Phantom, p.5
Phantom, page 5
“The one who’s working with Alaric?” Bonnie said. “But why would her name show up in blood on my arm? In blood.”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Meredith said, frowning.
“It could be some kind of warning,” Elena proposed. “We don’t know enough yet. We’ll go to the station, we’ll meet Alaric and Celia, and then . . .”
“Then?” prompted Meredith, meeting Elena’s cool blue eyes.
“Then we’ll do whatever we have to do,” Elena said. “As usual.”
Bonnie was still complaining when they got to the train station.
Patience, Stefan reminded himself. Usually he enjoyed Bonnie’s company, but right now, his body craving the human blood he’d become accustomed to, he felt . . . off. He rubbed his aching jaw.
“I’d really hoped we’d get at least a couple days of everything being normal,” Bonnie moaned for what seemed like the thousandth time.
“Life’s not fair, Bonnie,” Matt said gloomily. Stefan glanced at him in surprise—Matt was usually the first to leap in and try to cheer up the girls—but the tall blond was leaning against the closed ticket booth, his shoulders drooping, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Matt met Stefan’s gaze. “It’s all starting up again, isn’t it?”
Stefan shook his head and glanced around the station. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “But we all need to be vigilant until we can figure it out.”
“Oh, that’s comforting,” Meredith muttered, her gray eyes alertly scanning the platform.
Stefan folded his arms across his chest and shifted closer to Elena and Bonnie. All his senses, normal and paranormal, were on full alert. He reached out with his Power, trying to sense any supernatural consciousnesses near them, but felt nothing new or alarming, just the calm background buzz of ordinary humans going about their everyday business.
It was impossible to stop worrying, though. Stefan had seen many things in his five hundred years of existence: vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, angels, witches, all sorts of beings who preyed on or influenced humans in ways most people could never even imagine. And, as a vampire, he knew a lot about blood. More than he had cared to admit.
He’d seen Meredith’s eyes flick toward him with suspicion when Bonnie began to bleed. She was right to be wary of him: How could they trust him when his basic nature was to kill them?
Blood was the essence of life; it was what kept a vampire going centuries after his natural life span should have ended. Blood was the central ingredient in many spells both benevolent and wicked. Blood had Powers of its own, Powers that were difficult and dangerous to harness. But Stefan had never seen blood behave in the way it had on Bonnie’s arm today.
A thought struck him. “Elena,” he said, turning to face her.
“Hmmm?” she answered distractedly, shading her eyes as she peered down the track.
“You said the rose was just lying there waiting for you on the porch when you opened the door this morning?”
Elena brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Actually, no. Caleb Smallwood found it there and handed it to me when I opened the door to let him in.”
“Caleb Smallwood?” Stefan narrowed his eyes. Elena had mentioned earlier that her aunt had hired the Smallwood boy to do some work around the house, but she should have told him of Caleb’s connection to the rose before. “Tyler Smallwood’s cousin? The guy who just showed up out of nowhere to hang around your house? The one who’s probably a werewolf, like the rest of his family?”
“You didn’t meet him. He was perfectly fine. Apparently he’s been around town all summer without anything weird happening. We just don’t remember him.” Her tone was breezy, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Stefan reached out automatically to speak to her with his mind, to have a private conversation about what she was really feeling. But he couldn’t. He was so used to depending on the connection between them that he kept forgetting it was gone now; he could sense Elena’s emotions, could feel her aura, but they could no longer communicate telepathically. He and Elena were separate again. Stefan hunched his shoulders miserably against the breeze.
Bonnie frowned, the summer wind whipping her strawberry ringlets around her face. “Is Tyler even a werewolf now? Because if Sue’s alive, he didn’t kill her to become a werewolf, right?”
Elena held her palms to the sky. “I don’t know. He’s gone, anyway, and I’m not sorry. Even before he was a werewolf, he was a real jerk. Remember what a bully he was at school? And how he was always drinking out of that hip flask and hitting on us? But I’m pretty sure Caleb’s just a regular guy. I’d have known if there was something wrong with him.”
Stefan looked at her. “You’ve got wonderful instincts about people,” he said carefully. “But are you sure you’re not relying on senses you don’t have anymore to tell you what Caleb is?” He thought of how the Guardians had painfully clipped Elena’s Wings and destroyed her Powers, the Powers she and her friends only half-understood.
Elena looked taken aback and was opening her mouth to reply when the train chugged into the station, preventing further discussion.
Only a few people were disembarking at the Fell’s Church station, and Stefan soon spotted Alaric’s familiar form. After stepping down to the platform, Alaric reached back to steady a slender African-American woman as she exited behind him.
Dr. Celia Connor was certainly lovely—Stefan would give her that. She was tiny, as small as Bonnie, with dark skin and close-cropped hair. The smile she gave Alaric as she took his arm was charming and slightly puckish. She had large brown eyes and a long, elegant neck. Stylish but practical in designer clothing, she wore soft leather boots, skinny jeans, and a sapphire-toned silk shirt. A long, diaphanous scarf was wrapped around her neck, adding to her sophisticated demeanor.
When Alaric, all tousled sandy hair and boyish grin, whispered familiarly in her ear, Stefan felt Meredith tense. She looked like she’d like nothing better than to try out a few of her martial arts moves on a certain gorgeous forensic anthropologist.
But then Alaric spotted Meredith, dashed over, and took her in his arms, pulling her off her feet as he swung her into a hug, and she visibly relaxed. In a few moments, they were both laughing and talking, and they didn’t seem to be able to stop touching each other, as if they needed to reassure themselves that they were actually together again at last.
Clearly, Stefan thought, any worries Meredith had had about Alaric and Dr. Connor had been groundless, at least as far as Alaric was concerned. Stefan turned his attention to Celia Connor again.
His first wary tendrils of Power discovered a slight simmering resentment emanating from the anthropologist. Understandable: She was human, she was quite young despite her poise and her many professional achievements, and she had spent a great deal of time working closely with the very attractive Alaric. It wouldn’t be surprising if she felt a bit proprietary toward him, and here he was being pulled away from her and into the orbit of a teenage girl.
But more important, his Power found no supernatural shadow hanging about her and no answering Power in her. Whatever the meaning of the name Celia written in blood, it seemed Dr. Celia Connor hadn’t caused it.
“Somebody take pictures!” Bonnie called, laughing. “We haven’t seen Alaric for months. We have to document his return!”
Matt got out his phone and took a couple of pictures of Alaric and Meredith, their arms around each other.
“All of us!” Bonnie insisted. “You too, Dr. Connor. Let’s stand in front of the train—it’s a terrific backdrop. You take this one, Matt, and then I’ll take some with you in them.”
They shuffled into various positions: bumping, excusing, introducing themselves to Celia Connor, throwing their arms around one another in a casually exuberant style. Stefan found himself pushed to the edge, Elena’s arm through his, and he discreetly inhaled the clean, sweet scent of her hair.
“All aboard!” the conductor called, and the train doors closed.
Matt, Stefan realized, had stopped taking pictures and was staring at them, his blue eyes widening in what looked like terror. “Stop the train!” he shouted. “Stop the train!”
“Matt? What on earth?” Elena said. And then Meredith looked behind them, toward the train, with an expression of dawning comprehension.
“Celia,” she said urgently, reaching out toward the other woman.
Stefan watched in confusion as Celia jerked away from them abruptly, almost as if an unseen hand had grabbed her. As the train began to move, Celia walked, then ran beside it with stiff, frantic motions, her hands pulling rapidly at her throat.
Suddenly Stefan’s perspective shifted and he understood what was happening. Celia’s diaphanous scarf had somehow been firmly caught by the closing door of the train, and now the train was pulling her along by the neck. She was running to keep from being strangled, the scarf like a leash yanking her along. And the train was beginning to pick up speed. Her hands pulled at the scarf, but both ends were caught in the door, and her tugging only seemed to tighten it around her neck.
Celia was approaching the end of the platform and the train was chugging faster. It was a flat drop from the platform to the scrub ground beyond. In a few moments, she would fall, her neck would be broken, and the train would drag her along for miles.
Stefan took all this in within the space of a single breath and sprang into action. He felt his canines lengthen as a surge of Power went through him. And then he took off, faster than any human, faster than the train, and sped toward her.
With one quick motion, he took her in his arms, relieving the pressure around her throat, and tore the scarf in half.
He stopped and put Celia down as the train sped up and left the station. The remnants of the scarf slipped from around her neck and fluttered onto the platform by her feet. She and Stefan stared at each other, breathing hard. Behind them, he could hear the others shouting, their feet pounding on the platform as they ran toward them.
Celia’s dark brown eyes were wide and filled with tears of pain. She licked her lips nervously and took several short, gasping breaths, pressing her hands against her chest. He could hear her heart pounding, her blood rushing through her system, and he concentrated on pulling his canines back and resuming his human face. She staggered suddenly, and Stefan slipped his arm around her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re all right now.”
Celia gave a short, slightly hysterical laugh and wiped at her eyes. Then she stood upright, straightening her shoulders, and inhaled deeply. Stefan could see her deliberately calming herself, although her heartbeat was reeling, and he admired her self-control.
“So,” she said, holding out her hand, “you must be the vampire Alaric’s told me about.”
The others were coming up to them now, and Stefan glanced at Alaric in alarm.
“That’s something I’d rather you kept private,” Stefan told her, feeling a prick of irritation at Alaric for divulging his secret. But his words were almost drowned out by a gasp from Meredith. Her gray eyes, usually so serene, were dark with horror.
“Look,” she said, pointing. “Look at what it says.” Stefan turned his attention to the pieces of sheer fabric around their feet.
Bonnie gave a little whimper and Matt’s eyebrows furrowed. Elena’s beautiful face was blank with shock, and Alaric and Celia both appeared entirely confused.
For a moment, Stefan saw nothing. Then, like a picture coming into focus, his vision adjusted and he saw what everyone was looking at. The torn scarf had fallen into an elaborately twisted heap, and the supposedly random folds of fabric quite clearly formed letters that spelled:
meredith
Chapter 8
“It was seriously creepy,” said Bonnie. They had all bundled into Matt’s car, Elena hopping onto Stefan’s lap and Meredith onto Alaric’s (which, Bonnie had noted, Dr. Celia had seemed less than thrilled by). Then they’d hurried back to the boardinghouse, looking for counsel.
Once there, they’d all crowded into the parlor and spilled out the story to Mrs. Flowers, talking over one another in their excitement. “First Celia’s name—in my blood—appearing out of nowhere,” Bonnie went on, “and then there’s this weird accident that could have killed her, and then Meredith’s name appears, too. It was all just really, really creepy.”
“I’d put it a bit more strongly than that,” Meredith said. Then she arched an elegant eyebrow. “Bonnie, this is no doubt the first time I’ve ever complained you weren’t being dramatic enough.”
“Hey!” Bonnie objected.
“There you go,” Elena joked. “Keep looking on the bright side. The latest insanity is making Bonnie low-key.”
Matt shook his head. “Mrs. Flowers, do you know what’s happening?”
Mrs. Flowers, seated in a cozy corner chair of the parlor, smiled and patted him on the shoulder. She’d been knitting when they came in, but had laid the pink bundle of yarn aside and had fixed her calm blue eyes on them with her full attention as they told their story. “Dear Matt,” she said. “Always straight to the point.”
Poor Celia had been sitting on the couch by Alaric and Meredith, looking stunned since they’d arrived. It was one thing to study the supernatural, but the reality of a vampire, mysteriously appearing names, and a brush with death must have been a shock to her system. Alaric had a reassuring arm around her shoulders. Bonnie thought maybe the arm should have been around Meredith’s shoulders. After all, Meredith’s name had just shown up in the scarf’s folds. But Meredith was just sitting there, watching Alaric and Celia, her face composed, her eyes unreadable.
Now Celia leaned forward and spoke for the first time.
“Pardon me,” she said politely, her voice shaking a bit, “but I don’t understand why we’ve brought this . . . this issue to . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered to Mrs. Flowers.
Bonnie knew what she meant. Mrs. Flowers looked like the epitome of a sweet, dotty elderly lady: soft flyaway gray hair drawn back in a bun, a politely vague expression, a wardrobe that leaned toward pastels or shabby blacks, and a habit of muttering quietly, apparently to herself. A year ago, Bonnie herself had thought Mrs. Flowers was just the crazy old woman who ran the boardinghouse where Stefan lived.
But appearances could be deceptive. Mrs. Flowers had earned the respect and admiration of every one of them by the way she had protected the town with her magic, Power, and good sense. There was a lot more to this little old lady than met the eye.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Flowers firmly, “you’ve had a very traumatic experience. Drink your tea. It’s a special calming blend that’s been passed down in my family for generations. We will do everything we can for you.”
Which, Bonnie observed, was a very sweet and ladylike way of putting Dr. Celia Connor in her place. She was to drink her tea and recuperate, and they would figure out how to solve the problem. Celia’s eyes flashed, but she sipped her tea obediently.
“Now,” Mrs. Flowers said, looking around at the others, “it seems to me that the first thing to do is to figure out what the intention is behind the appearance of the names. Once we do that, perhaps we will have a better idea of who might be behind their appearance.”
“Maybe to warn us?” Bonnie said hesitantly. “I mean, Celia’s name appeared, and then she almost died, and now Meredith . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Meredith apologetically. “I’m worried you might be in danger.”
Meredith squared her shoulders. “It certainly wouldn’t be the first time,” she said.
Mrs. Flowers nodded briskly. “Yes, it’s possible that the appearance of the names has a benevolent intention. Let’s explore that theory. Someone may be trying to get a warning to you. If so, who? And why do they have to do it in this way?”
Bonnie’s voice was even softer and more hesitant now. But if no one else was going to say it, she would. “Could it be Damon?”
“Damon’s dead,” Stefan said flatly.
“But when Elena was dead, she warned me about Klaus,” Bonnie argued.
Stefan massaged his temples. He looked tired. “Bonnie, when Elena died, Klaus trapped her spirit between dimensions. She hadn’t fully passed away. And even then, she could only visit you in your dreams—not anyone else, just you, because you can sense things other people can’t. She couldn’t make anything happen in the physical world.”
Elena’s voice trembled. “Bonnie, the Guardians told us that vampires don’t live on after death. In any sense of the word. Damon’s gone.” Stefan reached out and took her hand, his eyes troubled.
Bonnie felt a sharp stab of sympathy for them both. She was sorry she’d brought Damon up, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. The thought that he might be watching over them, irascible and mocking but ultimately kind, had briefly lifted the weight from her heart. Now that weight came crashing back down. “Well,” she said dully, “then I don’t have any idea who might be warning us. Does anybody else?”
They all shook their heads, baffled. “Who even knows about us now that has this kind of power?” Matt asked.
“The Guardians?” said Bonnie doubtfully.
But Elena shook her head with a quick decisive motion, blond hair swinging. “It’s not them,” she said. “The last thing they’d do is send a message in blood. Visions would be more their style. And I’m pretty sure the Guardians washed their hands of us when they sent us back here.”
Mrs. Flowers interlocked her fingers in her lap. “So perhaps there is some as yet unknown person or being looking after you, warning you of danger ahead.”
Matt had been sitting ramrod straight in one of Mrs. Flowers’s daintier chairs, and it creaked alarmingly as he leaned forward. “Um,” he said. “I think the better question is, what’s causing that danger?”
Mrs. Flowers spread her small, wrinkled hands. “You’re perfectly right. Let’s consider the options. On the one hand, it could be a warning for something that was naturally going to happen. Celia’s—you don’t mind if I call you Celia, do you, dear?”
