Hi everyone! I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to post chapter 12. I've been so busy lately and as I may have said before, writing this story has become like writing a novel - one I love putting together!
Anyway, I must say thank you to all of the wonderful readers who have clicked on this link or posted a review. You guys give the most awesome feedback and trust me, I really do appreciate it! I won't make you wait much longer, so here goes. Chapter 13 will be very, very intense and this one basically sets the stage, so enjoy. Let me know what you think, like, don't like - anything!
My song picks are:
"Invincible" by Muse (So fitting for BnD in this story!)
"Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright (Very appropriate for Stefan and Elena in this chapter)
"The Price of Love" by White Lies
"Unfinished Business" by White Lies
Chapter 12: Open Your Eyes
Tiny wisps of cool air brushed against the delicate skin of her brown arms. Bonnie Bennett was still basking in blissful slumber and hoping desperately that by some miracle, morning would simply delay its arrival.
The night before had been unexpected enough; it was also one she would treasure for the rest of her life – however long or short that may be.
She had officially surrendered her v-card and to someone she had once considered absolutely vile, no less.
Things were different now. He wasn't the same unfeeling, insufferable jerk who had lunged at her in the woods and nearly sucked her dry.
Damon Salvatore had been an astonishingly tender lover. The way his lips trailed softly down the length of her, the feel of his fingertips as they gently caressed each untouched inch of her...
It was more than enough to stir her passions once more.
He had gazed into her eyes with such affection that it caught the little witch decidedly offguard. She had never once imagined him being able to feel much more than rabid hunger or ill will toward others – before Ireland.
Bonnie groaned in discomfort at the feeling of hardwood beneath her. She and Damon must have been slipped off the throw in the middle of the night.
Drowsiness was still holding her captive and she was unable to move a limb without grimacing. She didn't even have to open her eyes; she knew instinctively a new day had begun.
Still in a state of groggy haze, she reluctantly lifted her head and peered through squinty eyes at her surroundings. There was something peculiar about this place.
Chocolate browns were muddled with olive greens. Then there were reds and blues.
A stench reminiscent of stale wheat began to fill her nostrils and as Bonnie's vision became clearer, it dawned on her. She was back at Murphys.
What the hell is going on?
She shifted her gaze from left to right repeatedly. How did she manage to go from the warmth of the library to a booth at the empty town pub.
Placing a hand on her chest, she felt as the fist-sized organ within began to palpitate rapidly. Her breathing became rushed and frantic.
How did she get here? Why was she here? And where was Damon?
Had their romantic night together simply been a delicious fantasy mischievously constructed by her overactive imagination? If so, this had to have been the cruelest joke it had ever played on her.
Trailing her fingers through her wavy locks, Bonnie took a deep breath and tried to retain some semblence of calm.
It was abnormally silent in this place – far more suitable for a library rather than a buzzing establishment like Murphy's typically was. There should be boisterous barmen about and patrons ordering up plate fulls of fried eggs, bacon, black pudding and soda bread.
The solid pine bar gleamed beneath a gentle stream of sunlight that bled through the nearby window. Spotless glasses dangled from the brass rack that hung above the bar and all the cutlery had been neatly arranged in a basket near the bottles of brandy.
Bonnie rose from her seat and ran her hands over the blue floral peasant dress that now sheathed her body. It was belted at the waist with sleeves that extended just beyond her elbows. Sandalwood toned riding boots adorned her size seven feet.
"Hello?" she called out softly.
She slid her fingertips along the length of the bar and quietly observed the wood-framed clock overhead. 7am
I should have stayed in bed, she thought regretfully. At least there she would have been able to grab a couple hours of extra rest.
Her eyes slowly traveled lower and rested upon the black and white photograph she had been observing the day before. The aerial view of Kenmare was nothing short of breathtaking.
The pub stood exactly where it should. A couple blocks over was the library and just beyond the surrounding wall was...something that shouldn't have been there at all.
Her green eyes bulged from their sockets as she stared on in complete disbelief and a side order of confusion. On a large plot of uninhabited land stood the decaying remains of a grey cathedral.
Memories of her first vision of Kenmare came back to her in an instant. She had seen the arches reaching up toward the sky, then the marvelous array of colors that coated the building exteriors and then...The Three.
Bonnie felt goosebumps begin to sprout up along her forearms. She rubbed them hurriedly with her hands to stop them in their track.
There was a sense of overwhelming eerieness around her now. Her instincts were screaming "Run! Run! Run!"
To where, though?
She blinked over and over again just to make sure this wasn't some sort of optical illusion. About after five tries, it was clearly evident the ruins weren't going anywhere.
This is crazy. They weren't there before. I know this. I checked! So where the hell did they come from? Did they just appear overnight out of thin air?
Bonnie glanced down at the year inscribed in gold lettering at the bottom right hand corner. She gasped as soon as they became clear. 2010
Now she felt more unbalanced than ever. How could she not notice something that was supposedly still standing tall? Was she going nuts?
Were Fiona, Damon and Stefan going crazy too? They never saw the ruins.
Maybe something happened to them. It wasn't a wholly illogical thought. Perhaps there had been a fire or some great disaster that destroyed the ruins just before they arrived in Ireland.
It was the only reasonable explanation as to why they had been photographed this year and had evidently disappeared since then. There was only one way to find out.
She needed to walk through the front door and head in the direction of the wall. As simple as that sounded, she couldn't help the sudden chill that crept down her spine.
Her eyes gravitated toward the entrance way and a thought crept into her mind. What if The Three stood in wait for her beyond the entrance way?
She gulped hard and willed her feet to move cautiously. If they were out there, she needed to be careful.
As Bonnie came closer to the exit, she peered through the glass door. Nothing in sight except for the vibrantly colored buildings she had come to admire in the old city.
Casting another glance back at the empty bar, she slowly set foot on the pavement. The streets were completely devoid of the usual passerbys and neighborhood residents.
The local church steeple towered overhead to her right while the stone wall stood to her far left. So far, she could glimpse very little beyond its ancient confines.
Elora, if you can hear me...please help me figure out what this all means.
A cool breeze swept through the air, lashing her cheeks with its force. Bonnie gazed up at the blue sky and watched as it began to turn an ominous hue. Greys and blues swirled together in mysterious unison as she marched on.
This was the way her vision of The Three in Kenmare had begun.
Her teeth began to chatter as the wind became incredibly chilly, causing her body to become covered in goosebumps. She broke out into a frenzied pace, zig-zagging toward the wall.
She charged in the drection of the wall, balling up her fists as she drew nearer. Her breathing became more labored and pretty soon, she found herself gasping for air.
Wincing a the sudden pain forming in her chest, she glanced down at the red amulet and found it flickering uncontrollably once more. Oh no. Not another possession. Tabitha, no!
Shutting her eyes for a millisecond, the witch prepared herself for yet another painful ordeal. Seconds later, she ploughed into the rough stone and yelped at the violent contact her flesh made with it.
"Shit!" she screamed, rubbing her throbbing temple.
The amulet glowed on and still, no possession. She had been so certain Tabitha had been intent on seizing her body again.
Bonnie grimaced at the sight of blood on her fingers. She had garnered herself a battle scar and with inordinate amounts of shame inside her warrior heart, her lofty opponent had been a wall.
She slowly turned her head to the left and caught sight of the sliver of space carved into the stone barrier. She ran as fast as her feet would afford her and glanced at the space beyond.
There as nothing there! Alright, now I'm pissed. What the fuck is going on?!
Skillfully, she morphed herself into the thinnest specimen she could and passed through the opening. She now stood in an open, empty field of green, surrounded by majestic alders.
The wind swirled around her more forcefully now, sweeping her dark, luminous locks into a state of disarray. Looking up at the sky, she observed the way the colors had deepend in intensity, almost as though it were fueled by great fury and passion.
"Déan iad a fheiceáil!"
The familiar feminine voice hissed lyrically into her ears. Bonnie swiveled from side to side hoping to find some trace of who had uttered those words. The same person who had been guiding her along on this strange journey.
"Who are you?" she shouted. No reply.
"Who are you?" she repeated, growing somewhat impatient. "Tabitha? Is that you?"
All that could be heard was the howling of the wind. Bonnie clutched the red stone and another thought donned on her. "Elora?"
"Make them see," she hissed again.
"Make them see what?" the little witch cried. "What do you want me to show them?"
There was complete quiet for a few seconds. "Show them what you see."
She tried to cobble together the pieces of the seriously messed up puzzle as quickly as she could. "Show them what I see? I don't see anything here!" she replied with total frustration. "So why don't you show me what I'm supposed to show them so I at least know it's real!"
"Eagna an Oirthir, an croí an Iarthair, neart an Spioraid Thuaidh agus an Deisceart. Cearn den domhan le chéile chun a thaispeáint mar chroí na súile le cad atá istigh leis seo."
A powerful flash of light exploded before her eyes. Bonnie placed her arm protectively over her face to avoid the intense glare. Plumes of smoke enhanced the feeling of eerieness she had felt earlier on.
They were thick and covered everything around her, including the town and the stone wall.
Gradually the white smoke thinned. Her eyes had begun to water slightly from the sheer strength of the blast. Bonnie dabbed at her tear ducts with the sleeves of her dress and began to squint as dark shadows began to appear in front of her.
Her breath hitched then at the realization of what had just happened. Ask and you shall receive, she thought, completely baffled.
The ruins stood before her, arches stretching toward the sky, remnants of pews on either side and what appeared to be burial tablets denoting the presence of a casket just beneath the surface. It was here and it was roughly twice as large as Old Fell's Church.
She crept forward reluctantly before the shrill cries of a woman rang out. "Help me! Please! Someone! Anyone!"
Bonnie knew that voice all too well; it was that kind face she missed seeing the most. Elena Gilbert was her sister in every way that truly mattered - just the way Grams viewed her friendship with Maya.
The bond of sisterhood was among the most powerful forces on the face of the Earth. At least those were the words Grams had uttered when the two girls officially annointed one another 'best friends,' also known as 'keeper of my deepest, darket secrets' or 'trusty alibi when I've got a really hot date my mom and dad can't know about.'
"Elena!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Where are you?"
"Bonnie? Is that you?" the imprisoned teen inquired in slight disbelief.
"Yes, it's me," she confirmed. "Where are you?"
"I'm in their lair," the brunette answered weakly. "I'm so...tired, Bonnie. My body...I feel like this is the end."
"The hell it is!" the fiery witch responded, jaw clenching instinctively. "Come Hell or high water, I promise you I'll get you out of there! No one messes with the sisterhood. No one!"
"I love you, B," the slender mortal replied. Her voice cracked a tinge as Bonnie realized Elena was now on the verge of sobbing.
"I love you too, Elena. You're my best friend. And you know what best friends do?"
"What, B?" she continued, sounding more exhausted with each passing minute.
"They never give up on each other. That means I'll never give up on you."
She paused for a moment and felt a single tear drop trickle down her cheek. This wasn't how life was supposed to end. She and Elena were supposed to grow old and drive their husbands mad into their nineties.
They were going to sit on their porches together drinking sweet tea and gossiping 'til their faces turned blue and their stomachs began to ache from all the laughter. That was how life was supposed to be...before The Prophecy.
Bonnie felt a sudden vibration beneath her feet. It felt like the Earth was moving and if she didn't hang onto something sturdy, she would be swallowed by the ground or tossed a hundred feet.
"Elena!" she yelled.
"Bonnie!"
"I'll find you! I swear I will!" she promised her best friend.
"They dwell where there is no light. Remember that. Remember what I said!"
Her eyelids flew open and in an instant she was back at the cottage, locked in Damon's firm embrace. She found him staring thoughtfully down at her, propped on his elbow.
"Morning beautiful," he smiled, lightly tracing the outline of her lips with his index finger.
She looked beyond mortified and he knew exactly why. Their blood bond allowed him to see and experience every detail of her dreams - the sinful ones and the horrific ones.
"You're here," she breathed, feeling relieved that their night together had not been some fantasy sequence invented by her subconscious to drive her insane. He really had made love to her and she would never forget it.
"Where else would I be?" he chuckled, cupping her cheek with his palm. Gingerly, he lowered his head and planted a chaste kiss on her delectable mouth.
Bonnie reached up and explored the contours of his classically handsome face with her fingertips. "Damon..."
"You had another vision," he supplied, placing his hand around hers and placing a peck on top.
"How did you know?" she asked, slight confusion marring the exotic features of her face.
"The look on your face says it all," he lied. "What happened?"
"We need to talk to Fiona. There's something strange going on here."
"We got it on last night. I would hardly categorize that as a kooky incident," he jested, running his fingers through her hair.
"Damon," she sighed, looking more serious now. "I think I know where Elena is...I just don't know how to get there."
***
Chili dogs, french fries and Dr. Pepper may not have been great for the waistline, but they always had a way of enhancing a person's mood. Maybe that's why Caroline Forbes, Tyler Lockwood and Matt Donovan were lurched over a table, laughing out loud over their middle school years.
"Yeah, I was fashion challenged," Matt admitted reluctantly.
"Or as the legendary Cher Horowitz would say, 'ensembally challenged,'" Caroline threw in, paying homage to her favorite film, Clueless.
"'Ensembally challenged?'" Matt smirked, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.
"Yup," she giggled. "Sweats are cool and all, but the ones you wear for phys ed should never make a cameo in any class that doesn't include breaking a sweat as a prerequisite."
"Leave the man alone," Tyler threw in. "He's a football god - right after yours truly, of course."
"Of course," the red haired boy laughed merrily. "Man, I don't think we've hung out together since-"
"Since the Elena years," the pretty blond chimed in. "Sorry for the reminder," she continued, noting her one millionth verbal slip up of the evening.
"It's okay," he replied. "I've gotta get over her sooner or later."
"I say sooner," Tyler urged him. "So we can start mackin' on the all the fine ladies whose initials are not 'E.G.'"
"Macking? Ick!" Caroline grimaced, placing her index finger in her mouth mockingly.
"What's wrong with my man gettin' his-"
"If you say swerve on, I'm gonna smack you upside the head," she interrupted him. "Girls don't want to be macked on. They want-"
"More?" Tyler replied teasingly in his most feminine voice. "Do you want starry skies, walks on the beach and some dude who'll sit at home with a tissue box on his lap while you bawl over The Bridges of Madison County?"
"Excuse you, but that is a great movie," she maintained, chucking a cucumber slice at Tyler's forehead. Unfortunately he was naturally gifted with quick reflexes and dodged the flying vegetable with great ease.
"Elena used to make me watch Notting Hill like every time I came over," Matt reminisced, causing both Caroline and Tyler to eye him sympathetically. "Man, I think I can quote every one of Hugh Grant's lines now 'cause of her."
"You need to get laid," the dark-haired young man concluded matter of fact. "Knowing that much about a chick flick is basically grounds for me to revoke your man card."
"I dunno," Caroline began softly. "I think it's kind of...sweet."
Glancing up at the blue-eyed football ace, she offered him her most charming smile.
The truth was, if Caroline Forbes ever got captured by pirates and forced to set foot on the plank, she could just bat her lashes and flash those pearly whites and it would be more than enough to coax her captors into letting her go free. Then again, Elena would usually just breathe and get all the attention. Bitch!
Is it normal to resent your best friend this much? Hmmm, I wonder...
"You do?" Matt questioned, grinning at her support.
"Yeah. I do," she answered, her cheeks flushing just a tinge.
"Shit," Tyler interrupted. "Parental pow wow - 3 o'clock," he informed them.
Seated at a booth to their right were Tyler's parents and Caroline's mother. Whatever they were discussing, it had to be serious. Right now they all had intense expressions on their faces.
Mayor Lockwood held a thin notepad in his hands and appeared to be scribbling down point form notes in the worst chicken scratch Caroline had ever laid her contact sporting eyes on. This wasn't the first time she'd seen them congregating together over coffee, looking like they were planning some massive event.
This week alone they had gathered five times to her knowledge. Of course part of that knowledge was thanks to her natural ability to eavesdrop without ever getting caught.
"Wonder what they're talking about," she mused aloud.
"Probably some other black tie fundraiser," Tyler offered. "My mom's always lookin' for an excuse to act like a country club snob in public."
"No offense, but your mom does snooty on a daily basis," Caroline inserted.
"None taken," he replied, sipping on his Dr. Pepper. "She and my dad treat everyone who isn't born into money like second-class citizens." Vicki Donovan was one of many reminders of how rough it could be being the son of Charles and Dayna Lockwood.
"At least she's in your life, man," Matt replied. "My mom still acts like it's Spring Break everyday."
"My mom acts like Robocop," the quirky blond sighed, resting her chin on her arm. "Get home by 12, Caroline. It's the law," she finished in a jokingly gruff voice.
"Uh oh, looks like we've been spotted," Matt told them.
Uneasily, the trio smiled and waved at the parental units who looked as though they'd been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. "I wonder what they're up to," Caroline exclaimed softly.
"Beats me," Tyler replied with a shrug.
"Aren't you guys the least bit curious?" she egged them on.
"About what? They're parents. Sometimes they like to talk to one another," the red head threw in.
"Not like this," she persisted. "Look, I wasn't gonna say anything about it 'cause it's official police business, but-"
"Care, don't take this the wrong way, but secret keeping isn't your forte," Matt chuckled.
"Maybe not," she agreed. "Anyway, I was snooping around the basement the other day and I found these old journals that dated back to the inception of the town. One of them belonged to Ashwood Abbott."
"The former Mayor? Wasn't that guy around in like 1864?" Tyler pointed out.
"Yup," Caroline answered. "Anyway, I was thinking, 'what the heck is Ashwood Abbott's journal doing in our basement?' I mean, why isn't it locked in Denny Abbott's basement? Or Phoebe Ashwood? Or any Ashwood for that matter. Then I looked inside of it."
"What'd you find?" the boys pressed on.
"A list," she replied, leaning in closer. Beckoning them forward with her index finger, she brought her voice down to a hush tone. "Of names. Random names of people who lived in town along with either a checkmark or an 'x' beside them. I was about to go through the rest of it, but my mom got home, so I had to toss it back into the box. As I turned to leave, I saw a sheet of paper sticking out underneath a huge pile of books, so I grabbed it as fast as I could."
"What did it say?" Tyler queried.
"It was really weird. It was addressed to one of my ancestors. It was all drivel, except for the last part. 'Daniel, The Supernaturals are among us."
"Supernaturals?" the boys replied in unison.
"Like fairies and witches and werewolves - oh my!" Tyler mocked.
"Hey, if Supernaturals exist, then why not extraterrestrials?" Matt threw in teasingly. "I've got dibs on meeting E.T. first, man."
"You guys, be serious," Caroline continued, urging them to pipe down. "I mean, at least entertain the idea for a sec. There was that incident in the woods with Meredith Richards."
"Come on, Care. This is Looney Toons we're talkin' about here," the raven-haired boy offered. "Do you really think some mysterious man with wings attacked her and her little friends in the woods?"
"Tye's right," Matt groaned. "Besides, Supernaturals could've been a nickname for something."
"Or maybe it just means Supernaturals," she insisted.
"Come on, next thing you know, you're gonna be telling us you think The Shire really exists," the red head responded.
"It does. In New Zealand," Caroline replied, crossing her arms defensively. "Look, a lot of strange stuff has been happening around here lately. People have been disappearing, getting attacked by vicious animals. It just doesn't add up anymore. Something's going on. Aren't you a little curious what that is?"
They both eyed her reluctantly. If Caroline Forbes was any one thing in particular, it was persistent.
"So what, are we supposed to become the Scooby Gang or something?" Tyler joked. "Should we buy a blue van, hop in and call it the Mystery Machine?"
"No," she answered, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "I just think that it wouldn't hurt to do a little digging. I'll keep any eye on my mom. You can keep an eye on your folks, Tye and Matt..."
"I'll keep an eye on you two," he chuckled. "You really think something strange is going on, don't you?"
Caroline nodded her head continuously in response. "Just give it some thought, guys."
They each looked up again and found Sheriff Forbes speaking into her walkie talkie. "The woods near Old Fell's Church? I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Maybe it's another animal attack," the curious blond pondered aloud. "Or maybe it's something else."
Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, she reached into her bag, grabbed her car keys and coat and began to leave. "Where are you going, Care?" Matt called after her.
"We're gonna take a little ride, boys," she grinned.
"We are?" Matt and Tyler replied almost simultaneously.
"We are," she answered with finality. "Mr. DeWitt is missing, Mr. Horowitz is dead and Mr. Saltzman is totally M.I.A., which basically means we have no homework. Why not kill a little time together - on a mission? We could launch our own investigation and call it-"
"What the hell is going on in Mystic Falls?" Matt offered with a smile.
She couldn't suppress the amused smirk that spread across her lovely features. Giggling in reply, the blond twirled around and continued walking, both young men hot on her kitten heels.
***
Daylight flooded through the windows of the cottage kitchen. Bonnie, Damon, Stefan and Fiona sat side by side around the wooden table for a spot of breakfast.
Of course both undead gentlemen had since finished off their supplies of human blood in their private quarters. That left both witches enough time to begin devouring the golden scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and delicious hashbrowns Bonnie had whipped together.
Taking a sip from her lightly creamed coffee, she slowly revealed the strange details of her vision. "Make them see what you see," Bonnie exclaimed, remembering just what the familiar Irish voice had said. "I saw those ruins in my first vision of Kenmare and last night as well."
"Well I've told you before, my darling. If there are any ruins beyond the stone wall, I've certainly never seen them," the copper-skinned witch replied.
Glancing sadly at Stefan, she recounted the frailty of Elena's voice and how she sobbed helplessly. She knew it was burning him up inside just thinking about her being held captive, tortured and bound.
Feasting on the blood of animals had kept the eternal teenager strong enough to fend off certain enemies, but there was no denying that Damon had been the more stalwart Salvatore. Feeding on humans kept him fully armed with the arsenal of nutrients needed to propel his supernatural abilities to new heights.
He was physically capable of delivering more vicious blows to his opponents and whenever he became injured, it took far less time to heal than it did for Stefan. It was a consequence of the choices they had made all those years ago.
Damon refused to deny himself. He lived his vampiric existence true to form, but he often wondered what over a century of repressed hunger would do to his brother, should he taste mortal flesh once more.
He eyed Stefan curiously then, sitting across from him in a green and blue plaid shirt and dark wash denim. His hair was messier than usual - more rebellious like his own dark locks.
Stefan had been keeping to himself much of the time after his first packet of blood. He seemed more brooding than usual, but who could blame him given the circumstances.
Long ago before his decision to feed on Bambi and her friends, the younger Salvatore had been capable of transforming himself. Damon had the crow and he had his own creature of the night.
They had been a tenacious duo, embarking on a journey just for a kill and a thrill. Flocking from one part of the country to the next, they masqueraded as merchants, lawyers, doctors and any other disguise that would allow themselves to weazle their way into the lives of unsuspecting females.
Then one night in Boston in 1905, Stefan charged at a small woman in an alley way, ravenous for his fill. They had been traveling for days without feeding and it drove him mad with want.
Unable to restrain himself, he lunged at her from behind and sank his teeth into her white flesh. By the time he had drained her of her fluids and silenced her pulse, he turned the mere mortal in his arms.
In the most appalling twist, the petite woman turned out to be a child. She couldn't have been much more than thirteen with long wavy flaxen locks, a full pout and a heaving bosom that would have convinced any man or woman she was older than her actual years.
Her face, on the other hand, was full of innocence and contorted by terror - the last expression to spread across her face before her final breath.
While it was true, he and Damon had embarked on a murderous rampage throughout the Northern United States, he made it a priority to steer clear of children. There was something about the way they looked desperately, pleadingly into your eyes. Even in his undead state, it managed to trigger the most profound sense of...remorse.
He flinched at the reminder of that nameless child in the blue dress with the wide eyes. She had been a great catalyst for his decision to abstain from mortal blood consumption.
It wasn't merely the fact that she was so young that had torn into him. He heard footsteps drawing near as he held her lifeless form in his arms.
Fleeing the scene, he flew from the ground onto a ledge where he could not be seen. A man carrying a hysterically crying baby slowly moved in the direction of the girl's body, now lying on the damp cobblestone.
He could hear every one of the stranger's thoughts when he came upon the corpse. That man was her father and the baby was her sister.
They were homeless and living on the streets of the great city. The memory of her ate away at him until one night he fought with Damon and left to journey their homeland by himself.
There would be no more killing. No more transformations. No more tragic nights where he wanted to ram himself chest first into a wooden stake.
He had become a vampire with a conscience. A total contradiction of his true nature.
He became instantly infatuated with Elena the moment he first lay his hazelnut eyes on the girl. Pinstraight chocolate locks, a long slender physique and a smile that was too similar to Katherine's for comfort.
But in those wide eyes, he saw one key distinguishing feature between both women. Elena had compassion for others.
She gave a damn about those around her, loved with all her heart and most of all, there wasn't a trace of narcissistic behavior on her part. They were different women - that much he was certain of.
The truth was, Stefan had known of the girl even before they had bumped into each other outside the boys' bathroom at Robert E. Lee. He had rescued her from the tragic car crash that had claimed her parents' lives.
One morning he had gone out, scowering the woods for something to eat when the unforgettable sound of the car hitting the barriers on Old Wickery Bridge rang through his hypersensitive ears. Then came the unmistakable splash as the vehicle plunged into the water, sealing the doors and making it impossible for any of the inhabitants to escape.
Stefan ran as fast as he could and found a man and women in their forties in the front seat. The gentleman was barely able to move and as he placed an arm about his waist to lift him, he pushed him away and pointed at the unconscious form in the back seat.
Her long hair had covered her face, but Stefan surmised enough that it was this man's daughter. He reluctantly let go of Elena's father and used all of his strength to tear the back door from its hinges in order to save her life.
By the time he had reached the muddy shore, he placed her on the grass and brushed her hair from her face. To say he was startled by the uncanny resemblence would be an incredible understatement.
Stefan could hear the sound of mortals running toward the scene of the crash. The pitter patter of footsteps drew nearer and he knew that within seconds someone would be here.
He lept behind an elm tree and watched as a young woman with red curly hair ran to the injured girl and began performing CPR on her. By the time she had been resusitated, Stefan coudln't peel his gaze from her.
He had to know her. There was nothing else he could do.
If this was Katherine Pierce, he needed to make sure she didn't hurt anyone else the way she had in 1864. Through records, documentation and simple observation, he deduced that this was in fact, a different person entirely.
But how on earth did they end up looking so much alike? There had to be a reason.
"Earth to Stefan," Fiona called jokingly. "You there, lad?"
"Uh yeah. I am," he smiled warmly. "Sorry. Just thinking..."
"About Elena," Bonnie sighed. "We'll get her back, Stefan. I promise. If it's the last thing I do."
"Well it won't be the last thing you do," Damon pointed out. "You're destined to spend an eternity with me, so I guess talk of lasts is basically null and void."
"He's got a point," the Irish witch offered.
"Look, the voices in my dream was obviously trying to tell me something about the ruins. It's important. I don't think I would've seen it again if it weren't," Bonnie rationalized, sipping her coffee. "Is it possible that maybe...maybe..."
"Maybe what?" Damon asked, stealing a strip of bacon from her plate.
"Now before you all think I've gone crazy, just humor me for a second. What if the ruins really are beyond the wall-"
"And we just can't see 'em?" Damon interrupted. "That's impossible. It's not like hiding - I dunno, a coffee mug," he offered, holding his blood stained blue one up.
"Actually...it's precisely like that," Fiona chimed in, looking suddenly intrigued.
The trio glanced quizzically at her, wondering how on earth two things so seemingly different could possibly be the same. Since 'Operation Rescue Elena' began, it had been one supernatural suprise after the next.
Bonnie's powers had grown by leaps and bound. She had learned more than just how to make feathers and leaves float.
Technically that's the pace she should have been moving at - if she were any other normal witch in the history of the world. Clearly, that was not the case.
She had essentially been privy to the advanced times twenty version of magical education. Not even Hogwarts would have schooled her this quickly.
It seemed Elora had great things in store for her. Her visions had become so vivid and spot on recently.
So far she had tackled the elements, received an impromptu lesson on how to unlock mystical portals and handled any other spells she had thrown her way.
"Have you ever heard of a Phantasm spell?" she asked, rising from her seat.
The witch sauntered from the room into her study and retrieved an encyclopedic-length book. Flipping through the pages, she settled on a section smack dab in the center. "Ah, here we go. 'Phantasms may be cast in order to present the illusion that one object is present, while in reality, another is. Typically, the energy required to perform such a spell is found within the bodies of witches and warlocks proficient in the study of Concealment. It takes a great many years to master these mystical art forms, for they have been known to be physically draining. It is strongly recommended that novice Supernaturals abstain from attempting Concealments or Phantasms alone. Have an instructor most knowledgable and studied in The Craft nearby at all times.'"
"So you think The Fior cast a Phantasm on the land?" Bonnie inquired, eyes wide with wonderment.
"Aye," she replied, placing the book on the table and snapping up another slice of bread. "Look, there's only one way to find out if we're right. We must pay a visit to the stone wall."
"I hate to put a damper on your brilliant plan, Broom Hilda, but what do we do about the townspeople?" Damon chucked in, sliding another fork full of buttery scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"What d'you mean?" Fiona replied, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I dunno about you, but if I've spent my entire life growing up in a town where there are no ruins beyond the stone wall, it might seem a little strange if I wake up one morning and boom! There they are!" he offered.
"They won't notice a thing," the witch answered. "No one in town has any knowledge of the ruins, therefore they must have been built before downtown Kenmare ever came into existence. If the mortals don't believe in the presence of the building itself, even if you cast a Phantasm, they'll never see it. They'll only see what they know of. And all they know of are trees and fields of green beyond the wall."
"So how do we remove the veil?" Bonnie asked, leaning forward.
Fiona sat in front of her and brought her mug to the centre of the table. She closed her eyes slowly and began to chant an incantation. "East, West, Thuaidh agus Theas. tairiscint a dhéanamh mé duit anois, agus é a iarraidh go mbeadh an vanish. In ionad in ionad leis an méid a chónaíonn in m'intinn's tsúil."
Gradually the blue mug began to vanish. The trio stared at the empty space before them and became completely transfixed as a pitcher of lemonade took its place.
Damon reached out and grabbed the object, pouring himself a glass and allowing it to linger on his taste buds. "Tastes like the real thing."
"That's because it is the real thing - but it doesn't mean that mug of coffee isn't still there somehow. Watch and learn, boys."
Shutting her eyes tightly, she began to chant another spell. This time a gust of wind blew through the room as she finished.
"Eagna an Oirthir, an croí an Iarthair, neart an Spioraid Thuaidh agus an Deisceart. Cearn den domhan le chéile chun a thaispeáint mar chroí na súile le cad atá istigh leis seo."
Bonnie watched in amazement as the pitcher of transluscent liquid transformed into the azure ceramic mug. She couldn't help but still feel completely baffled as to how she and Fiona would perform this exact spell on a whole building.
"That's what you want us to do to the ruins?" the young witch questioned in disbelief. "How?"
"Why don't we take a trip into the woods for a little practice session?" she offered.
Bonnie sighed deeply and nodded her head. She had to save Elena; there were no ifs, ands or buts about it.
The women took off and headed deep into the brush of trees. Damon and Stefan watched as their petite forms disappeared into the melding of greens - emerald, olive and sage in hue.
There was something so incredibly sensational about a woman who was gifted in The Craft, Damon mused as an irresistible smile spread across his face. He had known many witches in his 170 years of existence and yet none had affected him the way a certain little witch had.
She challenged him right from the get go, fascinated him with her seeming disdain for him and obvious physical beauty. There was just something about her that tore his emotional armor to shreds and unleashed in him emotions that had long since been scattered to the wind.
Suddenly he gave a damn about someone other than himself - and Katherine. He wanted her to be happy, safe and wrapped in his arms.
This is what Stefan had been going on about. Exactly the type of romantic drivel he had scorned him for - and yet now it was no longer nonsense. It was real because she made it real.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Stefan interrupted his thoughts. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, leaning against the window frame. Damon stood across, leaning his head against the glass.
"What day?" the blue-eyed vampire inquired, quirking an eyebrow at him in return.
"The day you lost your cold, black heart to someone who wasn't Katherine," he replied simply.
"And you think today is that day?" Damon queried, offering up his trademark smug smirk.
"Actually, I think that was last night," Stefan chuckled in response, sauntering over to the table to clean up. "You know, in the library."
"I have no idea what you mean, little brother."
"'I can't believe I had sex with Damon Salvatore last night' - I believe that telling declaration went through Bonnie's mind about ten times during breakfast," he laughed, placing a few dishes in the sink. "Care to help?" he gestured, lifting a mug.
"Dishes were never my forte," the dark-haired vampire lazily replied. "Besides, you're the squeaky clean Salvatore. Maybe it's best I just sit back and watch while you finish up here."
"You care about her," Stefan continued, filling the sink with scolding hot water. He paused momentarily and glanced down at the white ceramic plate in his hand. "The way I care for Elena."
His forehead became etched with lines of a man truly distraught and overcome by the worst kind of grief imaginable. Damon knew this would only heighten the affect of his transformation now that he had tasted human blood again.
If Stefan's desire for vengeance upon The Fior hadn't been scorching hot before, it was now a hundred times that with the intensity that only mortal blood could ignite. He would exact a swift, decisive, brutal revenge upon anyone who got in his way.
At least that's how the old Stefan Salvatore had approached his enemies. Back in the day, he had accumulated quite a few of those.
His eyebrows were furrowed now, lips parted as he thought of Elena. Damon wondered if he looked that way whenever he worried about Bonnie.
Was he slowly becoming the little pussy he had accused his brother of transforming into after feasting his eyes - and his loins - on the leggy brunette? Was he about to have "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong" or "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" on heavy rotation in his head? Fuck no.
"How are you?" he asked his brother, watching him vigorously tending to the washing up.
"Mood-wise or consuming human blood wise?" Stefan inquired.
"I think I'll go with human blood consumption for one thousand, Alex," he answered, offering up his best imitation of the Jeopardy host. "Can we all expect your little alter ego to grace us with his presence again?"
"You mean the mini badass you used to go flying with?" the teenaged vampire offered.
"It can't be easy," Damon began.
"What can't?"
"You've repressed your blood lust for so long. Defied the very nature of our kind for over a hundred years. It's gotta be hard now - keeping the cravings at bay."
Damon observed the way the young man's jaw clenched at the mere mention of his lack of restraint. Stefan had made it his priority to maintain a regimented diet of Thumper, Bambi and any other fury creature Disney could animate.
"I'll manage," he exclaimed. "I haven't exactly run off and sucked all of Ireland dry."
"Yet," Damon quickly supplied.
"Not ever." Silence lingered between them for a moment. "I just want her back. I'll do anything. My immortality for her release, if it comes to that."
Damon felt a familiar emotion tugging incessantly at his chest. Maybe Bonnie had been right about his feelings for his brother.
Either way, he'd never admit it to her. If he did, he'd be short a million bucks, as per the terms of their friendly bet.
"Don't be stupid," he groaned, tilting his head back against the sheet of glass. "Immortality was a gift bestowed upon you and yours truly long ago. You wouldn't even know the fair Elena if you had died an old man in your bed."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But what good is eternal life if you can't be with the one you love?"
"You going all Hallmark on me again?"
"Could you be serious for once?" Stefan slammed the ceramic plate down with great force. He was consumed by frustration and now a few cracked shards of were all that remained of the white disk he had been holding just moments before.
Damon studied the strained expression on his face. Tiny yellow veins began to bleed themselves into existence beneath his brown eyes. They had since turned the shade of coal.
Stefan's fangs had protruded. They had slammed onto his tongue with such force that he could taste his own blood seeping through small puncture wounds.
"Shit!" he yelped. The vampire growled low and took a deep breath.
The sapphire-eyed man stepped forward. "Do you need me to h-"
"I'm fine!" he shouted. "I don't need your help. I'm fine, okay?"
The old Stefan had been significantly moodier - that much he could recall with great clarity. There had been an edge to him, so foreign to "Buzzkill Bob," as he preferred to address him on occasion.
"You know, I remember a time where all I did was scower the southwest in search of fine dining opps and the best bourbon money could by," Damon rambled on, as though nothing had happened. "I got what I wanted, but not what I needed."
"You have needs?" his brother eyed him incredulously.
"Maybe," he responded, rolling his eyes.
Stefan watched him knowingly before gazing out the window again. "Feels strange, doesn't it?"
"What?"
"Love."
"Who says this is-"
The brown-eyed young man cut him off swiftly. "Go ahead. Bask in denial. It's been your armor of choice for well over a century." The yellow veins began to recede.
"Actually, black leather has been my armor of choice - and it suits me perfectly," Damon replied with a grin. He stared into his brother's eyes for what seemed like an eternity.
Stefan returned his intense gaze. You'd kill for her.
Give the man a prize.
You'd die for her.
"Perhaps..." Damon's voice trailed off then. "In the vampiric sense. I mean, we already, kinda did the whole dying thing ages ago."
There's the other suit of armor you wear so well. Humor. Just another way to deflect questions and quell emotions.
"Stop rubbing that psych degree from Harvard in my face," he reminded him with a roll of his baby blues. "I could've used my engineering degree to blow you up, but I didn't. I resisted the temptation. I know, very Stefan like of me."
Here they were again, sparring with one another like they had done back at the boarding house - before The Prophecy ever came to their attention.
"So, when will the Caped Crusader fly again?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ignoring his question, the younger Salvatore tilted his head in a recollective pose. There were so many things he had yet to reveal to Elena about his earlier existence.
Would she love him the same if she knew?
He stared at Damon a while longer and wondered what her reaction would be when she found out about him and Bonnie. Saying she would be utterly pissed didn't cut it.
Damon! Help us! Please!
The desperate plea filled his brain and sent him wild with fury. Suddenly spurred into a rage he couldn't contain, the vampire lept from his lax position by the window and bolted into the woods.
Bonnie had cried out for him and he had no intention of failing her.
