The Struggle (11 page)

Elena struck out at it, one hand flung up to protect her eyes. She was still screaming. She couldn’t get away from it, those terrible wings kept flailing frantically, with a sound like a thousand decks of cards being shuffled at once.

The door burst open, and she heard shouts. The warm, heavy body of the crow struck her and her screams went higher. Then someone was pulling her off the bed, and she was standing protected behind Bonnie’s father. He had a broom and he was beating at the bird with it.

Bonnie was standing in the doorway. Elena ran into her arms. Bonnie’s father was shouting, and then came the slam of a window.

“It’s out,” Mr. McCullough said, breathing hard.

Mary and Mrs. McCullough were just outside in the hallway, clad in bathrobes. “You’re hurt,” Mrs. McCullough said to Elena in amazement. “The nasty thing’s pecked you.”

“I’m okay,” Elena said, brushing at a spot of blood on her face. She was so shaken that her knees were about to give out.

“How did it get
in
?” said Bonnie.

Mr. McCullough was inspecting the window. “You shouldn’t have left this open,” he said. “And what did you want to take the locks off for?”

“I didn’t,” Elena cried.

“It was unlocked and open when I heard you screaming and came in,” Bonnie’s father said. “I don’t know who else could have opened it but you.”

Elena choked back her protests. Hesitantly, cautiously, she moved to the window. He was right; the locks had been unscrewed. And it could have been done only from the inside.

“Maybe you were sleepwalking,” said Bonnie, leading Elena away from the window as Mr. McCullough began putting the locks back on. “We’d better get you cleaned up.”

Sleepwalking. Suddenly the entire dream flooded back to Elena. The hall of mirrors, and the ballroom, and Damon. Dancing with Damon. She pulled out of Bonnie’s grasp.

“I’ll do it myself,” she said, hearing her own voice quaver on the edge of hysteria. “No—really—I want to.” She escaped into the bathroom and stood with her back to the locked
door, trying to breathe.

The last thing she wanted to do was look in a mirror. But at last, slowly, she approached the one over the sink, trembling as she saw the edge of her reflection, moving inch by inch until she was framed in the silvery surface.

Her image stared back, ghastly pale, with eyes that looked bruised and frightened. There were deep shadows under them and smears of blood on her face.

Slowly, she turned her head slightly and lifted up her hair. She almost cried out loud when she saw what was underneath.

Two little wounds, fresh and open on the skin of her neck.

“I know I’m going to be sorry I asked this,” Matt said, turning red-rimmed eyes from their contemplation of I-95 to Stefan in the passenger seat beside him. “But can you tell me why we want these extra-special, not-available-locally, semi-tropical weeds for Elena?”

Stefan looked into the backseat at the results of their search through hedgerows and rough grass. The plants, with their branching green stems and their small-toothed leaves, did look more like weeds than anything else. The dried remains of blossoms at the ends of the shoots were almost invisible, and no one could pretend the shoots themselves were decorative.

“What if I said they could be used to make an all-natural eyewash?” he offered, after a moment’s thought. “Or an herbal tea?”

“Why? Were you thinking of saying something like that?”

“Not really.”

“Good. Because if you did I’d probably deck you.”

Without actually looking at Matt, Stefan smiled. There was something new stirring inside him, something he hadn’t felt for nearly five centuries, except with Elena. Acceptance. Warmth and friendship shared with a fellow being, who did not know the truth about him but who trusted him anyway. Who was willing to take him on faith. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he couldn’t deny what it meant to him. It almost made him feel … human again.

Elena stared at her image in the mirror. It hadn’t been a dream. Not entirely. The wounds in her neck proved that. And now that she’d seen them, she noticed the feeling of light-headedness, of lethargy.

It was her own fault. She’d taken so much trouble to warn Bonnie and Meredith not to invite any strangers into their houses. And all the time she’d forgotten that she herself had invited Damon into Bonnie’s house. She’d done it that night she had set up the dumb supper in
Bonnie’s dining room and called out into the darkness, “Come in.”

And the invitation was good forever. He could return any time he liked, even now. Especially now, while she was weak and might easily be hypnotized into unlocking a window again.

Elena stumbled out of the bathroom, past Bonnie, and into the guest bedroom. She grabbed her tote bag and began stuffing things into it.

“Elena, you can’t go home!”

“I can’t stay here,” Elena said. She looked around for her shoes, spotted them by the bed, and started forward. Then she stopped, with a strangled sound. Lying on the dainty crumpled linen of the bed there was a single black feather. It was huge, horribly huge and real and solid, with a thick, waxy-looking shaft. It looked almost obscene resting there on the white percale sheets.

Nausea swept over Elena, and she turned away. She couldn’t breathe.

“Okay, okay,” Bonnie said. “If you feel that way about it, I’ll get Dad to take you home.”

“You have to come, too.” It had just dawned
on Elena that Bonnie was no safer in this house than she was.
You and your loved ones,
she remembered, and turned to grasp Bonnie’s arm. “You
have
to, Bonnie. I need you with me.”

And at last she got her way. The McCulloughs thought she was hysterical, that she was overreacting, possibly that she was having a nervous breakdown. But finally they gave in. Mr. McCullough drove her and Bonnie to the Gilbert house, where, feeling like burglars, they unlocked the door and crept inside without waking anyone up.

Even here, Elena couldn’t sleep. She lay beside Bonnie’s softly breathing form, staring toward her bedroom window, watching. Outside, the quince branches squeaked against the glass, but nothing else moved until dawn.

That was when she heard the car. She’d know the wheezing sound of Matt’s engine anywhere. Alarmed, she tiptoed to the window and looked out into the early-morning stillness of another gray day. Then she hurried downstairs and opened the front door.

“Stefan!” She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. She flung herself upon
him before he could even shut the car door. He swayed backward with the force of her impact, and she could feel his surprise. She wasn’t usually so demonstrative in public.

“Hey,” he said, returning the hug gently. “Me, too, but don’t crush the flowers.”

“Flowers?” She pulled back to look at what he was carrying; then, she looked at his face. Then at Matt, who was emerging from the other side of the car. Stefan’s face was pale and drawn; Matt’s was puffy with tiredness, with bloodshot eyes.

“You’d better come inside,” she said at last, bewildered. “You both look awful.”

“It’s vervain,” said Stefan, some time later. He and Elena were sitting at the kitchen table. Through the open doorway, Matt could be seen stretched out on the family room sofa, snoring gently. He’d flopped there after eating three bowls of cereal. Aunt Judith, Bonnie, and Margaret were still upstairs asleep, but Stefan kept his voice low just the same. “You remember what I told you about it?” he said.

“You said it helps keep your mind clear even when someone is using Power to influence it.”
Elena was proud of how steady her voice was.

“Right. And that’s one of the things Damon might try. He can use the power of his mind even from a distance, and he can do it whether you’re awake or asleep.”

Tears filled Elena’s eyes, and she looked down to hide them, gazing at the long slender stems with the dried remains of tiny lilac flowers at the very tips. “Asleep?” she said, afraid that this time her voice was not as steady.

“Yes. He could influence you to come out of the house, say, or to let him in. But the vervain should prevent that.” Stefan sounded tired, but satisfied with himself.

Oh, Stefan, if you only knew, Elena thought. The gift had come one night too late. In spite of all her efforts, a tear fell, dripping onto the long green leaves.

“Elena!” He sounded startled. “What is it? Tell me.”

He was trying to look into her face, but she bowed her head, pressing it into his shoulder. He put his arms around her, not trying to force her up again. “Tell me,” he repeated softly.

This was the moment. If she was ever going
to tell him, it should be now. Her throat felt burned and swollen, and she wanted to let all the words inside pour out.

But she couldn’t. No matter what, I won’t let them fight over me, she thought.

“It’s just that—I was worried about you,” she managed. “I didn’t know where you’d gone, or when you were coming back.”

“I should have told you. But that’s all? There’s nothing else upsetting you?”

“That’s all.” Now she would have to swear Bonnie to secrecy about the crow. Why did one lie always lead to another? “What should we do with the vervain?” she asked, sitting back.

“I’ll show you tonight. Once I’ve extracted the oil from the seeds, you can rub it into your skin or add it to a bath. And you can make the dried leaves into a sachet and carry it with you or put it under your pillow at night.”

“I’d better give them to Bonnie and Meredith, too. They’ll need protection.”

He nodded. “For now”—he broke off a sprig and placed it in her hand—“just take this to school with you. I’m going back to the boarding house to extract the oil.” He paused a moment
and then spoke. “Elena …”

“Yes?”

“If I thought it would do you any good, I’d leave. I wouldn’t expose you to Damon. But I don’t think he’d follow me if I went, not anymore. I think he might stay—because of you.”

“Don’t even
think
about leaving,” she said fiercely, looking up at him. “Stefan, that’s the one thing I couldn’t stand. Promise you won’t; promise me.”

“I won’t leave you alone with him,” Stefan said, which was not quite the same thing. But there was no point in pushing him further.

Instead, she helped him wake up Matt, and saw them both off. Then, with a stem of dried vervain in her hand, she went upstairs to get ready for school.

Bonnie yawned all the way through breakfast and she didn’t really wake up until they were outside, walking to school with a brisk breeze in their faces. It was going to be a cold day.

“I had a very weird dream last night,” Bonnie said.

Elena’s heart jumped. She’d already tucked a
sprig of vervain into Bonnie’s backpack, down at the bottom, where Bonnie wouldn’t see it. But if Damon had gotten to Bonnie last night …

“What about?” she said, bracing herself.

“About you. I saw you standing under a tree and the wind was blowing. For some reason, I was afraid of you, and I didn’t want to go any closer. You looked … different. Very pale but almost glowing. And then a crow flew down from the tree, and you reached out and grabbed it in midair. You were so fast it was unbelievable. And then you looked over at me, with this expression. You were smiling, but it made me want to run. And then you twisted the crow’s neck, and it was dead.”

Elena had listened to this with growing horror. Now she said, “That’s a
disgusting
dream.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Bonnie composedly. “I wonder what it means? Crows are birds of ill omen in the legends. They can foretell a death.”

“It probably meant that you knew how upset I was, finding that crow in the room.”

“Yes,” Bonnie said. “Except for one thing. I had this dream
before
you woke us all up screaming.”

That day at lunchtime there was another piece of violet paper on the office bulletin board. This one, though, read simply:
LOOK IN PERSONALS
.

“What personals?” said Bonnie.

Meredith, walking up at that moment with a copy of the
Wildcat Weekly,
the school newspaper, provided the answer. “Have you seen this?” she said.

It was in the personals section, completely anonymous, with neither salutation nor signature.
I can’t bear the thought of losing him. But he’s so very unhappy about something, and if he won’t tell me what it is, if he won’t trust me that much, I don’t see any hope for us
.

Reading it, Elena felt a burst of new energy through her tiredness. Oh, God, she hated whoever was doing this. She imagined shooting them, stabbing them, watching them fall. And then, vividly, she imagined something else. Yanking back a fistful of the thief’s hair and sinking her teeth into an unprotected throat. It was a strange, unsettling vision, but for a moment it almost seemed real.

She became aware that Bonnie and Meredith were looking at her.

“Well?” she said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“I could tell you weren’t listening,” sighed Bonnie. “I just said it still doesn’t look like Da—like the killer’s work to me. It doesn’t seem like a murderer would be so petty.”