Summary: There was a price to pay for Elena coming back. To win a life with Stefan and her own humanity back, she must fulfill her promise to destroy the Old Ones.

Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.

Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
* Author's Note(s)

Date posted: 15 February 2004

* Welcome to the longest chapter in the story to date. At 13k words, it's more than twice as long as the previous few installments. There's been a change in my formatting. I'm nailing dates on each of the scenes. From this point on, there will be intervals when nothing happens and the dates will indicate how much time has passed between one scene and the next. The dates are based on the actual 1993 calendar, so if you catch me in an error, please point it out. ^_^

Chapter 55 is done but I'm having trouble with the last two chapters. *plays chicken with the wall* I intend to post the remaining three chapters in a fairly short space of time.. say, every other day. So I'll need to finish the entire story before the next update comes.

Thank you, Moreta, for the huge, marvelous comment-laden email! Oh, and remember the time I said 'all hell just broke loose'...? *grins*

Enjoy!

Chapter countdown: 3

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~ Fifty Four ~

(12 September 1993)

The palace was in shambles.

It had been less than two months since Elena came to unmake the Old One. The elaborate gardens were going slightly wild. The hardier plants were creeping over the edges of their pots and trellises, the frailer ones withering.

The building itself stood but it was abandoned, gutted, looted. The graceful marble walls were smoke-stained. The rich wall hangings were shredded, left to be trodden underfoot. Whatever decorations that were worth money had been removed. Items of little value had been scattered carelessly during the search and remained where they had fallen.

Eiran wondered if this was Jerrick's operatives' doing or if someone else had used the palace for a hideout in the time since it had been invaded. He doubted the latter; it had been too short a time for another to discover this remote location.

Perhaps it was Elena's pain over this entire fiasco that had transmitted itself to him; he looked about and saw with eyes shadowed with regret: that a people who had once lived in such peace, joy and beauty should be utterly crushed.

He resisted the urge to wander, lost in memories of the attack, wrapped in thoughts of Elena. Instead, he forced himself to focus on business and called for a reconnaissance first.

Max dropped his pack in a corner where it would disturb little - having first examined it - and proceeded to quarter the place. He told the rest to stay put. There was a patina of dust on the marble floor that held clues and having them traipse about obliviously might destroy any tracks that had been made.

On a hunch, Eiran directed him to the Old One's chamber.

The hunter prowled the room, then came to a fairly central spot. "Take a look at this," he said softly, beckoning.

Eiran joined him, matching the hunter's position by resting on his haunches.

"You said people were last here two months ago?"

Eiran nodded. "There _shouldn't_ be any tracks then since the floor had been clean," he added thoughtfully.

Max agreed, turning his attention to the ground. "See here, all the way down the corridor and around the room." He drew a circle in the air above the floor and Eiran thought he could make out a disturbance, a clear spot in the dust.

"That's a paw print. A mighty big wolf, unless I miss my guess. And here," he moved a bit, drawing another circle in the air, this one larger. "That's a human footprint. Bare." He sat back on his heels and looked up at Eiran meaningfully. "That's the only footprint in the room; no human tracks leading to this spot. Both tracks are no more than a month old. See how more dust has settled on the print so it's not completely clean?"

Eiran frowned, echoing his movement but staring at the floor. The arch of the foot and the toes was actually quite visible now that it had been pointed out. "Werewolf?" he speculated.

Max shrugged and rose. "Maybe. Give me a couple more minutes, then if we can't find anything else, we can get Terry in here to do her thing."

Fifteen minutes later, they were all in the chamber, kneeling or sitting on the dusty ground in a circle around the footprint. Terry had poured some water from a canteen into a bowl and placed it in front of her knees.

"What do I look for?" she asked, looking at Eiran.

He let his eyes roam the room, thoughtful. They were searching for clues of the sixth's whereabouts. He, or a minion, had been in this room. At least, that was the premise. "Use the mark. See what you can find out about the one who made it," he instructed. "A location would be good."

He had little hope of results; Terry's reach was limited and it was unlikely that the Old One or his creatures were still in the area after a month. But it was a start and the best case he could think of.

Terry frowned down at the track. Eiran had a feeling she disapproved that the print was something she couldn't toss into her bowl. He refrained from comment, letting her wield her gift.

Her eyes closed and everyone fell silent, waiting. Jasmine saw it first and hissed softly; a ghostly form appeared, four-legged and huge. It came padding in behind Terry and passed right through her to stop at the edge of the circle.

Eiran dared to lean forward and peer through the half-seen image: its paw rested over the mark in the dust.

It paused, nose to the ground. Then its head came back and its throat opened in a silent howl.

The image blurred then, and Eiran thought Terry was losing control of the scry, but the wolf changed, reformed. A lean man with golden skin crouched there, fingertips resting on the ground. Fine straight hair trailed like a black river down his back, pooling on the ground. He stayed like that for a long moment, eyes closed. His lips moved finally, then he opened his eyes and Eiran could see that they glowed like jade discs.

The ghostly figure rose, took one step forward, then there was a flutter of feathers and a dove winged out the window into the garden.

They all stared at the window for a time after that. Finally, Alvin muttered, "I guess there are tracks even you can't read, Max." The jibe seemed to break the spell.

Eiran turned back to the diviner to find her sitting still, eyes tightly shut. "Terry?"

"There is something..." she trailed off, a strain in her voice.

The rest were instantly attentive.

The hand that had been hovering near the track in the dust suddenly slapped against the ground, fingers spread, palm flat. Dust skittered away and then, the room was a whirl of ethereal sights and sounds. A hundred voices suddenly rose, ringing out in laughter. The rest of the palace was alight, as could be seen through the windows and doors leading into the courtyard.

They were surrounded.

At first, they saw no one. Then figures coalesced all around them.

Max and Alvin were on their feet, hair-trigger reflexes propelling them to reach for weapons. But blade and witchfire passed through the gossamer shapes harmlessly. Eiran grabbed Alvin's elbow and Nelson held a hand up to stop Max from advancing. Jasmine moved to hover over Terry, who was still locked in the grip of some Power.

"Wait. They're not real. They're just... memories," Eiran said in a hushed tone, eyes on one inhumanly beautiful figure.

"Memories?" Max asked, adrenaline transmuting into fury. "Whose?"

Eiran didn't answer. He got up and walked to the doors leading to the gardens. Diagonal across the courtyard, he could see more figures dancing in the golden glow of the main hall. The ethereal lights cast everything in warmth. Laughter spilled with the light out the double doors, and music.

A young girl ran out of the hall, smiling a secret smile. Her hair flew behind her, multicolored beads anchoring the ends.

He recognized her; she had been lying beside Elena when they found them and there had been blood on her hands. Elena's blood. And the knife that lay in Elena's heart had been hers.

A male vampire followed soon after. His lips moved but Eiran couldn't make out what was said. He disappeared down the garden paths after the girl.

Nelson yelped, making Eiran turn away from the little drama.

The figure crossing the room was _not_ ghostly. He looked as solid as any member of the team, yet as Eiran watched, the figure strode right into Alvin - and passed right through him.

There was more than one of him. At least eight clones of the powerfully-built man was doing various things around the room at once; dressing, reading, speaking to a more insubstantial-looking figure, bathing, eating, sleeping, playing some sort of game...

Eiran knew him, just as Alvin did. He knew the beautiful face, that powerful body. He had seen it once, lying in hiding and watching the Old One enter his chambers were Elena waited to deal with him.

Athanasia Omar, Elena had called him.

The girl Eiran had been watching earlier dashed through the doors and flew into the arms of one of the Old One's images. Her figure was more translucent than his but visible. He engulfed her, then turned his head to let her whisper into his ear. Whatever she said made him throw back his head and laugh. The girl smiled, pleased with herself.

The walls seemed to vibrate and groan.

Terry cried out. Her hand jerked away from the floor as if scalded and everything disappeared as if a switch had been thrown. The diviner collapsed sideways against Jasmine, clutching her head. "What... the hell..." she gasped out, weak but heartfelt.

Max looked ready to kill something; his nerves were drawn so tight. Nelson was wild-eyed too. Alvin was self-contained - far too restrained to be characteristic.

Eiran shook himself and walked over to the two women.

"This is an Old One's Palace. Or was, once," he reminded Terry gently. His voice slid low, becoming a bit abstract. He remembered Elena telling him about the Old One. His eyes wandered the room as he spoke. "He lived here for hundreds of years. He sculpted the walls with his Power. They still resonate with that Power, and therefore, with the essence of him."

"Are you sure you have no witch blood in you? You talk psychic mumbo-jumbo like a natural," Terry muttered, watching him with her head on Jasmine's shoulder. Her ruffled calm was smoothing. Jasmine helped her right herself and she put a hand to her head as if it would fall off without the support. "Hell, Eiran, it's getting so a girl can't do a straight scry around you without something crazy happening!"

Eiran smiled, becoming less detached.

The rest came back together, visibly trying to shake that bizarre experience off.

"So.. what now?" Nelson spoke up.

No one answered at once. They stared at each other blankly. Now it was Eiran's turn to rub his head and sigh.

"We came here looking for hints about where the sixth Old One might be. What we saw was a shapeshifter - possibly a scout. We don't know what he found, but we do know that someone came around here before we did," he recapped.

"Uh-huh.. and that means, what?" Max asked testily.

"Oh, hush, Max," Jasmine scolded. "He's trying to think."

"Trying," Max retorted, but he did so quietly.

Silence fell again. Eiran got up and walked around the room. He traced the walls, one hand trailing the irregular surface. He had completed half the circuit before he stopped.

"Terry."

They were all looking at him expectantly. The diviner lifted her chin in silent inquiry.

"You found the woman with Max's earring - and me - as a focus. Because we were all Turned." He waited for her to nod agreement to that statement. "Could you find one Old One with an object from another Old One?"

He watched her weigh that question, watched her eyes follow his hand where it rested on the wall. Watched her eyes widen. Her head started going from side to side. "Oh no, you don't...no no no..."

He took his hand off the wall and started walking towards her, speaking persuasively. "The Power in the Palace will boost your range, if we can harness it. Alvin, Jasmine?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the diviner.

"Elena would channel the Power at me and Maddy and Trent but that was wild Power from the Old One's unmaking," the combat witch said. He was also looking around the room with new eyes. "I won't know if I can do anything when it's tied to something else. Not until the Power is awakened again, like it was earlier."

Jasmine shrugged, neither agreeing nor objecting.

Eiran crouched in front of Terry so that they were at eye level with each other. She was too stubborn to look away first. "If you can link to Alvin and Jasmine, we'll see if they can back you up," he said, sounding more reassuring than authoritative. He kept his voice under control, easing her to acquiescence, not forcing it.

He waited patiently, keeping eye contact, letting her take her time.

At last, she gave a little shudder and looked away. "Okay."

They reassembled around the little bowl. Terry rested both hands flat on the floor. The insubstantial images and sounds resumed almost instantly. Alvin and Jasmine each put a hand on her shoulder. The male witch removed his after a while and shook his head silently; there was nothing he could do.

Jasmine stayed locked with Terry. The images receded, slowly, slowly, so that at first the fading was barely perceptible.

As silence returned, the bowl clouded over, as if all the images were being sucked into the water. All four men watched intently. Only Eiran - and to a lesser extent, Alvin - recognized the images appearing.

They recognized the skyline of the first image easily enough; Seattle, the Baron mansion. The image changed: a dank, cobble-stone street in Quebec. Then the image blurred again and the marble Palace glowed briefly in the bowl, then became a tall, glass-fronted building: Birmingham, and Emson McModrey's office. Then the temple in Leh where they had picked up the trail for the sixth

The water filmed over, roiled like milk. There was one last image; a globe appeared in the opaque depths, turning east to west. The continents glowed red against the bluer 'seas' as the 'world' spun. Here and there, bright specks of scarlet shone.

Northwest China. India. Turkey. Egypt. England. Quebec. New York City. Peru. Seattle.

Some dots shone brighter than the others: Turkey, England, Quebec, New York, Seattle. It took a few cycles for Eiran to catch the significance; the places that shone the brightest were locations where they had definite knowledge of Old Ones' presence - all, that is, except for New York.

He sat back and took a deep breath. He didn't notice the plants lifting their heads and arms as if to the sun, nor the eerie howling that filled the woods surrounding the palace.

His mind was fixed on only one thing. New York.

* There's a bit of back-story here that I should explain at this point. For many years now, the wolves in the forests surrounding Athanasia Omar's palace have been plagued with rabies. There's more about this related to that girl who stabbed Elena, the one with the beads in her hair, but I won't go into all that. I've actually got a short piece written on her life - incomplete and primarily for worldbuilding in writing Leaf. Suffice to say that Jasmine used some of the Power of the Palace to heal the wolves of their rabies and to give the plants a little boost while she was at it.

* * *

(4 October 1993)

It was Samar's birthday.

In a rare gesture of affection - also because he had forgotten the date - Tristan had agreed to treat everyone to dinner. Samar had wanted to choose the place and her brother had carelessly agreed.

She had named a gay bar.

Stefan had choked, Tristan had balked and after some heated debate, the siblings had settled on the venue that Samar had wanted all along anyway.

It was an upscale club that catered to an eclectic clientele mix, primarily young professionals looking for somewhere to escape from their everyday lives, if only briefly.

_Seraphim Loft_ was certainly a place to go for that, Leon granted. The atmosphere of the club was otherworldly, almost dreamy. It was certainly unique enough to take the mind off mundane concerns.

The first impression one got was that of a maze of asymmetrical platforms at varying heights that dipped downwards towards the stage. The floor was gleaming grey-veined white tile except for the polished beige wood of the dance floor in front of the stage. The walls blended from the pale blue of dawn to the slate grey of dusk to the deep blue of a night sky in artistic intervals. The royal blue stage drew the eye, as it was meant to.

Off-white pillars soared up twelve feet to disappear into the gloom shrouding the ceiling. Eight-foot tall seraphim bearing swords were carved into the base of each pillar, with smaller angels flitting over their heads. Where the multi-tiered platforms met the pillars, curling off-white cornices hinted at clouds. The theme was echoed by the waist-high matte-grey grills that rimmed each platform.

A waiter led them to a table on a mid-tier with a good view of the stage below. Leon held the chair for Samar as they were seated, then took the place beside her.

His birthday gift glinted gold on her right index finger. Their eyes met and they shared a smile; hers was impish and made her eyes dance.

They had been reading Tolkien's The Lord of The Rings over the last week and he had decided to give her the 'one ring to rule them all', complete with an elvish inscription on the inside of the band. He had presented it to her in the car, a little nervous about how the gift would be received.

Giving the girl you loved a ring - even as a gag - was risky business; he didn't need an audience, particularly not one that contained her volatile brother.

She had met the gift with glee and clutched it to her, hissing, "My precious..."

She turned away from him and looked around the table, visibly upbeat. He was glad to see her so; too often in the past weeks, she had seemed gripped in melancholy that was completely uncharacteristic. Her unfathomable moods made trying to strengthen their budding romance a delicate business.

He had watched her, trying to assess how she was handling the transition back to humanity. Her frustration with human limitations was almost tangible at times, particularly in the area of physical ability. If she missed the mental powers of vampires, she did not let on. He knew she felt left out when the vampires slipped away to hunt in the evenings but she kept that to herself for the most part.

And yet, at times he also saw her contented with her lot, in little things like choosing her food, her probing into the possibility of a college education, the way she got along with some of the Turned - even Taura, with whom she had apparently formed an odd 'Insults-R-Us' relationship.

Leon could not tell what her decision would be on the matter of her humanity but he tried to blunt Tristan's continued pressure on the subject.

Samar's foot hit his calf under the table, a little less than gently, and he reminded himself that now was not the time to worry about such things.

Samar was not the only one in a cheerful mood that evening; Taura was in fine form, baiting Makoe and arguing with Tristan in turn. Karen was consulting Stefan on which pasta to order - figuring he was the expert in Italian cuisine - while Elena pored over the menu beside him.

Leon also glanced at the menu and decided on a snack - not that it made a difference to him, but he found that joining in the eating helped the mood of things. So all three vampires would order something light and make a pretense of eating. And later, they would hunt and seek true nourishment.

After the waiter had taken their orders and departed, lighthearted - or sometimes cuttingly sarcastic - talk ensued. Leon sat back, letting himself absorb the companionable chatter. It was quite remarkable, really, he reflected, considering that three of the eight people at the table were vampires, another two were vampire hunters, two more _had_ been vampires and the last was so extraordinary that it almost defied explanation.

Elena, Samar and Taura were ganging up on Tristan when they were interrupted.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

Everyone at the table looked up at the drawled observation. A young human with all-American good looks stood with his arms crossed, eyeing Tristan.

"Craig," Samar's brother acknowledged and half rose in his seat to clasp the other's hand. "Playing here tonight?"

"Yeah, been doing that for the past couple of weeks." There were questions swimming just below the surface of that casual tone.

Karen cleared her throat pointedly.

Tristan glanced back to the table. "Craig, Karen Oliver."

Leon was vaguely surprised that Tristan new the huntress' name, but then, they had been doing the gunner bonding thing.

Craig eyed Karen. Karen eyed back.

"Taura, Makoe, Stefan, Elena, Samar, Leon," Tristan continued, going around the table in sequence. "Everyone, this is Craig Miller, bassist for Cold Metal Charms."

Leon recognized the name of the band Tristan had been playing with regularly before their lives had been turned upside down nearly four months ago.

The vampires rarely came into contact with the humans another member of the hunt interacted with. Leon noted with interest that Tristan's manner changed around the bassist - he was more relaxed - and wondered if this was the persona he put on or if he was genuinely easy-going around the human.

Craig nodded politely to each of them as they were named, then his baby blues settled back on Tristan and he jerked his head in the direction of the stage. "You with us tonight?"

Tristan chewed his lip, looking down at the royal blue oval platform. "Yeah," he said softly, slowly, in a tone Leon had never heard form him before. "Yeah, I think I'm up for something."

Slim white arms suddenly snaked around Tristan's neck. "Are you now?" was the suggestive question. "And what might that something be?"

Leon hadn't even noticed the girl approach and the sudden appearance sent a jolt of adrenaline through him on reflex.

White teeth flashed in a grin as the lanky vampire turned his head. "Sin." At least that's what it sounded like.

That would actually have been an apt name for the sultry brunette in her see-through black top and swirling, slitted, leg-baring skirt. Leon had to look closely to make sure she wasn't a vampire; she had that air about her.

"Where have you been, hotshot?" she asked and only vampiric hearing caught that low, furry murmur. Her lips were a quarter inch from Tristan's ear. If he turned a bit more, they lips would have met.

Leon felt another kick - more forceful this time - and saw the derisive curl on Samar's lip. Tristan's sister did _not_ approve.

"Around," Tristan said vaguely. His manner did not invite questions. He didn't get the chance to repeat the introduction - although Leon rather doubted that he would have anyway - when another voice broke in.

"Move over, Cynthia; it's my turn."

Cynthia - not Sin, but close - unwound herself from Tristan and turned to smile coyly at the man who had spoken. "Of course, James," she said and trailed a finger down his arm as she _slid_ past him.

He didn't twitch and his expression didn't change, but it was obvious he didn't enjoy the teasing. He came forward and threw an arm around Tristan's shoulders companionably and smiled around the table. "Hi, all."

"Hey, James," Tristan said casually. "How's it going?"

The man bent until his face was level with the vampire's. His shoulder-length brown hair brushed Tristan's shirt. "Not bad, but the Charms were lacking a strong lead guitar. Dude, I can't play lead after all this time as second fiddle!" He chuckled softly at his pun and Leon felt Samar's fingernails dig into his arm.

He had caught on, too, and felt an eyebrow strain to lift. Tristan might not be into the gay scene but apparently it had found an interest in _him_.

Tristan made a sound of disbelief. "Yeah, sure. I've heard you play, remember? Could have fooled me."

"Tristan! You're back!"

It was another new voice and Leon saw a girl with hair the color of sunset bounding up the stairs and running across the platform to their table. The brunette, Cynthia, took an adroit step, putting herself squarely in the girl's beeline path to the vampire. The effect was immediate; the newcomer slowed and her expression closed. By the time she reached them, she was walking.

Leon could not help compare the two women. Beside the seductive Cynthia, the new girl looked positively wholesome in her form-fitting white sweater and navy slacks.

Tristan got up to greet her, and James' hand fell away. "Depends, Aime," the vampire told the girl. "You got that crossover covered yet?"

"Just try me." She tried to look belligerent but Leon was not fooled by the tough-girl-next-door act. He saw the way her eyes glowed when she looked at Tristan.

Oddly, he could not read Tristan's manner towards _her_. It might have been purely professional or it might have been more. He was certainly not oblivious to girls by any stretch of imagination. Leon wondered how he felt about this one.

He found the entire encounter bemusing. Was Tristan's entire band secretly - or not so secretly - infatuated with him? A Tristan fan club? How did the group dynamics work there?

Although, it did make sense. As impetuous as he was, Tristan still had the inhuman grace and sense of 'other' of a vampire. The latter was sometimes mistaken for 'mystery', but whatever it was called, it intrigued some. His sense of reckless danger no doubt added a second allure.

Samar was watching Aime with cool appraisal. Leon's lips quirked when he noticed Taura doing the same.

"So you'll join us, right?" Aime was saying, stuffing her hands in her pocket. It was an endearingly innocent gesture. "We haven't changed very much of the show."

"I'd need an instrument-" Tristan broke off, looking distracted. "We'll work something out," he said at last. He gave her a quick, flashing smile and Leon nearly winced at the effect it had on her.

Their food arrived then and Craig excused the four band members. James and Aime linked arms companionably and left. The bassist all but herded Cynthia along. The brunette threw a knowing smile over her shoulder and blew Leon a kiss.

Samar bristled. Without thinking, Leon covered her hand with his and squeezed. He withdrew it almost immediately and picked up his fork to cover the motion, pretending not to notice Samar giving him a look.

Karen was watching the Charms flatly with eyebrows raised, as if she didn't quite believe what she had just seen. Taura made a snide remark. Samar just glared at her brother. Makoe looked as unaffected as ever, although Leon suspected that he was amused. Stefan and Elena were both carefully neutral.

Tristan fielded Taura's comment with matching fire. The glimpse of amiability was gone; he was 'their' Tristan again. The vampire made short work of his buffalo wings and chips, downed his beer and left the table.

Leon ate his chicken salad, letting Samar steal the cherry tomatoes and picking up a couple of her fries in return. Talk resumed, but without Tristan as a convenient target for barbed comments - or perhaps the humans were focused on their food - conversation was desultory.

The canned music faded and the lights dimmed - not enough to make it dark, but subtly enough to make everyone pause and look around. Then, "Ladies and gentlemen, Cold Metal Charms," an invisible announcer introduced the band.

Spotlights came on, following the band members who strode through the curtain. There was a smatter of applause, energetic enough to be more than polite.

Aime took her place behind the drums, which had been set up on the raised tier above the stage. Craig and James appeared with their guitars slung in front of them. Cynthia, surprisingly, did not take the microphone, but went to the keyboard already in place.

Craig nodded and Aime set a beat with her drumsticks. Then sound rippled outwards like a wave from the stage. A measure into the music, Craig leaned into the mic stand and Cynthia joined in on the third bar, laying a purr beneath the melody.

They both carried the tune well enough, supporting the instruments. The lyrics added depth of meaning to the music. Leon tried to remember if he had heard Tristan play this song before.

The Charms played slow rock, with enough of an edge to the music to meet Samar's approval. She caught the beat and started moving in time, interest avid in her face. Whatever else she might think of the members of the band, there was no denying that they were good at what they did.

Each member of the band took a turn with a solo; first James on the guitar, then Craig, then Aime and Cynthia, who added her voice to the end of her solo run and brought everyone in again for a final chorus.

The applause that erupted after Aime had brought the drumstick down on the last stroke was more enthusiastic than before.

"Thank you. Those of you who have been here some time in the past two weeks probably know us. That's Aime, James and Cynthia and I'm Craig. Tonight, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the fifth member of our band. He has not been able to join us until tonight and we hope that this will be the first of many nights to come. Please help me welcome Tristan!"

People clapped because they were impressed with Craig Miller and the Charms. They clapped because Craig's endorsement of Tristan carried weight. The people seated at the vampires' table clapped because they knew Tristan. But the vampires and ex-vampires applauded wholeheartedly because they knew the caliber of musician Tristan was.

Elena looked intrigued, Taura skeptical.

Then Tristan came on stage, looking almost disappointingly normal in his denims and black shirt. He lifted a hand and nodded in thanks - or acknowledgement - and the audience quieted. The band must have discussed the choreography before the show began. Tristan took the mic from Craig, clapping him on the shoulder in passing. The bassist moved back and a bit to the left and Tristan took center stage.

All froze, then by some unspoken signal, the instruments started at once, Aime with a downbeat the same instant the men struck a single, harmonized note on the strings so that the sound vibrated and formed a base for the rippling cascade of crystal notes Cynthia produced. The keyboard riff repeated with the guitars building on it, twining with it.

On the third run, Tristan looked up and started singing.

The music continued, soft, and Tristan matched the mood, almost crooning. His voice was pure sound and emotion, smoothing all trace of personality away. There was no trace of the impetuous vampire, the impatient brother, nothing but a man caught up in the tale told in words and melody.

At the end of the verse, Tristan stepped back and Aime hit a bridge, picking up the beat. The urgency of the music skyrocketed. James flicked a pedal on the floor and a dissonant chord wailed from his guitar. Craig and Cynthia were barely heard amid the insistent call of the drums and the plaintive keen of the guitar.

The tune soared and just as it crescendoed, Tristan grabbed the mic and joined his voice to the music. Sound exploded, hitting like a tangible thing. They dueled, musicians and vocalist, fighting for control of the song, neither quite able to conquer the other, locked in a breathless match that resulted in an almost euphoric synergism, like a pair of magnificent horses matched in stride.

Just when Leon was beginning to recover from the shock of it, the two diverged, the instruments taking up one theme and Tristan singing a bridge like a countermelody. The singer spread his free hand wide, threw back his head as if asking the audience to stand witness to the avowal of bittersweet, angry love he made to an unknown female.

He stood like that, while the music crashed over him, over them all. Craig echoed the last line of the refrain with fingers running down the fret board in a blur and then Aime brought both hands down.

The silence was almost shocking after the electric sound. Then the audience went wild. There were catcalls, whistles, screams and roars of approval.

Samar was on her feet, unabashedly applauding and everyone else at the table echoed her move. Taura was round-eyed, quite stunned. Karen looked impressed. Makoe was nodding to something Stefan said, clapping along with everyone else.

"Why hasn't that group been signed up?" Leon caught from another table.

Because the lead singer/guitarist/songwriter would never go for it, he answered them silently. To be recorded was to risk exposure. It was too much in the limelight, too close to the public eye.

"Thank you."

Tristan didn't even sound hoarse and his words only caused another round of frantic applause. It took a while to quiet the crowd again.

"Thank you." A flashing smile from the stage. "It's good to be back."

Leon wondered if Tristan knew the effect that little sentence would have on his audience. If he really wanted quiet, he had just undone all he had set out to do.

When order was once again marginally restored, he introduced the next song and the band launched into a smooth mellow number. To give everyone a chance to catch their breath, perhaps.

People went back to the food they had abandoned previously and by the time the third song ended, the waiter had cleared their table and gotten them refills. Cynthia took the microphone for a fourth song with Tristan on the keyboard, but as sexy as she was strutting around the stage, her singing prowess was nothing spectacular.

A club employee brought a high stool from the bar, positioned it so that it faced both the band and the front of the stage, then the mic stand in front of it. Tristan left the keyboard, reclaimed the micr from Cynthia, then spoke while taking the guitar from James.

"We're going to do a bit of jamming tonight." A dangerous proposition before an audience, but the vampire sounded completely unselfconscious. The audience certainly liked the idea, from the cheers that greeted that announcement. "This is a little something I wrote while I was away. You guys are going to be the first to hear it performed. Aime, Craig, follow my lead."

That sounded a bit more like Tristan; not exactly brimming with social grace.

He perched on the stool, ran his hands over the strings experimentally. The scales his fingers produced melded into a tune, plucked note by lonely note.

Aime had swapped to brush sticks and came in with a hushed little rumble in the background. Craig was watching Tristan's fingers intently.

Leon felt his hand grabbed and tugged.

"Dance with me," Samar said simply but insistently when he looked at her with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Is this the right time?" he asked, looking at the empty dance floor.

"That's Tristan down there singing a half-decent song and it's my nineteenth birthday. It's perfect. Now come on!" she said and he yielded.

They ran down the stairs, but Leon tugged her to a more decorous pace before the reached the dance floor. He kept half an ear on the music as Tristan started singing and experienced a jolt at the topic: shadows. Not just any shadows but shadows as a euphemism for vampirism.

To an oblivious human, Tristan might have been singing about anything; depression, alcoholism, drugs or any of a dozen vices.

Leon knew better.

Samar stopped and faced him, lifting her face to him. He set aside thoughts of Tristan as he put his arms around her. He felt a bit stiff, uncomfortable with being the only people on the dance floor with all eyes on them.

The reflection of the spotlights on the stage illuminated half her face, casting the other half in darkness. The sullen beat of the song was not good for anything but slow dancing. Reluctant, but too self-conscious to do anything else, Leon held Samar close. His hands found her waist and settled there far too comfortably for his peace of mind. She twined her arms around his neck and put her head on his chest.

They danced, moving slowly with bare little steps, bodies in contact. It should have been wonderful and romantic.

It was not.

Mercifully, other couples joined them, led by Stefan and Elena. That couple took the attention off him, as good as they looked together. Leon relaxed marginally and with the loss of tension, instinct took over and his hands tightened on the subdued body he held in his arms. His hands flattened, trailed up her back.

"Samar?" he said softly, meaning, 'are you all right?'

Tristan had stopped singing and was playing the melody while Aime and Craig experimented with ways to best accompany it.

Samar lifted her face to him again but said nothing. The upturned face tempted him to kiss her. But no; it was too soon, and they were in public, to boot.

But there was more.

That white neck, bared and vulnerable, called to him without words, the sweet singing of her now-human blood in those delicate veins an insidious lure.

It had not been long after her transformation that his hunger had awakened and taken notice of her. He had been horrified the first time he had felt that familiar ache in his jaw when they were alone together. He had been doubly careful to feed regularly since then, and not let down his guard around her.

Standing with her on the dance floor, he settled for sinking the fingers of one hand into her cool, silky locks. The feel of her hair sliding around his hand was a sensory delight all by itself.

He smiled gently at her, wanting to say, 'I love you.' But again, they were in public, and he felt that using telepathy was inappropriate since she could no longer respond in kind. Nor did he want to make it seem that he was flaunting his vampirism.

His fingers found the back of her neck, stroked the smooth, delicate skin there almost against his will.

Her eyes closed and she breathed a soft sigh. Her arms tightened, bringing her body into tighter pressure against his.

The feel of her so close was almost dizzying, suddenly igniting two hungers at once.

Having her aware of his desire was bad enough; to try and nibble her, especially here in public, would have been intolerable. Both might happen, one lust feeding on another, if he didn't do something about it.

He forced himself to put his hand back on her waist and eased a bit of space between them. He didn't miss the tensing of her body. She ducked her head so he couldn't see her expression, but her nonverbal messages clearly told him she was unhappy about something.

The song ended then. He took a step back and bowed over her hand in a courtly fashion. This much he could do; putting all his emotion into it, he touched his lips to her knuckles. He tried to peep up at her face as he rose, but her hair shadowed her too well.

"Shall we go back to the table?" he asked.

She nodded jerkily and didn't give him a chance to ask what was wrong before spinning on her heel and striding back to the stairs.

Leaving a man on the dance floor was considered a deadly insult once and was still embarrassing. Leon hurried after her and caught up at the foot of the stairs.

"Samar," he held her elbow to halt her.

She gave him a blank look that told him she was hiding something. The look was unnatural; Samar was never neutral and her emotions were always clear to see, whether good or bad.

Alarmed, his fingers tightened. "There's no joy in your eyes anymore," he murmured, stepped closer. "Where has it gone?"

She turned to go back up the stairs, shrugging noncommittally. "I'm fine," she said flatly, a blatant lie.

He started to argue, but Makoe's thought touched his mind. ::Time to go.::

Leon followed her back to their table just as Tristan wrapped up the performance. He seated Samar again, trying to make eye contact. She sat down and picked up her drink. Stefan and Elena arrived back at the table just then.

Leon found Makoe watching him with cool dark eyes. The cold vampire tipped his head silently towards the entrance.

Leon shot a frustrated glance at Samar, then touched her elbow to get her attention. He caught Stefan's eye simultaneously. "Can you get a ride back with Stefan and Elena?" he asked her softly.

The Italian looked startled, then understanding dawned and he nodded to indicate that that would not be a problem.

Samar looked confused and unhappy to be so. "Well, yeah,-"

"We have to go. Tristan is already waiting outside," he added when the tall vampire sent an impatient message.

"But-" She broke off, looking at him full on, no masks now. He saw the comprehension dawn on her. "You're going hunting."

Leon nodded, then closed to plant a light peck on her temple, "We'll see you back in the cabin," he promised.

Makoe had walked off without a word and Leon followed, but he carried with him the hurt look on Samar's face as he left.

* * *

(5 October 1993)

"Got you!"

Samar grinned, a bloodthirsty baring of teeth. The point of her blade never wavered from Taura's stomach and the two opponents froze, the petite huntress' own knife raised overhead to strike.

Taura stared then gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Think again."

That was all the warning she gave before she dropped, her legs lashing out to sweep Samar off her feet. Samar's blade drew a red line down Taura's arm, either when she dropped to strike or when Samar fell. The huntress didn't seem to notice the injury.

Or perhaps, Elena amended ruefully, she regarded it as a price to pay to bring down her opponent.

Taura executed what looked like a break dance move and was back on her feet in a blink. Samar was just beginning to struggle back up when Taura grabbed her arm and flipped her onto her stomach with a hard yank.

The action made Elena wince, just seeing it.

Taura didn't let go of the arm, forcing it around at a painful angle and holding it there for a moment to emphasize her point before releasing the younger girl.

"Do better," she said shortly, striding a few paces away and ready to start another round of sparring. "Don't get overconfident. Every stance has a countermeasure and a weakness. Know yours and look for your opponent's. And don't stop until your enemy is down for good. Triumph only comes _after_ that," she said.

The ex-vampire girl got to her feet with a roll and a tuck. She looked... well, she didn't look at all happy now, but she didn't explode and lose her temper either, Elena noted with approval. Samar stood with one foot in front of the other, eyeing her 'teacher'. Then she closed the distance in a rush and met Taura full on.

Shoulder ram, pirouette inside Taura's guard, elbow jab, then a face strike with the back of a closed fist; swerve away from a stomach blow, lash leg out sideways; change footing, duck a head swipe and use the chance for a low swing.

The action was almost too fast for her to follow it, but there was a rhythm to it - like a lethally timed dance - that somehow defined each blow clearly.

Samar's fist actually impacted Taura's stomach and the elfin huntress nearly bent in half. The petite girl took a step back and followed through with an incredible backflip. Her toes caught Taura under the chin, snapping her head up and sending her reeling backwards.

Samar landed on her feet with knees bent. She shifted her balance without a pause and circled behind Taura, who was shaking her head, trying to clear it.

Samar lifted her blade and drew an imaginary line across Taura's throat.

Everyone - everything - froze. Then the elfin huntress slowly swiveled her head to lock eyes with her 'student'. Tension skyrocketed as seconds ticked by.

Then Taura nodded once, sharply. "Good!"

Applause, some sparked by relief, came from the watchers. Elena joined in the applause smiling at the sight of Samar's face. The girl's smile was less bloodthirsty this time, but every bit as fierce.

The ex-vampire girl had been making steady progress in learning to fight in her human body. Elena had watched her work herself mercilessly, visibly squelching pride and personal dislike, to get back to the level of skill she had had as a vampire.

A month after that first fight with Taura, she had nearly succeeded. It would not be much longer, Elena estimated, before Taura would become sparring partner, not mentor.

Samar lowered her blade and Taura jerked her head to indicate that Samar should retire to the sideline. The day's lesson was over. Samar echoed the motion jauntily in acknowledgement; the feisty girl was too proud to actually give the formal bow of student to master. She moved to where she would be safely out of the way and sat on the ground, Indian-style.

Elena noticed that she didn't go to where Leon lounged in a tree bole. Trouble there, she thought.

The other Turned began to disperse, drifting towards the lodge. Some of the older ones murmured a farewell to Elena in parting.

The wood was more peaceful, quieter, than it had been weeks ago. As the seasons stretched into autumn, there were fewer groups holding weapons training.

The Turned had completed their search for vampires quickly this time; there were enough of them now that they worked in teams and were still able to gather the required number of vampires in a week.

They had resumed weapons training shortly after that, but in the past month, singly or in handfuls, the newer ex-vampires had left to build new lives for themselves. Some of the older Turned were outraged that they would 'abandon' Elena, but she made it clear that no one should hold them back. She understood that they simply did not have a deep personal devotion to her, unlike the older Turned whose need had called her out of the night. The lack of hero worship was a relief since she had never been comfortable with how the original Turned treated her.

Karen and Tristan appeared from the direction of the shooting range that had been set up some distance from the lodge. The two sharpshooters had hit it off, quite surprisingly, and now conducted training and practice together.

Makoe waited for the crowd to thin before shoving away from the tree he had been leaning against. Taura exchanged her knives for longer blades and returned to the middle of the open space they used for training.

Neither bowed, merely looked at each other. Those watching never really knew who had made the first move, but suddenly, they were both in motion.

Taura's blades flashed when they caught stray lances of fading sunlight. Makoe was a dark blur, ever moving, seeming almost to surround Taura all at once.

If Samar and Taura's exchange had been beautiful, this exchange was pure artistry. The movements were part dance, part acrobatics.

It was only when one saw the sweat sheening the petite fighter's brow that one realized just how strenuous - and deadly - the display was.

Taura threw one of her blades at Makoe. He leapt, tucked into a compact roll, and it flew beneath him. He snatched it out of the air as it went by. When he landed, he gave Taura a frigid look; it wasn't anger, it was admonishment.

"Throw a weapon at your opponent and expect to have it used against you."

Elena glanced to Samar to see how she felt about seeing her 'teacher' relegated to the role of 'student'. The girl was watching intently, not with spite but with the keen concentration that said she was absorbing the lessons for herself. Good.

Taura attacked and Makoe countered. It was not often that the vampire took the offensive, but then, he didn't need to. Once in a while, he would strike, to teach Taura how to counter an attack.

He did so now with the blade.

He crowded her, got inside her guard, as Samar had done, leaving her no space to use her own blade. She was forced to bend over backwards. Further and further, until she reached both hands over her head and did something like Samar's backflip.

Makoe advanced, matching her retreat.

She continued the series of flips and cartwheels when Makoe pursued her. A boost of her legs sent her high up in the air and she came down head first, blade pointed straight at Makoe.

Elena felt her heart jump into her throat.

The vampire darted aside, but Taura's blade bit flesh, slashing a long, deep gnash down the entire length of his arm. He didn't pause, save to transfer the blade to the other hand.

The huntress landed on her shoulder and rolled. He didn't give her a chance to recover but closed on her again. She got to her feet, breathing hard and swung her hand wide so that the two blades met and locked. Her other hand sought the cut, digging into his bloodied flesh.
He gave her a flat look and disengaged her blade. Without the slightest change in his expression, he returned the favor and blood ran down her shoulder.

She hissed audibly, backing two steps, and Elena got to her feet, the call to stop on her lips. She might have actually called a halt, or perhaps she would have bitten back the cry in time, but she had the chance to do neither as something rushed into the clearing at that moment.

Or rather, someone.

He was a flying blur that tackled Taura, landing on top of her. The wounded huntress went down with a cry and her blade flashed as she tried to stab her assailant. He tore it from her grasp and threw it across the clearing.

Samar was on her feet and running forward. Leon was also on his feet, reaching to catch hold of her and keep her back. Karen had her sidearm out; so did Tristan.

Makoe just stood there.

The person raised his head at the sound of gun safety being slid off and they got a good look at him. There was a flash of fangs in that snarl.

Vampire.

Cantri, one of the witches, came running from the direction the vampire had appeared, arms waving frantically. "No! Stop! You mustn't shoot!"

"You're kidding me," Karen said, her voice flat. "There's a vamp on top of Taura and I'm supposed to hold my fire? Give me a good reason and you'd better do it fast."

"He's one of the vampires the Turned brought back; he's just loose from enclosure."

"Then why's he trying to kill someone?" Karen's voice was getting flatter, which meant she was edgy. Edgier. The only reason her trigger finger was not flexed was because the vampire was absolutely still, listening to them and looking from one face to another.

Tristan had his gun trained rock steady on the vampire as well. He snapped, "Don't you dare say anything about brother undead," in Leon's direction. The mild vampire didn't seem to hear him. He was engaged in a stare down with Samar, one hand clamped on her arm, effectively imprisoning her. The girl was glaring at him over her shoulder mutinously.

Cantri could only shrug.

"You'd better start talking, vamp," Karen ordered.

The beautiful face contorted. "You tricked us!"

"You might want to elaborate on that statement, pal."

"You said you would make us human again, but it's been weeks. You've been keeping us locked up and now that we have gotten free, we find you torturing a vampire; you're holding us for sport!" He flung the accusations with the air of a man who dared his captors to refute his charges.

"Then why are these other vampires sitting here, watching it calmly?" Elena spoke for the first time, and she spoke softly, but with confidence.

The vampire zoomed in on her.

"You remember me. I have come to talk to you all before."

He nodded. "Elena Gilbert, the miracle woman." His fangs had receded, but he didn't look any more trusting.

"We- _I_ have not Turned you yet because there is something else I must do before I can make the transformation safe for you all. I need to find someone and he has gone missing." She injected every ounce of sincerity she could into her manner and her tone. "I want to be able to Turn you all as quickly as possible, but it would be dangerous to try and do so right now; many of you would die. We have to wait."

She took two slow steps towards them. In the periphery of her field of vision, she knew Taura was watching her with wide eyes. She kept walking, keeping that slow, non-threatening pace, until she was a foot away from him.

"You are a vampire. You can see the truth of my words in my mind."

Her tacit invitation was snapped up and she felt a clumsy hold brush her mind.

He relaxed, the life and fire seeming to go out of him. He didn't even resist when Taura shoved him off her and scooted away. Karen was at her side instantly. Samar - who had either gotten free of Leon or been released now that the danger had passed - interposed herself between the wounded huntress and the vampire.

He sat on the ground, looking oddly human, a broken man. "I'm so tired of it all," he said brokenly. 'Even now, I can smell her blood!" There was a bit of tortured hysteria in his voice as he pointed at Taura. "I want it to stop."

"I understand," Elena said gently and bent to put herself at a level with him. "Believe me when I say we are doing all we can to speed things up."

He nodded, not even looking at her.

A pair of witches came forward to lead him away. Elena touched his shoulder as he passed. "Tell the others what I have told you," she instructed. He met her eyes and nodded with a bit more spirit in him. Nothing like being charged with an honorable duty to put life back into someone.

When he had left, Elena snagged Cantri with eye and hand. "How did he get out of the enclosure?" she demanded. The barrier was put up to protect the humans as well as the vampires, and prevent precisely incidents like the one that had just occurred.

"The barrier is gone, milady," Cantri told her, visibly upset.

"Gone?"

He nodded.

"But Jerrick maintains the barrier. Why would he take it down?"

"That, I'm afraid, only he can answer. "

"Fine," Elena snapped. If this was more of that red-headed manipulator's games...

She looked around; Makoe's arm had healed by now, leaving only a red line and dried blood in trails down his skin. Taura was on her feet, largely unaided, with a strip of cloth acting as a makeshift tourniquet. Samar still looked mad enough to spit nails and Leon looked grim. Tristan had put away his gun, but he didn't look any happier than anyone else.

"Let's go see Jerrick."

They trooped in silence toward the lodge. Cantri melted away somewhere between the clearing and the building and Stefan joined them midway.

Elena outlined the recent events to him as they walked.

Lagging behind, Samar and Leon were having what sounded like a full-blown argument. Elena could only hear Samar's side of the harangue, since Leon kept his remarks to a low tone. The petite girl sounded incensed enough for them both.

When they arrived, Karen took Taura off to the healers and Tristan wandered after them. Samar and Leon stopped outside the door and continued their 'discussion'.

Elena, Stefan and Makoe went on silently to the den, but Jerrick's chair was vacant. A bit of questioning got them directed to his room.

They found him in bed. He was lying on his side, a huddle beneath the covers. The head of tousled red hair was visible above the mound of his shoulder.

Madelene was with him, sitting beside the bed with one hand resting on his arm and her eyes closed in concentration. As they drew closer, they could see the sheen of perspiration on her brow, evidence of her frantically working healing.

"Maddy," Elena said softly.

It was a moment before she responded, opening her eyes. "Elena." Her head moved to look at them and then back to Jerrick as if the effort cost her. "He's in a great deal of pain."

"What's going on?"

"He's drained, burnt out. He's never fully recovered from the strain of capturing Emmet Mogen and being shot. And he's never had to keep the vampire barrier up this long before, particularly not with vamps straining against it." The healer sounded angry and it was understandable. "He doesn't have endless energy. He doesn't even have enough to sustain himself now - not that and keep up the barrier. He's barely able to put up shields he normally uses to keep the pain at bay."

"What pain? Why is he in pain?" Elena asked impatient and exasperated.

Maddy's eyes held a world of sorrow. "You've seen him limping."

Elena nodded, mute. Maddy drew aside the sheet slowly.

She stiffened in horror at the sight revealed. Pale scars criss-crossed the bare skin of his back. Cuts, scratches.. and some were not a clean line, as if they had been made by something with a jagged edge. Some were parallel, like claw marks. Scar tissue formed ridges, pulling skin and muscles in painful angles when he moved.

"It's the same all over his body."

Elena was so busy staring at the horror that it took her a moment to realize _why_ the muscles were moving.

Jerrick turned on his back, moving even more painfully than Maddy had. The pale blue eyes were lucid, oddly calm amid the fine lines of tension around his face and in his jaw. He was unable to hide the evidence of pain in the curve of his lips.

Maddy hastily covered him, looking a bit embarrassed at having exposed him like that. She took a step back, facing them with her head turned down. Jerrick didn't seem to notice, his eyes still fixed on Elena. He displayed no emotion at all.

::You really have fallen far, haven't you?:: It was on the tip of her tongue to voice the thought but Elena couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud. She loathed Jerrick but to put him down at this moment was to demean herself.

She had never wondered about his infirmities. She had always assumed that it was part of the price he had paid to obtain the Old Ones' downfall. Now, for the first time, questions arose in her mind.

The answers came to her, as if it was something she had always known but had simply forgotten. Her 'rediscovery' did not, however, lessen the shock of the realization that-

Jerrick's wounds were self-inflicted.

He had done that, bereft of hope of relief. The pull on his ripped soul had driven him to seek a means - any means, no matter how desperate - to end the pain. The aching, unrelenting loss that never healed - the place where Channa should have been - gaped inside him.

Her curse had hurt him in other ways; Nature called him, an echo of her. She had bequeathed him the ability to draw Power from the natural ley lines, but that very connection laid a claim on a part of him, demanding his allegiance in return.

He could absorb Power from nature but to open himself was to feel its pull and it hurt, like salt on a raw wound.

Elena tore her awareness away from this new awareness of Jerrick and raked her mind for something to say. "We can't go on like this," she said disjointedly. "We need to go looking for the sixth ourselves instead of waiting and hoping." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded forced, brash.

"Eiran is already out searching."

"You know as well as I do that it would be more effective if we were the ones out there searching instead."

"Of course. But that would mean we'd have to bring the vampires with us."

If holding the barrier up in one place was sapping so much of Jerrick's Power, moving would destroy him. And since they needed the vampires to dispel the excess Power she freed, they were effectively shackled in one place. Unless...

"We could leave the vampires behind. Instead of channeling the Power to Turn them, you could take it instead," she said with low intensity. It wasn't anything he would not have thought about but she had to say it anyway.

"I could," Jerrick agreed flatly. "But I won't."

"Jerrick, we don't have time to coddle your delicate sensibilities!"

"Do you realize what will happen if I take that Power?"

She caught a glimpse of the agony he endured to draw energy and suddenly knew what he meant. To take in the Old Ones' Power would be infinitely worse because the soul-pull was no less, while the nature of the Power would be far less benign.

She remembered the encounter with him in the club when they had just gotten back from Quebec. She had loathed him for what he did then. Odd how the thought didn't seem so unpalatable now.

"Would... what you did at the club help?"

His expression smoothed to such a blasé mask that it taunted her. "Would you allow it?"

"Since when did you ever let me stop you from doing anything?" she asked sharply, not at all happy to be mocked for trying to find a solution.

Jerrick gave her a tiny smile and the barest movement of shoulders in a shrug that could be interpreted in a hundred ways. "But to answer your question, no. At this point, that sort of recharging would be... dangerous. For all involved. I am," he said sardonically, "Quite a captive at this moment, trapped in my own body with my gifts turned against me."

Again, Elena understood exactly what he meant.

Mind control. Telekinesis, telepathy, empathy; those were his Powers.

The warning in the bland remarks was chilling... and unprecedented. Jerrick never showed a weakness, ever. He really _was_ at his strength's end and she was shocked.

"If you can't draw Power, then you at least need to rest and regain your strength." She couldn't quite put aside her deep dislike for him, but she managed to sound neutral and brisk. "Is there anyone else who can hold the barrier while you recuperate?"

Surprisingly, Makoe spoke up. Elena had almost forgotten that he and Stefan were there. "I might be able to contain the vampires if you showed me how." His voice was as calm and flat as ever. Matter-of-fact. If he felt concern or pity, it didn't show.

Jerrick shook his head on the pillow, slowly, still moving with care. "No. It would take one like me to impose such a barrier. No vampire can control other vampires like this. Not even if he is first blood." The tone ended as dry as bone as his eyes bored into Makoe.

Elena's brow puckered at that comment. The answer came to her almost instantly. And stole her breath for a brief moment. Her eyes went from Jerrick to the dark vampire.

"Excuse me?" Stefan asked.

"He was made by one of them," Elena heard herself whisper. "One of the Old Ones."

The vampire went very still, looking from her to Jerrick. She saw his face tightened as he scrutinized the helpless man in the bed as if seeing him for the first time. Whatever he saw leeched all the expression from his face, turning it into an inhumanly beautiful mask.

It explains why he's so much more powerful than the others, she reflected. Katherine had been powerful enough - and mad enough - to be truly dangerous.

Katherine had been first blood too.

Blood.

"Would blood help?" she blurted.

Jerrick's body convulsed and Maddy leaned over him, alarmed, before they all realized that he was laughing. "Are you offering me yours?" he asked harshly and the blue eyes glittered with mad malice for a moment.

Elena froze. It was answer enough. Jerrick produced another laugh that sounded like it was tearing his throat out. He shook his head. "No," he managed to choke out. "Blood would do no good."

"Fine!" she snapped, feeling frustration claw up her belly, burning and caustic. "Now that you've shot down every suggestion I have made, you can tell us what can be done."

"Why are you letting this worry you so much?" It was amazing that he could sound so normal after coughing his lungs out. "You know I am as 'protected' as you by our mutual task."

Yes, neither of them would die until they have seen their promise fulfilled. Something else she shared with Jerrick.

The silence threatened to stretch to eternity. Thankfully, Taura entered the room then, with Tristan and Karen flanking her.

"What's going on, Jerrick? The vampires are loose and more than a bit mad, apparently," the petite hunter demanded. She had a proper bandage around her arm now but otherwise looked unchanged.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to put up the barrier for a while. Maybe a week, maybe more. Would the hunters be able to keep the vampires in the enclosure for the duration?" Jerrick asked mildly.

Taura snorted, looking a bit offended. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Perhaps I should rephrase that," the redhead murmured. He paused to sip obediently from the cup Maddy held to his lips. "Would the hunters be able to keep the vampires in the enclosure and deal with any violence that might break out?"

"Basically play bouncer," Taura summarized. She exchanged a look with Karen then gave Jerrick a sharp nod. "Yeah, I think I can convince some of the hunters to guard and not kill the vamps."

"Just for a few days," Jerrick promised. "There is danger in this. With the barrier, there is always a risk of injury to both sides."

"Jerrick, we're hunters. We know danger and we know vampires. We'll handle it, leave it to us." Taura flipped him a wave and turned to go, looking a bit disgusted. Karen followed her silently.

Elena folder her arms and looked hard at Jerrick. "So we do nothing while you recuperate and the hunters play guard and Eiran continues his search?" she summarized tightly.

"Yes, that is it, in essence."

"You could join Eiran, now that you don't have to stay and keep up the barrier," she pointed out.

He eyed her with cool consideration. "I could, yes. But not right now. In a few days, perhaps, when I am fit to travel." When she continued to look unimpressed, he reminded her fiercely, "I want this over more than you ever could, Elena."

"Elena, please," Maddy broke in. "Taura has bought him a reprieve. Let him rest first and we'll plan our next step after that." Real concern shone in her eyes and she started to edge the four remaining callers out the door.

The blonde had no choice but let herself be ushered out. Makoe left without a word, Tristan trailing behind him, muttering questions. Elena slipped her hand into Stefan's, seeking comfort. She suddenly felt like everything was falling apart. She hadn't realized how much she had depended on Jerrick's strength and resourcefulness in their quest, and now the sudden loss shook her confidence.

Eiran, she thought silently, it's up to you now.

* * *

(8 October 1993)

Eiran brooded.

Their search in the past month had been, in the final analysis, fruitless. They still had not located the Old One, even with the help of the marble slab they had taken from the palace in Antalya. Either its Power was fading, or the palace had to function as a whole to be a focus. Terry had found no clues from it beyond the image of a wolf.

A wolf! It could mean hundreds, thousands of things. The team had combed the city, identifying anything that had a wolf for an emblem or symbol, anything that might be associated with wolves. That list was still being exhausted - and added to - daily.

They had attempted to locate and communicate with the local werewolf packs, but the shapeshifters were touchy at best, and hostile at worst. When they heard that Eiran's team had been making enquiries about them, there had been some warn-offs; nasty messages, a scare or two, a mock attack. The team's attempt to initiate communication had been brusquely knocked aside.

Alvin and Terry had tried to get the help of the local psychics and witches, but they had proven as close-mouthed and antagonistic as the 'wolves.

The searchers went on doggedly; there was no other option. Jerrick's network of operatives was silent, so there were no other leads to follow up, and returning empty-handed was not an option.

The past month might not have been as physically trying, or as emotionally exhausting, as India or Antalya, but in its own way, New York was just as difficult. What the city lacked in size and physical barriers, it made up for in clutter, danger and secrecy.

Eiran picked up the phone and dialed the lodge in Seattle. Instead of Jerrick's voice on the other end, a woman answered.

"Hello," he said, a bit taken aback. Had he gotten the number wrong?

"Eiran. It's Elena."

Oh. "Good...evening, milady," he said, gathering his scattered wits. What was she doing on the phone. "Is everything all right?"

"More or less." She sounded wry. "Have you found him?" She came directly to the point. No need to specify which 'him'.

"No. Not yet." Somehow, reporting that to her was harder than to Jerrick. Probably because disappointing Elena was worse. "We are still searching," he added lamely.

"Thank you, Eiran." The line was silent for a while. "Do you think you will soon?" She sounded almost small when she asked that and Eiran swallowed.

"I'm afraid I can't say for sure, milady," he said, regret dragging his tone down low.

There was another awkward pause while Eiran searched for words.

"It's a difficult task we have given you," Elena said at last. She went on before he could protest, "I wish we could pack up and join you out there. Jerrick or myself _might_ be able to find the Old One, but our going out there just isn't possible. Jerrick is quite... unwell. He can't even keep up the barrier for the vampires anymore. We have the hunters guarding them now, but it's... difficult."

She stopped and Eiran wanted very badly to be with her, sharing her burdens, easing them. He kept his lips tightly sealed and waited for her to go on.

"We can't join you because we can't move the vampires. And without them..." she trailed off.

Eiran knew; there was no need to go on. He was tired enough of the search that he wanted to ask that they find another way to dispel the energy of the Old One - after all, they had used Turning as an alternative to the weather-working. Perhaps there was another way that would let Elena deal with the Old One without being dependent on having vampires with them.

He drew a breath and let it out as quietly as he could, squelching the frustration. "It's all right, milady. I understand." He tried to inject some energy, some measure of optimism into his tone. "We'll manage somehow. I'll be in touch. Please take care of yourself." The last was added with more sincerity than the platitudes.

"Thank you, Eiran." They both knew she was not referring to his words.

"You're welcome, Elena. Good bye." He hung up, not wanting to drag out the awkward conversation any longer.

Alvin was nonchalantly reading the papers, as if he had not heard half the conversation. Max and Terry were getting take-out for dinner and Nelson and Jasmine were expected back at any moment.

A key rattled in the lock and proved to be Max and Terry. The four of them quietly claimed their food and spoke of inconsequential things. Serious talk would have to wait until the entire team was assembled.

There was a thump against their door. They stopped eating, four heads turning to the sound in unison. There was no further noise, but Eiran thought he saw something blocking half the light under the door.

A jerk of the head signaled Max and Nelson forward. Max pulled out his knife and cracked open the door, Alvin stood with hands ablaze with witch fire behind him.

Eiran could not see outside, but Max pulled open the door fully and shoved his knife back in its sheath. He bent and dragged a bloodied and battered Nelson inside, then kicked the door shut behind him with a foot.

All four searchers closed on the wounded Turned. Max and Alvin caught him under the arms and half-carried him to the sofa. There would be hell to pay for the stains on the upholstery but they would worry about that later. Eiran's first thought was to call for Jasmine.

But the healer had left with Nelson.

He went down on one knee in front of the injured man. "Where is Jasmine?" he asked, taking Nelson's hand.

"Gone," he wheezed. "They took her."

"They?" Eiran asked sharply.

"The 'wolves."

Someone hissed behind him.

Alvin appeared with a steaming mug of something; probably that stuff Jasmine always kept on hand. Eiran helped Nelson take a sip while Max peeled away the bloodstained shirt to survey the wounds.

Bruises covered Nelson's body as far as they bared his skin and one side of his face was starting to swell. There was a deep gnash that ran down his arm, raked right on to his hip and thigh. There were neat, parallel tears in the cloth of his denims.

Eiran felt his lips tighten at the sight. Being attacked by a werewolf could turn the victim into a werewolf himself. He wasn't sure if it required a bite or if claws were sufficient, but he didn't think the prospect of becoming a werewolf after escaping vampirism was something to fill a person with joy.

Worry about that later. The phrase was almost a mantra.

He instructed Alvin to get some warm water to clean the wound with. They would have to manage without the healer.

Terry emerged from the bathroom with a hand towel, which she used to swab Nelson's clammy face.

The Turned managed a grateful smile for her but it didn't last long. While Alvin and Max negotiated the cleaning of the wounds, Eiran held Nelson's face in his hand and stared at him urgently.

"Tell me what happened."

His old sparring partner grimly ground out how he and the healer had been returning from another day scouring the city for signs of supernatural activity that did not match the pattern of vampire, werewolf, or witch. They had been a couple of blocks away when they realized they were being followed.

They had tried to slip away, only to be confronted with another group, and then another. They tried to avoid them, but unknowingly, were herded to exactly where the 'wolves wanted them; a blind alley.

The shapeshifters had attacked without provocation, pinning Nelson to the wall, relieving him of his gun before he had had the chance to use it. The healer had been knocked unconscious, then carried off. It was only when Nelson tried to stop them that they descended on him with fists and claws.

Nelson fell silent, save the labored breathing of one in pain, and all faces were grim as they all considered the sunny healer's probable fate.

"They left me for dead and withdrew after that. I got up and hightailed it back here," Nelson concluded. His wounds had been cleaned by the time he finished and he lay back, eyes closed.

Eiran stood, a bit stiff from kneeling for so long. He paced, thinking furiously. They would have to get Jasmine back. But why had the wolves taken her? Did they know she was a healer, or did they just target the girl, considering her weaker? Was this the first act to signal an all-out war?

So many questions. They had to find answers, but how? Would the wolves talk to them? Did they dare risk that the pack was openly hostile now?

Max hissed suddenly, a short, sharp sound meant to grab everyone's attention and silence them. "There's someone outside." He was staring at the door he had kicked shut not too long ago.

Eiran felt alarm prickle his back and reached for his gun. He handed it to Nelson, butt first. "It's loaded," he said quietly. Then he pulled out the silver knife and got a second gun out of the drawer. He put the blade down long enough to fix the silencer to the barrel.

The others were similarly pulling out weapons. They shared eye contact and moved as one. Terry stood protectively in front of Nelson, the rest fanned out around the door.

Max held his gun one-handed, the other closing around the doorknob. He pulled it wide in a swift move and brought his gun into position simultaneously.

The hallway was empty.

They all relaxed, but Max rounded on them. "I did hear something," he said positively.

"Just a neighbor, maybe," Terry suggested, looked almost limp with relief.

"No," Max started irritably. "I know the sound of-"

A dark blur unfolded from the top of the doorframe and launched itself at his unprotected back. Terry didn't even have time to scream before Max crashed on the floor, a large grey wolf on his back.

The sound of breaking glass filled the apartment and more furred shapes rushed in from the kitchenette, the bedrooms, the balcony.

Alvin seared two of the wolves with witchfire before a third leapt on him and gleaming fangs sank into his neck. The air was full of snarls and gunshots. Terry was yelling and firing. Three wolves lay quiet with silver bullets in them, bleeding on the floor.

Eiran sighted and shot one as it cleared the kitchen counter, then hit another as it paused to snarl at him just inside the balcony. It must have climbed up the fire escape. There was a growl behind him. Without thinking, he jammed the blade in his left hand blindly. Sheer dumb luck caught the blade on the wolf's hip as he crashed into Eiran's shoulders full force.

The Turned went down and he saw Terry trying to get free of a white wolf with its jaw clamped around her arm.

"Nelson!" His eyes sought the injured Turned on the couch the split second before he felt the hot, animal breath on his cheek and powerful jaws closed on the back of his neck.

He saw the smiling man on the couch, watching the fight with something that might have been satisfaction. Nelson, whose exposed skin was now smooth and scarless, lifted a hand in mocking salute.

There was a sickening crunch that Eiran felt inside his skull, rather than heard with his ears. Pain exploded, blinding him. He might have shut his eyes, he didn't know. After that, he lost consciousness.

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* Next chapter: The one with Damon in it!

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