It was freezing, and he realized he was naked, covered with only the same muddy ash that was everywhere. He hunched over and then, cursing himself for his momentary weakness, painful y straightened himself up. He had to...
He...
He couldn't remember.
A drop of liquid ran down his face, and he wondered vaguely whether he was crying. Or was it the thick, shimmering fluid that was everywhere here, mixing with the ash and mud?
Who was he? He didn't know that, either, and that blankness triggered a trembling in him that was quite separate from the shivering caused by the cold. His hand was stil clenched protectively around the unknown object, and he raised his fist and stared at it. After a moment, he slowly uncurled his fingers.
Black fibers.
Then a drop of the opalescent fluid ran across his palm, over the middle of the fibers. Where it touched, they transformed. It was hair. Silky blond and copper hair. Quite beautiful.
He closed his fist again and held them against his chest, a new determination building inside him.
He had to go.
Through the haze, a clear picture of his destination sprang into his mind. He shuffled forward through the ash and mud, toward the castlelike gatehouse with high spires and heavy black doors that he somehow knew would be there.
Chapter 11
Elena hung up the phone. She and Bonnie had discussed everything that was going on, from the mysterious appearance of Celia's and Meredith's names to Margaret's upcoming dance recital. But she hadn't been able to bring up what she had real y cal ed to talk about. She sighed. After a moment, she felt under her mattress and pul ed out her velvet-covered journal.
Dear Diary,
This afternoon, I talked with Caleb Smallwood on the front lawn of my house. I barely know him, yet I feel this visceral connection with him. I love Bonnie and Meredith more than life itself, but they have no idea what it's like to lose your parents, and that puts a space between us.
I see myself in Caleb. He's so handsome and
seems so carefree. I'm sure most people think his life is perfect. I know what it's like to pretend to have it together, even when you're coming apart. It can be the loneliest thing in the world. I hope he has a Bonnie or a Meredith of his own, a friend he can lean on.
The strangest thing happened while we were
talking. A crow flew straight at us. It was a big crow, one of the biggest I've ever seen, with iridescent black feathers that shone in the sun and a huge hooked beak and claws. It might have been the same one that appeared on my windowsill
yesterday morning, but I wasn't sure. Who can tell crows apart?
And, of course, both the crows reminded me of Damon, who watched me as a crow before we
even met.
What's strange - ridiculous, really - is this
dawning feeling of hope I have deep inside me. What if, I keep thinking, what if somehow Damon's not dead after all?
And then the hope collapses, because he is
dead, and I need to face that. If I want to stay strong I can't lie to myself. I can't make up pretty fairy tales where the noble vampire doesn't die, where the rules get changed because it's
someone I care about.
But that hope comes sneaking up on me again: What if?
It would be too cruel to say anything about the crow to Stefan. His grief has changed him.
Sometimes, when he's quiet, I catch a strange look in his leaf green eyes, like there's someone I don't know in there. And I know he's thinking of Damon, thoughts that take him somewhere I can't follow anymore.
I thought I could tell Bonnie about the crow. She cared about Damon, and she wouldn't laugh at me for wondering whether there were some way he might still, in some form, be alive. Not after she suggested the very same thing earlier today. At the last minute, though, I couldn't talk to her about it.
I know why, and it's a lousy, selfish, stupid reason: I'm jealous of Bonnie. Because Damon saved her life.
Awful, right?
Here's the thing: For a long time, out of millions, there was one human Damon cared about. Only
one. And that one person was me. Everyone else could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He could barely remember my friends' names.
But something changed between Damon and
Bonnie, maybe when they were alone in the Dark Dimension together, maybe earlier. She's always had a little crush on him, when he wasn't being cruel, but then he started to take notice of his little redbird. He watched her. He was tender with her. And when she was in danger, he moved to save her without a second thought as to what it might cost him.
So I'm jealous. Because Damon saved
Bonnie's life.
I'm a terrible person. But, because I am so
terrible, I don't want to share any more of Damon with Bonnie, not even my thoughts about the crow. I want to keep part of him just for me.
Elena reread what she had written, her lips pressed tightly together. She wasn't proud of her feelings, but she couldn't deny they existed.
She leaned back on her pil ow. It had been a long, exhausting day, and now it was one o'clock in the morning. She'd said good night to Aunt Judith and Robert a couple of hours ago, but she didn't seem to be able to make it into bed. She'd just puttered around after changing into her nightdress: brushing her hair, rearranging some of her possessions, flipping through a magazine, looking with satisfaction at the fashionable wardrobe she hadn't had access to in months. Cal ing Bonnie.
Bonnie had sounded odd. Distracted, maybe. Or perhaps just tired. It was late, after al .
Elena was tired, too, but she didn't want to go to sleep. She final y admitted it to herself: She was a little afraid to go to sleep. Damon had been so real in her dream the other night. His body had felt firm and solid as she held him; his silky black hair had been soft against her cheek. His smooth voice had sounded sarcastic, seductive, and commanding by turns, just like the living Damon's. When she had remembered, with a sickening horror, that he was gone, it had been as if he had died al over again. But she couldn't stay awake forever. She was so tired. Elena switched off the light and closed her eyes. She was sitting on the creaky old bleachers in the school gym. The air smel ed of sweaty athletic shoes and the polish they used on the wooden floor.