Dark Side.
Chapter 24: Masquerade. Part I.
"A sky full of stars and he was staring at her."
—Atticus.
The Boarding House seems a cool respite from the warm Virginian morning. The heavy, maroon, suede curtains have been pulled back, allowing sunlight in through the tall windows, illuminating the entirety of the library. Caroline sits in one of the couches, trembling from head to toe still, despite the fact she arrived twenty minutes ago. Damon suppresses the roll of his eyes as he finishes pouring blood into a whiskey glass.
"Here." He offers the glass to Caroline.
"I'm still shaking." She chuckles nervously, taking a considerable sip.
Damon sends her a tight smile. It's the only polite response he can come up with right now. Stefan is quickly approaching, which means he's about to enter an argument where his opinion is moot, and that has his patience wearing thin.
"What happened?" Stefan asks on his way down the stairs.
He stops by the coffee table in front of Caroline, hands on his hips and a questioning raise of his eyebrows Damon's way. Damon stays by the sideboard behind the couch, simply sends his brother a small shrug.
"Go ahead, tell him." he nods at Caroline. To his brother, and with a tone dripping in sarcasm, he adds: "You're gonna love this."
Stefan frowns, but turns his attention to Caroline.
"I saw Katherine today."
"Where?" Stefan demands, suddenly more engaged.
Damon can't blame him. They haven't seen Katherine or heard from Katherine in… sixteen days, give or take. Mason's death, while filled with repercussions, sent her running into a deep hole.
"At the Grill. I just stopped by to gawk and... quasi-stalk Matt." Caroline admits with a pout. "He looked at me and just—asked me if I needed a table, like I was some random customer! It threw me off, he was so serious. So, I mumbled some silly excuse about needing the little girls' room, like I would actually go into The Grill of all places just to pee."
At that, Caroline groans, shoulders lifting and falling with the sound. She alternates between looking at Stefan and Damon, clearly looking for some sort of advice or sympathy here. This time, Damon does roll his eyes.
"Skip the teen drama and get to it." he suggests with a tone that he'll admit is a little too harsh. Caroline's mouth flops closed. She sends him an annoyed glare. "Please." He adds with a sarcastic smile.
"Then, I had to pretend to use the bathroom even though I didn't really have to go because I'm a doofus." Caroline exhales, turning back to Stefan with an airy chuckle. "I was washing my hands when the door opened and in came Katherine, pretending to be Elena. She asked me something about Matt, and, for a second, I thought maybe it was Elena, but then I remembered Elena was at home getting the house ready for when Jenna came home," she says all this in one breath, fast.
And then she pauses, taking another gulp from the glass of blood, and hesitating. Damon lifts one hand in the air, exasperated. Seriously how long can it take to tell a simple story? Caroline talks too much, no wonder he wanted to kill her. Stefan sends him a warning look, requesting, ever the saint, time for the blonde to settle.
"I tried to flash by her, but she stopped me. She needed me to deliver a message to you both." Caroline continues.
"What was the message?" Stefan straightens. His arms drop from his waist.
"She said t—to tell you that she wants the moonstone, and she'll rip Mystic Falls apart until it rains blood, if she doesn't get it." Caroline stutters. She shakes her head softly, blonde ringlets bouncing with the motion. "Those were her words, literally. 'I will rip this town apart until it rains blood.'"
Stefan frowns so deeply, Damon wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't come off.
"Tell him the rest of it." Damon coaxes when a second passes and Caroline only stares up at Stefan with wide eyes.
"She wants it tonight, at the masquerade ball."
Stefan nods once. Damon waits for the inevitable melt down. He'd be lying if he didn't go through it a little when he first heard the story, mostly because he knows his brother is going to relent. As always. In front of him and Caroline, Stefan crosses one arm across his chest, other elbow resting against his forearm as he passes his fingers through the space between his lip and his nose. Caroline turns to glance at Damon, worried question all over her face. He shakes his head, pulls his face into a grimace that conveys she shouldn't worry.
Stefan takes a few steps, before halting. He turns slowly, hand out as an idea occurs to him, until he's once more facing both Damon and Caroline. His eyes find him before returning to Caroline. The look on his brother's face alerts Damon he may not like the words about to leave Stefan's mouth.
"Was Cassandra there?" Stefan asks Caroline.
Bingo, he thinks, bitter.
"Brother…" Damon warns him, his blood already running with fire before Caroline can answer.
"We need to know, Damon." Stefan points out.
"Um, no, she wasn't." Caroline shakes her head. The brothers share a look. Damon widens his eyes at Stefan in a silent 'I told you so'. "What's going on?"
"Did Katherine mention Cassandra?" Stefan interrogates, unrelenting. "At all, even hinted at having back up?"
"No, she just said what I told you guys," says Caroline. Her words seem to shower Damon with a strange type of relief. He hadn't realized how much he dreaded the answer tipping towards Stefan's theory that Cass was a double agent. "Wait, why do you ask?"
At that, Stefan looks up, leaf-green eyes meeting Damon's with dark expectations. Caroline turns in her seat, looking up at him with curiosity that seems to be quickly turning to suspicion.
"Someone got Jenna off the vervain, compelled her to stab herself in the stomach to cause damage, but not death." Damon reluctantly explains.
Caroline's mouth falls open, her eyebrows rise so high up her forehead they almost blend with her hair, her nose scrunches up at the bridge. She looks shocked, appalled. Damon clears his throat as something akin to shame starts to circle his stomach, especially when Caroline seems to be directing her accusatory glare only towards him.
"And you two think Cass did it? She would never do that!" Caroline exclaims, angry, ready to go to war.
It would mean nothing to him, if his brain decided to not betray him in that very moment. Did it even occur to you to have my back at all? Her voice echoes in his brain. It's not a strange occurrence, to have her voice echo in his mind at random, when he least expects it, but ever since that damned day, it's been the same two sentences over and over, accompanied by the vision of her dressed down—her version of dressed down, at least—with her hair in a thick braid down her back, eyes teary, the smell of flowers and herbs permeating the air. Did it even occur to you to have my back—at all? Screw you. Screw—you.
"You don't know her like we do," Stefan tells Caroline when a minute passes and Damon finds himself unable to speak.
He doesn't like his brother's tone.
"Then you don't know her at all." Caroline scoffs.
"Katherine wanting us to give her the moonstone in public…" Damon starts before Stefan can continue his witch-hunt. "She's running scared. Jenna was a desperate move."
"We can't underestimate her. We have to play this smarter than her," Stefan says, resuming his pacing.
"Can we just give her the moonstone, so she'll leave?" Caroline whines.
"No, Katherine's not getting dick." Damon snaps.
That's just the kind of stupid plan his brother might get on board with. Damon's done and tired of walking on eggshells and doing things for the morality of it all. He pushes off the sideboard, walking around the couch and closer to his brother. He's making the decisions today, not Stefan.
"I've had it. I'm gonna go to the masquerade ball and I'm gonna kill her, tonight." His voice is finite.
"You're not gonna kill her." Stefan shakes his head.
"Don't give me that goody-goody shit." Damon rolls his eyes with his hold head.
Stefan points at him with his index fingers, lips suspiciously stretching into something that resembles a tight-lipped smile. "You're not gonna kill her."
Damon hums, crossing his arms in feigned interest.
"Really?"
"Because I am." Stefan nods, crossing his arms as well.
Damon blinks, impressed. He and his brother look at each other, a kind of understanding passing between them Damon hasn't experienced in decades. He can't help it, he smiles lightly. Stefan nods once more, his own lips stretching into a smile. Behind them, Caroline lets out a quiet, high-pitch whine. They ignore her. Nothing is changing their mind, Damon knows this, Stefan knows this. Tonight, they're finally getting rid of Katherine That Bitch Pierce.
It doesn't take long for them to gather a team together. A team that consists of six people, no more, no less. Well, one more if Damon could have it, if Damon could manage to get her to pick up the phone instead of sending cryptic messages via flower arrangements. How outdated of her, he thinks with more amusement than annoyance. Their little ragtag team is by no means perfect, but it'll have to do, considering the short notice. And their track record.
There's Alaric, their resident vampire hunter, who comes a-knocking with three duffle bags full of lethal weapons Damon's reluctant to ask where he got from. All he knows is he's come to respect his unlikely friend a little more, especially now as he reveals all types of firearms specifically engineered to fire either wooden bullets, or thin wooden stakes, polished smooth but still perfectly capable of ensuing damage.
He has crossbows and inconspicuous sleeves that shoot stakes with the pressure of a forceful fist, tiny grenade-looking contraptions filled with vervain and thousands of wooden splinters, vervain syringes, and other torturing devices Damon stays clear off, too reminiscent of a time where he became a guinea pig to hunters in the name of science.
Jeremy arrived next, ever the overeager puppy, excited to help his newfound Club of Secrets in any way he knows how, or is allowed. He provides absolutely no help to the cause, no knowledge, but he is an extra body, and he's willing to do pretty much anything, which is why Damon and Stefan selfishly allow him into their plan. Not that Stefan would ever be willing to admit that.
Still, there Jeremy stands, observing with rapt attention as Alaric continues to demonstrate his hunting skills, effectively turning every vampire in the room a little on edge.
Blondie is more useful than Damon ever gave her credit for, which is none. She knows the Lockwood mansion inside and out, knows every secret cranny in it, every room off limits in town parties, where the estate finishes and the woods begin—right by the second pond ten feet off the gazebo, apparently—and where the master key is kept. How she acquired this knowledge, Damon doesn't ask, chalks it up to having spent a childhood getting up to no good while the adults played 'responsible socialites'. In reality, he doesn't care.
The two of them spend some time figuring out the help's schedules, because the townspeople might be too distracted by the party to notice the commotion of someone getting killed in the next room but a bored waiter or maid will definitely notice, and Damon's going to have to compel a few people to look the other way and ignore all noise out of the norm. Caroline tells him how many people Carol Lockwood usually has working on a day like that—it's a surprising number, almost one person per invitee—and helpfully jots down a list of the people he will have to compel, the one's most likely to walk by where they'll be.
"You need to do it here." She draws a circle on the makeshift blueprint of the house she sketched earlier during their 'let's get to know Lockwood Manor!' conversation.
"Why?" Stefan asks, leaning closer to the table.
"Well, you're not going to kill her in the middle of the dance floor. She looks exactly like Elena, and everybody knows Elena. If her exact copy collapses, with a stake through the heart no less, people will notice." Caroline shrugs like it's the most obvious point in the world. She taps at the circled room with a fingernail polished a dusty rose color. "This room gives you the privacy you need."
After that, it's just a matter of figuring out how to lure Katherine into the room… and how to keep her there. While the obvious option is Bonnie, and Caroline is already phone-out typing away, Damon can't help but press one on his own phone's speed dial, walking closer to the front door as he puts the phone to his hear, searching for some semblance of privacy.
"Pick up, fucking pick up," he mutters as the incessant ringing tone drones into his ear in a two sequence, low pattern. BRR… BRR… BRR… BRR… BRR…BRR… "Oh, fucking—"
The sound of the line finally connecting halts his impatient groan until it sounds like his voice gives out. He waits with surprisingly bated breath, unable to articulate why this particular change of events feels so heavy.
"Hello, you have reached Cassandra Woodhouse. I can't answer your call right now but if you really need my help, leave your information after the tone, or call again later. Thank you."
It's the first time she has ever let it ring long enough for the call to be directed to voicemail, and the polite, clipped vagueness of the message has him frowning. Need her help… for what?
"That's your outgoing message?" Damon scoffs after the dull tone alerts him that his time has started. "What are you, a therapy service? Listen, can you stop being mad at me for a day? We need to talk. You can go back to hating me tomorrow."
He stops. The line remains quiet, and the silence starts to build like the strangest of tensions, like a presence. He clears his throat, eyes finding the crisscrossing wooden ceiling.
"I am sorry, Cassie—and you were right, that was a dickish move. But I am a dick, okay?!" he exclaims, the anger he's been carrying around finally bubbling to the surface.
Still, nothing but silence. Not that he is expecting her to pick up or try and call back.
"Can you call me back, please?" he adds because this radio silence is staring to affect him.
Sure, he did a stupid thing, he gets it. How much longer is she going to punish him for it? How long did you punish her for leaving? His annoying brain pipes up, smug for some reason, though Damon feels absolutely no smugness over this, or that. He ends the voice message, turning to go back to planning, and his eyes fall on Caroline. She's standing by the steps to the foyer, arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.
"What?" Damon asks, tired.
Today has already been long, and it's nowhere near done yet. He will not admit it, but killing Katherine, no matter how much he hates her, is not going to be easy. The last thing he needs is Caroline giving him attitude about the redhead ignoring every single one of his calls.
"Nothing." Caroline shrugs, turning on her heels.
"Caroline." Damon calls despite his better judgement.
She stops, turning back to face him with a surprised expression widening her features. Damon doesn't understand why she looks so surprised; just because he didn't address her in some type of sarcastic, annoyed manner doesn't mean he's uncapable. He's not an animal.
"Is she okay?" Damon asks without pausing to think how it sounds, how Caroline might interpret it, what she might mistake his tone for.
"She's okay." Caroline nods with a tiny smile, head tilting to the right.
Damon believes her, because the two women have gotten closer and closer while it feels like Damon and Cassandra can't be farther away.
Bonnie arrives half an hour later with Emily's grimoire in her hands and looking like she ran here. She's the only one in their little team that poses resistance, going on about how she doesn't want to be involved and people only ever end up hurt whenever they devise any type of plan. Damon can't argue with her there; the only difference is he really doesn't care about people he doesn't know or care about becoming collateral damage. So, he lets his brother deal with that.
By three pm they have a solid enough plan that he and Stefan feel comfortable letting everyone leave. They gather by the living room, going over each person's job like they're heading off to battle.
"So then, I walk around, looking suspicious, until Katherine catches on." Caroline babbles, nodding her head at the same time her entire body goes up and down in some kind of incessant, nervous jiggle. "And I lead her to the upstairs drawing room."
"Which I would have spelled by then." Bonnie nods.
"Yeah, we'll find it right after we get there. Make sure it works." Jeremy agrees.
"And then, it's up to us." Damon smirks, crossing his arms as he leans against the tall table behind the leather Chesterfield couch.
"Are you sure you guys don't want me there tonight?" Alaric asks for the fourth time since he walked through the front door.
"No, I need you to stay with Elena. I don't want her to know about this." Stefan repeats before Alaric can get any more ideas.
"Okay, well, I'll make sure she doesn't leave my sight." Alaric cleared his throat, sounding disappointed.
"Alright, if anybody wants to back out…" Stefan starts. "I'll understand."
"Yeah, cold-feet speak now. I don't want this going wrong if someone chickens out." Damon looks around until his eyes fall on Caroline. She's stopped bouncing in her step but is now staring into the distance. "Caroline."
"I won't!" Caroline blinks, turning to him with crossed arms and a newly found confidence Damon doesn't know where she got from. "Look, she killed me. Fair's fair. As long as there's no werewolf running around…"
Ah, so that's what has her so nervous.
"Oh, I took care of Mason." Damon sends a sly smirk her way.
"And as long as Tyler doesn't kill anyone, he won't turn." Jeremy pipes up.
There's an overall air of agreement as the severity of what's about to happen later tonight settles in their minds. It's strange, the way the atmosphere turns almost excited, eager. Stefan turns to Bonnie, the only one who doesn't seem to be nodding or showing some sign of comradery.
"Bonnie?"
Bonnie holds Emily's grimoire a little closer, a little tighter. Her eyes roam around the circle; her front teeth dig into her bottom lip.
"No one gets hurt." She breathes in, stepping closer into the circle.
Damon doesn't miss the way she looks at him.
"Except Katherine." He concedes. "Tonight, Katherine gets a stake through her heart."
Despite the finality of his statement, the way his lips stretch one more into a smirk, the words leave an acrid taste in his mouth. He tries his best not to think about why.
The Lockwoods know how to throw a party, that's for sure. A party worth celebrities. A party catered specifically for the one-percenters.
Long, polished, mahogany tables stand in rooms lit by hundreds of candles. Platters overfilled with cheeses and meats, fruits toppling out of dark wicker cornucopias, crackers and bagels and dozens of different types of bread lie on top of cream-colored table runners made of the finest linens. There are flower arrangements everywhere, with lavender and white roses, peonies, tinkling flowers—all of different colors, purple, red, white—and big black feathers falling from vases like they're reaching for guests.
Waiters hold trays with champagne flutes filled nearly to the rim with the bubbly beverage. Taittinger champagne, Damon ventured a guess after his first glass. The waiters also carry fancy-looking canapes and vol-au-vent hors d'oeuvres—which tasted delicious. They wear masks, very Venetian Carnival type of masks that match with the entertainment outside.
Because while the inside of the house is open for everyone, the outside is where the real party is. There are acrobats, firebreathers, people doing some sort of gymnastics in silks dangling from the ceiling. A massive dancefloor. A live five-piece band.
Damon stands by the steps leading down to the patio, eyes roaming around the large dancefloor. If Katherine is going to show up anywhere, it's there. Stefan joins him after ten minutes of searching. The two brothers nod at each other, curt.
"Do you see her?"
"Nope. You're sure you can do this?"
"Who are you talking to?" Damon scoffs, appalled.
"Oh, I had the chance to kill her and I hesitated." Stefan shrugs.
His tone of voice suggests Damon backing out will be inevitable, and he won't hold it against him. How generous of him.
"Well, that is the fork in the road between you and me, my friend." Damon offers his brother a smile, bitter and superficial. "I don't hesitate."
Stefan shrugs, again.
"You spent 145 years loving her, it could happen."
"I won't hesitate." He grits out.
"Okay." Stefan hums, unconvinced.
And that's when Damon sees her, any annoyance over Stefan's attitude disappearing with the sight. She's walking across the catwalk between the performers and the dancefloor. Her dress, this tiny, skin-tight, cream colored thing that catches the low light as she moves makes her hypnotising. Her mask covers half her face, but Damon would recognize her anywhere. Part of him is starting to swim through a muddy swamp of panic—her presence only complicates things—but another part is so relieved she didn't leave town he almost topples over.
"Damon, don't do it." Stefan drops one hand on his shoulder, stopping him from descending the stairs. "If she's here, she's most likely working with—"
"Stefan? Shut up."
Stefan doesn't stop him again. Damon makes his way down the steps as quick as it is possible without raising suspicions. He weaves through the crowd of dancing couples and circles of conversation, trying to keep an eye on her before she disappears or sees him first and walks the other way. He turns left, pushing past Mr. Fell and his overexaggerated story of the time he caught a 30-pound trout, and comes face to face with Cassandra.
"Dance with me," are, for some reason, the first words out of his mouth.
"No." Cassandra replies without missing a beat, expression unreadable.
He guesses that's because half her face is covered, but even her eyes reveal nothing. He frowns, stepping back a little. Cassandra looks out into the crowd, eyes falling on something with enough intensity Damon knows he should check, too. Except he's too busy looking at her to even bother turning. His eyes roam down her frame, appreciating the way the dress accentuates every curve in her body, how the candlelight around them seems to bounce off her hair, how the incredible height of her heels makes her ass look…
"Fine." She sighs, turning to him with only enough time for him to break his staring contest with her ass before she catches him looking. "One dance."
"One dance." He smirks, taking a hold of her offered hand.
They walk to the middle of the dance floor. She places one hand on his shoulder at the same time his right hand makes its way to her waist. For the span of three breaths, neither of them speak, just sway to the soft rhythm of the music, close enough together that he can smell her perfume. It's different from the one she wears usually, but just as nice, fruity and fresh.
"I got your bouquet." Damon comments, adding a teasing tone to his voice he doesn't mean.
"Did you?"
"Mhm. It's been a while since someone told me to 'go fuck myself' in flower."
A surprised laugh tinkles out of her. She pulls back enough to look at him, eyes dancing.
"You're rusty, because that is not what I meant."
"Not directly, but I got the gist." Damon allows a smile.
"I was being passive aggressive, sorry," she says with a grimace. Damon shrugs, guiding her other hand to his neck, resting his on her elbow. Their eyes meet. "I got your message, too. Both of them."
His heart stammers.
"I… was being passive aggressive."
Cassandra smiles, wide and bright, and his chest seems to lift at the sight.
"No, you weren't."
She's right, and she knows it. The stupid flowers seemed to be the only way she was willing to communicate, so he caved. That doesn't mean he wants to talk about it. How he had to find that stupid book because he is rusty, and he couldn't remember what the hell half of the flowers in that store meant. How he had to stand there and tell the man behind the counter exactly what flowers he needed, even if the man looked at him like he was a little insane, especially each time he suggested something that would match a little better and Damon shot him down immediately. He's not talking about it. So, he twirls her around and, instead, says:
"Happy birthday."
"Oh." Cassandra blinks, this time putting both arms around his neck without Damon having to prompt her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
His thumb rubs at the crook of her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder moves across until it finds his other shoulder, pulling their bodies closer. The band finishes one song and starts another straight away. He doesn't move away, despite their agreement only extending to one dance. Neither does Cassie. He smirks. She rolls her eyes, looking over his shoulder.
"Can I make a request?" she asks after a beat, eyes still somewhere behind him. Damon hums. "Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight."
He frowns, mostly because he's disturbed by the fact she thinks she's in danger, and mostly because the words seem vaguely familiar.
"Are you quoting Othello at me?"
"Well, I could cite the Scottish Play, but I doubt the performers here would appreciate it."
Her eyes go back to him. The teasing undertone of her voice has him fighting another smile. After a beat of silence, her eyes seem to lose their spark.
"I mean it, though. Kill me tomorrow. I don't want to die on my birthday, however poetic it may be."
"No one's killing you." He assures her, allowing the weightiness he feels at the idea come up to the surface.
She tilts her head slightly to the right, eyes shining with something that resembles sympathy a lot. She looks at him like he's being naïve. He doesn't like it.
"No?" her eyes go back to looking behind him. "The Ripper of Monterey seems to have other ideas."
Damon turns. On the other side of the dancefloor, Stefan and Katherine are dancing, in a much more hostile manner than Damon and Cassie, with Katherine making sure every single movement is oversexualized, eyes falling on the other couples dancing like a predator seeking prey. Stefan, however, is watching them with dark, narrowed eyes.
"You know." Damon states, turning back to Cassandra.
"I had my suspicions."
They let go of each other at the same time. Disappointment weighs his stomach.
"Why are you here, Cassie?"
Something flashes behind her eyes, sharp and dangerous.
"Give me the moonstone, Damon."
He scoffs, bitter. Of course, she's helping Katherine. Stefan is, once more, right. Great.
"This is bigger than you realize. Just—" her hands find his arm, tugging at it firmly. "Give it to me, I'll keep it safe."
He looks away from her, from her big, wide, pleading eyes. The party is still at full blast, but what once looked fun and classy, now seems dull, tacky, boring. He releases a breath; frustration eats away at his chest.
"Be on my side." He demands, harsh.
She lets go of his arm, lips furrowed with that same calm rage that used to scare him. Now, it only serves as fuel to his own.
"Be on mine." She juts her chin out, challenging.
"I'm not the one fraternizing with the enemy." He hisses at her.
"And I'm not the one second-guessing your every move!" she exclaims, getting one step closer just so she can dig one accusing finger into his chest.
"So, what? I'm supposed to think you're here just for the champagne?" Damon scoffs, sarcastic.
"No, you're supposed to give me the benefit of the doubt." Cassandra's tone is accusing, and when her voice wavers, Damon can't figure out if it's out anger, or something else. "You're supposed to be my friend."
"I'm trying, dammit!" he bursts out, troubled. "But you are making it very, very difficult to like you."
"I could say the same thing about you." She defies.
They pause, staring at each other for a second of tense silence that is only broken by the music continuing around them, sudden bursts of laughter from somewhere in the crowd. Damon has nothing else to say, has ran out of patience. Apparently, so has she. Cassandra sends him one last look, before twirling around and storming off. Damon doesn't stop her, no matter how much he may want to.
UPDATED: 27/01/2020