The Dark Reunion (6 page)

With Matt and Meredith watching, she made a small fire in an earthenware bowl. Three candles were burning behind the bowl; she stuck a pin halfway down the one in the center. Then she unfolded a napkin and carefully stirred the dried flakes of blood into a wineglass of water. It turned rusty pink.

She opened the other napkin. Three pinches of dark hair went into the fire, sizzling with a terrible smell. Then three drops of the stained water, hissing.

Her eyes went to the words in the open book.

She read the words aloud slowly, three times. Then she sat back on her heels. The fire went on burning smokily. The candle flames danced.

“And now what?” Matt said.

“I don’t know. It just says wait for the middle candle to burn down to the pin.”

“And what then?”

“I guess we’ll find out when it happens.”

In Florence, it was dawn.

Stefan watched the girl move down the stairway, one hand resting lightly on the banister to keep her balance. Her movements were slow and slightly dreamlike, as if she were floating.

Suddenly, she swayed and clutched at the banister more tightly. Stefan moved quickly behind her and put a hand under her elbow.

“Are you all right?”

She looked up at him with the same dreaminess. She was very pretty. Her expensive clothes were the latest fashion and her stylishly disarrayed hair was blond. A tourist. He knew she was American before she spoke.

“Yes … I think …” Her brown eyes were unfocused.

“Do you have a way to get home? Where are you staying?”

“On Via dei Conti, near the Medici chapel. I’m with the Gonzaga in Florence program.”

Damn! Not a tourist, then; a student. And that meant she’d be carrying this story back
with her, telling her classmates about the handsome Italian guy she’d met last night. The one with night-dark eyes. The one who took her back to his exclusive place on Via Tornabuoni and wined her and dined her and then, in the moonlight, maybe, in his room or out in the enclosed courtyard, leaned close to look into her eyes and …

Stefan’s gaze slid away from the girl’s throat with its two reddened puncture wounds. He’d seen marks like that so often—how could they still have the power to disturb him? But they did; they sickened him and set a slow burning in his gut.

“What’s your name?”

“Rachael. With an
a
.” She spelled it.

“All right, Rachael. Look at me. You will go back to your
pensione
and you won’t remember anything about last night. You don’t know where you went or who you saw. And you’ve never seen
me
before, either. Repeat.”

“I don’t remember anything about last night,” she said obediently, her eyes on his. Stefan’s Powers were not as strong as they would have been if he’d been drinking human blood, but
they were strong enough for this. “I don’t know where I went or who I saw. I haven’t seen you.”

“Good. Do you have money to get back? Here.” Stefan pulled a fistful of crumpled lire—mostly 50,000 and 100,000 notes—out of his pocket and led her outside.

When she was safely in a cab, he went back inside and made straight for Damon’s bedroom.

Damon was lounging near the window, peeling an orange, not even dressed yet. He looked up, annoyed, as Stefan entered.

“It’s customary to knock,” he said.

“Where’d you meet her?” said Stefan. And then, when Damon turned a blank stare on him, he added, “That girl. Rachael.”

“Was that her name? I don’t think I bothered to ask. At Bar Gilli. Or perhaps it was Bar Mario. Why?”

Stefan struggled to contain his anger. “That’s not the only thing you didn’t bother to do. You didn’t bother to influence her to forget you, either. Do you
want
to get caught, Damon?”

Damon’s lips curved in a smile and he twisted off a curlicue of orange peel. “I am
never
caught, little brother,” he said.

“So what are you going to do when they come after you? When somebody realizes, ‘My God, there’s a bloodsucking monster on Via Tornabuoni’? Kill them all? Wait until they break down the front door and then melt away into darkness?”

Damon met his gaze directly, challengingly, that faint smile still clinging about his lips.

“Why not?” he said.

“
Damn
you!” said Stefan. “Listen to me, Damon. This has got to stop.”

“I’m touched at your concern for my safety.”

“It isn’t fair, Damon. To take an unwilling girl like that—”

“Oh, she was willing, brother. She was very, very willing.”

“Did you tell her what you were going to do? Did you warn her about the consequences of exchanging blood with a vampire? The nightmares, the psychic visions? Was she willing for
that
?” Damon clearly wasn’t going to reply, so he went on. “You know it’s wrong.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” With that, Damon gave one of his sudden, unnerving smiles, turning it on and off instantly.

“And you don’t care,” Stefan said dully, looking away.

Damon tossed away the orange. His tone was silky, persuasive. “Little brother, the world is full of what you call ‘wrong,’” he said. “Why not relax and join the winning side? It’s much more fun, I assure you.”

Stefan felt himself go hot with anger. “How can you even say that?” he flashed back. “Didn’t you learn anything from Katherine?
She
chose ‘the winning side.’”

“Katherine died too quickly,” said Damon. He was smiling again, but his eyes were cold.

“And now all you can think about is revenge.” Looking at his brother, Stefan felt a crushing weight settle on his own chest. “That and your own pleasure,” he said.

“What else is there? Pleasure is the only reality, little brother—pleasure and power. And you’re a hunter by nature, just as much as I am,” Damon said. He added, “I don’t remember inviting you to come to Florence with me, anyway. Since you’re not enjoying yourself, why don’t you just leave?”

The weight in Stefan’s chest tightened suddenly,
unbearably, but his gaze, locked with Damon’s, did not waver. “You know why,” he said quietly. And at last he had the satisfaction of seeing Damon’s eyes drop.

Stefan himself could hear Elena’s words in his mind. She’d been dying then, and her voice had been weak, but he’d heard her clearly.
You have to take care of each other. Stefan, will you promise? Promise to take care of each other?
And he had promised, and he would keep his word. No matter what.

“You know why I don’t leave,” he said again to Damon, who wouldn’t look at him. “You can pretend you don’t care. You can fool the whole world. But
I
know differently.” It would have been kindest at this point to leave Damon alone, but Stefan wasn’t in a kind mood. “You know that girl you picked up, Rachael?” he added. “The hair was all right, but her eyes were the wrong color. Elena’s eyes were blue.”

With that he turned, meaning to leave Damon here to think it over—if Damon would do anything so constructive, of course. But he never made it to the door.

“It’s there!” said Meredith sharply, her eyes on the candle flame and the pin.

Bonnie sucked in her breath. Something was opening in front of her like a silver thread, a silver tunnel of communication. She was rushing along it, with no way to stop herself or check her speed. Oh, God, she thought, when I reach the end and hit—

The flash in Stefan’s head was soundless, light-less, and powerful as a thunderclap. At the same time he felt a violent, wrenching tug. An urge to follow—something. This was not like Katherine’s sly subliminal nudging to go somewhere; this was a psychic shout. A command that could not be disobeyed.

Inside the flash he sensed a presence, but he could scarcely believe who it was.

Bonnie?

Stefan! It’s you! It worked!

Bonnie, what have you done?

Elena told me to. Honestly, Stefan, she did. We’re in trouble and we need
—

And that was it. The communication collapsed, caving in on itself, dwindling to a
pinpoint. It was gone, and in its aftermath the room vibrated with Power.

Stefan and his brother were left staring at each other.

Bonnie let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and opened her eyes, though she didn’t remember closing them. She was lying on her back. Matt and Meredith were crouched over her, looking alarmed.

“What happened? Did it work?” Meredith demanded.

“It worked.” She let them help her up. “I made contact with Stefan. I talked to him. Now all we can do is wait and see if he’s coming or not.”

“Did you mention Elena?” Matt asked.

“Yes.”

“Then he’s coming.”

5

Monday, June 8, 11:15 p.m.

Dear Diary
,

I don’t seem to be sleeping very well tonight, so I might as well write you. All day today I’ve been waiting for something to happen. You don’t do a spell like that and have it work like that and then have nothing happen.

But nothing has. I stayed home from school because Mom thought I should. She was upset about Matt and Meredith staying so late Sunday night, and she said I needed to get some rest. But every time I lie down I see Sue’s face.

Sue’s dad did the eulogy at Elena’s funeral. I wonder who’s going to do it for Sue on Wednesday?

I’ve got to stop thinking about things like this.

Maybe I’ll try to go to sleep again. Maybe if I lie down with my headphones on, I won’t see Sue.

Bonnie put the diary back in her nightstand drawer and took out her Walkman. She flipped through the channels as she stared at the ceiling with heavy eyes. Through the crackle and sputter of static a D. J.’s voice sounded in her ear.

“And here’s a golden oldie for all you fabulous fifties fans. ‘Goodnight Sweetheart’ on the Vee Jay label by The Spaniels …”

Bonnie drifted away on the music.

The ice cream soda was strawberry, Bonnie’s favorite. The jukebox was playing “Goodnight Sweetheart” and the counter was squeaky clean. But Elena, Bonnie decided, would never have really worn a poodle skirt.

“No poodles,” she said, gesturing at it. Elena looked up from her hot fudge sundae. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “Who thinks of these things anyway?” Bonnie asked.

“You do, silly. I’m only visiting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie took a pull at the soda. Dreams. There was a reason to be afraid of dreams, but she couldn’t think of it just now.

“I can’t stay long,” Elena said. “I think he
already knows I’m here. I just came to tell you….” She frowned.

Bonnie looked at her sympathetically. “Can’t you remember either?” She drank more soda. It tasted odd.

“I died too young, Bonnie. There was so much I was supposed to do, to accomplish. And now I have to help you.”

“Thanks,” Bonnie said.

“This isn’t easy, you know. I don’t have that much power. It’s hard getting through and it’s hard keeping everything together.”

“Gotta keep it together,” Bonnie agreed, nodding. She was feeling strangely light-headed. What was
in
this soda?

“I don’t have much control, and things turn out strange somehow. He’s doing it, I guess. He’s always fighting me. He watches you. And every time we try to communicate, he comes.”

“Okay.” The room was floating.

“Bonnie, are you listening to me? He can use your fear against you. It’s the way he gets in.”

“Okay …”

“But
don’t let him in.
Tell everyone that. And tell Stefan …” Elena stopped and put a hand
to her mouth. Something fell onto the hot fudge sundae.

It was a tooth.

“He’s here.” Elena’s voice was strange, indistinct. Bonnie stared at the tooth in mesmerized horror. It was lying in the middle of the whipped cream, among the slivered almonds. “Bonnie, tell Stefan….”

Another tooth plunked down, and another. Elena sobbed, both her hands at her mouth now. Her eyes were terrified, helpless. “Bonnie, don’t go….”

But Bonnie was stumbling back. Everything was whirling around. The soda was bubbling out of the glass, but it wasn’t soda; it was blood. Bright red and frothy, like something you coughed up when you died. Bonnie’s stomach convulsed.

“Tell Stefan I love him!” It was the voice of a toothless old woman, and it ended in hysterical sobs. Bonnie was glad to fall into darkness and forget everything.

Bonnie nibbled at the end of her felt pen, her eyes on the clock, her mind on the calendar.
Eight and a half more days of school to survive. And it looked as if every minute was going to be misery.

Some guy had said it outright, backing away from her on the stairs. “No offense, but your friends keep turning up dead.” Bonnie had gone into the bathroom and cried.

But now all she wanted was to be out of school, away from the tragic faces and accusing eyes—or worse, the
pitying
eyes. The principal had given a speech over the P.A. about “this new misfortune” and “this terrible loss,” and Bonnie had felt the eyes on her back as if they were boring holes there.