I have come to you, Stefanie. the magic had said, whispering silkily in my ear, so many voices, some ancient, some newer, male and female mixing so that they became one. Without you, I will be gone. I am your birthright. It's your father's fault, for killing the rest of the Travelers. I have no choice but to come to you. You wouldn't let me disappear forever, would you? I'm fading fast, Stefanie. Please help. Don't let the legacy of your people die.

It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. My mother, despite being a Petrova doppelgänger and a one-time vampire, had no propensity for magic. Plus, she was getting older. I was only thirteen when I woke to those whispers one night, an alluring, shimmering black pall above me, dark tendrils reaching down to caress my cheek like the touch of a lover.

I knew what it was. I had read the books in Uncle Ric's library about the Travelers, and of my ancestor (one Katerina Petrova), when Lizzie, Josie, Hope and I would have sleepovers. I thought, maybe if I had magic too, I could fit in with my friends-my only friends, save for Gregory Fell, but we'll get to how I almost fucked him up later-and I could go to Uncle Ric's school, where I thought I belonged, and live a life filled with magic and adventure.

But I was very, very wrong.

I reached up towards the magic to touch it, to feel it, but, before I had a chance to think, it roared like a river into my mouth and nose, turning my eyes a purplish-black for a few moments before they shifted back to normal; normal being one ice blue eye from my dad, one deep brown one from my mom, both fringed with thick, long midnight lashes. I got my dad's hair, too, though I kept it long and wild, but my mom's skin tone. I apparently got no height from anyone, as I topped out at five feet even, and stayed rather scrawny.

Little did I know, from that night on, the possession magic had possessed me.

All that generational power would have been a lot for an older, experienced witch to handle, and still probably end up being too much.

I was thirteen with absolutely no experience.

I didn't tell my parents what had happened, so I didn't even go to the Salvatore School, the school my uncle ran and was literally named after my family. The magic told me not to, and I felt like I'd done something wrong; there's always that hesitation when you think your parents may be mad at you at that age, too, and this was something more than puffing a few cigs at the back of the school that one time. I had done something I couldn't just stop or undo. God, the heinous things it told me to do to my father…he would have never forgiven me if he knew what it was telling me to do. I felt the magic inside of me, and it had immediately become a part of me, bonded to my very sinew.

I had to keep thinking of new and exciting distractions to keep the whispers that told me of all the delicious things it could do for me at bay. I knew if I listened long enough it would be able to entice me, so much that I would make Ms. Petrova look like a kitten compared to the tiger I could become.

For me, that distraction had always been music, specifically singing and the violin. When I sang, it was like a siren song, and when I played, it brought the mighty to their knees.

Gregory Fell, who played guitar and was indeed a vampire-who also didn't go to the Salvatore School simply because I wasn't there-and I became the foundation members of our band, Obsidian Dagger.

By the time we formed the band at about fifteen, I was well and truly Goth, and Greg had always kind of been, too, so we formed our band's look around that, taking the other disenfranchised members of Mystic Falls High along with us; Desmond Rhodes on drums, with curly auburn hair, almost black eyes, and a body that resembled a mountain with legs and arms, all raw muscle; Tommy Chase, blond haired and blue eyed, with a long, elegant body on keyboard; Tony Chase, Tommy's slightly younger brother who looked almost exactly like him on bass; Des, Tommy and Tony all also did back up vocals; then of course Greg, with his blue-black hair and deep green eyes on lead guitar, and also lead vocals alongside me, and, as I said, I played the violin.

Greg hovered somewhere around six feet or so, and was definitely muscular, though nowhere near the way Desmond was-which was good cause it looked dangerous to have that much muscle sometimes-but also wasn't spindly like Tommy and Tony. I was also the only one who knew what Greg really was, though I still hadn't told him-or anyone else, for that matter-what I really was.

And all of us together made something beautiful: Obsidian Dagger. We didn't just speak to one group of people, our music was consumed en masse.

We started at school dances and local places, started making our own downloads, and, thanks to the smartphone, we got posted everywhere on social media.

So much so that we drew the attention of an agent from L.A. named Mikey Pazzaro.

Now, when you think about Mikey, I want you to think about that stereotypical scumbag agent: greasy, black, slicked-back hair, a voice that sounded like he had Mob connections, a pension for wearing all black ensembles and mirror-finish polished shoes, of course with all the gaudy gold jewelry to finish it off, including a wedding ring he liked to forget he had every time he turned a street corner that had a hooker on it-which really was a shame because Madge, his wife, was a sweetheart and gorgeous to boot. I was happy when they got a divorce and Madge married someone who was devoted and actually appreciated her.

Mikey never got remarried, for the record, but I firmly believe that was for the absolute best.

But, I'm getting off track.

Mikey's secretary-whom he had also tried to bang, albeit unsuccessfully-contacted us on our band's website.

We did our research-as did our parents, collectively, as we were still minors at the time-and it turned out Mikey was a legit agent, which was probably the only legitimate thing he'd done in his entire life.

Our parents all had their Big Important Jobs to do in town that they couldn't just quit to come with us, so, we all became emancipated minors. Granted, each of us had a "handler", because we were young and Mikey didn't want to risk us having no supervision at all (more to save his own neck, just in case we did something stupid, as kids will do, than any actual care for our well-being), like we were fucking zoo animals or something, who were more or less glorified babysitters who got paid too much to do their job so poorly.

Mikey was there when we gave our first really big performance. It was in the town square of Mystic Falls, and there was not a soul who missed it. It was our going away concert for our friends and family. Even the Salvatore School came.

That was, as Mikey would tell us later, when he knew we'd make it. Especially once I got into the tighter clothes Mikey had brought for me to wear. I had something to show in the curve department, granted, it was a fair amount less than most, because of how thin I was, but put tight enough clothes on any female, and the natural hills and valleys of a woman will show up.

It was funny how well I could sell sex when, at that point, I hadn't had any.

That changed after the concert.

We weren't slated to leave out for Hollywood until the next morning, so we had a night to kill. Mikey had advised that we all get some sleep. To be fair, I had planned on doing just that…until Robert Hutchins, who was very cute but had never noticed me before that night, met me around the back of the stage and asked if we could give each other something to remember the other by.

We ended up naked in the back of my car. Yes, my first time was with someone I barely knew, in the back of my car, and I was leaving.

But…that was also a way I found to quiet the voices, though temporarily.

I had just figured, why the hell not? That was all part of being a rockstar, right? But it hadn't even been all that great, and he left me sore, though, at least, not completely unsatisfied.

Then, that next morning, we took the plane ride that would determine the rest of our lives. This was a big step, but we could still fail.

We put out our first album-over the course of which each guy began bedding girl after girl as our notoriety spread (we even had this thing where, if we couldn't have breakfast with our conquest from the night before, which happened more times than not, due to meetings and whatever the fuck else, we'd give them some cash to go get something to eat for themselves)…well, all except for Greg-and when the sales came in…that…that cemented our success.

With that first album drop, we exploded. I barely had time to think about any magic telling me what a magnificent bastard I could be when we had shows to do and tours to go on and appearances to make. And, even when we didn't, I made sure I kept myself occupied; writing for the band, planning, sex. But, what would any self respecting young rockstar do when they had something they were having a difficult time dealing with? DRUGS, of course!

The first time I did anything was at a club, and all those whispers were completely shut off, and I felt removed from what plagued me, and the effects lasted longer and were stronger than sex or anything else. For the first time since I was thirteen, I didn't feel like I was a hair's breadth away from committing a mass slaughter.

I barely was getting any sleep, and food was a thing I did when I got the chance, if I got the chance. The dark circles under my eyes that used to be part of my heavy stage makeup now made their home on my face permanently.

It didn't get past my bandmate's notice-particularly Greg's-and they seemed to be the only ones that were concerned about it;We'd inexplicably become a family without ever really thinking about it, growing to well and truly care for one another. We had also made a pact to stay clean-we were speaking to the outcasts, after all, and we figured they had enough problems without seeing us get loaded and deciding they needed to do the same-which everyone had managed to do…except me.

Mikey sure didn't care, so long as we were raking in those ten figures he was so excited about.

But that all changed one night when I had a syringe to the crook of my arm, and Greg walked into my hotel room, a coffee in his hand for me and that earnest look he always had on his face. He startled me and I accidentally broke the shitty old syringe, effectively slicing my wrist. I went to my knees and gritted my teeth against the pain with a hiss.

He dropped the coffee.

"STEF, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he shouted, rushing over to me. "You promised me you stopped, Stefanie! You promised me you stopped!"

"You don't understand. Greg, I can't. I'll…I'll hurt everyone if I don't."

"…What? Stef, I don't understand because you don't tell me! You don't tell anyone, anything!" he scolded, biting his wrist so I could take his blood to heal.

I did, and pulled away with my lips covered in the scarlet from his veins as my wound disappeared.

"Stefanie, please tell me. We've been friends since daycare. If you can't tell me then who the hell else are you going to tell?"

The truth was, I'd always had a crush on Greg. He'd been my Knight in Shining Armor more times than I could count, a constant in my life, almost from birth. I was just too young to know what to do about it, and then I started turning into a monster, and I didn't want to drag him down with me, so I stayed away. Those other guys I slept with would go away after a night.

Greg wouldn't, and I thought that was too dangerous.

Until that night and I looked up at him, on his knees beside me with worry so plainly written on his face-worry for me-and I kissed him.