The Change
R. Unfinished. 07/24/2001.

Prologue

"You thought I was that type:
that you could forget me,
and that I'd plead and weep and throw myself
under the hooves of a bay mare"
--"You Thought I Was That Type," Anna Akhmatova; translated by Richard McKane

"Tell me nothing. I see the salamander
pass through every fire.
No horror hounds him, and he feels no pain."
--"Tell Me, Love," Ingeborg Bachmann; translated by Mark Anderson

Thursday, June 21st, 7:30 a.m.
The Summer Solstice
Dear Diary,

Today is the one-year anniversary of you-know-what. I can't believe it. So much has changed. I've changed. Or maybe I haven't. I don't know. I kind of feel like maybe it's a little of both, like the whole world is different, but I'm still the same old small-town Bonnie--still letting everyone tell me what to do, not having any life of my own. Maybe I should just get out of this town, like practically everyone else.

Okay, I know, I wrote about everything when it happened, but for posterity's sake I'll summarize it for you. No one's up yet, so I've got plenty of time.

Stefan and Elena left before anyone else found out about her. The last time I talked to her, they were in Washington, D.C., but they were flying out to Florence ASAP. Elena said all the crowds gave Stefan major headaches. She sounded like they were so happy together! Why can't I find someone who loves me like that?

Matt's avoiding me now. He acted like he was so into me. Until Elena left. He makes me so mad! We were almost a couple--imagine me, dating just one person--and then he just stopped talking to me. I don't know what his problem is. I'm almost happy about it though, strange as it sounds. I guess he just wasn't the guy for me.

I kind of got off track there. Sorry. Anyhow, Meredith's gone too. She's in Durham living with Alaric. She left right after her birthday. Aquariuses are always fast movers. Ohmigods, I hope her parents never get a hold of this. They just think she's just getting settled before going to Duke in the fall--I mean, she is doing that, so it wasn't exactly lying.

Damon's off in who knows where. Not like I care or anything. He can do whatever he wants. He caused enough trouble before he left that night anyway. But still, he could have said goodbye or something. He seemed like he was really starting to care about

Wait--I'll be right back. The phone's ringing.

Okay, I'm back now. You'll never believe who just called! It was Grandma, all the way from Scotland. She said that her friend (some old lady, Mrs. Quinley or something like that), who lives in a town in Massachusetts called New Salem, told her that there's going to be an opening in a Witch coven there. Grandma thinks I should go up there and try to get in. She says that this coven is "very illustrious" and that they've never let outsiders join before.

It sounds like a hard thing to pass up. What's left for me here? And Grandma said she'd even kick in any money I needed. All I have to do is call her back and tell her I want to go.

I think I will.


Chapter One

"you step on my head
and though i have been trained
to excuse you for your inevitable
clumsiness
today i think
i prefer my head to your clumsiness."
--"For Witches," Susan Sutheim

"The four corners of the world
are full of suffering. love
is like the breaking of the spine"
--"Wintermusik," Sarah Kirsh; translated by Wendy Mulford and Anthony Vivis

Bonnie was proud of herself. She was actually doing it! As she loaded a third suitcase into her "new" car, an old Volkswagon bus, a little thrill went through her. She, Bonnie McCullough, had finally decided something for herself, and now it was becoming a reality.

She jumped, snapping out of her reverie. A door had slammed behind her. Her father. He hadn't exactly been pleased when she'd told him her plans. He had been even less pleased when she had gotten the funds that he had refused to give her--and gotten them from his mother-in-law, no less.

"Dammit, Bonnie. This is a damned fool thing you're doing. What the hell is so special about that town?"

She almost burst out laughing, thinking about what her dad would do if she really did tell him why she was going. She wondered if his face could possibly get any redder and puffed up than it already was. "Why don't you call Grandma and ask her, Daddy?"

Seeing his shocked expression when he heard that one, she couldn't help smiling, and had to hide it behind her hand.

His frustration seemed to reach a peak, and he stormed back into the house without another word.

Bonnie sighed. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even noon yet. She'd be happy to finally get out of here and begin her trip in earnest.

She went back inside to say goodbye to her mom and collect her purse. Her mother practically collapsed in her arms. "Oh, sweetie, I'll miss you. You have a nice trip, be careful, and call us as soon as you can."

"Sure, Mom."

Getting into her car and starting the engine, she sang under her breath, "On the road again...na-na-na-na-na-na-na...road again."

***************************

She had been driving for almost eight hours when the car stalled.

"What the hell... "

Momentum kept it going long enough for her to move it safely to the shoulder of the road, but then it just stopped. And wouldn't start.

"Damn it! Damn damn damn damn DAMN!" Hitting the dashboard with a white-knuckled fist, she tried the engine a few more times. It emmited a gutteral sort of humming, as that of an angry rhinoceros, but didn't turn over, much less start.

When Bonnie got mad where no one could hear her, she swore like a sailor. "Goddamn shit! Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?" She really regretted not paying the extra twenty bucks for road service.

She knew she could call her mom and she'd come and get her, but then her dad would know she'd failed. The new, take-charge Bonnie couldn't admit defeat like that. And who else was there to call?

Matt. Matt knew something about cars, he could help. But... No, nevermind. He'd just tell her to turn back. And besides, there aren't any callboxes, or houses, or anything else, for that matter. Just grass and bushes and trees. And she wasn't about to just abandon all her stuff to go looking for something when she didn't know where to look....Well, actually, she had an idea of where. She'd passed through a town about 20 miles back. Amish. They didn't know any more about cars than she did, most likely.

Nope, she was really on her own now.

Well, then. She'd just wait for someone to stop and give the bus a jump-start, or whatever the hunk of junk needed.

**************************

It had been around six o'clock when her trip had been halted. By eight, only two cars had passed. And the key word was passed.

When the sun had completely set, Bonnie gave up for the night. Oh, well. At least these buses had plenty of room in the back for sleeping. Sighing, she laid her head on a duffel bag and slowly fell asleep, falling into a black abyss that seemed oddly familiar.

**************************

It was now 3 A.M., judging by the blue digital display on her watch. Bonnie was stumbling back to the road after relieving herself in the bushes, when she saw the glow of headlights stopped behind the Volkswagon.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Or her luck, if she wasn't hallucinating. Rushing forward, scraping her arm badly on a branch, she was able to see the make of the car. Suddenly she felt a little sick. Now she knew she was imagining the scene before her.

A black Ferrari. Damon.


Chapter Two

"did you really think
I would be late?
it's not as simple as that."
--"Meeting You at an Underground Station," Gillian Allnut

"You are
quicksilver
can leave me
slow-footed
wordless."
--"Fire Roses," Cynthia Fuller

He alway drove with the windows down. When you pushed the car to its limits, and your hair was whipping behind you like a flag, you could almost pretend you were flying. Though, of course, nothing could ever compare to the real thing. Right now, driving down this deserted road in the middle of nowhere, he considered stopping and 'shifting for a while. To clear his head. But... no, he couldn't. Not just yet. He wasn't quite sure why not, but there was something in the air, something that told him to keep going.

If there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was to trust his instincts.

And besides, he thought, I'm hungry, and the city awaits. He allowed himself a small chuckle. What a tawdry movie. But he'd loved it anyway. A pity that his brother so resembled the insipid Louis. But it hadn't just been an Interview quote, in this instance. He really was hungry. Hershey was a long way off, too.

"I could always stop for an animal, I suppose." His only answer was a sudden spasm of pain in his gut. "No, on second thought, I couldn't keep it down." He silently cursed himself for not having stopped in the quaint Amish town he had passed a while back. He couldn't even think of a reason for why he hadn't. He was sure that such an untouched, quaint village as that one had held plenty of worthy of his... attentions.

Distracted by a new scent on the air, he slowed down a notch.

Human, definitely human. Hmm... and female, at that. What luck. Women were much easier to influence, generally. His canines tingled a bit in anticipation. But what would a girl be doing out here? Well, "urinating" was the obvious response, but not the one he was looking for. And why did this all seem so familiar?

Up ahead was a car. A hideous thing, all bulky and dented. Damon pulled in behind it, rolling the windows up quickly. He needed to take a moment to gauge the situation. Oddly, he couldn't read this one. Once again, he had that wretched sense of familiarity--wretched because he get anything more specific.

She still was not in sight. Maybe she was hiding from him. Oooh, this could be fun. Silently he rolled the driver's-side window back down, and did what he'd wished to do for some time now. One second he was a seemingly human male, then an indistict blur, like a shadow, and the next...

He soared out the window, momentarily reveling in the freedom of true flight. It took quite an effort to keep from letting out a loud cry of excitement, to put the crow's instincts under the control of his own, and to tell the two apart--a momentary confusion, loss of identity--and then he was himself, and aware of his plan. He swooped down through the empty window of the Volkswagon.

**********************

Bonnie couldn't move. She couldn't move. She knew the mechanics involved, she knew what should happen when her brain signaled her legs to step, but obviously her legs didn't know that.

Damon.

What was he doing here? Now? Was he following her? He doesn't give a damn about you, and has no reason to think otherwise, she told herself.
So how did he get to be parked behind my car in the middle of nowhere?

She knew she should run. He was dangerous, and this was just the situation he probably liked best--a vulnerable girl, stranded and needing help. She waited for him to appear and offer to strike a bargain like he had with Elena. But he didn't show. ^And what would I say if he did?^ She recalled the feel of warm, expert lips on hers, and shuddered. She thought of what might have happened if they hadn't been interrupted that night in Vickie's back yard. Another reason to add to her "Why Matt is a Butthead" list.

Bonnie was a bit more calm now. She tried a small step forward, and succeeded. Creeping cautiously out onto the road, she made a large circuit of the sports car, noting the open window on the driver's side. There was no one inside. But what if he's hiding in the back? She didn't dare come any closer.

Maybe I'm dreaming. That was it. This wasn't real. She would just get back in to the bus and lay down, and when she woke up the Ferrari would be gone. Poof.

In a sort of haze, she walked forward on the empty road until she reached the driver's side door. That's it. A dream. She jerked the door open and climbed inside, closing the door behind her. Sighing, she turned the rear-view mirror around to examine herself--and was startled by a flurry of movement. Breathing ragged again, she started to turn around to check, but quickly stopped herself. Don't give in to your delusions.

Turning back to see her reflection, she considered the image she saw before her: deep, maple eyes with honey-colored centers, firey red hair left long and untamed after years of trying to do otherwise (curling, cutting, straightening, crimping, perming... they were all so much work!), and a pointy-chinned, heart-shaped face that gave her whole demeanor a Druidic quality. Was there a word to describe herself? Searching her thoughts for the right adjective, and coming across "lovely" and "impish," which were both decidedly too severe, she remembered something someone had said last year:

"With two such beautiful friends..." She said it aloud. She liked the sound of the word. "Beautiful." It rolled off her tongue like velvet, like something else she couldn't quite think of...

Sharp pain made her look down at her arm. She had scraped it more badly than she had first thought. The blood had since dried, but the wound was open, and the now-flaky red trail went clear from her bicep to below her elbow. Did I bring that first aid kit? She turned around to dig through her pile of luggage and---

"It's an absolute delight to see you again, Bonnie."


Chapter Three

The crow watched out the back window, sharp eyes peering into the outer darkness. He was watching her, trying to convince himself that what he saw was real. It was her. Bonnie. What was her last name again? Something Scottish....

But it can't be her. What are the odds....?

He couldn't make himself believe.

I need her to be closer. I need...

He left the thought unfinished, concentrating on his own mind instead. Even though he couldn't read her mind, perhaps influencing would still work. He sent out a thin, whisper of Power to her. Don't worry Bonnie. It's only a dream. Go back to sleep. Get in the van and go to sleep. She wandered slowly, trancelike, toward the bus. Only a dream. Forget about it.

And surprisingly, it worked. The girl climbed into the driver's seat, acting as if nothing unusual were going on.

Damon quickly, silently, changed forms....just as she decided to look in her mirror. Luckily, she only caught a glimpse...a little mental nudge allowed her to disregard it.

That's when he knew it was her. The scent of her skin overpowered him. It was a subtly exotic aroma, a tantalizing merge of roses and apricot. He could lose himself in that scent.

Blood. She'd been cut. Oh, yes, he could smell that as well. It cut through the air like a shattered glass of sangria. No coincidence the two had such similar names....

And then--before he could gauge her appearance or influence her further--she did a remarkable thing. She turned.

It was all he could do to keep his composure. The sight of her was a shock to his system--cold water on a blistering day. He spoke quickly, throwing out one of those practiced smiles. He hoped it hid his surprise effectively.

"It's an absolute delight to see you again, Bonnie."

And strangely enough, although he wouldn't quite admit the fact, it was true.

*********************

She felt as if she'd been awakened from a slight drowse. Everything came into focus at his words. Oddly, she wasn't afraid anymore. Even though this is when she probably should be.

But she wasn't. She sat there calmly, appraising him. His hair had grown. It hung down over his forehead and a bit into his eyes, sleek and straight. He seemed--oh, how to describe it?--shielded. More so than usual. As if he was hiding something. He was wearing leather. Black. Lots of it. A thin, lightweight pair of smooth, hiphugging leather pants, thankfully somewhat loose-fitting. A weathered leather jacket, hanging over his frame as if he had bought it a little too large. She could faintly see a black T-shirt beneath.

It's too cold to be wearing T-shirts, she thought irrationally. Then almost giggled as she realized how absurb that was, considered what Damon was.

She glanced up at his face and blushed. He was watching her, watching him.

Then she allowed herself a small smile.

"H-hello, Damon."

He held out his hand to her. Tentatively, not sure what else she could possibly do, she responded by extending her own hand in return. He leaned down and gently kissed the back, close to her knuckles. Then just stood there, her hand clasped in his, so close to his face, and smirked at her.

"So, my dear Bonnie, what brings you to such a remote place, so far from your dear home, may I ask?"

This brought her even further away from his spell, as she raised her head, proud of what she was about to say.

"I left, Damon. I'm going to Massachusetts, to live."

He gave her a wicked smile. "Ah, well, we all know how far one travels while parked at the side of the road, proclaiming the world as your bathroom."

She felt her face burning, knowing it had turned a deep scarlet. "I...the car broke down. And umm...I don't know how to fix it. I was waiting for a ride to a gas station or something."

One perfect eyebrow rose at this. "Need a ride, do you? Well, I'd be happy to oblige." Again, she saw the flash of sparkling white as he smiled. She blushed again at the implied double meaning, and moved to respond, but he cut her off quickly. "However, there is a...price, for my services rendered. You can't get something for nothing, as they say. Would you like to hear the conditions?"

She nodded that she would, almost not daring to.

"Not much at all, really, in the end. A few moments of your time,a few drops of your blood. An hour or so spent with me, alone." He paused as her eyes widened. "I once said something similar to your young friend Elena, did you know that? Would you like to know what her answer was?"

She deadpanned. "Considering what the eventual outcome was, I doubt it matters what steps led up to it."

Not bothering to be even slightly impressed by her response, he changed the subject again. He had the annoying habit of doing that.

"And what do you think of my proposition?"

More double meaning and innuendo. Geez, she thought, this guy must have written the book on it.

"I...I don't..." She blushed again, and he smiled.

"If you would rather not, my sweet, then I shall be on my merry way." With that, he disappeared from view for a moment, only to reappear as a crow, which promptly soared out the window, over her head. In the direction of his car.

Without thinking, without hesitating, Bonnie jumped out of the bus and ran back, in pursuit, calling loudly, "WAIT!." He was sitting in the driver's seat when she got there.

He raised one mocking eyebrow at her approach.

"Yes, Bonnie? What did you want to tell me before I leave? Or did I merely forget to give you a goodbye kiss?"

She was breathless, unbelieving what she was about to say. "I wanted..." She cleared her throat. "I wanted to inform you that... that I accept your offer."


Chapter Four

"Nothing is sweeter than Eros. All other delights
hold second place--I spit from my mouth even honey.
Nossis declares this: whoever Cypris has not loved
does not know what sort of blossoms her roses are."
--"Nothing is Sweeter than Eros," Nossis of Locri

"When e'er the Manly part of thee, wou'd plead
Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid,
While we the noblest Passions do extend
The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend."
--"To the Fair Clorinda," Aphra Behn

Laurel was having a wonderful dream. She was deep in the forest, surrounded only by trees. Sunlight filtered through the close-knit branches, dappling the green dress she wore with golden speckles. The woods smelled strongly of pine, and oxygen. She stood in a small, grassy glade, where a fairy-ring of mushrooms rose from the center. Hesitantly, Laurel stepped forward and into the circle. She closed her eyes, imagining, when she opened them, that fairies would be all around her.

That was when she heard the whispers. Her eyes snapped open, and she spun, but there was no one there. Yet the voices continued. She strained her ears, trying to make out where they were coming from, what they were saying:

Grow...reach higher...stand tall...

That's when she realized who it was--the trees. The trees were talking. She listened closer, and heard her name:

Laurel...Laurel...stand proud and tall...trees are old, ancient, the bearers of history. We hold no secrets. We have nothing to hide...

Her eyes widened. She understood. She....

"BEEP--BEEP--BEEP--BEEP"

**********************

The alarm woke her. Laurel sat up slowly, trying to hold the dream in place while she reached for her journal. She didn't want to forget. Careful not to disturb her bedpartner, who was still sound asleep, she wrote out all that she could remember of the dream. She would tell Melanie later today. This was the sign they'd been looking for.

Leaning over the small form beside her, huddled deep under the blankets, she bent down and brushed a a strand of sweat-plastered hair off of the sleeping face. How did we get here? She was going over in her mind the details of how the two had moved slowly from friends, to close friends, to something far more...

Below her hand, frozen in her reverie, Laurel's lover stirred.

***********************

Damon smiled. He had her now.

Bonnie was gasping for breath before him, trying to get her sentence out. He already knew what she would say.

"I wanted to inform you that...that I accept your offer."

He was mildly impressed that she was able to hold on to the air of formality. He was surprised she had enough clarity left to keep it merely a business proposition, an arrangement of convenience.

Damon was already having trouble keeping that little tidbit in mind, too busy watching the one standing a few feet away. He looked the petite red-haired girl up and down, taking in the sights of his newest acquisition. This night might not turn out so bad after all.

His eyes moved back up to meet her own, a brazen grin plastered on his face.

"Well, in that case, my dear, where was it that you said you were heading?"

"I--" her mouth clamped shut for a moment, and she seemed to be collecting herself. After a silent pause, she made another attempt: "To a small island off the coast. New somethingorother. But-but you don't need to take me that far. I just have to get to a repair shop. I have money...I-I can fix the bus." She was blushing, obviously aware of her nervous stammer. The blush made him more aware of the tantalizing scent of blood which still hung in the air. His veins and upper jaw were burning mildly, not painful quite yet. More...seductive than anything else.

"Why, now, what sort of gentleman would I be if I did such a thing, abandoning you to your own devices, letting you make such a journey unescorted?"

She backed away a step. "No, really, it's okay." Bonnie seemed to be imagining what extra fees he would charge for this sort of "bonus."

"No, I insist. That--how do you say?--bucket of bolts,"--He gestured to the decrepit Volkswagon--"wouldn't last you to Massachusetts if you spent your weight in gold to fix it." He lowered is voice and allowed his accent to thicken, knowing his voice would sound like honey to her ears. "Come with me, Bonnie."

She stepped forward again, eyes widening slightly.

His smile broadened. "Besides, my girl, wouldn't you much prefer to be carried in such a fashion as this?" His arm swept back, the movement intended to encompass the Ferrari. His voice lowered again. "A few centuries ago, this would have been a tapestried litter, held aloft by glistening slaves." One eyebrow raised. "Am I really such bad company, Bonnie, that you would pass up a Ferrari?"

She hesitated, then giggled, one hand over her mouth, when she was sure he had intended it as a joke. "Of course not, Damon."

Suddenly he reached out and grasped the hand that was held to her face, pulling her closer. He rubbed his thumb in small circles over her palm.

Eyes locked on hers, he said, "So we have an agreement?" As he lifted the small hand close to him, inhaling the scent of her flesh, of the blood rushing beneath it, she nodded.

He released her hand, stepping quickly and deftly out of the car. "Well, then. Shall we collect your things?"

**********************

Laurel stepped out of the shower, casually wrapping a towel around her body and drying herself off.

"Melanie?" she called out through the open door.

She heard a slight mumble in reply.

Shaking her head, she walked briskly out into her bedroom, up to the bed, and leaned close to the sleeping girl's ear.

"Wake up!"

Melanie bolted upright, breathing heavily when she saw Laurel standing over her.

"Don't scare me like that!"

"You asked for it. It's two in the afternoon, for Goddess' sake!"

Melanie paled. "Really?" she asked feebly.

"Yes. And we have to catch a plane in 72 hours, and you haven't even started packing!" Laurel was pacing as she talked, not really sounding mad as much as worried about something ruining their plans.

Sighing, Melanie stood up, lightly wrapping the cotton sheet around her form, and took Laurel's hand. "It'll be alright, you'll see."

But the other girl's eyes were rapidly filling with tears. "No, it won't. You don't understand...I saw...we have..." Her voice trailed off as she buried her head in Melanie's shoulder.

Frowning slightly, holding Laurel to her and inhaling the scent of freshly-shampooed hair, Melanie ventured, "Shh...it's okay...what's wrong, love?"

Laurel lifted bleary eyes to meet hers. "I-I had a dream, Mel. We have to tell them...we can't leave until we do."

Melanie could tell that the girl was very distressed. These rapid mood swings were certainly not typical of Laurel's usual demeanor.

She sighed again. "Laurel...we would have had to tell them anyway, eventually. They're all we have, besides each other. ...Look, we're leaving any way. It's not like they can exile us or something. You know, they probably won't even care. Not most of them. Not Diana, or Cassie."

Laurel's eyes were wide. "No... Diana was the one I've been worried about all along."

***********************

Bonnie couldn't believe she was doing this. She didn't know how she'd let herself get coerced into such a shameful situation, or if she'd be able to hold to it.

But a little voice was whispering to her, urging her on. And she was positive it wasn't Damon's. Come on now Bonnie, admit it. You know you want him. You know you want this. You have since the first day you saw him, since the first time Elena told you how it was with Stefan.

He was walking beside her, carrying her luggage to the open trunk of the Ferrari. Even though they weren't touching, or even speaking, there was a sense of...of intimacy with every gesture he made, a sensual connotation to every single look he gave her. She knew she had turned a permanent shade of rose, and she couldn't care in the slightest.

As the last of her belongings were loaded into the car, he turned and flashed her a smile that seemed to glow in the dark. His eyes had a slight twinkle to them, but she sensed a deep, resounding burning inside them, as that of a long-smoldering volcano.

She shivered involuntarily when those eyes met hers directly.

"Bonnie..."

That one word, whispered so reverently... She couldn't look away from him. It sounded almost like a prayer.

Without saying anything further, he walked around to the passenger's side, gesturing for her to follow. He opened the door, made a slightly mocking half-bow, and winked. "After you, my dear."

It wasn't until after the door had shut behind her, and he was making his way to his own side, that she caught the underlying connotation of his words.

As a result, she found herself blushing once again as he slid his body onto the black leather seat, stretching his legs languidly out on the plush carpeted floor.

He turned to her, his eyes lingering on her hips, the rise of her breasts beneath the "Wildcat Weekly!" sweatshirt she wore, and then to her throat. His gaze seemed to rest there for minutes on end and she thought she saw that burning in his eyes flare up red-hot for a moment, before his eyes lifted up to stare into her own.

Now she knew what Elena had meant... you could lose yourself in those bottomless depths, in those eyes too dark to be anything other than black. Bonnie felt herself sinking...

And then his eyes were suddenly back on the road. He started up the car and they were off.

They drove in silence for an indeterminate length of time, with Damon's window down. It blew over to her side, and any other time she would have complained of the cold. But not now. Her mind was much too occupied on other, deeper thoughts, to even notice the added chill.

After a long while, his eyes turned to meet her own, and a small smile, one of a type she had never seen on him before, of almost childish exuberance, played over his lips as her raised one eyebrow.

"Do you mind?"

He reached down into a center compartment, produced a CD--she couldn't see which one or by whom, it was too dark--, and pressed it onto the appropriate slot in the stereo system. Before he pressed play, he paused, waiting for her response.

"No...no, not in the least, Damon."

His smile grew as he started the music. As the violence, the eerie heat of the music, the singer's gruff vocals roared out of some deep unknown pit inside, began to fill Bonnie, began to rumble through her, she rolled down her own window.

The song continued. The two were seemingly alone in the whole world, not a single dwelling or vehicle in sight, and the moon shone down from high, high above.

Suddenly Bonnie didn't care what was going to happen. In this moment, she felt completion, let come what may. This night, this moon, this song, were all her own.

Bonnie found herself laughing uncontrollably, and could hear Damon's low chuckle below her own. Outside, she knew, the music rolled out behind them like the tail of some mad kite, a shock wave of sound, and she almost wished there had been someone out there to hear it, and know she was happy.

Hush child--lay your sweet lips on me
this greed--it's bigger than you and me
will you come again?--body
tongue tied--and a visceral third degree
feel warm--center of gravity
wash us all away--body never lies
will you come again?
will we stay friends?
oh you paralyze.
there are times--when I wish that I was you
thick skinned--cities that you drive me through
better than me--you're a woman
seven days--and my system is free again
we rise-lose it on oblivion
falling away
I'm sorry for the way
lick these--my ruby lips
drop your protein pills and
fuck this
better just to lose yourself
we kiss we kiss we kiss
pretty words could never say
wishing words could never say
and bleeding words could never say
I've fallen all the way...


Chapter Five

"we drift into a universe of disasters
holding our slight, impractical instruments,
navigating by instinct,
as though that could save us."
From "Physics" by Chase Twichell

"Everything makes love with silence.
They promised me a silence
like fire, a house of silence.
Suddenly the temple is a circus
the light a drum."
From "Signs" by Alejandra Pizarnik; Translated by Susan Bassnett

"Oh, come now, Deborah, you can't really believe this will work." Faye took a dainty bite of her chow mein, looking across the table at the wild-haired brunette. "They haven't brainwashed you completely, have they?"

"Y'know Faye, you really need to pull that stick out of your ass." Deborah's eyes narrowed at the girl. I'm sick of being pushed around. This has got to end.

Deb had been thinking a lot lately, about a lot of things. Ever since Laurel and Melanie had decided they were going to Oxford, she'd realized she didn't have to stay either. I hate this fuckin' town. I need to get out. But the truth was, she had to admit, that she simply couldn't leave. She had too much here. But she could at least go about making her life in New Salem a bit more tolerable.

Faye had blanched slightly at the statement. Ever since the Triumvirate had been formed, she seemed to have felt an even greater need to establish her dominance in the Coven. Deborah couldn't stand that either. They all seemed to think that the Circle was some sort of excuse for a power play. She seemed to be the only one who'd gone beyond the simple spells contained in their books, and look at how the Coven hierarchy was formed. The Priestess and the Priest couldn't just be any ass that wanted to lord over people. It was all about strengths. They had to be emotionally connected, and they had to be able to channel the Gods.

Adam could do it: she'd seen his features shift and convolute, heard the voice of Herne rumble its way through his throat. But Faye? Never. She was fine for an occasional vengeance spell, fine for lighting candles and having fun--but she wasn't a spiritual woman, not really.

And Diana--Diana was far too pure to be a vessel for divinity, simply because, truth be told, the Gods weren't all glitter and fluff. They embraced all aspects of life, and knew nothing of human labels of good and evil. Diana had this sort of grand faith that good would prevail--but that was unrealistic, and made her infinitely unsuitable as Priestess. Besides, she wasn't really all that Powerful, in the end. Good at taking advice, good at reason, certainly. But not Powerful.

Cassie, of course, was the only proper candidate for Priestess, at least as far as skills went. She had Power Deborah couldn't comprehend, but unlike Faye, Cassie simply didn't know her strength. Modesty, at least in this instance, was a good thing. Complacency, on the other hand, was not. She deferred too often to the others, and was unwilling to use her authority to depose the other Witches and reign as sole Priestess. But she was strong--simply the fact that she possessed the Master Tools, that they were hers by birthright, was almost always enough to get them to agree to whatever she decided.

It also helped that she and Adam were irreversibly in love.

"My, look at you, Deborah, all grown up. Pity you don't have the sense to see that those outsiders will destroy this Coven." Deborah was shocked back to the present and her own thoughts as Faye hissed out the statement.

Deb bristled, standing quickly and slamming her hands down on the table. She heard a low moan from the left as Suzan's teacup toppled over.

Suzan looked up at both of them, as a bit of tea trickled slowly off the table and onto the bottom hem of her red silk shirt. She squinted, and it was her turn to jump up. Putting one hand on each hip, she snapped: "I don't know what your problem is, the both of you. Always bitching. Sally was a big help to us before, and she's not a total moron. And this other girl, whoever she is, can't be all that bad if Laurel's aunt recommended her. Y'know, things could be a whole lot worse." She stormed out of the small restaurant, leaving behind her half-eaten lemon chicken, which was slowly congealing.

Deborah met Faye's eyes, then quickly reached down for her jacket, draping the cool leather over her shoulders. "Faye, let's leave this 'til later. Right now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get a keg for the going-away party. And after that, a drink." She chucked a crumpled $20 on the table, and left in Suzan's tracks.

************************

Nick was sitting at the table, reading Steven King, when Deborah finally came in. It was 3:00 AM.

He put the book down flat, not bothering to mark the page. He had enough misery in his life without reading about someone else's. He took in the dark circles under her eyes, the slight weave in her stance.

"You've really got to stop doing this to yourself, Deb." He walked forward, putting one hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Now, let's get you up to bed." He placed his other hand on her hip, trying to guide her forward when--

Suddenly her arms were around him, and his head was pulled roughly down to hers. Her eyes seemed glazed, slightly, as if she were looking through him, rather than at him. She murmured, her mouth a hair's-breadth from his, "I love you, Jonathan." And then their lips met. The world spun around him. It was all happening so fast--the heat of her mouth beckoned to him, as she lightly licked at his lips--and then he pulled away, pushing her a few feet backwards.

"Zeus, Deb, you're my cousin!" Before she could respond, before he could reconsider, he left out the back kitchen door.

What the hell was that? He breathed shallowly, walking slowly down the center of Crowhaven Road. And why am I wishing I hadn't left? He could still taste her lips. And he knew it was wrong--horribly, horribly wrong. But--but something inside him was screaming pay attention!

He focused his mind, trying to recall, to vividly recreate every nanosecond of the encounter. She'd been drunk. It had probably just been a mistake. What had she called him? Jonathan. The name was somehow familiar. And what had he seen...

...when she'd kissed him, he'd felt the heat of her body, the strength in her small arms, the overpowering need to suddenly possess her completely. But these were all purely physical: inside, he'd seen something different. Flashes. He heard another name say silently back, "And I love you, Isabel." Who had said it? Why was that name even more familiar than the other? And why, when he finally pulled away, had he seen another face in place of her own--strawberry blonde hair, pulled tightly back; large, doelike brown eyes...

I'm losing my fuckin' mind, he told himself, sighing and lighting up a Marlboro.

**********************

The drive continued. The music had long ago played itself out, and they drove in somehow comforting silence, lost in their own thoughts. The wind blew gently through her hair as she rested her head on the door.

His eyes left the road for a moment, deep black pools turning to her. "We're almost there. Tired, Bonnie?" He sounded genuinely interested.

She woke from a sort of delicious half-haze, sitting up slowly at the sound of his voice. She rolled her head gently in a circle, working out kinks. "Mmm...not really." Her head jerked up to observe their surroundings as she felt the car begin to slow. How much time had passed...? She could see the sky lightening in the east.

They were in a residential district, full of lovely old houses with sprawling lawns. Much older than even those in her hometown. They stopped before a particularly large house, blocked almost entirely from the streets by a trio of weeping willows. There were no lights on inside.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked down to her watch. 5:00 AM.

"Where....?" She turned to Damon, who had one hand on the driver's-side door.

He gave her a half-grin, and his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dimness. "Hershey. This,"--he gestured to the house--"is my humble abode."

He stepped quickly and lightly out of the car, and she watched dazedly as he walked around the Ferrari and opened her door. "But...I don't understand. What are we doing here?"

He leaned down and caught her up in his arms, pressing her body tight to his. Her arms went instinctively to his shoulders. She was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He smiled wickedly, and said, just before his lips met hers, "You still haven't fulfilled your half of the bargain."

************************

Her mouth burned like a brand against his, a beacon of human passion and warmth. Damon's eyes closed as he lifted her into the kiss, her feet barely touching the ground. He felt her give in to him completely...but would such submission last?

He couldn't even convince himself to consider the issue as her hands moved softly against his neck and shoulders, fingers moving up and gently massaging his scalp. The kiss deepened as he pressed his tongue insistantly against hers, their mouths locked on each other. His hands roamed over her back, trailing patterns down her spine with practiced fingers. Oh, yes. This was definitely worth the drive.

She pulled back after what seemed like hours, rocking back on her heels. Her eyes dilated with passion, her lips red and swollen...she made his teeth ache. She made him want to be brutal.

Gasping, she stepped back. "Damon...I-I don't know..."

Damn women...so fucking indecisive! His mind was on autopilot. It had simply been too long since his last feed, too long since he had last felt the roaring of pulse on pulse, breath on breath....There was simply no time left for foolish games.

He growled low in his throat, pulling her back to him; bruising her mouth with his own; scraping her lower lip boldly with his teeth. He lifted his head long enough for her to breathe, staring deeply into her stunned eyes. "Oh, now, querida, did you really think you had a choice?"

With that, Damon lifted her and began to make his way into the house.

************************

What the hell are you doing, Bonnie? she told herself, even as she pressed her mouth more tightly to his. Don't make this easy for him--don't give him what he wants. One hand ran nails through his night-dark hair.
But what if what he wants is what I want too? Her teeth scraped seductively over his tongue, her body trembling in his arms. Impossible.

With the last bit of willpower left in her reserve, she pushed herself away. "Damon...I-I don't know..." But his look of passion and blatant lust made her insides quiver. She did know--oh, Gods, she knew. But she needed this front--needed to prove to herself that it was her own choice, and no one else's.

She expected him to say something, to try to coerce her. The last thing she expected to happen...was what did.

He just grabbed her, took her by force--or what would have been force if she didn't want it more than anything else she could remember--and made it clear that it was pointless to resist. Not that she had really been planning to anyway. When he lifted, began to carry her, she pressed her whole body to his, eyes widening as the wound in her arm opened from the rough treatment.

They entered the silent, dark house. Damon didn't bother turning the lights on, and she could see very little of the interior. But the building was massive, curtains draped over doorways, antique furniture cluttering the rooms. He rained short, slow-burning kisses on her face, shoulders and neck, pausing to nibble on an earlobe. She unconsciously made a low moan when his mouth returned to hers.

They began to ascend a stairway. He held her weight easily, as if she were no burden at all. It was so deliciously simple to allow it, to allow herself to be cradled and held close.

He lowered her slowly to her feet as they entered another darkened room. She saw vaguely, in between images, a mural that covered one wall. A hunting party...hounds....Why am I thinking about a goddamn mural? Her hands slid nimbly beneath his jacket and shirt, enjoying the feel of his flesh against hers. Her hands rubbed lightly over the muscles there, as his own hands moved over her arms and shoulders.

When he kissed her she had this feeling...like she was being savored. And she liked it. She wanted more.

Moving slightly back, she met his eyes, then reached out to slide off his jacket. The leather moved over his skin effortlessly, as if from habit, and fell to the floor. The T-shirt came next. He stood, watching her, as she did this. He seemed to want her to be bold.

For a moment they just looked at each other. His bare chest was ivory in the dim light, rising and falling in the soft rhythm of breath. And then--he stepped closer, going down on one knee. His eyes were locked on hers as he clasped her arm, bending his head to the now-open wound that was there. He seemed to be asking permission. She nodded almost imperceptively, too lost in this new world of unfathomable eyes and heat against heat.

She gasped when his lips met her skin, planting delicate kisses over the cut. His tongue darted out to lick at it, and she shuddered. She couldn't even understand why, but this seemed such an utterly--erotic thing to do, more so than any other act she had ever experienced.

After a moment he pulled her down to the floor with him, pushing her onto her back. Grasping both her arms, he pinned both her wrists together above her head, with one hand. The other slid slowly down over her face, her neck...finally cupping one breast. Damon's mouth descended onto hers as his thumb rubbed over one nipple through the fabric layer that separated them.

Bonnie clenched her eyes tight, moaning again. The heat was flushing over her in waves; her pulse rang in her ears. Gods...How have I lived without this? This was how it should have been the other times--with the two other boys she'd been with, who she had cared nothing for but had been outlets to a world she had never known. Both had been from out of town, visiting relatives or friends. She couldn't even remember their names any more.

But this burning inside her--it was altogether new. A thousand poets had tried to illustrate this, and failed. This was flickering lights deep inside her mind, swirling winds and dizziness. Primal. Did it matter that it was Damon, or was it just that he was a vampire? She didn't know; at the moment she didn't care.

"Bonnie..." his voice was a crushed velvet whisper against her lips. "Are you frightened?"

Her own husky reply: "No...I..."

"Then open your eyes."

She did, and he was there in front of her still, skin almost luminescent in the dimness that surrounded them. The moment she met his eyes, he released her wrists and lifted her to a sitting position. She let him move her like a mannequin, not sure she could move on her own if she'd wanted to. He raised both her arms up high, and she held them there as he lifted her sweatshirt over her head, revealing the white button-down shirt beneath. He immediately went to work on the buttons with his teeth, only pausing to lick at a nipple through the remaining material. She heard another moan escape her lips.

I wish this could go on forever, she thought as he slowly and almost reverently stripped her of her clothing, never ceasing in touching or kissing her as he did so. There was this sort of--unreleased savagery in his every movement. Gods...he was driving her mad.

His clothes came next. She worked slowly at them, and he aided her when she hesitated. Bonnie took in every square inch of his exposed flesh, wanting to lose herself in it. The real world seemed so...cruel, suddenly. That he'd never really want her for more than an arrangement just seemed too horrible to think of. They all left sooner or later, didn't they?

Moments later, both their bodies bare to each other, he pressed her gently back onto the ground, into much the same position she'd been in earlier--hands pinned over her head, with him staring down into her eyes.

She had to shake herself aware when he spoke next. She'd almost forgotten that coherent words existed. "Do you really know what you're getting yourself into, Bonnie?"

"Wh--what?" She didn't understand the question in the least.

Damon's cool breath smelled like rare, exotic spices as it fanned over her face. Was he laughing at her? "Well, I suppose if you don't know what I'm talking about, it's not worth the bother to tell you."

And before she could protest--before she could say or think anything--his mouth was on hers and he was inside her. That ancient magic--throbbing through her, burning away all thoughts like lightning. It was all so natural, so easy. All was fire; and rhythm; and heat: the world blurred and moved around her as she tightened her legs around him, wimpering his name and pulling him closer.

She felt one of his hands snake up and cup her skull, pressing her head down and to the right; he groaned into her ear, and then...she lost track as waves of white-hot pleasure rippled inside her, making her face clench and mouth open, somewhere between agony and ecstasy. And there were suddenly twin pricks in her neck. She cried out in earnest as the sensations running through her body seemed suddenly to increase by twofold, as he worked more roughly inside her, over her, around her.

This world of completion and pain stretched on and on, never fading, never ending. The universe blurred and swirled before her eyes and everything turned slow and hazy. She saw herself (Was it her, or someone else? She'd forgotten.) reach out and grip his wrist tightly, yanking it to her mouth. Teeth that couldn't possibly be her own ripped open the flesh, and her mouth (it had to be her mouth, didn't it, if she could taste with it?) latched onto his wrist, seemingly in desperation, as if she had never needed something so much in her life. She swallowed his blood by the mouthful--and it burned on the way down, tasting like fire and pomegranates.

His own mouth was still on her throat, but in an instant, he had pulled away, a slight smear of blood on his lips, and yanked his arm from her. His eyes burned with a different light than before, one that was icy and distant.

And then it was as if cold water shocked her, and she realized what she'd just done.

**************************

Life in Durham was wonderful, Meredith mused. Curled around herself, tucked under a warm blanket, she gazed up at the stars. The porch swing moved gently and slowly beneath her. It made her think of Alaric.

She'd never been with anyone before him. She'd never wanted to get that close. But Alaric...he was gentle, and warm, and caring. A bit eccentric, but, well, with the life she'd had, would she have been able to tolerate him otherwise?

All thoughts of her old home were far behind her. She'd only talked to her parents once since she'd moved. They'd called to tell her that her grandfather was dead. They were still ashamed of him, even then. Meredith hoped he was finally happy, wherever he was now.

There had been no funeral.

She heard a soft snore behind her, coming from the bedroom, and she smiled softly. She loved sitting out here on the balcony, waching the sun rise. Alaric always slept through it. He claimed she wore him out.

So here she was, watching the golden light of a new day pouring over the rolling hills, feeling his prescence so close. She climbed slowly out of the seat, pulling the blanket back around her. Meredith was just going back to bed, to her lover, when she heard it.

A scream.

It was far off, perhaps a mile or so, but in the cool silence of dawn it shattered the air.

"Oh, God..." Meredith muttered uder her breath--even as she pulled random clothes on and ran out the door. The car was waiting downstairs, and she jumped in, sending the engine roaring to life. All of this happened in the span of no more than three minutes. The car raced in the direction of where she thought the sound had come--she drove on more instinct than anything else.

And then the scream came again, almost directly to her left, off the beaten road. The car lurched to a stop. Running after the source of the sound, gasping for breath, she finally came to a clearing. And there, under a single oak tree, she found what she was looking for.

The child lay under the tree, seemingly having lost the strength to do anything but scream. Maybe she couldn't even do that any more.

Low, feral snarls filled the air, and the little girl's body jerked visciously. A lone figure was huddled over her, mouth tearing frantically at her throat. Meredith stood, unable to do anything but watch, horrified.

She didn't even dare breathe. Moments later, the child's eyes widened, and froze that way. Meredith would have wept if she wasn't afraid of being heard. And then--the thing--the thing on her stood, hunched over, its back to Meredith, the silent witness. It wiped at its mouth, grunting and looking down at the body.

Like lightning, it swiveled around, fangs bared.

And then, for a moment, time seemed to stop. Their eyes were locked on one another. Then it all started up again, and Meredith drew in a deep, painful breath. Planning to yell, or shriek, or break down crying, she was surprised when only a tiny, childlike whisper escaped.

"Stefan."


Chapter Six

"Nothing has changed, except
there was a moment when
the wolf, the mongering wolf,
who stands outside the self
lay lightly down, and slept."
--"After Love," Maxine Kumin

"I'll love thee with a smile or frown,
'Mid sorrow's gloom or pleasure's light,
And when the chain of light runs down,
Pursue thy last eternal flight,
When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
Still, still a moment wait for me."
--"Early Affection," George Moses Horton

It didn't seem to matter how many people he'd been with--how many times he'd had someone writhing beneath him in pleasure, how many soft, translucent-skinned throats his teeth had caressed and perhaps even sunk into--he never failed to be surprised. It was always a new and somehow memorable experience. This, Damon noted, as he sucked gently on a bare patch of flesh, was to be no exception.

Humanity is a marvelous thing, he observed, while slowly removing Bonnie's clothes. Humans, as a race, were so remarkably, endearingly fragile. He'd found over the centuries that one could spend literally hours on end, watching blood pump a steady rhythm through faintly visible veins. Damon hissed back a breath as the girl in his arms ran passion-warm fingers down over his chest. Did he want to be human? Of course not...how, then, would he be able to worship the species from afar?

And as for Bonnie...well, what a surprising pairing of opposites they made. And in the end...at this moment...did it really matter who she was, what she wanted from him? Hardly. Just like anyone else, her body molded perfectly to his; her pulse played out the same primal drumbeat; her soft moans were the same as those of every impassioned lover. But her aggression--that was rather unusual. More often than not, women turned to putty in his arms...which was still, admittedly, an enjoyable time all around...but cooperation and encouragement had their own perks. And the scent of her flesh: that was definitely all her own. His head nuzzled in the crook of her neck, savoring this bit of her.

A pity that they'd soon go their separate ways. She was starting to grow on him.

Small words were exchanged in the course of all this, cliched lines he'd said before and would certainly say again. But she responded to them perfectly, and that was the real point of it all. The sensation, that was never the aspect he looked forward to--it was always the reaction, the response by the other. As the old saying so clearly said: True pleasure comes from giving, and from receiving in turn.

Oh, yes, and then she was surrounding him, body, and mind, and soul...and how could you not drown in this? He was losing himself in these vast expanses of uncovered flesh, feeling his pulse mirror her own. Damon's hunger leapt up a sharp notch as white-hot pleasure shot through him, making him moan as his teeth violently unsheathed. And she was contracting around him, gripping his shoulders with white-knuckled hands, and even more lost than he. This was the moment.

His head bent back down to her throat, savoring everything about this, what was and always had been the pinnacle of anticipation. He already knew how her blood would feel running down his throat, tasting of copper and desperation--We're all desperate for something, and our blood knows it, even if we do not. Here he was, 500 and some odd years old, and he was still quoting the philosophers of his time. It was rather ironic how some things never did change. To prove his point, he pressed his lengthened canines into an ideal place. Again he moaned, almost purred, as the one constancy in his life poured forth, rich and pure, into his eager mouth...and he was drowning again.

It was always so easy to lose yourself in this seemingly endless red-tinged sea, so tempting to ride its waves until there was not even a ripple left. That was the danger--and that was also the fascination. With some--the weak, the diseased, the corrupt--you could break any taboo, and hang on till the somehow uncannily sweet end. But with others--beautiful women, for example, there were carefully-guarded limits that could only be pushed so far. And he had almost reached that limit, when Bonnie's head was no doubt swimming from lessened amounts of oxygen, and his own was reeling from an overabundance of it, when he felt the stabbing pain in his wrist.

At first he paid it no heed--in this drunken haze in which he floated, pleasure and pain were almost one and the same--but then he remembered that this particular sensation had not been planned for. He wrenched his arm away from the teeth that dug into it, alarmed. All his shields immediately pulled up, and he instinctually braced himself for an attack.

His eyes locked on the only other inhabitant of this room: Bonnie. He couldn't help but shudder in unabashed shock. She had done it. It was almost incomprehensible to him, this thing that had happened. But there was no denying it. Her red-smeared lips and chin stood out as evidence. Damon didn't know what to say. He almost unconsciously pulled away from her, out of her--and that rending, tearing feeling of separation felt somehow more painful than what had been done to his rapidly-healing wrist. He sat back on his heels. "What..." his voice cracked, and he had to swallow before continuing. "What did you just do?"

The look in her eyes was answer enough. She didn't know any more than he did. But that shock-glazed look was very quickly turning to fear, as she slowly backed away from him, dragging herself on her elbows. The silence was deafening. Damon shook his head gently, trying to overcome the wave of dizziness that washed over him. The room was rapidly filling with dim light, filtering through the gauzy curtains. The only sound to be heard was the faint songs of the dawnbirds, proclaiming another day.

"Bonnie..." The sound of his voice seemed to break something in her, as one lip trembled and her eyes rapidly filled. Wordlessly, a single tear rolled down her cheek. As a car engine roared loudly past the old house, sobs began to wrack Bonnie's small body. Her gaze bore into his, as she answered tremulously, "I don't know." She looked to the wound she had inflicted, already sealed almost completely, then slowly back to his face. "I-I don't understand. I'm sorry--I...I just don't know." The red-haired girl stood slowly, not letting her eyes leave his own again. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was naked, ignoring the cold which he himself barely felt, she left the room without another word.

Damon sat where he was, still at an end as to what he should do, how he should react. It had been a very long time since he'd encountered a situation he wasn't prepared for--but how could one prepare for a situation like this? Nothing of the sort had ever happened before. Of course, there had been so few encounters where his partner had known what he truly was. But still--there had been no way for him to predict this would happen. The sound of running water drifted to him from down the hall. Sighing, he stood and moved to the bed in the corner of the large room, stretching out on top of the blankets. Let the girl do what she wished. If she were still here when he awoke, he would deal with the issue then.

Not long after the vampire closed his eyes, the dream began.

***********************

Slowly, they covered the coffin of the unnamed woman. One shovelful at a time. The cemetary was small, paid for by donations from the local parish, and thus not more than one gravedigger could be afforded. At least, not for this woman who was almost no one. None of her bereaved loved ones gathered around her grave, because she had none to speak of. To the two women in traditional habits who stood on one side, heads bowed, she seemed nothing more than a body. A body that had appeared out of nowhere one night, in the small chapel they tended.

The only other mourner present, besides these young Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, was a wrinkled priest. The elderly Father wrapped trembling hands tightly around the time-worn Vulgate prayerbook, as he reverently recited the age-old lines.

"...Inocens manibus et mundo corde qui non exaltavit frustra animam suam et non iuravit dolose..."

The reading continued as the mound over the tragically youthful woman's grave grew larger. Now, each sound of the shovel sliding through soil had an air of finality to it, lending to the gloom of the atmosphere. Then, one of the Sisters knelt down and touched the fresh earth sadly, as the priest finished the ceremony in the native Italian. "Terra a terra, ceneri a ceneri, polvere a polvere. Amen." Heads were bowed and that last word repeated among the small congregation as a refrain.

Then, gradually, the group disseminated: first the two women, moving back to the chapel, which could be seen not far away, through the trees; then the old Father, who cast one last, sorrowful look at the unmarked grave. He silently reminded himself that they must order some sort of headstone, even if there would be no name on it. He nodded his head in thanks to the gravedigger, who was packing up his supplies, then followed in the direction of the women who had just left.

But the other man lingered, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He stared down at the newly-filled plot, silently wishing he knew who this poor lady had been. Her body had been quite broken and bloody when they had found her, but word had it that she had still been very beautiful. He thought of his wife, who waited patiently for him at home, and sent out a prayer that she would never meet such an untimely fate. Then he thought of his darling daughter, born only two years before, on a new summer's day not unlike this one...and wondered who this signora had left behind.

************************

"No, no, no," Cassie told him, casting a reproving glance in his direction. "Adam, the Death card is symbolic. At least, it usually is. It depends on the surrounding cards." She looked through the deck in her hands and smoothed out the comforter, then set out two cards. "Now, look. If Death crowns the Empress card, like this, that could mean a lack of fertility. But," she continued purposefully, laying out a few more, "if we add the Chariot and reversed Strength in the distant and recent past, and then the Wheel card here, in the near future, that would more likely point to miscarriage or even death in childbirth. See?" Her eyes met with Adam's, which were now murky grey with confusion.

He let out a breath. "Not really," he admitted, running a hand sheepishly through brick-colored hair. "I just don't think I'm cut out for this kind of stuff." Then a strange grin formed on her soulmate's face, and he leaned in closer."The, er, 'fertility' part was nice, though."

Cassie's eyes widened with immediate comprehension. "Why, you..." She picked up the nearest pillow with both hands and sent it flying into his head. "You're supposed to be paying attention to me, not--"

"--Your inner goddess?" Adam supplanted, drawing his eyebrows down into a lecherous expression.

"Really, lay off all that New Age junk, Adam. There was enough of that back in California." Cassie was teasing him: she knew he was just joking, and desperate for euphemisms. But two could play at this game.

"You're the one with the Tarot cards."

She laughed. "Point taken. Well, but that's different! I mean, I really can't picture a bunch of 15th century Spaniards sitting across a wooden bench, discussing whether or not they may be 'stealing their wives' wind,'" she shrugged, gathering up the cards neatly as she continued, "But, the Tarot--That was practically second nature. Like, umm, basketball or something. Common. There's something so...amazing about that. That's why this facinates me so much."

He looked away. "Yeah, yeah, I know. And I know you really want me to learn this. So do I. Really, I do. It's just...I don't know, this whole thing with the girls has really got me on edge."

Cassie nodded, and reached out to clasp his hand. She could feel how worried he was, and her own fears and concerns rose to the surface in response. "I understand. I'm going to miss them too. You guys...ever since Mom died, you're all I've got, you know?" She felt him squeeze her hand back, and was thankful for the comfort. It had only been six months now, and the wound in her heart had yet to heal over. Who could have known that Black--the her father--had only taken advantage of damage already done? Who knew a tumor could grow so quickly?

An idle tear slid down her cheek, and he pulled her close to him, kissing along its path. "I'm sorry."

After a few blissfully peaceful minutes, she pulled back, meeting his gaze with discerning eyes. "But there's something more to it with you, isn't there?"

Again, he looked away, as if he couldn't bear to burden her with his problems. "Yeah." His simple answer was followed by a lengthy pause as he seemed to compose what to say. "I...I'm happy for Laurel and Mel, that they know what they want. I'm happy they've got the brains to get into a school like Oxford. But I'm concerned whether they'll be okay without us. They've never been alone like that before. All of us Crowhaven Road kids, Cassie, we've always been a family. Always. None of us have ever left before, aside from your mom. And even then, their coven was already dissembled when she did. I wonder whether the Circle can even survive without them." Then his eyes moved back up to hers and they were a pale, troubled blue.

Cassie weighed what he'd said carefully, easily falling into her new role as mediator, consultant, matriarch. "I sympathize with you, Adam. I love you. And I'm worried about them, too. All they'll have is each other for friendship, at least at first. I know they've been talking about how Witches are so much more accepted there, how they even have unions and whatnot, but still. I think it will be hard for them to find people who accept who they are. And...and it would be different if it were you and I, or...or at least if one of them were a guy. You know, if they were a couple. Then it'd be easier for them to watch out for each other. But they're only two friends, two women. And that's just not the same."

She took a deep, slow breath, then released it, curling up to him, close in his arms. "But as for the other, about no one leaving before, are you sure about that? We don't even have all the books. How do we know? I can't really picture all of the people before Mom's generation sticking around here. It just doesn't sound probable. And if you go to the cemetary, you can tell. I was just there the other day, to....And did you ever notice that the graves for the Dulanys only go back three generations?"

Adam opened his mouth in surprise at this mention. "No. No, I didn't."

Cassie lifted her shoulders in a small shrug, inhaling the earthy scent that was distinctly Adam's, as she rubbed her cheek against his cotton sweater. "Oh. Well, maybe they're just somewhere else in the graveyard. I didn't exactly go searching for them. I just noticed, is all."

"Yeah, maybe." came his soft, indefinite reply, breathed into her hair. "Maybe."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens," Cassie offered, returning to the subject of their two female covenmates. "I've still got to tell Sally. And we haven't even met that McCullough girl--Bonnie, isn't it? But Laurel's aunt has really high hopes for her. Everything will be fine, we'll see."

She wasn't sure of it, so she made herself believe, in the only way she knew how: Silently, Cassandra Blake, keeper of the Master Tools and Priestess of her coven, made a vow to herself and the world: Come what may, the Circle will remain.

***********************************

Meredith closed her eyes. "Oh, God," she whispered. Then, more forcefully, "Oh, God." Her mind was spinning in nauseating circles. And he was just...he was just staring at her, the snarl gone from his face. He would look human, now, if it weren't for the blood that was drying over his pale skin, his matted, unwashed hair and tattered clothes. She almost didn't know who he was.

Just keep calm, Meredith. That's right. You're always calm. Say something to him. Ask him something. Just don't let go of yourself. She was babbling in her mind, adreneline pumping through her body and her heart pounding. She didn't want to be strong, or cool, or collected. She wanted to cry. Cry like that little girl on the ground who would never, ever be able to cry again. Tears were already filling her eyes, and she stared again at the child. Christ...she looked like little more than raw meat, now. Now that he was done with her. Her throat was literally ripped open, the exposed inner parts faded to a deep pinkish color. This time Meredith couldn't help it. She was already breathing in thick, tortured gulps, and it only made the dizziness worse. "Oh, God," she said once more, then vomited onto the grass to her right. The tears still wouldn't fall.

She kept it up until nothing could happen but dry heaves of bile-stained air. She just couldn't look at him again, and couldn't bring herself to care whether he would kill her or not. She almost didn't want to live after seeing this. She didn't know if she even could live.

"M-Mere...Meredith?" her head jerked up at the cracking voice. Oh, no...it really could get worse, couldn't it? Now this--this thing--this monster with the face of a person she once called 'friend'--was talking to her. It was just too much. This had to be some horrible nightmare, some vestige from her grandfather's death, something...anything but real. If it was real, then the world was just wrong. Wrong and cruel and indescribably tragic. How had it ever come to this?

She pressed her eyes shut again, then looked at this vestige of a man in front of her. Really looked at him. "Stefan. Oh, Stefan..." She couldn't help but find her voice when she saw the look in his eyes. There was nothing there. He looked so lost, so empty, and young. But mostly just...sad. No, more specific than that. Mournful. The sorrow she saw in those mandrake-green eyes seemed to overflow from him. Suddenly she realized he didn't know what he'd done. Didn't remember, already. Can vampires go mad? An image of the white-haired one, Klaus, flashed through her brain. "Stefan...what happened?" Her fear was evident in her voice, in her every movement, but she tried to hide it as best she could. Her calmness was setting back in, slowly. Meredith smoothed over her trademark mask, as she stepped a little closer. "What happened to you?"

Recognition flickered in his hollow eyes, as a strangled sob escaped his lips. Stefan dropped to his knees. Something was breaking inside him, a wall...perhaps a foundation. "Mer..." His voice sounded like it hadn't been used in months. Automatically, again, her eyes moved to the body behind him--possibly searching for some way to say he didn't do it. Only this time, his gaze followed her own. And when he saw his work, when he seemed to put two and two together and comprehend that he had done this savage act, he crumbled completely. He buried his face in his hands, rocking his body back and forth. Tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving streaks through the dried gore that covered them, he turned to her again. "Meredith...I've been looking for...seems like forever..." The disjointed voice sent shivers through her. "Meredith...listen...there's something I need to..."

But before he could continue, a horrid, terrifying thought swept through her. No. He couldn't have. Not Stefan... Keeping her voice calm, she said loudly, but evenly, "Stefan, where is Elena?"

And then--then something about what she'd said set him off. His pupils dilated, and faster than she could see, he rushed forward. The next thing she knew, he had her lifted by the lapels of her shirt, his face not two inches from her own. But he still looked so desperately sad. "Elena...she...she was...we were...we were in Florence, and...and--and oh, God--the bus--there was a bus and she..."

Stefan let go of her violently, making her land hard on her back, in the dirt. "She's gone, Meredith. My Elena...is gone." And the tears were starting again.

Meredith lay where she had landed, weeping like she never had before. Because...because this time she knew it was real. There was no going back, no magick to be worked that would fix all their troubles. Nothing would ever be the same. Not for her, not Stefan, not anyone.

The sky above was blue, but not like her eyes had been.


Chapter Seven

"The apple-trees upon her garden lawn
stand gaunt and bare-branched in the shine of dawn,
I know they will be beautiful in May,
But--She has gone away."
--"The House of the Apple-Trees," Alice Milligan

"I thought I would stay the lost one,
brooding with all the suggestibility
of shadow, where a thought
is all one feels and clings to,
never envisioning myself the guide"
--"Borrowed Light," Emily Gaskin

He had dropped to his knees, body closed in on itself, eyes shut. If I never open them again, if I stayed right here, the world would continue around me. No one would miss me now. But if he opened his eyes, he would have to see what he'd done--have to be reminded of what he had become. Or rather, what he'd always been, what he'd fought to keep hidden deep within himself all this time. He had thought, perhaps, if he was with her long enough, the beast inside would go away. But there was no way to find out now.

"Stefan--we have to go!"

Involuntarily, his eyes snapped open. Meredith held out her hand to him, glancing around urgently. He almost took it, then pulled his hand back in to his chest. Don't be an idiot, Stefan. Everyone you touch dies before their time. He climbed to his feet on his own, then looked to the ground again. "You...you shouldn't touch me. You should just leave. I told..." A lump rose in his throat, impeding his speech for a moment. "I told you what you needed to know. Now...please, leave me."

Dark eyes calmly met his. He would have almost believed this image, if it weren't for the telltale red rims that belied her grief. "Don't be stupid, Stefan. Get in the car. I'm taking you with me."

He threw a sorrowful glance over his shoulder to the crumpled form under the tree. "What about...we can't just..."

"Oh, yes, we can just. I don't picture you faring well behind bars. Or in a straightjacket. You'd die in one of those places. And don't--" she held up a hand when he started to protest--"tell me that that's what you want. I could care less what you want. Get in the car. We're going to Alaric's house."

How could he have forgotten she was like this? Stefan swallowed thickly, looked back once more, then followed Meredith meekly to the small vehicle.

Her driving style was careful and efficient, her impeccably manicured hands steady--just like everything else about her--on the wheel. All this he observed on the way to their destination. Stefan couldn't help but worry about how his presence would affect her. He didn't want her to ever be any different than she was now. "Meredith?" he ventured.

Stefan saw her visibly jump in her seat. "Yes?"

"Meredith, why are you bringing me here? Why do you care what happens to me...after all I've done...?"

Silence for what seemed like ages. "Because," the brunette began slowly, "she would have wanted me to."

************************

Bonnie scrubbed her face raw. Lather, rinse, dry hands compulsively, repeat. Anything to stop thinking. Anything to stop knowing--knowing that it was her teeth that had torn through skin, her throat that had swallowed blood--her body that had betrayed her. And more importantly, knowing that she hadn't been in control.

This had happened before, numerous times. These brief lapses were always followed by the same paralyzing, numbing fear. What could be more horrible than knowing that your body was not entirely your own? It was better, now, from one viewpoint. At least now she was aware of what happened when she was taken over. But looking at it another way, it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between "Bonnie," and someone else--there were moments when she didn't even know who she was any more.

It had been happening with less and less frequency lately, mainly thanks to some exercises in mind-shielding that her grandmother had taught her. In fact, Bonnie had thought they were gone for good. Which was why this time had come as such a shock. And besides that, none of her past experiences had been as...violent as this. It was usually just a voice, or maybe a force directing her to a place. She'd never been made to attack anything before.

But does it count as attacking? she had to ask herself, finally turning off the water and sitting on the toilet seat with a sigh. He had, after all, been doing much the same to her. She had to admit, though, that that was different. Damon was a vampire: he was supposed to bite people. She wasn't. She wasn't, but she had--she had, and she didn't know why. She'd been taken over, Bonnie knew that much, but by who? For what reason?

The redhead rose on wobbly legs, pulling on a robe that was hanging over the shower rack. She made her way down the hall, stepping quietly and leaning onto the wall for support.

Damon was on his side, apparently fast asleep. Bonnie moved slowly forward, watching him from the foot of the bed. He was moving in his sleep...what was it? Was he...digging? She couldn't be sure. As she watched, he curled into the fetal position, without a sound. She stepped the rest of the way to his side, and reached out hesitantly to touch him. "Damon?" she ventured, as her fingers brushed his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open, but he didn't move. He wasn't even looking at her. "Elena."

He had said it emotionlessly, as if in confirmation to an unspoken question. The fine hair on Bonnie's arms stood up, a cold shiver of ill omen running through her. "Elena?" she replied loudly, he voice holding a squeak she thought she'd eradicated a year ago. "What about Elena?"

His eyes met hers, but he stayed right where he was. "I don't know." The calmness of his tone frightened her even worse--Damon wasn't exactly the emotional type, in her experience, but there was always...something...some animation to his actions, some vitality. Now there was nothing. "Did my brother leave a phone number with you?"

She was feeling more than a little sick. "You mean--you mean you want to actually call him?"

"I need to talk to Elena. If he's the only--" he stopped, took a quick breath, then continued--"the only way I can get through to her, then so be it."

She slid to seat herself on the edge of the mattress. "No. I haven't talked to them since they flew out of New York, and that was quite a while ago. They were heading to Florence, if that's any help."

"No."

"Oh. Sorry."

He propped himself up on one elbow. "What for? It's not your fault if you don't know where they are." He snorted. "It was probably nothing, anyway. I doubt either one of them would appreciate my concern if I contacted them again."

"I--I meant about earlier. What I did..." Bonnie glanced at his wrist, but there was no longer a mark. "I wasn't myself."

Damon opened his mouth as if to ask her to elaborate, but he quickly closed it again. Instead he looked away from her entirely, jaw set.

"But maybe someone else knows how to find them," she suggested hesitantly, returning to the previous topic. He didn't seem to be listening, but the stillness was starting to hurt her head, so she continued nonetheless. "Umm...maybe Meredith, or--oh! I know! Maybe Stefan left an address or something at the boardinghouse before he moved. I know he left a couple other things, because Mrs Flowers was sick a few weeks ago and I--"

Two fingers pressed gently to her lips. "Forget it. I was only dreaming." Damon nodded as if in confirmation. But to whom? Bonnie knew he was still unsure--but what was the point of pressing it? It wasn't as if he'd suddenly start pouring his heart out to her simply because they'd had a roll in the hay.

"Now," he said, obviously eager to change the subject, "how about we go downstairs and see if there's anything that could pass for your breakfast. I haven't been to this house in some time, but the housekeepers had to have something to eat...no?"

***********************

Laurel pulled raggedly away from her lover's mouth, nestling her nose into the side of her head. "Melanie?" The smaller woman's voice was muffled by chestnut hair. "Melanie, I don't want to go. I don't want to see them. Couldn't we just stay here, then go straight to the airport?" It was wishful thinking, and she knew it. The others would be expecting them in only a few hours. And they would have to tell them their secret. Why was it so hard to say? It was so easy to sit alone in a dim room and declare her feelings with pride...but the thought of telling the rest of the Coven--was this breaking their vows, keeping their relationship from the others all this time?

She curled closer to Melanie on her four-poster bed, a thin sheet covering them as the light through the curtains grew steadily brighter. It was cool in the room, but she didn't mind because it kept her awake. Laurel almost wished she could wait until they were across the sea in England, that she could say it hurriedly over the phone and be done with it. She didn't think she could bear to see their faces.

Laurel thought it strange, really, that she should be so afraid of admitting it. Being gay in America wasn't exactly unusual nowadays, after all--especially not among Witches. From what she'd heard, there were even certain traditions, such as the Raed Faeries, that limited membership exclusively to homosexuals.

But New Salem wasn't your typical American town, now was it? And hers was not your typical teenager's situation. As the old saying in her family went,

"Man to woman, woman to man,
Ever since the earth began"

There seemed no room in her current life for what she and Melanie had.

It hurt--it hurt more than she could articulate, more than she could fully comprehend--that the others would never really understand. Not all of them, anyway. She knew in her heart of hearts that no matter how much her friends (technically, cousins, but given her current position, she did her best to ignore that fact) loved the two of them, they could never accept the bond they shared.

"You know that we have to go, right, Laurel?" Melanie murmured quietly as she pushed herself back slightly to lock eyes with her partner, lips brushing along an angular jaw.

"Of course I do. It was my dream, after all." Laurel closed her eyes and tried to forget, for now. There were a few hours left yet, and she didn't want to waste them.

The room was golden with sunlight, slowly warming the air, as the two young lovers moved in for another unhurried kiss.

**********************

"Open up, Faye." Nick leaned on the bell, then banged on the door a few times for good measure. He felt like shit. Nick had never gotten any sleep out of the night, almost nervous to go back to Number Two. What would happen if Deb remembered things differently when she woke up? What if she told her dad he'd tried to mess with her or something? Oh, yeah. Then it would be graduation day--getting caught sitting on the steps with the Hendersons, stoned out of his mind on pot--all over again, and he'd be out on the street until he could worm himself back into his uncle's house. All it usually took was a chat with his aunt (who couldn't resist the fact that he looked just like his dad), but he wasn't sure he could stoop to anything beyond that if it came down to it. Nick wasn't a groveling kind of guy.

The door opened suddenly, making his muscles tense in surprise. He relaxed when he saw Faye lounging against the doorframe, wearing a kimono that was bordering on indecent. Not that anything about Faye had ever been decent. She narrowed her strange golden eyes characteristically at him and made a motion to follow as she turned back into the house.

The woman radiated sex. There was no other way to say it. Right from the start Nick had known he couldn't (correction: didn't want to) resist her if she went after him. And she had, for some damn reason. She'd told him he was different than the others. What she probably meant was that he was easier to manipulate.

But the sex was good, he had to admit--not that he'd had much outside experience. There'd never been any need, with Faye around. She could be a bit too controlling at times, but the fact that he was probably the most sexually experienced guy in town--regardless of age--made up for any such annoyances. And besides, sex without commitment or responsibility...what could be better?

She'd made it perfectly clear when they'd started all this, some five odd years ago: "I'm gonna have guys, and you're gonna have girls, and that'll be just fine. Outside of this room, we're nothing unless it suits us to be otherwise. Get it?" And he did.

Nick followed her into the deep red-themed bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it awkwardly as she moved to lounge on the bedspread. One of those weird familiar cats twined around his right leg. "What's up?" Faye asked, eyebrows raising when she saw he'd actually come there for a different reason than she'd supposed.

"Yeah, uh...you've got a Book of Shadows, right? I've never found mine. I think it's somewhere in my folks' old place."

She nodded, reaching gracefully under the bed and retrieving an old volume. "But what do you care? You're not really into any of this stuff." Now just a single brow lifted. "Unless you're trying to steal Cassie back from Conant... because I could probably help with that..."

"Nah, nothing like that. Does it have, uh, family history in it?" At her nod, he continued. "Yeah, I'm looking for a couple of names. I don't know if they'll be in there or not, just a hunch. Jonathan and Isabel. If you find something, I'll tell you the story. If not, well, there's not much point." He said it all quickly so she wouldn't have a chance to butt in.

She stared blankly at him for a second, obviously trying to read something from his expression. Then Faye flipped open the front cover of the book, inclining her head in agreement. By now she knew better than to try her mind games on him. "Fine, then. This'll probably take a while." She gestured with her free hand, not looking up from the page she was scanning as she continued, "Sit down and be quiet."

End of fragment.

send feedback