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right, love. Oh, lovely love, it will be all right.” He wiped her eyes with a hand that

was rock steady, and all the time he was looking only at her, and—she knew—

thinking only of her.

She knew that because she also knew the moment when it changed.

Red hair was in her line of sight, blurred through new tears. Red hair and narrow

green eyes, too close to her. That was when Elena felt Stefan remember that there

was anything other than Elena in the world.

His face changed. He didn’t snarl or stick out his chin. The change was an entire

alteration, but it centered around his eyes, which became deadly hard while

everything else became sharp and fierce.

“If you touch her again, you vicious bitch, I will rip out your throat,” Stefan said,

and each word was like a chip of ice-cold iron dropped onto the floor.

Elena’s tears stopped with the shock of it. Stefan didn’t talk that way to women.

Even Damon didn’t—hadn’t. But the words were still echoing in the sudden silence

of the cathedral-like room. People were backing away.

Idola was backing away too, but her lip was curled. “Do you think that because

we are Guardians that we cannot harm you—?” she was beginning, when Stefan’s

voice cut through hers cleanly.

“I think that because you are ‘Guardians’ you can kill sanctimoniously and get

away with it,” Stefan said, and his lip made a far more compelling—and frightening

—line of scorn than Idola’s had. “You would have killed Elena if Sage hadn’t

stopped you. Damn you,” he added softly, but with such utter conviction that Idola

took another step backward. “Yes, you’d better rally all your little friends around,” he

added. “I might just decide to kill you anyway. I killed my own brother, as I’m sure

you realize.”

“But surely—that was only after taking a mortal blow yourself.” Susurre was

between the two of them, trying to intercede.

Stefan shrugged. He looked at her with the same contempt as he had the other

ruler. “I still had the use of my arm,” he said deliberately. “I could have decided to

drop my sword, or to merely wound him. Instead I chose to put a blade straight

through his heart.” He showed his teeth in a distinctly unfriendly smile. “And now I

don’t even need a weapon.”

“Stefan,” Elena managed at last to whisper.

“I know. She’s weaker than I am and you don’t want to see me kill her. That’s why

she’s still alive, love. It’s the only reason.” As Elena lifted half-frightened eyes to

him, Stefan added in a voice only she could hear, Of course, there are some

things about me you don’t know, Elena. Things I’d hoped you’d never have to

see. Knowing you—loving you—made me almost forget about them.

Stefan’s voice in her head woke something inside Elena. She lifted her head and

looked at the blurry mass of Guardians around them. She saw strawberry-blond

curls suspended in midair. Bonnie. Bonnie fighting. Doing it weakly, but only

because a pair of the fair Guardians and another pair of dark ones were holding

her in the air, one to each limb. As Elena stared at her she seemed to regain

energy and fought harder. And Elena could hear…something. It was faint and far

away, but it almost sounded like…her name. Like her name spoken by whispering

branches or the whirring of passing bicycle wheels. lay…nah…eee…lay…

Elena reached inwardly for the sound. She tried desperately to grasp whatever

came after, but nothing happened. She tried a trick she would have found easy

yesterday—channeling Power to the center of her telepathy. It didn’t work. She

tried her telepathy.

Bonnie! Can you hear me?

There wasn’t even the slightest change in the smaller girl’s expression.

Elena had lost her link to Bonnie.

She watched as Bonnie realized the same thing, watched the fight go out of the

small body. Bonnie’s face, upturned in blank despair, was indescribably sad, and

somehow indescribably pure and beautiful, all at once.

That will never happen to us, Stefan’s voice in her mind told her fiercely. Never!

I give you my —

No! Elena thought back, superstitiously terrified of a jinx. If Stefan swore,

something might happen—she might have to become a vampire or a spirit—to

ensure that he didn’t break his word.

He stopped, and Elena knew that he had heard her. And somehow this

knowledge, that Stefan had heard a single word from her, stilled her. She knew he

wasn’t spying. He’d heard because she’d sent the thought to him. She wasn’t alone.

She might be ordinary again; they might have taken her wings and most of the

Power of her blood, but she wasn’t alone. She leaned toward him, her forehead

against Stefan’s chin.

“No one is alone.” She’d told Damon that. Damon Salvatore, a being who no

longer existed. But who still called forth from her one more word, one final cry. His

name.

Damon!

He’d died four dimensions away. But she could feel Stefan backing her,

amplifying her transmission, sending it like one last beacon through the multitude of

worlds that separated them from his cold and lifeless body.

Damon!

There wasn’t the slightest glimmer of an answer. Of course not. Elena was

making a fool of herself.

Suddenly something stronger than grief, stronger than self-pity, even stronger

than guilt, took hold of her. Damon wouldn’t have wanted her to be carried out of

this hall—even by Stefan. Especially by Stefan. He would have wanted her to show

no sign of weakness to these women who’d shorn her and humiliated her.

Yes. That was Stefan. Her love, but not her lover, willing to love her chastely from

now until the end of her days….

The end…of her days?

Elena was suddenly glad that she couldn’t project to strangers telepathically and

that Stefan had set shields around them when he’d taken her into his arms. She

turned to Ryannen, who was watching…warily, but still with business in her eyes.

“I’d like to go now, if you don’t mind,” she said, picking up her backpack and

slinging it over her shoulder with a gesture as arrogant as she could make it. There

was a bolt of agony as the weight of the strap hit the place from which most of her

wings had sprung, but she kept her face contemptuous and indifferent.

Bonnie, back on the ground since she wasn’t fighting any longer, followed Elena’s

lead. Stefan had left his backpack in the Gatehouse, but he gently cupped a hand

around Elena’s elbow, not guiding her, but showing that he was there for her.

Sage’s wings folded back into themselves and were gone.

“You understand that for the return of these treasures which are ours by right—

but which we were barred from retrieving—you will be granted your requests with

the exception of the imposs—”

“I understand,” Elena said flatly, just as Stefan said, much more brusquely, “She

understands. Just do it, will you?”

“It is already being organized.” Ryannen’s eyes, dark blue splashed with gold,

met Elena’s with a look not entirely unsympathetic.

“The best thing,” Sussure added hastily, “would be for us to put you to sleep and

send you to your—your old, new dwellings. By the time you awaken, all will have

been accomplished.”

Elena forced her face not to change. “Send me to Maple Street?” she asked,

looking at Ryannen. “Aunt Judith’s house?”

“In your sleep, yes.”

“I don’t want to be asleep.” Elena moved even closer to Stefan. “Don’t let them

put me to sleep!”

“No one’s going to do anything to you that you don’t want,” Stefan said, and his

voice was like the edge of a razor. Sage rumbled his support, and Bonnie stared at

the fair woman hard.

Ryannen bowed her head.

Elena woke up.

It was dark, and she’d been asleep. She couldn’t remember exactly how she’d

fallen asleep, but she knew she wasn’t on the palanquin, and she knew she wasn’t

in a sleeping bag.

Stefan? Bonnie? Damon? she thought automatically, but there was something

odd about her telepathy. It felt almost as if it were confined to her own head.

Was she in Stefan’s room? It must be pitch-black outside, since she couldn’t

even see the outline of the trapdoor that led to the widow’s walk.

“Stefan?” she whispered, while various bits of information pooled in her mind.

There was a smell, at once familiar and unfamiliar. She was lying on a comfortable

double bed, not one of Lady Ulma’s silken-and-velvet extravaganzas, but not any

lumpy featherbed from the boardinghouse, either. Was she in a hotel?

As these various thoughts came together in her brain, there was a soft quick

rapping. Knuckles on glass.

Elena’s body took over. She tossed off the bedspread and ran to the window,

mysteriously avoiding obstacles without thinking about them at all. Her hands

wrenched aside curtains that she somehow knew were there and her skyrocketing

heart brought a name to her lips.

“Da—!”

And then the world stopped and did its slowest somersault of all. The sight of a

face, fierce and concerned and loving and yet strangely frustrated, just on the other

side of the second-story window, brought Elena’s memories back.

All of them.

Fell’s Church was saved.

And Damon was dead.

Her head bent slowly until her forehead touched the cool pane of glass.

“E lena?” Stefan said quietly. “Could you ask me to come in? You have to invite me

in if you want to—to talk—”

Invite him in? He was already in—inside her heart. She had told the Guardians

that everyone would have to accept Stefan as her boyfriend of almost a year.

It didn’t matter. In a low voice she said, “Come in, Stefan.”

“The window’s locked from your side, Elena.”

Numbly, Elena unlocked the window. The next moment she was encompassed by

warm, strong arms in a desperate, fervent embrace. But the moment after that, the

arms dropped, leaving her frozen and lonely.

“Stefan? What’s wrong?” Her eyes had adapted and by the starlight through the

window she could see him hesitating before her.

“I can’t—It isn’t—It’s not me you want,” he said in a rush that sounded as if it

came through a constricted throat. “But I wanted you to know that—that Meredith

and Matt are holding Bonnie. Comforting her, I mean. They’re all okay and so is

Mrs. Flowers. And I thought that you—”

“They put me to sleep! They said they wouldn’t put me to sleep!”

“You fell asleep, lo—Elena. While we were waiting for them to send us home. We

all watched over you: Bonnie, Sage, and I.” He was still speaking in that formal,

unusual tone. “But I thought—well, that you might want to talk tonight, too. Before I

—I left.” He put a finger up to stop his lip from shaking.

“You swore you wouldn’t leave me!” Elena cried. “You promised, not for any

reason, not for any length of time, no matter how noble the cause!”

“But—Elena—that was before I understood…”

“You still don’t understand! Do you know—”

His hand flew to cover her mouth and he put his lips to her ear. “Lo—Elena.

We’re in your house. Your aunt—”

Elena felt her eyes widen, although of course subconsciously she had known this

all along. The air of familiarity. This bed—it was her bed, and the spread was her

beloved gold and white bedspread. The obstacles she’d known how to avoid in the

dark—the tapping at her window…she was home.

Like a climber who has negotiated an impossible-seeming section of rock, and

almost fallen, Elena felt a tremendous rush of adrenaline. And it was this—or,

perhaps, simply the power of the love that flooded through her—that achieved what

she had been so clumsily trying to reach. She felt her soul expand and come out of

her body. And meet Stefan’s.

She was appalled by the hastily swept-away desolation in his spirit, and humbled

by the surge of love that flooded every part of him at the touch of her mind.

Oh, Stefan. Just—say that—that you can forgive me, that’s all. If you forgive

me I can live. Maybe you can even be happy with me again—if you just give it a

little time.

I’m already happy with you. But we have all the time in the world, Stefan

reassured her. But she caught the shadow of a dark thought whisked quickly out of

the way. He had all the time in the world. She, however…

Elena had to choke back a laugh but then clutched at Stefan suddenly. My

backpack—did they take it? Where is it?

Right beside your nightstand. I can reach it. Do you want it? He reached in the

darkness and pulled up something heavy and rough and none too pleasantsmelling.

Elena thrust one frantic hand inside it while still holding on to Stefan with

the other.

Yes! Oh, Stefan, it’s here!

He was beginning to suspect—but he only knew when she drew out the bottle

labeled Evian Water and held it to her cheek. It was icy cold, although the night was

mild and humid. And as it effervesced violently, it glowed in a way that no ordinary

water did.

I didn’t mean to do it, she told Stefan, suddenly worried that he might not like to

associate with a thief. At least—not at first. Sage said to get the water from the

Fountain of Eternal Youth and Life into bottles. I dug up a big bottle and this little

one, and somehow I stashed the smaller one in my backpack—I’d’ve put the big

one in, too, but it didn’t fit. And I didn’t even think about the little one again until

after they took away my Wings and my telepathy.

And a good thing, Stefan thought. If they had caught you—oh, my lovely love!

His arms squeezed the breath from Elena’s lungs. So that’s why you were

suddenly so eager to leave!

“They took almost everything else supernatural about me,” Elena whispered,

placing her lips close to Stefan’s ear. “I have to live with that, and if they’d given me

a chance I’d have agreed—for the sake of Fell’s Church—if I’d been logical—” She

broke off as she suddenly realized that she had been literally out of her mind. She’d

been worse than a thief. She’d tried to use a lethal attack on a group of—mostly—

innocent people. And the worst thing was that a part of her knew that Damon would

have understood her madness, while she wasn’t sure Stefan ever could.

“But you don’t have to change me into—you know,” she began whispering

frenetically again. “A sip or two of this and I can be with you forever. Forever and—

for—forever—Stefan—” She stopped, trying to get her breath and her mental

balance.

His hand closed over hers on the cap. “Elena.”

“I’m not crying. It’s because I’m happy. Forever and ever, Stefan. We can be

together, just…just us two…forever.”

“Elena, love.” His hand kept hers from twisting open the bottle.

“It—isn’t what you want?”

With his other arm, Stefan pulled her tightly to him. Her head fell forward onto his

shoulder and he rested his chin on her hair. “It’s what I want more than anything.

I’m…dazed, I guess. I have been ever since—” He stopped and tried again. “If we

have all the time in the world, we have tomorrow,” he said in a voice muffled by hair.

“And tomorrow is time enough for you to start to think it through. There’s enough in

that bottle for maybe four or five people. You’re the one who’s going to have to

decide who drinks it, love. But not tonight. Tonight is for…”

With a sudden rush of joy Elena understood. “You’re talking about—Damon.”

Amazing how difficult it was to simply say his name. It almost seemed a violation,

and yet…

When he could talk—like this—for a moment to me, he told me what he

wanted, she sent. Stefan stirred a little in the darkness, but said nothing. Stefan, he

only asked for one thing before he…went. It was not to be forgotten. That’s all.

And we’re the ones who remember the most. Us and Bonnie.

Aloud she added, “I will never forget him. And I will never let anyone else who

knew him forget him—for as long as I live.”

She knew she’d spoken too loudly, but Stefan didn’t try to quiet her. He gave one

quick shudder and then held her tightly again, his face buried in her hair.

I remember, he sent to her, when Katherine asked him to join her—when we

three were in Honoria Fell’s crypt. I remember what he said to her. Do you?

Elena felt their souls intertwine as they both saw the scene through the other’s

eyes. Of course, I remember too.

Stefan sighed, half-laughing. I remember trying to take care of him later in

Florence. He wouldn’t behave, wouldn’t even Influence the girls he fed on.

Another sigh. I think he wanted to get caught at that point. He couldn’t even look

me in the face and talk about you.

I made Bonnie send for you. I made sure she got both of you out here, Elena

told him. Her tears had begun to flow again, but slowly—gently. Her eyes were shut

and she felt a faint smile come to her lips.

Do you know—Stefan’s mental voice was startled, astonished—I remember

something else! From when I was very young, maybe three or four years old. My

father had a terrible temper, especially right after my mother died. And back

then, when I was little, and my father was furious and drunk, Damon would

deliberately get in between us. He’d say something obnoxious and—well, my

father would end up beating him instead of me. I don’t know how I could have

forgotten about that.

I do, Elena thought, remembering how frightened she had been of Damon when

he’d first turned human—even though he’d put himself in between her and the

vampires who wanted to Discipline her in the Dark Dimension. He had a gift for

knowing exactly what to say—how to look—what to do—to get under anyone’s

skin.

She could feel Stefan chuckle faintly, wryly. A gift, was it?

Well, I certainly couldn’t do it, and I can manage most people, Elena replied

softly. Not him, though. Never him.

Stefan added, But he was almost always kinder to weak people than to strong

ones. He always did have that soft spot for Bonnie… He broke off, as if frightened

he’d ventured too near something sacred.

But Elena had her bearings now. She was glad, so glad, that in the end Damon

had died to save Bonnie. Elena herself needed no more proof of his feelings about

her. She would always love Damon, and she would never allow anything to diminish

that love.

And, somehow, it seemed fitting that she and Stefan should sit in her old

bedroom and speak of what they remembered of Damon in hushed tones. She

planned on taking the same thing up with the others tomorrow.

When she finally fell asleep in Stefan’s arms, it was hours after midnight.

O n the smallest moon of the Nether World fine ash was falling. It fell on two

already ash-covered bodies. It fell on ash-choked water. It blocked the sunlight so

that an endless midnight covered the moon’s ash-coated surface.

And something else fell. In the smallest imaginable droplets, an opalescent fluid

fell, colors swirling as if to try and make up for the ugliness of the ashes. They were

tiny drops, but there were trillions upon trillions of them, falling endlessly,

concentrated over the spot where they had once been part of the largest container

of raw Power in three dimensions.

There was a body on the ground on this spot—not quite a corpse. The body had

no heartbeat; it did not breathe, and there was no brain activity. But somewhere in it

there was a slow pulsing, that quickened very slightly as the tiny drops of Power fell

upon it.

The pulsing was made up of nothing but a memory. The memory of a girl with

dark blue eyes and golden hair and a small face with wide brown eyes. And the

taste: the taste of two maidens’ tears. Elena. Bonnie.

Putting the two of them together they formed what was not exactly a thought, not

exactly a picture. But to someone who only understood words, it might be

translated:

They are wiating for me. If I can figure out who I am.

And that sparked a fierce determination.

After what seemed like centuries but was only a few hours, something moved in

the ash. A fist clenched.

And something stirred in the brain, a self-revelation. A name.

Damon.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16