Stefan started to rise, but Elena waved him back down. He wouldn't have any use
for potato chips and punch. And she wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to be
moving instead of sitting, to calm herself.
Being with Meredith and Bonnie had given her a false sense of security. Leaving
them, she was once again confronted by sidelong glances and suddenly turned
backs. This time it made her angry. She moved through the crowd with deliberate
insolence, holding any eye she accidentally caught. I'm already notorious, she
thought. I might as well be brazen, too.
She was hungry. In the Ramsey dining room someone had set up an assortment
of finger foods that looked surprisingly good. Elena took a paper plate and dropped
a few carrot sticks on it, ignoring the people around the bleached oak table. She
wasn't going to speak to them unless they spoke first. She gave her full attention to
the refreshments, leaning past people to select cheese wedges and Ritz crackers,
reaching in front of them to pluck grapes, ostentatiously looking up and down the
whole array to see if there was anything she'd missed.
She'd succeeded in riveting everyone's attention, something she knew without
raising her eyes. She bit delicately down on a bread stick, holding it between her
teeth like a pencil, and turned from the table.
"Mind if I have a bite?"
Shock snapped her eyes wide open and froze her breath. Her mind jammed,
refusing to acknowledge what was going on, and leaving her helpless, vulnerable, in
the face of it. But though rational thought had disappeared, her senses went right on
recording mercilessly: dark eyes dominating her field of vision, a whiff of some kind
of cologne in her nostrils, two long fingers tilting her chin up. Damon leaned in, and,
neatly and precisely, bit off the other end of the bread stick.
In that moment, their lips were only inches apart. He was leaning in for a second
bite before Elena's wits revived enough to throw her backward, her hand grabbing
the bit of crisp bread and tossing it away. He caught it in midair, a virtuoso display
of reflex.
His eyes were still on hers. Elena got in a breath at last and opened her mouth; she
wasn't sure what for. To scream, probably. To warn all these people to run out into
the night. Her heart was pounding like a triphammer, her vision blurred.
"Easy, easy." He took the plate from her and then somehow got hold of her wrist.
He was holding it lightly, the way Mary had felt for Stefan's pulse. As she continued
to stare and gasp, he stroked it with his thumb, as if comforting her. "Easy. It's all
right."
What are you doing here? she thought. The scene around her seemed eerily
bright and unnatural. It was like one of those nightmares when everything is ordinary,
just like waking life, and then suddenly something grotesque happens. He was going
to kill them all.
"Elena? Are you okay?" Sue Carson was talking to her, gripping her shoulder.
"I think she choked on something," Damon said, releasing Elena's wrist. "But
she's all right now. Why don't you introduce us?"
He was going to kill them all…
"Elena, this is Damon, um…" Sue spread an apologetic hand, and Damon
finished for her.
"Smith." He lifted a paper cup toward Elena. "La vita."
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.
"He's a college student," Sue volunteered, when it became apparent that Damon
wasn't going to answer. "From—University of Virginia, was it? William and Mary?"
"Among other places," Damon said, still looking at Elena. He hadn't glanced at
Sue once. "I like to travel."
The world had snapped into place again around Elena, but it was a chilling world.
There were people on every side, watching this exchange with fascination, keeping
her from speaking freely. But they were also keeping her safe. For whatever reason,
Damon was playing a game, pretending to be one of them. And while the
masquerade went on, he wouldn't do anything to her in front of a crowd… she
hoped.
A game. But he was making up the rules. He was standing here in the Ramseys'
dining room playing with her.
"He's just down for a few days," Sue was continuing helpfully. "Visiting—friends,
did you say? Or relatives?"
"Yes," said Damon.
"You're lucky to be able to take off whenever you want," Elena said. She didn't
know what was possessing her, to make her try and unmask him.
"Luck has very little to do with it," said Damon. "Do you like dancing?"
"What's your major?"
He smiled at her. "American folklore. Did you know, for instance, that a mole on
the neck means you'll be wealthy? Do you mind if I check?"
"I mind." The voice came from behind Elena. It was clear and cold and quiet.
Elena had heard Stefan speak in that tone only once: when he had found Tyler trying
to assault her in the graveyard. Damon's fingers stilled on her throat, and, released
from his spell, she stepped back.
"But do you matter?" he said.
The two of them faced each other under the faintly flickering yellow light of the
brass chandelier.
Elena was aware of layers of her own thoughts, like a parfait. Everyone's staring;
this must be better than the movies… I didn't realize Stefan was taller… There's
Bonnie and Meredith wondering what's going on… Stefan's angry but he's still weak,
still hurting… If he goes for Damon now, he'll lose…
And in front of all these people. Her thoughts came to a clattering halt as
everything fell into place. That was what Damon was here for, to make Stefan attack
him, apparently unprovoked. No matter what happened after that, he won. If Stefan
drove him away, it would just be more proof of Stefan's "tendency toward
violence." More evidence for Stefan's accusers. And if Stefan lost the fight…
It would mean his life, thought Elena. Oh, Stefan, he's so much stronger right
now; please don't do it. Don't play into his hands.
He wants to kill you; he's just looking for a chance.
She made her limbs move, though they were stiff and awkward as a marionette's.
"Stefan," she said, taking his cold hand in hers, "let's go home."
She could feel the tension in his body, like an electric current running underneath
his skin. At this moment, he was completely focused on Damon, and the light in his
eyes was like fire reflecting off a dagger blade. She didn't recognize him in this
mood, didn't know him. He frightened her.
"Stefan," she said, calling to him as if she were lost in fog and couldn't find him.
"Stefan, please."
And slowly, slowly, she felt him respond. She heard him breathe and felt his body
go off alert, clicking down to some lower energy level. The deadly concentration of
his mind was diverted and he looked at her, and saw her.
"All right," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "Let's go."
She kept her hands on him as they turned away, one clasping his hand, the other
tucked inside his arm. By sheer force of will, she managed not to look over her
shoulder as they walked away, but the skin on her back tingled and crawled as if
expecting the stab of a knife.
Instead, she heard Damon's low ironical voice: "And have you heard that kissing a
red-haired girl cures fever blisters?" And then Bonnie's outrageous, flattered laughter.
On the way out, they finally ran into their host.
"Leaving so soon?" Alaric said. "But I haven't even had a chance to talk to you
yet."
He looked both eager and reproachful, like a dog that knows perfectly well it's not
going to be taken on a walk but wags anyway. Elena felt worry blossom in her
stomach for him and everyone else in the house. She and Stefan were leaving them
to Damon.
She'd just have to hope her earlier assessment was right and he wanted to
continue the masquerade. Right now she had enough to do getting Stefan out of here
before he changed his mind.
"I'm not feeling very well," she said as she picked up her purse where it lay by the
ottoman. "Sorry." She increased the pressure on Stefan's arm. It would take very
little to get him to turn back and head for the dining room right now.
"I'm sorry," said Alaric. "Good-bye."
They were on the threshold before she saw the little slip of violet paper stuck into
the side pocket of her purse. She pulled it out and unfolded it almost by reflex, her
mind on other things.
There was writing on it, plain and bold and unfamiliar. Just three lines. She read
them and felt the world rock. This was too much; she couldn't deal with anything
more.
"What is it?" said Stefan.
"Nothing." She thrust the bit of paper back into the side pocket, pushing it down
with her fingers. "It's nothing, Stefan. Let's get outside."
They stepped out into driving needles of rain.