out the old graveyard and Wickery Bridge beyond
it. The old graveyard dated from Civil War days, and many of the headstones bore the names of soldiers.
It had a wild look to it; brambles and tall weeds grew on the graves, and ivy vines swarmed over
crumbling granite. Elena had never liked it.
"It looks different, doesn't it? In the dark, I mean," she said unsteadily. She didn't know how to say what
she really meant, that it was not a place for the living.
"We could go the long way," said Meredith. "But that would mean another twenty minutes of walking."
"I don't mind going this way," said Bonnie, swallowing hard. "I always said I wanted to be buried down
there in the old one."
"Will you stop talking about being buried!" Elena snapped, and she started down the hill. But the farther
down the narrow path she got, the more uncomfortable she felt. She slowed until Bonnie and Meredith
caught up with her. As they neared the first headstone, her heart began beating fast. She tried to ignore it,
but her whole skin was tingling with awareness and the fine hairs on her arms were standing up. Between
the gusts of wind, every sound seemed horribly magnified; the crunching of their feet on the leaf-strewn
path was deafening.
The ruined church was a black silhouette behind them now. The narrow path led between the
lichen-encrusted headstones, many of which stood taller than Meredith. Big enough for something to hide
behind, thought Elena uneasily. Some of the tombstones themselves were unnerving, like the one with the
cherub that looked like a real baby, except that its head had fallen off and had been carefully placed by
its body. The wide granite eyes of the head were blank. Elena couldn't look away from it, and her heart
began to pound.
"Why are we stopping?" said Meredith.
"I just… I'm sorry," Elena murmured, but when she forced herself to turn she immediately stiffened.
"Bonnie?" she said. "Bonnie, what's wrong?"
Bonnie was staring straight out into the graveyard, her lips parted, her eyes as wide and blank as the
stone cherub's. Fear washed through Elena's stomach. "Bonnie, stop it. Stop it! It's not funny."
Bonnie made no reply."Bonnie!" said Meredith. She and Elena looked at each other, and suddenly Elena knew she had to get
away. She whirled to start down the path, but a strange voice spoke behind her, and she jerked around.
"Elena," the voice said. It wasn't Bonnie's voice, but it came from Bonnie's mouth. Pale in the darkness,
Bonnie was still staring out into the graveyard. There was no expression on her face at all.
"Elena," the voice said again, and added, as Bonnie's head turned toward her, "there's someone waiting
out there for you."
Elena never quite knew what happened in the next few minutes. Something seemed to move out among
the dark humped shapes of the headstones, shifting and rising between them. Elena screamed and
Meredith cried out, and then they were both running, and Bonnie was running with them, screaming, too.
Elena pounded down the narrow path, stumbling on rocks and clumps of grass root. Bonnie was
sobbing for breath behind her, and Meredith, calm and cynical Meredith, was panting wildly. There was
a sudden thrashing and a shriek in an oak tree above them, and Elena found that she could run faster.
"There's something behind us," cried Bonnie shrilly. "Oh, God, what's happening?"
"Get to the bridge," gasped Elena through the fire in her lungs. She didn't know why, but she felt they
had to make it there. "Don't stop, Bonnie! Don't look behind you!" She grabbed the other girl's sleeve
and pulled her around.
"I can't make it," Bonnie sobbed, clutching her side, her pace faltering.
"Yes, you can," snarled Elena, grabbing Bonnie's sleeve again and forcing her to keep moving. "Come
on.Come on!"
She saw the silver gleam of water before them. And there was the clearing between the oak trees, and
the bridge just beyond. Elena's legs were wobbling and her breath was whistling in her throat, but she
wouldn't let herself lag behind. Now she could see the wooden planks of the footbridge. The bridge was
twenty feet away from them, ten feet away, five.
"We made it," panted Meredith, feet thundering on the wood.
"Don't stop! Get to the other side!"
The bridge creaked as they ran staggering across it, their steps echoing across the water. When she
jumped onto packed dirt on the far shore, Elena let go of Bonnie's sleeve at last, and allowed her legs to
stumble to a halt.
Meredith was bent over, hands on thighs, deep-breathing. Bonnie was crying.
"What was it? Oh, what was it?" she said. "Is it still coming?"
"I thought you were the expert," Meredith said unsteadily. "For God's sake, Elena, let's get out of here."
"No, it's all right now," Elena whispered. There were tears in her own eyes and she was shaking all over,
but the hot breath at the back of her neck had gone. The river stretched between her and it, the waters a
dark tumult. "It can't follow us here," she said.Meredith stared at her, then at the other shore with its clustered oak trees, then at Bonnie. She wet her
lips and laughed shortly. "Sure. It can't follow us. But let's go home anyway, all right? Unless you feel like
spending the night out here."
Some unnameable feeling shuddered through Elena. "Not tonight, thanks," she said. She put an arm
around Bonnie, who was still sniffling. "It's okay, Bonnie. We're safe now. Come on."
Meredith was looking across the river again. "You know, I don't see a thing back there," she said, her
voice calmer. "Maybe there wasn't anything behind us at all; maybe we just panicked and scared
ourselves. With a little help from the druid priestess here."
Elena said nothing as they started walking, keeping very close together on the dirt path. But she
wondered. She wondered very much.