"They've doomed you, just like they doomed the one they really loved," the phantom said softly.
Elena pushed herself to her feet, her heart pounding hard, heavy with misery and anger.
"Elena, stop!" cal ed a powerful contralto voice, fil ed with such authority that Elena turned away from Damon and Stefan and, blinking as though she'd been woken from a dream, looked out of the diagram toward the others. Mrs. Flowers stood at the edge of the chalk lines, hands on her hips, feet planted firmly. Her lips were a straight angry line, but her eyes were clear and thoughtful. She met Elena's gaze, and Elena felt calmed and strengthened. Then Mrs. Flowers looked around at the others gathered beside her.
"We must perform the banishing spel now," she declared. "Before the phantom manages to destroy us al . Elena! Can you hear me?"
A surge of purpose running through her, Elena nodded and moved back to join the others.
Mrs. Flowers brought her hands sharply together, and the air rippled again. The phantom's voice broke off and it shrieked in fury, shoving at the air around it, its hands meeting resistance sooner, its invisible prison smal er. Meredith felt urgently around on the high shelf near the garage door, her hands touching and rejecting various objects. Where had Mrs. Flowers put the candles?
Paintbrushes, no. Flashlights, no. Ancient can of bug spray, no. Bag of potting soil, no. Some weird metal thing that she couldn't figure out from touching what it might be, no. Bag of candles. Yes.
"I've got it," she said, pul ing it off the shelf and dumping probably a decade's worth of dust from the shelf onto her own head. "Urgh," she sputtered.
It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation, Meredith thought, that Bonnie and Elena both looked at her, head and shoulders coated in thick dust and spiderwebs, and neither giggled nor moved to brush her off. They al had more important things to worry about than a little dirt.
"Okay," she said. "First off, we need to figure out what color candle Damon would be." Mrs. Flowers had pointed out that Damon was clearly a victim of the jealousy phantom as wel , and so would have to take part in the banishment ritual for it to work ful y.
Looking at the two vampire brothers stil attempting to tear each other apart, Meredith seriously doubted whether Damon would be participating. Stefan either, for that matter. They were solely focused on inflicting as much damage as possible on each other. Stil , they would have to get the two vampires back to make the spel work. Somehow.
Meredith found herself cool y wondering whether, if both Damon and Stefan died, they could safely be counted out of the ritual. Would the rest of them be able to defeat the phantom then? And if they didn't murder each other, but simply continued to fight, endangering them al , would she be able to kil them? She shoved the thought away. Stefan was her friend.
And then she determinedly made herself consider kil ing him again. This was her duty. That was more important than friendship; it had to be.
Yes, she could kil them today, even in the next few minutes, if it was necessary, she realized. She would regret it forever if she had to, but she could.
Besides, a part of her mind noted clinical y, if things went on as they were now, Damon and Stefan would kil each other, and save her that burden.
Elena had been thinking hard - or maybe zoning out, focused on what the jealousy phantom had said to her, Meredith wasn't sure - and now she spoke. "Red," she said. "Is there a red candle for Damon?"
There was a dark red candle, and also a black one. Meredith pul ed both out and showed them to Elena.
"Red," said Elena.
"For blood?" asked Meredith, eyeing the fighters, now only about ten feet away. God, they were both just covered with blood now. As she watched, Damon growled like an animal and banged Stefan's head repeatedly against the wal of the garage. Meredith winced at the hol ow sound of Stefan's skul slamming against the wood and plaster of the wal . Damon had one hand around Stefan's neck, the other ripping at Stefan's chest as if Damon wanted to gouge out his heart.
A soft, sinister voice was stil coming from the phantom. Meredith couldn't make out what it was saying, but its eyes were on the brothers, and it was smiling as it spoke. It looked satisfied.
"For passion," said Elena, and snatched the candle out of Meredith's hands and marched over, straight-backed and head high like a soldier's, to the line of candles Alaric was relighting at the edge of the diagram. Meredith stared after her as Elena lit the candle and dripped a puddle of hot wax to stand it upon.
Stefan forced Damon backward, closer to the others and their line of candles. Damon's boots scraped against the floor as he strained against Stefan.
"Okay," Alaric said, looking at the candles
apprehensively, then down at the book. "Each of us wil declare the jealousies inside ourselves - the weaknesses that the phantom is able to play on - and cast them out. If we real y mean it, if we manage, at least for the moment, to truly and sincerely cast out our jealousy, our candles wil go out and the phantom wil be weakened. The trick is to real y be able to banish the jealousies from our hearts and stop feeding the phantom, and if we al can do it at once, the phantom ought to disappear, or maybe even die."
"What if we can't? What if we try to cast out jealousy, but it doesn't go completely away?" Bonnie asked, her forehead crinkling with worry.
"Then it doesn't work and the phantom stays," said Alaric flatly. "Who wants to go first?"
Stefan slammed Damon down viciously onto the cement floor, a howl of anger coming from him. They were only a few feet from the line of candles, and Alaric stepped between them and the row of tiny flames, trying to shield the candles with his body. Celia shuddered as Stefan gave a low, furious growl and lowered his head to bite at Damon's shoulder. Jealousy kept up a steady stream of venomous chatter, her eyes gleaming.