Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the fantastic comments. They definitely do a writer a world of good, so keep them coming! Also, just a reminder that I have taken liberties with character backgrounds. For instance, Bonnie's father is called 'Grayson,' not Elena's like in the show. Also, I started writing this story when Grams was still credited as 'Tituba Bennett' on . She is now Sheila, but I decided that I liked the name enough to keep it. ;)
Anyway, as usual, no copyright infringement intended. I do not own any of the characters or storylines, which take place in TVD, book version or otherwise. "Your Love Means Everything" is the Coldplay song I just happened to be listening to while writing this. I love it to pieces :) and I hope you do too.
Massive thanks to the Fan Forum ladies and gents who gave me the confidence boost I needed to post this here. Haha Verna, no it wasn't hijacked! Izzy, massive cyber hug. ILoveRomances, your words were incredibly kind and humbling. Thank you. Allyromance99, I'm so glad you enjoyed chapter one. DiorNicole, so glad to write when you guys are happy. Fanficfan84, you rock. Thank you so much staying up so late to read this! Haha!
Anyway, since I've already got the first ten chapters of this story written, I figured I'd give you all an early update. Enjoy! Gradually you'll start to see why this story was given an "M" rating. ;)
Chapter 2: The Bellwain Prophecy/Your Love Means Everything
The Bellwain Prophecy
Who Is Tabitha Bellwain? (1864)
"Are you crazy, Tabi?" Emily shrieked. "They'll kill us both. Then they'll go after our families. We have no time for this. We should run!"
"We can't run, Emily!" Tabitha pleaded. She wiped her hands on her petticoat and gathered her strength. "This can't happen again."
The two women paced back and forth in the tiny, dust filled room. This was their secret hiding place, a basement closet within the confines of Abbott Manor. It was the quietest place they could think to meet.
The home belonged to Mayor Ashwood Abbot. He held the reigns in Mystic Falls for years before losing his beloved title to Leonard Lockwood.
Abbott was rarely ever home; instead he chose to attend social function after social function. His wife was a bonafide socialite in those days and stayed attached to him at the hip.
Their spawn was a 10-year-old troublemaker being molded and shaped into the perfect clone of his father. He represented every "ism" in the book - sexism, classism and racism, to mention a few.
Tabitha Bellwain had the supreme displeasure of being their servant. But when they weren't busy masquerading as the hired help, she and Emily Bennett were sister witches. Deeply immersed in their craft, they practiced only with each another.
Despite the lies being spread about those of their kind, there wasn't a witch in Mystic Falls practicing black magic at the time. Mayor Abbott and his legions insisted the opposite was true.
Bloody massacres. They were to blame. The vampires had emerged and they were powerful, ravenous and willing to do anything to quell that hunger.
By supernatural association, the witches had become targets as well. Abbott and his clan threw in the werewolves and fairies for good measure. These were "the enemies" to the obedient people of Mystic Falls.
His plan transformed into what he called 'the cleanse,' designed to purge the town of its "greatest sinners." On that night, the townspeople took to the streets armed with torches, stakes, axes and guns.
Tabitha had a plan. She would round up the Supernaturals. The weres, the witches, the vampires and the small fairy clan would unite to defeat a common enemy.
But that plan was deeply flawed. None of the groups would consent to fighting side by side. Instead, they bickered with one another over their supposed "standards" and why fighting alongside "dirty weres" or "wicked witches" was wrong and impure.
This ignorance sealed their fate - but not before a powerful spell was cast.
"They refuse to stand together now," Tabitha began, clutching a small knife. "So soon we will parish. But what of our descendants? Peace may not happen in our time, Emily, but some day it will. We must make sure of that."
Plunging the knife into the palm of her hand, the blonde witch yelped in pain. She passed the knife to her friend and squeezed her blood into the brown clay pot. The candles flickered around them as they sat inside the pentagram.
Emily followed suit, crying out when the blade pierced through her skin and dug into the flesh. Tabitha reached for the red amulet she wore around her neck. It usually dangled so deeply that no one would even realize it was there beneath the fabric of her restrictive attire.
They began a series of chants in the language of the Ancients. The witches were casting a prophecy spell.
There would come a day when two Supernaturals would fall deeply, passionately in love. This would be followed by the birth of a child, the perfect hybrid.
He or she would see to it that all magical beings unite, should the threat of another 'cleanse' arise. They would be the ultimate peacemaker - the Supernaturals' hope for survival.
That night, Emily and Tabitha made their final journal entries and hid them away, along with their amulets. One amber and one red.
Then side by side, hand in hand, they burned.
Your Love Means Everything
"Bonnie," the masculine voice hissed. "Wake up, sleepyhead."
She kept her eyes shut, hoping he would get bored and go away. His voice, his scent, his touch. They were all too familiar to her.
The young witch felt his movements along the empty spot beside her on the queen sized mattress. He was crawling towards her, hands and knees leaving momentary indentations on the cushiony bed.
Then there was stillness. She could feel his cool breath at the back of her neck as she lay on her side, still pretending to be deep in slumber.
"Bonnie," he whispered again. Silence.
She felt him lift the white fluffy comforter from her body. He slid underneath beside her and cloaked them both in warmth.
His arm wound smoothly around her tiny waist and she felt herself shudder involuntarily. He felt it too and nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck, brushing against the delicate skin there.
This moment was nothing short of surreal. Damon Salvatore being affectionate with her, the young woman he tried to kill little more than two weeks prior?
Suddenly she felt something soft, wet and not altogether unpleasant roaming along her bare shoulder. His lips seemed just as eager as his hands to explore the length of her body.
She wore only a thin black camisole and matching shorts. Though they may as well have been called 'underwear.' They left little to the imagination - although she was certain his was pretty active to begin with.
Now she simply felt naked.
Bonnie could feel the rigidness of his erection against her bottom. He was pressed so tightly against her, they may as well have been the same person.
Lightly he took one delicate earlobe into his mouth and allowed his tongue to tease and torment her in one fell swoop. He nibbled on the soft, sensitive area in a further bid to awaken her senses.
She couldn't help herself; it just felt so...so good. Bonnie moaned and felt her back arch against him and knew she had just blown her cover.
"So you are awake," he slyly acknowledged, dipping his head back down to her neck.
He continued his assault and smiled his satisfaction each time he heard her breath hitch. This wasn't the first time he had evoked so much enthusiasm from the fairer sex.
There was just something about the way she cried out for him when she knew she was close to...
"Damon," she moaned.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered seductively, pulling the thin strap of her top down and gradually sliding his lips lower.
She was lost in his embrace. "I want you...now," Bonnie commanded.
He allowed his hand to glide across her stomach before slithering slowly beneath her silk panties. While his fingers worked the sensitive nerves there, his lips taunted her, relishing in the exquisite saltiness of her sweat slicked skin.
This was heaven. This was..."Ohhhh!"
Bonnie's body tensed at first, as his teeth pierced her flesh. She could feel the blood rushing out of her and the intense burning sensation of the wound.
The warm red liquid rose forth from the two round puncture marks before cascading down her neck. He lapped up each drop with eagerness, suckling repeatedly.
Her life force was leaving her and she didn't care. Take me. It was her silent plea and yet somehow, he seemed to hear.
Damon lifted his head for a moment and beamed down at the writhing witch and obliged her. As you wish, my love.
"Damon!" Bonnie shrieked.
Her back shot up with a quickness that surprised even her. The young witch clutched her neck and frantically surveyed the scene, looking for any trace of the vampire.
Morning sunlight streamed through the nearby window. The warmth washed over her as she examined the left side of her neck for bite marks. Nothing there.
"Not another one," she groaned, whipping the comforter off of her.
***
"Rise and shine, pumpkin." Damon Salvatore strode casually into his brother's room clasping two mugs of strong, black coffee. "Breakfast in bed?"
Stefan glared at him for a long while before stretching his arm out and accepting the cup. "It's not steeped with vervain, is it?"
"Poisoning vampires? That's your bag, little brother."
"I do what I have to," he replied, taking a whiff of the liquid just in case.
"Still harboring trust issues, I see."
"I can't help it. Guess it's just the effect you have on me," Stefan retorted.
Damon walked over to the cluttered desk in the corner. He began to fiddle with various bits and bobs that his brother somehow managed to consider "prized possessions." The two men proceeded in silence a while longer.
"What do you want?" the younger Salvatore finally asked.
Grinning, he sauntered back to the foot of the bed and allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress. The loud squeak of the springs beneath caused his brother to involuntarily roll his eyes.
Stefan found it hard not to be doing that or crinkling his forehead whenever Damon was around; he was just so damn inspiring.
"What do I want?" he repeated, arms placed behind his head, eyes facing the ceiling. "That's a tough one, doctor. How 'bout a wife, two kids, a house, a white picket fence and a Snuggie? No wait, that's your delusional dream scenario."
"Is there a reason you're in such a chipper mood?" Stefan inquired, tossing his sheets aside so they landed on Damon's face.
"Do I need a reason to bring my baby brother a hot cup of java in the morning?" he smiled, reaching for the blanket and chucking it aside.
"Yes," he replied, sticking his head out from the bathroom briefly.
"Ouch," he responded in mock hurt.
That was enough to garner him a soft chuckle from his brother.
"I had a long night," Damon continued.
"I hope that's not code for 'Stefan, I ate somebody last night,'" he replied, appearing before his brother in light speed. "We can't afford to stir anymore suspicions, Damon. The Council's already curious enough as it is."
"Ease up," he exclaimed, brushing past the younger man. "No, I didn't eat anyone last night...although now that you mention it-"
"Stop playing," Stefan demanded.
"Sheesh, you're in an awful mood this morning. What's the matter? Had another dream I was necking with Elena?"
In the blink of an eye, Stefan had grabbed him by the neck and had him pinned against the wall. The brothers stared intently at one another for the longest while.
Damon knew exactly how to push his buttons, not that it was an exact science or anything. He just found it incredibly enjoyable.
If there was one quick and easy way to provoke a volatile reaction from Stefan, it was definitely through 'Katherine, version 2.0.' At least that was how Damon referred to her every now and then.
While it was true that her miraculous existence stirred something profound inside of Damon, there was no substitute for his buried love. He had never been compelled to love Katherine; he had felt compelled to love her. There was a big difference between the two.
Elena was her physical match. It was in the soft, adorable features of her face and the statuesque frame that used to be adorned in ribbons, the finest silks and contained by corsets.
Sensual death traps, Damon thought. He had no idea how a person could breathe, much less speak in something so obviously designed for torture. Then again, he took great pleasure in unlacing them when the mood struck him.
"Leave Elena out of this." Stefan's icy command brought him out of his fashion reverie.
"Get off me," he bit back, tossing his brother across the room.
The younger man landed with feline grace and quietly observed his brother.
"As entertaining as it is to watch you squirm, this has nothing to do with the fair Elena." Damon left the room then and quickly returned, clutching a brown leather journal. "I had a visitor yesterday."
"Still cozying up to Sheriff Forbes?" Stefan guessed.
"Not yesterday," he smiled. "This particular visitor prefers pointy hats and flying on broomsticks. Oh and if you subscribe to the Samantha Stephens variation of her kind, you might be inclined to believe she can put a spell on you with just the twitch of her nose."
"Why would Bonnie Bennett wanna be in the same room with you?" he asked, naturally assuming this was the witch he was referring to.
Damon decided to play along. "For the various reasons so many women seem to find me absolutely irresistible."
"You didn't touch her, did you?"
"Not in any way she didn't approve of," he smirked.
Stefan's fists were now balled up. He may not have been Bonnie's boyfriend, but he was her friend. She was like a sister to Elena and that meant something to him.
Catching sight of his little brother's growing disapproval, Damon stopped kidding around. "Relax. I haven't seen the little witch since that night in the woods."
Raising his eyebrow curiously, Stefan wagered a guess. "Well seeing as though she'd probably have a bone to pick with you after you tried to eat her granddaughter, how'd things go with Tituba?"
"She came bearing gifts," he exclaimed. "Well one gift. A journal."
"Why?" the younger Salvatore replied with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Ever heard of the 'Bellwain Prophecy?'"
"Bellwain - why is that name familiar?" Stefan asked. "Tabitha. Tabitha Bellwain?"
"Give the man a prize," his brother declared.
"I don't get it. What does Tabitha Bellwain have to do with you?"
"Funny that you ask that. I had the same question. What would a crazy witch from 1864 - who isn't Emily Bennett - have to do with me?"
"And?" Stefan questioned.
"Did you know that Tabitha Bellwain came from a bonafide witching dynasty in Ireland?" Stefan shook his head and urged his brother to continue. "I didn't either. Anyway, as it turns out, she and my dear friend Emily were best buds. They did everything together. That includes casting a very powerful spell, known as-"
"A prophecy spell," Stefan surmised.
"And another point for the brooding gent who really needs to put a shirt on, by the way," Damon quipped. "No need for the fab abs peep show, little brother. I'm not some adolescent girl on the cheerleading squad."
The younger Salvatore rolled his eyes in response.
"So what was the prophecy?" The older vampire handed him the journal.
"Flip to the last page. Her final entry was a doozy. Seems the old witch went a little 'cuckoo' and 'Kumbaya' before the townspeople lit her up."
Stefan began to read:
July 6, 1864
They're coming. The townspeople have their guns drawn, stakes sharpened and axes at the ready. This is the sad plight of the Supernaturals of Mystic Falls.
The weres, the vampiric beings and the fairies. So many refuse to stand and fight together, united as one. They have given into their prejudices and so we shall all parish as a consequence.
This may be our fate tonight, but I will not see our future generations condemned to a life of division and ignorance. Emily and I have taken matters into our own hands.
We evoked the spirit of the Witch Goddess Elora and have cast a spell. Tonight we chanted a prophecy. It will come to pass when one of our kind reaches the peak of her powers.
She and another Superntural shall fall madly, feverishly in love. This will usher the way for the birth of a child - the one, true hybrid.
This child will unite the Supernaturals, should 'the cleanse' come to pass again. A living, breathing symbol of love and unity on Earth. It is all that I have dreamed.
After living in a world so embroiled in hate and segregation, I cannot allow them to falter in much the same fashion.
The prophecy will be done. He who thirsts for blood will taste her. She who wields the craft will be his Queen forever.
I leave this world tonight with a smile upon my face. The future will be bright again.
"You don't think that..." Stefan's voice trailed off then.
Damon stared back at him, wide-eyed and grinning. "Me and the little witch? Highly unlikely."
"Well then why would Tituba give you this?" the younger Salvatore asked, genuinely baffled by now.
"I dunno," he casually replied, playing with another one of Stefan's bits and bobs. "Probably so I'd have a reason not to hurt her precious granddaughter."
"Bonnie hates you," he exclaimed.
"You sure about that?" Damon smirked. "Need I remind you how hard it is to resist a man with sharp fashion instincts, impressive intellectual prowess and a six-pack?"
"You tried to kill her," the younger Salvatore reminded him.
"'Tried' being the operative word. She's still alive. All's well that ends well."
"The child," Stefan continued. "Is that even possible?"
"Once again, highly unlikely," Damon quickly answered. "Besides, only Twihards buy into that theory."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"Nothing. This is obviously something dear Tituba decided to conjure up to keep me from sinking my teeth into her delectable grandwitch. It's all so 'Lord of the Rings,' unite for the greater good like."
"Maybe," Stefan concluded aloud. The mere thought of Damon's child being a "living, breathing symbol of love and unity on Earth" was a joke.
Upon hearing his brother's last thought, the elder Salvatore chuckled in amusement. "Sounds more like spawn of Stefan to me."
***
Bonnie Bennett sat outside under the blazing heat of the morning sunlight. Her copper skin glowed beautifully as she waited for Elena and Caroline at a picnic table in the quad.
Shiny dark locks cascaded over her shoulders, a stunning contrast to the peach perfection of her thin wrap sweater and cinnamon mini.
The blessed event was nearly upon them.
"I can't believe there are only two more days left 'til the dance," the sheriff's enthusiastic daughter beamed.
"Neither can I," Elena chimed in with a smile.
The thought of arriving at the dance on the arm of her handsome new boyfriend made her incredibly giddy. Not to mention, it sent her stomach aflutter in a way that she had never quite felt before.
Elena had chosen a strapless green number with an empire waistline. Her hair would be swept into a straight, sleek half-ponytail.
Caroline Forbes had accepted Tyler Lockwood's surprising invitation weeks ago. It was "absolutely unacceptable" to date guys who weren't "sufficiently popular," she said.
There was little doubt that her date would be "sufficiently pleased" by the little peach confection she would be donning. It had been love at first sight when she saw the short chiffon dress with spaghetti straps.
Matt Donovan swooped in with an invitation for Bonnie not long after Caroline secured herself a date. They had known each other since they were children, which made going to the dance with him comparable to hanging out with your brother.
The one shoulder azure number Bonnie had chosen hit her right at the knees and gave her an air of Grecian royalty. It was cinched in beneath the bust line, emphasizing her slender waist.
Her hair would be perfectly coiffed. Soft, voluminous waves tucked elegantly into an up-do that offered a decidedly appealing view of her shoulders. It was just enough skin to be sultry without being slutty.
"Hey Bon!" Elena shouted as her best friend came into view.
"'Bout time you two showed up!" she beamed. "Where's Stefan?"
The quad was getting set to prepare for next week's history presentation. Stefan would supply the costumes, Bonnie would bring along a batch of freshly baked blueberry muffins for study time sustenance and they would all contribute to the final report.
"He just called," Elena began. "Said Damon was having some car troubles so he needed to help him fix it. Something like that. He should be here any minute, though."
Instantly, her hands went around her neck. Damon.
Caroline may not have noticed her reaction, but Elena did. She placed her hand reassuringly on Bonnie's shoulder. "You okay?"
It took the green-eyed witch a couple of seconds to realize how quickly and protectively her arms had shot up. All anyone had to do was say his name and instantly, bucket loads of anxiety would come crashing down on her.
Her dreams were another story altogether. The Damon Salvatore who visited her on a nightly basis ignited her senses and took her body one step closer to Heaven - or were those the fires of Hell burning intensely in his sapphire eyes? By the end though, his darker side always prevailed and left her drained and lifeless.
Each time his fangs broke through the surface of her skin, she felt it. She felt everything.
The punctured veins. The throbbing. The vacuum seal his lips created against her neck as he suckled intently.
It seemed so real.
"Earth to Bonnie," Caroline interrupted.
"Y-yeah?" she stammered.
"Distracted much?" the quirky blond remarked.
"Maybe just a little," she admitted. Her cheeks suddenly grew rosy at the thought of his lips sliding down the length of her naked body.
"Wanna talk about it?" Elena gestured.
Talking about her issues with the elder Salvatore brother wasn't perhaps the brightest idea, considering who was with them right now. Caroline and Damon's relationship could be described as several things: cute at first, incredibly twisted and downright abusive.
If the emotional scars weren't enough evidence of that, the bite marks scattered on her body would surely be enough to suffice. Needless to say, after a destructive period of trying to rationalize his otherwise irrational behavior, Caroline Forbes wanted nothing to do with "older, sexy danger guy."
"Maybe later," Bonnie suggested. "So, anyone for homemade blueberry buttermilk muffins?"
The Cheshire Cat-like grins on both girls' faces were all she needed. Bonnie removed the red and white plaid kitchen towel she had placed over the basket and allowed them to dig in.
"Looks good."
Bonnie turned to find a smiling Stefan Salvatore peering hungrily at the basket. Of course it was all a performance for Caroline, considering baked goods weren't really high on his list of dietary requirements, much less foodie faves.
"Stefan," she smiled.
"Sorry I was late," he began. "Damon's car took a lot longer to fix than I thought it would."
"Always the conniving little opportunist, isn't he?" Caroline muttered bitterly in what she believed was a tone of voice soft enough to not be heard.
By the time she looked up and found the other three awkwardly glancing at her, she realized her mistake. "Sorry. Word vomit."
On the other hand, it wasn't like they blamed her. Damon was a scheming opportunist. Murdering Lexi was proof enough, Stefan painfully recalled.
"So Stefan," Elena began in an attempt to reign in the conversation before they got carried away again. "You'll be bringing in the costumes, right?"
"Mmmhmm," he replied with a smile that made her heartbeat quicken a touch.
Observing the faint blush beginning to appear on her cheeks, he reached out and grasped her hand lovingly in his.
I want that, Bonnie and Caroline thought simultaneously.
After discussing the logistics of their 15-minute presentation, the quad sat together for a while longer devouring the remaining muffins.
The three girls were too immersed in discussing how to accessorize their dresses for the dance to notice the way Stefan's gaze lingered on Bonnie.
There was no denying it; she was a natural beauty. That wasn't the reason why he was staring at her, though.
Was she really the powerful witch the journal entry had referred to? She wasn't even at her magical peak yet. Or was it simply loads of rubbish, like Damon had concluded?
Would Tituba really fabricate a prophecy to protect Bonnie? He supposed it was a possibility. After all, he would do anything for the people he loved most.
Or was Bonnie Bennett really destined for supernatural greatness and a lifetime as Damon's Queen?
"We should be heading to Biology now," Elena began.
She and Caroline gathered their belongings and said their quick goodbyes to Bonnie and Stefan before taking off.
"Bonnie, can I ask you something?" he began.
"Sure," she smiled. "What's up?"
"Look, I know we haven't had a chance to talk much, especially since what happened in the woods with Dam-"
Stefan only got half-way through his brother's name when she suddenly began to grasp her head in her hands. Her upper body lurched forth until her forehead was pressed against her legs.
"Bonnie!" He put his arms around her and tried to ease her back into a regular sitting position. "What's the matter?"
"Ahhh!" She wailed as a throbbing pain shot through her nerves.
The little witch could feel her heartbeat speeding up exponentially. It was pounding at marathon speed so loudly that she could hear it.
She could hear everything. Every bird's chirp. Every student's whispered gossip. Every malicious thought.
The physical sounds and the ones she shouldn't have been able to hear - they had all been amplified. Then in an instant it all stopped.
Now the only sound Bonnie could hear was Stefan's worried voice calling her name. "Bonnie, speak to me!"
"Stefan." She needed another moment to gather her thoughts.
What the hell was happening to her? Was this the consequence of being a witch? If so, she wanted nothing more to do with it.
"What just happened?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed into a deep 'V.'
"I-I don't know, Stefan. I really...don't know."
The emerald green lawn had been recently mowed. You could smell it in the air.
***
Each potted flower bloomed healthily, vibrantly and uniquely hued. Tituba Bennett's home was a stunning ode to the brilliance of 1920s residential architecture.
It was in the intricate brickwork and the elegant mouldings. Not to mention, it was etched into the cement on the side of the porch in lettering barely noticeable to the mortal eye - "1924."
"It's about time you paid me a visit," Tituba Bennett declared from the front porch. "Stefan."
"Sorry it took me so long," he acknowledged, offering her one of his most disarming smiles.
She liked him; she always had. Although, the same could not be said for his brother.
It had been 40 years since he last stood in this spot and yet it managed to remain untouched and unscathed by time - like he and Damon. He could see a smile begin to form on the witch's deeply expressive face as she watched him.
She beckoned him forward with her index finger. He followed her into the well lit home and stood for a brief moment observing how, unlike the house, she had changed a great deal.
"Care to sit?" she asked.
Tituba poured herself a cup of piping hot chamomile tea and joined him on the beige sofa near the window. She was only 12-years-old when she first met Stefan Salvatore.
He had always been handsome. His eyes were filled with kindness and sensitivity, but there was a certain quality about him that told you this "good boy" was certainly not opposed to doing the rebel yell when the occasion called for it.
They met on an unbearably humid evening in June. Weather forecasters were baffled by the unseasonably high temperatures and kept insisting to viewers that they "just didn't see this one coming." Guess some things never change.
Tituba Bennett had been melting away on the front porch of her house, fanning herself and sipping ice tea. In truth, there was more ice than actual tea in her glass.
Her mother had gone to the supermarket to pick up a tub of ice cream and her father had disappeared when she was just four. Ten years later, he resurfaced in Las Vegas. He had been living with someone called 'Alice.'
Needless to say, he had left a "lasting impression" on her - both where parenting and men were concerned. The year she met Stefan had changed her life forever. In the summer of '69, she discovered she was a witch.
"Alright sweetie, I'm only gonna be a while," Evangeline Bennett told her young daughter.
She kissed her lightly on her forehead and instructed her to keep the door locked and not to let any strangers inside. Naturally, like any rebellious child of her age, Tituba unlocked the door, sat out on the porch and talked to strangers.
She wasn't timid like a lot of the other girls in her class. Instead, she was a combination of sugar and spice. Although, the latter ingredient seemed to be the dominant one and that kept her mother on her toes.
Cars drove by every now and then, crickets called out and the full moon hung high against the dark cloak of the night sky. Looking down at her glass, Tituba saw the ice cubes melting into the rich amber coloured fluid and sighed.
She really didn't want to move right now. The walk to the refrigerator may have been a short one, but why bother when you could just zap the cubes back into shape?
Deep in concentration, she sat with her elbows on the arms of the chair. Her chin was propped up by her hands and her eyes were focused on the clear solids.
Tituba willed them to stop melting and watched in satisfaction as the cubes that had diminished in size were now just as large as they were when she had taken them out of the freezer.
"Nice trick, kiddo." The masculine voice came from nearby.
Remember darling, it's not safe to talk to strangers. Her mother's public service announcement began playing in her head like a song on steady rotation. It was downright annoying.
"Who's there?" she asked, standing upright. "Show yourself."
"Pretty bold there, aren't ya, small fry?"
"And just who do you think you're calling 'small fry?'" she asked with a deeply offended look on her young face.
He slowly emerged from behind the impeccably trimmed hedge. "My apologies," he smiled. "I didn't mean to offend you."
Her chilly, defensive expression thawed. "You're a grown up."
His hands were placed humbly in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't know if you could really call me a 'grown up.' I'm just 17."
"Well I'm 12," she proudly declared. "Pretty soon I'll be a grown up. I can't wait."
The young man chuckled at her enthusiasm. "I dunno. Being a grown up might not be all it's cracked up to be."
"How would you know? You just said you weren't grown up?" she fired back.
Her hands were now positioned defiantly on her hips. It made him want to laugh. On the other hand, he figured she might not be too amused by that.
"Touche. My name's Stefan. What's yours?"
The young girl stopped for a moment. The mental tape recording of her mother's voice began to play again. She hit the 'stop' button midway through. "I'm Tituba."
"Tituba. I like it."
"You live at the boarding house, right?" she guessed. She had seen him passing by before. He was often headed in the direction of the old Salvatore homestead.
Stefan nodded. "So tell me something, Tituba. How does a 12-year-old reverse the melting of ice with her mind?"
She was clearly taken aback. Stefan heard the junior witch's breath hitch slightly. "I-I didn't."
"It's okay," he replied, taking two more steps toward her. "I won't tell anyone."
"Why not?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest.
"Because I think it's really...cool," he responded, offering her his friendliest smile.
"You're not like him," she exclaimed confused.
"Who?"
"Your brother." The little girl wore a confused expression on her face.
It surprised him that she even knew about Damon. He rarely socialized.
Instead, he chose to spend his undead years mostly in solitude, save for the occasional literal guest for dinner or sexual partner. Often they were one in the same.
"You've met-" She cut him off before he could finish.
"Damon. That's his name, right?"
The vampire nodded slowly. "How do you know him?"
"He was chatting up Mrs. Lydia Longborn two nights ago," she replied.
"Aren't you a little young to be out at night?" he asked.
"Aren't you?" she shot back. "And besides, who are you? My mother?"
Feist and a half, he thought. Stefan couldn't help the smirk that spread across his forever young face. She sounded just like that bastard brother of his right now - only cuter.
"Anyway," she continued to explain. "He caught me spying on them from behind Mrs. Walker's rose bush. He looked pretty mad."
"Sounds like him," Stefan replied, suddenly confused. If Damon caught her spying on his late night food run, what stopped him from doing away with the child?
"He was doing this gross thing," she added.
Oh no, he thought. The idiot's gone and blown our cover! "What'd he do?"
"He was kissing her...on the neck. Yuck! The thought of a guy slobbering on me like that - it's just...yuck!"
"What'd he do when he caught you?"
"He gave me twenty bucks and some candy," she smiled. "Told me I could come back in the morning for more if I went straight home and didn't tell anyone what I saw."
Damon hadn't compelled her. It was so unlike him. Stefan couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he was hearing, but for the girl's sake, he replaced the baffled look on his face with a more relaxed one.
"I hope he made good on his offer," Stefan chucked in.
The pint-sized witch nodded enthusiastically. "Well, I should be going inside now. My mom's gone to the store to pick us up some ice cream."
For a brief moment, he remembered what it was like to devour the icy cold, smooth concoction. When he was younger, he favoured vanilla. Then as he grew older, he found chocolate to be more to his liking.
Damon, on the other hand, had been a chocolate fiend all his life. Their rich Italian heritage meant they weren't only privy to the North American interpretation of the frozen dessert, but also the luxurious creaminess of homemade gelato.
Sadly, that wasn't on the prescribed menu for the undead.
"I love ice cream," he beamed. "Chocolate's the best."
"I love it too," she smiled back at him. "Well Stefan, it was nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too, Tituba. Goodnight." He nodded his head in her direction as any gentleman of his day would have done as a lady exited the room.
As he turned to walk away, he heard the young voice call out to him. "Wait!" Stefan stopped in his tracks and faced the witch again.
"I never got your last name," she exclaimed.
"It's Salvatore," he answered proudly. "It means-"
"Saviour. In Italian, right?" she asked.
"That's right. You speak Italian?"
"Not really. I know about five words. Mostly bad ones. Okay, four out of five are bad," she admitted with a blush. "Salvatore. I like it."
"Me too," he said softly. It was a good, strong name. Unlike Damon, he was still trying to live up to it - even in his afterlife.
"You'll come back to see me again, won't you?" she inquired, full of hope. It shone in her eyes like the scattered starlight in the sky.
"But of course."
"Liar." Tituba Bennett gave him a hard smack on the forearm. "You never came back."
Stefan chuckled. She was still as feisty as ever now - perhaps even more so. "You know why I left, Tituba."
"Everywhere you go, Damon rears his devious head," she supplied.
He nodded with a smile. "You know why I'm here."
Of course she did. Tituba was a master mind reader. She was a witching prodigy of sorts, getting her feet wet in magic at twelve and tackling telepathy by 15.
"He showed you the journal."
Stefan didn't need to open his mouth to speak. Is it true?
Am I reading your mind right now? She lifted an eyebrow and smirked at him.
He hung his head back and laughed heartily. Sassy.
The witch smirked knowingly. 'Til the day I die.
It took only one meeting between them for her to develop a little crush on an eternally teenaged Stefan. Of course, it had subsided with time and diminished entirely when she met her now deceased husband.
Still, it was fun bantering with the young man. Not to mention, she was certain he had an important role to play when it came to the prophecy.
"It doesn't make any sense, Tituba."
"With magic, things rarely do." She watched as his handsome features became marred by the appearance of a frown.
"Two weeks ago, he tried to kill her," Stefan pointed out.
"Two weeks ago, he tried to kill Emily," she countered. "Believe me, that doesn't excuse what he did. I already told him that if anything more had happened to Bonnie, I would've lit his..."
She could see a grin beginning to form on his face. "Oh, you know what I told him."
"I love what you told him," he confessed. "He needs to hear that every now and then."
"Agreed," she exclaimed with a wicked smile.
"Still though, Bonnie hates Damon. And the journal - the journal said she would be at her magical peak. Bonnie's no where near that right now."
"I know," Tituba replied calmly.
"And it said something about 'the cleanse' coming to pass again. There haven't been any signs of that."
"Haven't there?" she questioned. "So no one's been suspicious? No wooden bullets have been fired at you and your brother in the last four weeks?"
The Council. The realization slammed into him with the force of a freight train.
This is only the beginning. She placed a hand on his shoulder. The prophecy will come to pass.
But the child. It's impossible.
The idea of her favorite granddaughter procreating with Damon Salvatore was not one that she cared to entertain. On the other hand, this was the way Tabitha and Emily had written the story of their lives.
Not to mention, he had kept his word to her ancestor for 145 years. If it weren't for him, she might not be alive and kicking to begin with.
He had been a good man when he was alive.
There was such strength, love and kindness. She desperately hoped there was still some of that lurking beneath his cold exterior for Bonnie's sake.
Impossible? Nothing's impossible, Stefan.
Okay, how about completely improbable.
The concept of a dead man walking seems highly unlikely. Some might even say 'downright improbable.' Yet here you are. Sitting on my couch. Talking to me.
She had a point. In a world where vampires, werewolves and fairies had existed for hundreds of years, who was he to speak of impossibilities and improbabilities? He was a walking, talking example of both.
"Stefan," she continued, this time exercising her vocal chords. "I want you to help Bonnie."
"But you're already helping her," he exclaimed.
"I'm teaching her what I know," she specified. "But you've been around for 146 years. You've seen things I haven't seen, battled other Supernaturals."
"You think it will come to that?" he questioned.
"Most definitely."
He was still reticent to say 'yes.' Helping Bonnie would mean believing in the prophecy.
It would mean the return of that dark chapter in 1864 when humans fought Supernaturals and Supernaturals fought amongst themselves. Not to mention, it would also require he and Damon to start acting like brothers again.
There would be death. There would be unspeakable bloodshed. There would also be a love that he could only describe as 'deeply profound and highly unlikely.'
"Will you do it?" Tituba waited for his reply.
"We'll start tomorrow."
