Bonnie was in a full-fledged panic by the time mid-morning came and Caroline and Tyler came back, unharmed but without any news. Elena had taken one of the cars, and they couldn't track her. They couldn't even tell how long she'd been gone or how far ahead she was. Bonnie huffed, pacing back and forth, stopping to read the page in her grimoire yet again, then resuming her pacing. Matt simply stared off into space, at a loss for anything to say or do.
"You would think, what with the whole supernatural senses thing going on, that you might have heard her leave." Jeremy's voice was strained, but he appeared to have taken refuge behind blame and sarcasm. It was easier that way, rather than blaming himself for not realizing that his sister wasn't one to wait for someone to come kill the people she loved.
Tyler rounded on him, stalking with his new predator's grace, unable to control his anger any more today than he could a year ago. "What, you think we just let her go? That we wanted this to happen?" He pushed Jeremy against the wall, getting in his face. Tyler's eyes glowed gold. Jeremy still couldn't get used to that.
"What else am I supposed to think? She goes, you stand a chance of not being sacrificed in this stupid ritual. Maybe you'll even get to go home to your mother. It's a win-win situation for you." It felt good not to back down—foolhardy, but good.
Tyler shoved him again, harder, and Jeremy felt the impact. He pushed back, not that it did anything. He had the ring, though, so he'd be okay. Not for the first time, he wished he'd forced the ring on Elena, but the thought was fleeting. Punching Tyler was much more important at present.
Caroline, of course, was the one to pull them apart and bemoan the "stupid boy need" to fight at a time like this. They ended up on opposite sides of the room, nursing their respective wounds, already healing, and glaring at each other.
They stayed silent, though, and Caroline settled down. Eventually, Jeremy dropped his head into his hands. He didn't look up again.
Bonnie was still pacing, glancing at her watch with an absurd regularity now, so that she looked like she had a strange twitch. "Thirty more minutes," she muttered, reading the spell once again. It wasn't supposed to go down this way—this was too much, and she hated Elena for being so damn noble, for sneaking out and running away where they couldn't get to her, for placing this responsibility squarely on Bonnie's shoulders.
She didn't know if she had this kind of power, but she couldn't let Elena down. Not now, when the last thing she'd said to her best friend was that Elena should stop being so selfish, that they'd given up everything to protect her. To protect Elena, who'd gone to die to save them all. "Twenty more minutes," she said, pacing back and forth across the dusty hallway.
How Elena knew exactly where to go was a mystery to her—the message had been graphic, but brief, full of screams for her not to listen and quiet words that managed to threaten without becoming coarse or unpleasant. There hadn't been a specific time and place. But she knew, when it came down to it. That was unsettling, to say the least.
Even more unbelievable was how she managed to get there without being caught and dragged away against her will. She supposed, later, that they knew she'd come, knew she was powerless against them, even more so than the others whom they'd so easily defeated. So what was the point of setting a guard? There wasn't a threat they couldn't handle, and they wanted her to come. There was something delicious about a sacrifice walking to the altar of its own free will.
She parked the car two streets over, figuring that she wouldn't need a quick escape, and she'd rather not announce her approach with the roar of the engine. The neighborhood was one of those exclusive, gated communities, anyway, so while she could manage to find a way through on foot, entering by car would have been rather obvious. They still knew she was there. She didn't have any illusions about that.
The house was one of the largest in the neighborhood—of course it was. Vampires never did anything small, it seemed; even the Salvatores lived in a massive old boarding house whose electric bills must have been incredible. Funny how that thought occurred to her now when it was pointless to ask how they could afford it all. She supposed she knew the answer, anyway; the weight of time and the power of compulsion made things surprisingly easy to explain.
The house tried to emulate the Greek style, with impressive columns in the front, but the ridiculously normal door from the porch ruined the image. It was like leaving a Chihuahua to guard the house—sure, it may be loud, but at the end of the day, it wouldn't scare anyone away. There were at least three stories and more windows than she had the patience to count.
Elena was scared. Not by the house, or by the drawn curtains that indicated that vampires—ones without magic rings—were inside, or by the fact that the side door had been left cracked, as if begging thieves to come inside. Maybe they were; easy meals aren't something to turn down, after all.
No, Elena's fear was so deeply grounded that she didn't recognize it anymore, didn't feel the mind-numbing terror that had stripped her away, leaving only her will and a fatigue that ached in every bone of her body. She was so afraid of taking this step, knowing what it meant, but she was also so, so tired. She checked her watch and pushed the door open. It creaked, but that didn't matter now.
Damon and Stefan Salvatore had become rather used to being among the strongest around, unafraid of most challengers and able to beat just about everybody, achieve just about everything they wanted. Materially, at least, and physically. The emotional side of things had always been a bit harder to handle. They didn't mention that, though.
So when they found themselves helpless and under the power of vampires beyond old, who could push them aside just as easily as they could push humans aside, they didn't take it extremely well. After being pummeled nearly to death—never quite there, as they were useless as bait if they were dead—they stopped fighting, accepting defeat, at least for now. Stefan brooded—because, well, that's what he did—and he reserved his intensity for the moments that mattered. This one didn't, but he thought he might need that strength when the Originals left a gateway open for escape or attack. They hadn't yet, but the bad guys always did, didn't they?
Damon, on the other hand, was cockier than hell, snarky to a fault, trying to get inside the heads of his jailers, rub them the wrong way, get them to react, somehow. All he had left was his attitude, and he was determined that they wouldn't take that from him. The indignity of being chained was eating away at him. He should be able to break through, but he couldn't. That was not acceptable. He'd rather they just hurry his death—that's where this was leading, anyway.
Both brothers were okay with that, as much as anyone could be who had absolutely no desire to die or lose or be exposed as weak and unable to fight back. The group had gotten away. Elena was safe. That was what mattered in all of this.
When she walked into the room, all they could do was stare at her in horror.
The walk down the hallway had felt like forever and no time at all. Elena had met no one. She'd left the outside door cracked open, as she'd found it, and looking behind her, she could still see a glimpse of sunlight. She could still get away, she thought, and her heart strained for that sunlight. Her breaths came shallow, and her heartbeat was a fierce reminder that she was alive, that she was strong. She held onto that as she moved toward the voices, behind another door, this one closed.
When she turned the handle, she found it was unlocked. God, she wished it had been locked. She walked in quietly, or what seemed quiet to her, though they'd probably heard her the instant she entered the building. She let the door fall shut behind her. The slam echoed in the wide hall, and conversation in the room ceased. There was no turning back now.
Every face turned toward her, most with hunger, or amusement, or predatory triumph—two with a betrayed despair she couldn't bear to witness. She shifted her focus to the man who was clearly in control. He was the center of the group, all of whom were still away across the room. None moved toward her. Just watched.
Her first thought upon seeing Klaus was that he was beautiful. Not in the soulful, powerful way Stefan was beautiful or the penetrating, intense way Damon was beautiful, but something else. It flitted through her mind that she'd never met a vampire that wasn't attractive; it was like a key to the club. But, no, this was different; Klaus was in a class of his own. He was tall; she could tell that even though he remained seated, lounging casually with the air of a king who owns his throne. Very pale, his skin remained young and perfect beneath a sheath of dark blond hair. His fingers delicately grasped a wine glass—filled with blood, she thought—and they had a sort of grace that bespoke gentleness and strength, not murder and pain. That was wrong, that thought—he was beyond evil, she knew that, but looking at him was like looking at a painting of the glory of life preserved beyond death. Something about him was power innate, radiating out to echo in her bones.
His mouth was quirked with amusement; he studied her as she studied him, but when she met his eyes she got a shock that echoed through her, body and soul. His eyes were blue, deeper and clearer than even Damon's, and they looked through her and possessed her without a word or touch. She thought she could lose herself in those eyes and not care.
Elena looked away, frightened of the power of that stare and not willing to be steered from her purpose. She still had her will. She was still alive. He wasn't. He was a monster. She had to remember that.
"So," he said, his voice light and deep and perfect, rolling over her like a soothing balm, "you've come."
"Yes," she said, surprised that she still had a voice and that it was strong, "I've come."
There was a silence that stretched on as she waited for someone to make a move, to try to grab her and take her into custody and as he studied her, peering into every nook and cranny she had until she felt utterly exposed. She fought the urge to look down and make sure she was still clothed.
After another moment, he smiled at a joke she didn't understand and gestured. Two vampires immediately came to attention and closed in on her, one on either side. She didn't jump or run or try to fight them. Of them she wasn't afraid at all.
When they got within three feet of her—which took a very short amount of time, considering how far away she stood in the cavernous room, but, then, they were vampires—they seemed to hit an invisible wall and were blown back, hitting opposite walls with a force that cracked the drywall. They didn't get up. The other vampires jumped back, and Damon and Stefan both made noises that were something between groans and cheers and sighs of relief.
Elena grinned. She knew Bonnie wouldn't let her down. She checked her watch—five more minutes, at least, at most. It was hard to make witchcraft exact, and she didn't know what this spell was doing to Bonnie in the warehouse. Better to make this quick.
Klaus was still smiling. He was the only one in the room who didn't look the least bit surprised. "Impressive," he said. "But it does leave us at a bit of stalemate, my dear. We can't touch you; you can't get your friends and leave. Thoughts?"
Elena pretended to consider. "Well, you could let us all go." He laughed at that. It was like honey and wine and chocolate on a bright summer day. "Or we could do this the hard way." It was only then that she pulled the gun from where it had been tucked in the back of her jeans.