Hope and Stefanie meander through the halls of the school in comfortable silence, weaving about through the masses of students rushing to their next class. The entire place feels strangely familiar. "What's the history of this place?" Stefanie wonders aloud, tracing her hand over the crown molding. "It feels ancient."
Unconcerned with Stefanie's question, Hope offers a flippant reply. "Never mind all that. You'll find out more than you ever wanted to know in lecture with Dr. Saltzman. He's particularly proud of the place and will be happy to indulge your curiosity."
Stefanie tries not to look defeated, picking up her pace to keep up with Hope as they descend the stairs into what appears to be a garage. "This place," Hope beams, "I know it doesn't look like much, but I think Dr. Saltzman does it on purpose. It looks like a regular old workshop, but it contains a collection of the finest supernatural tools ever to grace the face of the planet. It's locked, of course, so don't get any ideas." She giggles with a sense of authority as she rattles her keys and shoves one into door in front of her.
A vintage blue Camaro. It's the first and last thing she sees. Sure, there are herbs growing haphazardly about the room and assorted trinkets from a bygone era fill every surface and work table, but none of them catch her eye.
"Whose car is that?" Stefanie stops in her tracks.
"Oh, that old thing," Hope is clearly unimpressed, "The man who donated his home for the purposes of establishing this school asked Dr. Saltzman to look after it, so it just sits here taking up space. I asked if we could just get rid of it, but he was adamant to adhere to the owner's single request. I think it's all quite odd."
Stefanie's thoughts run wild as she approaches the car, Hope busying herself with a pile of artifacts. "My dad was a mechanic," she lies through her teeth, tracing her hand over the hood of the car, "He didn't teach me much in the time I knew him, but he showed me how to appreciate a nice car, and this is a nice car."
"Yeah, whatever." Hope's amusement is waning, but she can't bring herself to care anymore. She's onto something.
Carefully lifting the handle of the backseat passenger door, she runs her hand along the seat pocket knowing full well what she will find. Her hand catches on a flimsy piece of construction paper, and it's all she needs to confirm her suspicions.
Happy Valentine's Day Mom & Dad, the card reads. And just because she's still not completely convinced this is possible, she runs her fingers along the heart-shaped script. Flipping it over is enough to take her breath away… Love, Stefanie.
Sprawled out in the middle of their living room floor, Damon combs over his daughter's assorted drawings and writings for what seems like the thousandth time. Intermixed with cartoon puppies and homework assignments is the strangest combination of supernatural knowledge he's ever seen. Now that he's had time to process the fact that his daughter is all-too aware of this dimension of life, it's no longer shocking. Disturbing, but not shocking, and that's all it takes for him to focus on the task at hand.
Still, it's a maddeningly emotional process. As parents, they had long ago resolved to let their children live autonomous, self-directed lives and to trust them enough to let them have space and privacy to grow. That's why, he tells himself, he feels a knot building in his throat as he flips through the pages of his firstborn's diary, allowing the words to seep into his mind and soul. Or maybe it has more to do with the fact that the voice who is speaking them is her's.
I'm the only one in my class who has parents who used to be vampires. He reads from an entry in January of this year, his eyes all but skittering to a stop on the page and his heart picking up the slack. The words leap off the page in Stefanie's characteristically blunt cadence, embedded in no context and stated matter-of-factly as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. She simply states the fact and moves on to describing how angry she is at some girl in her class who started a rumor about her on the playground.
"Someone told her about us." The words fall out of Damon's mouth as soon as his wife gets home from her first shift at the hospital since their daughter's disappearance. When her tired, dejected eyes signal she has no idea what he's talking about, he clears his throat and says it out loud for the first time. "Someone told Stefanie we were vampires."
The house is nearly silent for the remainder of the evening give or take the occasional stampede of little feet in the playroom upstairs. Even so, Damon's thoughts are loud.
"Who could have told her?" Elena wonders aloud from her spot on the sofa, where she sits clinging to her knees.
Names and places, ideas and scenarios have been whirring through his mind all day, but none of them seem remotely plausible, so he offers her a pain-filled shrug and lifts his bourbon to his lips.
The next few days at the Salvatore School pass in a surprisingly uneventful manner. Stefanie attends her classes and makes new friends and tries to forget the fact that she has made very little progress and that her parents are probably worried sick. All she knows for certain is that her parents have a massive connection to this place. Either, she presumes, they know the donor well enough to borrow his car for Valentine's Day excursions, or, and she's hardly let herself think of it, they are the donors.
She's sitting in a class dedicated to detailing the origins of each supernatural species when she first entertains the thought. Objectively, she knows that her parents were once vampires, but she has always had a difficult time coming to terms with this knowledge, especially considering they are the only supernatural creatures she's ever known aside from her new friends at the school.
The instructor drones on at the front of the classroom about the first vampires and she knows she should be taking notes, but she just can't make herself pay attention. "Compulsion," he writes on the board, underlining it thickly. "As you all well know, compulsion is a unique gift of the vampire species. With a little practice, it allows you to control the behaviors of another individual by simply looking them straight in the eye and telling them what you want them to do."
Interest suddenly peaked, Stefanie turns her gaze back toward the front of the classroom. Willing herself to sound as nonchalant as possible, she lifts her hand in the air. "And who exactly is exempt from compulsion?" The weight of the unanswered question hangs in the air.
"Good question, Stefanie." The instructor looks pleased. "Compulsion is almost global, meaning it works on humans and most other supernatural creatures. Other vampires, of course, are exempt from its effects, and a few superior creatures that we will discuss in later coursework."
Superior creatures. The phrase rings in Stefanie's head for the remainder of class, long after everyone else's minds have moved on to other topics. The new information is enough to send her curiosity reeling to all-time heights as she remembers her very first day in Dr. Saltzman's office when the young vampire looked into her eyes and told her to forget about the school and go back where she came from. She isn't a vampire, of course, but her unconscious ability to withstand this compulsion was enough to convince the headmaster otherwise.
As the bell rings and students begin to collect their books, she remains frozen in place, pencil drumming against the wooden desk as she wonders for the first time not who her parents might've been but instead who she might be.
Author's Note: Keep the reviews coming! Now that I'm able to update on a more consistent basis, I look forward to hearing from more of you. Drop me a comment to let me know what you think so far or ask a question. Speaking of, I had a question this week about Stefanie's age! In my mind, she is 8 years old, but I have intentionally left if vague so that you all can interpret it however you wish. If you haven't picked up on it yet, she's obviously a very gifted young lady! On that same note, the twins are 5 and Grays is 3. Feel free to share your thoughts!