Hey guys! Thank you for being so patient as I updated. Unfortunately I had a few technical difficulties in getting this chapter up, but here it is in all its incredibly long glory. I really hope you enjoy it! The title of the chapter was inspired by the Coldplay song "Sparks."

Now before you dive in, I just want to say a massive thanks to the following readers who made me absolutely psyched to post again. You guys are incredible and your support means a lot to me. Thanks again!

Raqual88, RockerChick08, cherry9021, Tiffany, dreamer24-7, DiorNicole, , Impress, ILoveRomances, FrenchGiirl, babyshan211, glasvegas, TriGemini, IfYouFindThis, saderia & fanficfan84

Something Supernatural

Chapter 5: Sparks

It frightens me to think of him that way - even if it's only in my dreams.

Whether I can feel the weight of him above me, the sensation of him beneath me or the intense pleasure coursing through my body when he's inside of me. It all just seems so real.

Needless to say, it was difficult to focus on what Grams was saying about my curfew for tonight after the dance. My mind was just too busy replaying the images of our lovemaking...I mean sex.

"So you girls must be pretty excited," Tituba offered, taking a bite of her maple syrup drenched french toast.

"Hmmm?"

"About the dance," she replied, noting her granddaughter's spaced out expression.

"Oh," Bonnie began, as the reality of sitting at The Grill for a quick bite before school set in again. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

"Something on your mind?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow at the petite teen sitting before her.

The young witch sighed and took a sip of her piping hot coffee. Just increasingly vivid sex dreams about Damon.

Tituba Bennett caught the tail end of her granddaughter's train of thought while sipping her orange pekoe tea. Instantly, she began coughing erratically. The witch began to pat her chest with her palm, hoping her next breath wouldn't be such a big struggle.

Of all the things she didn't want to be privy to...

"Grams!" Bonnie shrieked, moving to sit beside her with a full glass of water. "Here! Drink up."

She did just that, downing every last drop of the clear fluid. Tituba could still feel the young girl gently rubbing circles on her back until her breathing returned to normal.

In the midst of panic, the two witches had garnered themselves a group of concerned onlookers. A cute young waiter with a nametag reading 'Denny' approached them.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?"

If there was one designation she could do without, it was most definitely 'Ma'am.' Of course, he meant it out of respect, but it always had a way of making a person feel undesirably old.

"I'm quite alright, young man," she smiled as warmly as she could.

As soon as he left, Tituba turned her attention to her granddaughter who was now sitting across from her again. "So...back to your uh...reason for being distracted."

"Grams, are you sure you're alright?" Bonnie asked. "You were turning blue there for a second. I was so scared."

"Sweetheart, I'll be fine," she maintained in a gentle tone. "So tell me. What's been goin' on inside that head of yours?"

"I don't know," she began reluctantly, fiddling with her fork absentmindedly.

Tugging the utensil from her grip, Tituba leaned in. "Remember our talk last night?" Bonnie grasped her meaning and nodded. "No secrets."

"It's just these dreams, Grams," she admitted. "They've been getting so much more…intense."

I bet. "How so?"

She silently weighed the pros and cons of offering Grams all the gory details in her mind. Conveying everything to her would be taking the honest route.

"They're just feel so...real," she replied, changing her mind at the last second. "The pain...the way my life just drains right out of me. I lose all control when I'm with Damon. That scares me."

Tituba eyed her sympathetically and reached out a hand in support. Bonnie happily took it.

"They're just dreams, honey. They end the second you wake up and reality takes over from there."

"It's pretty hard to be a fan of reality when mine is inexplicably tied to a cold blooded killer," she replied.

"Touche, little miss," Grams smirked at the sudden burst of feistiness. "Tell me something sweetie. What's your biggest fear - losing control with Damon? Or Damon, himself?"

If she was completely honest with herself, neither concept was mutually exclusive in her world. Not being able to control herself around him meant giving into all that he stood for and all that she was against.

"You know sometimes we must come face to face with that which frightens us most in order to progress."

"Says Mystic Falls' former protest queen," Bonnie smirked. "Man, I would give anything to see you in action back in the day."

Tituba beamed at the mere mention of her days as the town's resident sociopolitical trailblazer. "Yes, well that statement applies to your situation too."

"Grams," she started, looking more serious now. "There's something else I've been needing to talk to you about."

Bonnie leaned forward and began speaking in hushed tones. "When you picked me up from the nurse's office yesterday, I said I had a migraine. The truth is-"

"You didn't," Tituba replied nonchalantly, slicing off another sliver of sweet toast.

"How did you know?" the teenage witch asked.

"I've got a sixth sense about these things," she smiled knowingly.

Bonnie took another bite of her banana buttermilk pancakes and sighed. "I'm hearing voices, Grams."

"Voices?"

"Other people's voices - but not before I get this excruciating headache that makes me dizzy. Then I pass out, which is how I ended up on the bed in the nurse's office. Then you found me there looking like-"

"Stop the train," Tituba commanded. It was pretty obvious that her granddaughter was panicking on the inside about everything that had transpired.

Then again, she could still remember what it was like transitioning, herself.

"What's happening to me, Grams?"

"Stage one, evidently." The older woman sipped more tea, this time slowly to prevent another repeat choking performance.

"Stage one?"

"Telepathy is a gift the Bennett woman have been bestowed with," she began calmly. "The hard part is learning how to selectively tune into certain voices while drowning others out."

"And the headaches?"

"That's a sure fire sign of a blockage," she replied.

"What kind of blockage?"

"A mental block, my dear. It seems your biggest fear is preventing you from being able to fully access your gifts and abilities."

"So basically you're telling me the only way I'm ever gonna stop having these headaches is to face Damon?"

"Only if Damon is your biggest fear," Tituba smirked. "Like I said, sometimes we must come face to face with-"

"That which frightens us most in order to progress. I know," Bonnie returned. "You know, when I first told you about what happened in the woods, you told me to stay as far away from Damon as I could. Now you're all gung ho about me confronting him?"

"A: I had my reasons and B: Facing him is the only way," Tituba reiterated.

Bonnie glanced at her watch and quickly grabbed her bag. "I've gotta get going, Grams. Can't be late again for chemistry. Thanks for breakfast."

Turning to receive a quick peck on the cheek from her granddaughter, Tituba smiled and looked at the clock. She still had enough time to run a few much needed errands.

***

Bonnie raced through the hallway, nearly body checking Tyler Lockwood and leaping over the French foreign exchange student on her way to chemistry. She ground to a skidding halt on the freshly mopped floor of the East Wing hallway - and landed on her butt.

"Crap!" she yelped, as a pleasant looking young man reached out to help her up.

"Need a hand?" he smiled.

"Thanks," she replied.

"I'm Alby," he exclaimed.

"It's nice to meet you Alby," she said, observing the writing on his janitorial nametag: A. Greenwood. "Well I'm gonna be late for chemistry if I don't get going."

"Of course," he responded, gesturing for her to be on her way.

"Thanks again!" she called out as she ran.

Bonnie breathed a huge sigh of relief when she arrived at the lab. Every student who cared to show up was seated and still, there was no sign of Mr. Horowitz.

She took a seat next to Stefan, her usual lab partner and grabbed her supplies. Yet another sleep inducing period of memorizing more facets of the periodic table of elements - and her usual routine of accidentally setting things on fire.

"Phew," she whispered, pretending to swipe sweat from her forehead. "Guess I beat Horowitz here."

"Guess so," Stefan chuckled.

Other than his restrictive diet of blood and the fact that he lacked a pulse, Stefan fit in pretty well at Robert E. Lee. Not to mention, he was the school's resident eye candy galore - next to Matt Donovan, of course.

"Hey...you okay?" he asked, his voice becoming slightly more serious. "You know, after everything that happened last night..."

"Yeah," she replied uneasily. "Y-yeah. I'm good."

For an instant, Bonnie remembered what it felt like being pressed up against Damon's cold, hard chest as he saved her from the fury of the flames. He had scooped her up into his arms so swiftly and so gently; it was downright un-Damon like.

Bonnie looked up again and scrunched her face in confusion. "Why is Mr. Daimler here?" she asked Stefan.

Judging by the baffled expression on his face, he wasn't too sure either.

The middle-aged balding man now stood before the class. He seemed to be perspiring a great deal on his upper lip, a sign of frazzled nerves.

"Hello class," he began. "I uh, I realize you were probably all expecting to see Mr. Horowitz today, but I'm afraid I have some...some bad news for you."

Mr. Daimler took a large gulp before continuing. "It seems that last night...he was...involved in a horrific scene…in the woods near Old Fell's Church."

Shit! Bonnie instantly tensed up. Stefan sensed it right away and felt himself grow nervous as well.

"What kind of incident?" a student hollered from the back of the lab.

The witch and the vampire braced themselves for the horrific news of charred remains being found or death by smoke inhalation. What they heard instead shocked them.

"The authorities are saying it was an animal attack."

Immediately Bonnie looked at Stefan. "Damon?" she whispered.

Great, she thought. Now facing my fears just became a whole lot scarier.

"Let me do a little more digging," Stefan insisted.

After the lengths he had gone to in order to secure them a spot in Sherriff Forbes' good books, he wasn't so sure Damon would simply just blow it all for a quick kill in the forest. No. There had to be another explanation.

Whatever it was, Stefan was intent on finding out.

***

Bonnie Bennett sat in her Prius for ten minutes in the driveway of 61 Crescent Road. She was having trouble mustering the strength and courage to even knock on the door of the Salvatore boarding house, let alone speak to its naughtiest dweller.

It was her lunch period and somehow she had managed to convince herself that 45 minutes would be enough time to face her fears. She felt the sudden vibration of her cell phone against her thigh.

"Hello?"

"Bonnie, it's Stefan."

"Hey," she said with a nervous smile. Please don't be home. Please don't be home right now. "What's up?"

"I'm just down at the city morgue," he explained. "Elena and I found a way in. Well more like she sweet talked the mortician."

Bonnie grinned at the thought of her bestie strutting her stuff around a room filled with gurneys. How odd. Elena could probably seduce a dead man. Wait a second...

"Did you get a look at Horowitz?" she asked eagerly.

"Yup. He definitely wasn't attacked by a vampire."

The young witch felt a wave of relief wash over her. "So what was it then?"

"I can't be entirely sure," Stefan admitted. "But the body wasn't fully drained. The wounds are different. It's almost like the murderer was just lashing out erratically. Kind of like..."

"Kind of like what?" Momentary silence.

"Like werewolves."

Bonnie suddenly felt a new fear brewing in the pit of her stomach. What if these were the creatures Grams, Stefan and Elena had been talking about last night? What if the others were already in Mystic Falls waiting to feast on her flesh to stop The Prophecy?

"Stefan, do you think it's them?" she began. "The ones who are out to get me?"

"I don't know," he finally answered. "But we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

With that, the two said their goodbyes and Bonnie turned to face the stately home she had been tentatively eyeing for what seemed like an eternity. She could feel his eyes on her.

It was like being in the dream again, the feeling of a heavy-lidded gaze hovering over her from afar. This time he was much closer.

Grabbing her chestnut hued purse, she slung it casually over her shoulder and began to approach the front door.

The petite witch wore a black knee-length peasant dress with spaghetti straps. She paired it with a bronze pashmina and strappy neutral flats. It was cinched in at the waist and showed off her svelte figure.

It also mildly emphasized a pair of assets she would have much rather been flaunting in Brad Pitt's handsome, perfectly asymmetrical face. Bonnie tugged the fabric upward self-consciously.

As she came closer to the door, it slowly creaked open before she could even knock. Taking a reluctant step forward, she entered his domain.

Bonnie tread carefully on the hardwood floor and noticed there was no one around. It was eerily like her dream from the night before. The furniture, the paintings, the moldings - they all looked the same.

Did that mean absolutely everything would be as well?

"Hello?" she called out. Nothing but the echo of her own voice.

She turned to the staircase and felt a rush of trepidation run right through her body. Struggling to keep her reluctance at bay, she slowly began to climb and felt her heartbeat quicken with each step.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Still no sound.

She contemplated turning back. No. I can't do that. I need to face my greatest fear. It's the only way...like Grams said.

Bonnie sighed and continued her ascent. Tiny goosebumps had already begun to spring up on every patch of skin left exposed by the flimsy material of her dress.

There it was. A familiar arrangement of classical music slithered down the stairs from the second floor. It didn't sound exactly the same, but it was similar enough to send a chill racing down her spine.

The fact that it was coming from the first room on her right made it all the more unnerving.

No. It was just a dream. Stand your ground, Bonnie.

Inch by inch, she crept closer to the door, which had been left slightly ajar. A sliver of what resembled candlelight beamed across the hallway. Bonnie pressed her fingers lightly against the wooden barrier, allowing it to creak open beneath her touch.

This time she didn't have to wonder where he was. Damon Salvatore lay unemotionally atop white silk sheets on a black iron framed bed. It stood perfectly in the centre of a room with walls painted blood red.

His arms were casually crossed behind his head as he stared carelessly at the elegent light fixture overhead.

"Hello, little fire starter." With a deliberately laggard motion, he swiveled his neck to face her.

"Damon," she replied uncomfortably, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

They continued to watch each other in silence. His gaze, fully penetrating. Hers, unnerved and curious.

"Shouldn't you be out torching the woods?" he mocked her with a sly grin.

His jest garnered him a grand eye roll from the witch. "That was an accident," she replied adamantly.

The young witch continued to stand near the door, reluctant to get any closer to the resting vampire than she needed to. Besides, her purpose for this little visit to the boarding house was to face her fears and find out why Damon had made such a grand gesture in saving her last night.

"I see the Stefan juice did you a world of good," he remarked, allowing his eyes to rake the full length of her young, supple body. "You seem to have a taste for V."

"V?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow inquisitively.

"That's True Blood lingo for vamp blood," he smirked, still lying on the mattress.

"Didn't know you had time to watch TV," she began. "I always thought you were too busy murdering people in cold blood to be indulging in the pleasures of cable television."

"We should all make time to indulge in the...finer things in life," he replied, flashing her a devil-may-care grin.

Bonnie rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Do you always have to speak in innuendos?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, little witch." Quirking an eyebrow suggestively in her direction, Damon silently congratulated himself on reproducing the look and feel of her dream almost to a tee.

He had memorized everything, right down to the classical music and unbuttoned black silk shirt her eyes were currently fixated on. "Like what you see?" he inquired smoothly.

"This isn't a social call," Bonnie firmly replied.

"You didn't answer the question," he pointed out. "So I'll take that as a shy, girlie, 'Yes Damon, I think you're so hot!'"

In his bid to sound like an adolescent female, he ended up sounding more like a fusion of Caroline Forbes and Tikki Carter.

"More like so obnoxious," Bonnie replied, emphasizing the final two words.

"You've got real spunk, you know that?" he smiled mischievously.

Finally crossing the threshold, Bonnie stood beside the iron framed bed with her arms crossed. "Look, as much as I enjoy verbal sparring with you, that's not why I came here."

"Alright," he replied, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, his back now facing her. "Why'd you come?"

"We need to talk, Damon."

"About?" he replied, pretending to be completely oblivious.

"For starters, why you saved me last night."

Rising from where he sat, the vampire casually strode toward the open window, sheathed by gold thread embroidered curtains. "You know, a simple thank you would be enough to suffice."

"Thank you," she offered. "Now back to my question. Why'd you save me, Damon?"

"I was there. You were there. Let's just leave it at that," he replied nonchalantly.

Bonnie sauntered toward the vampire until she stood mere inches from him. "No," she replied, placing her hands defiantly on her hips.

"No?" he questioned, feeling a tinge of amusement at the sight of her so riled up and determined.

He stared intently into her deep emerald eyes and for a moment, allowed his gaze to rest upon her luscious pink lips. The sun cast a delicious glow on her caramel skin. She really was quite beautiful for her age, he thought.

Damon could hear the sound of her heart practically banging against her rib cage. Being in such close proximity to him sure scared the hell out of her. On the outside though, she tried to project the air of a woman who was perfectly calm, cool and collected.

That was exactly why she acted against her better judgment and took another step closer to him. "No."

In light speed he was behind her. Bonnie turned to find herself nose to nose with him and felt the pressure of his body against hers. She moved backward, attempting to place a little distance between their competing forms.

"Do you have a death wish, little witch?" he hissed into her left ear.

He's just trying to intimidate you. Don't let him win...even if he is a homicidal maniac.

Feeling a sudden burst of inspiration, Bonnie tilted her head forward and looked him square in the eyes. "No. But according to Emily's journal, someday I'll have you."

He began to advance on her again. Bonnie began to retreat until finally the warm skin on the back of her knees made contact with the cold iron frame of the bed. She was now trapped and shuddering ever so slightly.

Damon quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned. "Oh yes," he began, making quotation marks with his fingers. "'The Prophecy' of Crabby Belwain.'"

"Tabi," Bonnie countered, still maintaining her composure. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"Do I strike you as a believer?"

"Well you never struck me as a savior before, but last night you surprised us all."

"I'm just full of surprises," Damon smirked. He tilted his forehead and inhaled the sweet floral fragrance along the skin of her neck. Bonnie shuddered against him as his cool fingertips brushed against her pulse point in a feather light stroke.

No. I'm in control. He will not be allowed to roam my body like some fifteenth century explorer in search of gold and spices. No. That was only a dream.

"You're full of something," she retorted, squeezing past him.

She heard him growl low in his throat as she walked away toward the full-length mirror near his window. "I think you'll find that resistance is futile, fire starter."

"Why is that? Are you gonna try to mind manipulate me or something?" she challenged. "I know all about that. Stefan and Elena-"

"Are massive thorns in my side," he interrupted. "Yes, I agree."

"You tried to kill me," she yelped, feeling her anger and frustration finally reaching its boiling point.

"Tried to kill you; not succeeded in killing you," he reminded her. "And besides, your great, great, great, great - God, doesn't it ever get exhausting trying to remember just how great Emily is?"

"Stop changing the subject," Bonnie demanded.

Damon strode toward her and stood close enough that she could feel wisps of his cool breath on her forehead as he spoke. "Look, if I wanted you dead, you would be. It's as simple as that. Stefan saved you because I let him."

"Stefan saved me because unlike you, there's good in him," she shot back.

Suddenly Bonnie felt his hands gripping her arms, bringing her closer. "I could snap Saint Stefan like a twig if I wanted to. The same goes for every other person in this town."

His eyes crystal blues bore into her eyes, making her shiver involuntarily. Her body was pressed so intimately together with his that for the first time since she first set foot in this house, she was truly scared.

Willing herself to go on, Bonnie took a deep breath. The sound of her pulse racing was like music to his ears and the rush of blood to her flushed cheeks was enticing enough to make his mouth water and his stomach yearn.

Damon could feel the veins beneath his eyes threaten to reveal themselves. His canines were dangerously close to the point of protrusion. He flinched before turning his head to the side.

Gathering every shred of restraint he could muster, the vampire forced his fangs to retreat. Damon glanced down at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were shut, face scrunched in fear and expectation.

Trailing his frigid fingertips down the side of her face, he watched as her eyelids flew open. Her gaze was a deep emerald with flecks of chocolate and right now it was filled with such fear.

He couldn't understand why he had just stopped himself from indulging in perhaps one of the greatest pleasures known to vampires - the sweet, crimson life force of a witch. Inwardly the vampire scolded himself.

You fucking pussy! She's a witch! Why the fuck do you care if she lives or dies?

Consuming such a large quantity of her blood had conjured up a string of intense desires for her within him. It had also granted him access to her dreams and most intimate thoughts.

While most vampires can access words and phrases in the mind of a mortal, he was now able to see exactly what she envisioned as well. Every color, every shape, every movement. It all ran through his mind as it ran through hers.

"Look at me," he instructed her, softening his voice just a touch. "When I lunged at you, all I could see was Emily. She made a promise to me. Unfortunately you Bennett women aren't exactly an honorable bunch."

Bonnie could feel the anger rising from the pit of her stomach at his remarks. "It's not like she didn't have her reasons, Damon. Unleashing 27 vampires into the free world isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

"Sucks to be you," he quipped with a smirk. "You really don't know what you're missing."

"Could we please try to stay on topic?"

"What was the topic again?" he questioned, arching a brow inquisitively, while pretending to be deep in thought.

"Fire can destroy a vampire. Yet you jumped into a ring of it just to save me. Why?"

So deeply immersed in the moment, neither of them seemed to notice Damon's hands braced on her arms. His eyes drifted from her mouth to her deliciously heaving breasts so clearly visible against the flimsy fabric. They then traveled along the expanse of caramel skin along her neck, lingering on the exact spot he anticipated her pulse point resided in.

He wasn't the only one so profoundly affected by their nearness. Bonnie silently chided herself for feeling so aroused by him. Every taut, muscular inch of him was intoxicating - and she hated herself and her body for the way it was reacting right now.

Damon flinched at her sudden memory of their bodies fused together in the heat of passion on the black iron framed bed that stood so close to them at this very moment. He had to push her away. There was someone else.

Katherine Pierce was the only woman who had ever loved him. How could he suddenly forget about her when he had dedicated 146 years to finding a way to release her from her dank, decrepit tomb?

No, The Prophecy was not real. This was a load of bullshit, engineered by the mystical mind of Tituba Bennett to keep her little grandwitch from the big bad wolf.

Bennett women betray. Bennett women lie. Bennett women cannot be trusted!

It repeated itself in his mind like the persistent, purposeful refrain of a song. Its purpose - drown out and dismiss any and all pleasant thoughts of Bonnie Bennett.

"I saved you for Katherine," he declared in his coldest tone. "Everything I do is for Katherine. That bitch Emily, may have destroyed the crystal, but if there's another way to bring the woman I love back, I might need a witch. That's where you come in."

"So I'm just a means to an end," she gathered, a hint of regret evident in her voice.

"A mildly attractive means to an end," he threw in. "I mean, give yourself some credit."

Damon watched as her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and felt something profound tug at his core. Was it sympathy? Remorse? Whatever it was, it had to be quashed immediately.

"Guess you were right about me," he continued. "There's only one good Salvatore and he sure as hell isn't standing in the room right now."

She looked up at him, her lips parted sensuously, eyes wide with fury and frustration. "Do you know what this is like for me?"

He couldn't bring himself to say a word. No charming, irreverent quip at the other person's expense. Nothing.

"I'm 17-years-old, Damon. Do you know what it's like being told by the people you love that you're destined to end up with a cold heartless son-of-a-bitch for an eternity? No, of course you don't. You don't love anyone else, but yourself and some undead ex who slept with your brother while she was sleeping with you! Yeah, that's real love, alright," she scoffed. "Add to that, the fate of the Supernatural world supposedly rests on our shoulders. But yeah, to Hell with the rest of us. We're all just a means to an end in your pathetic ploy to resurrect a woman who treated you like dirt."

He stood perfectly still, astonished by the forceful delivery of her impromptu monologue - including the bit where she referenced is callous summation of her. The other part of him was stark raving mad. His blood was boiling in remembrance of her harsh words about his relationship with Katherine.

What the hell did she know?

"Are you finished?" he asked, clenching his jaw.

It took far more effort to restrain himself from tearing into her throat this time around. Her little "does of reality" had stung him far more than he was willing to let on.

Shoving her away, he allowed the witch her freedom. Then she paused at the doorway.

"I'm not done."

Keeping his back turned to her, Damon absorbed every last word.

"I don't believe in The Prophecy either." Momentary silence. "I mean, how could I? There is no way in hell that I could ever love someone as selfish and contemptuous as you."

He heard the pitter patter of her feet as she bolted from the room into the hallway, down the staircase and out the front door. Damon would never admit to anyone the distinct twitching sensation he felt inside of his chest when he was around her that day - or the unexpected disappointment he felt with her parting words.

Was he really so undeserving of love?

***

Tituba Bennett walked into the pastel painted jewelry shop in search of her glorified bestie. "Maya, you here?"

No reply. She got the strangest feeling then. Something supernatural was at play.

Whatever it was, the witch sensed there was activity behind a curtain of richly hued saris that led to the repair room. Her sixth sense was actively surveying the scene.

As she closed her eyes and listened for the sounds mere mortals could not hear, there was a strange bubbling and squelching. She peeled back the layers of green, yellow and blue drapes and tip toed to the other side.

"My? You here, hon?" Tituba held onto the amethyst jewel that hung from her bracelet.

It was her own talisman of sorts. She pressed lightly against the gem stone and took a deep breath in. Her eyes were drawn to a white closet door.

She turned the knob and stared down at the glossy hardwood floor inside. To anyone else, there would be nothing peculiar or distinct about this little nook. It would have looked like any other ordinary storage closet, but with one phrase it would be anything but.

"Agor y ffordd, rydych yn Hag hen!" the seasoned witch hissed.

She watched with bright eyes as the wooden floorboard was yanked away by a great force of suction. The storage shelves and their contents followed suit. There beneath her was the stairway to the fairy's study.

Their magic password was Welsh for "Open the way, you old Hag!" It certainly wasn't a typical, poetic command; then again, Maya and Tituba shared a rather offbeat sense of humor.

"Double, double toil and trouble," the merry woman remarked, as she heard the footsteps of her closest friend approach.

"Fire burn and cauldron bubble," finished Tituba, as she landed on her feet with a thud.

The floorboard of the closet immediately slid back into place, yanking the door shut with it. It was a clever little contraption Maya and Tituba had collaborated on.

Only a McCullough or Bennett woman could gain access to the fairy's below ground retreat - if they knew the password. It was a marvelous room with bookshelves along the walls and cream colored armchairs at each corner.

In the center of the room there was a blue sofa that sat atop a golden brown carpet. If you looked to your right, you would surely catch the veritable technicolor chemistry bonanza that sat atop a large desk.

Colorful fluids surged through transparent plastic tubes into various bottles. They bubbled, they steamed and they perfumed the room with sweetness and spice.

"What are we brewing today?" the witch questioned.

"Sleeping potions, love juice, the usual," Maya returned.

"Love juice?" Tituba raised an eyebrow before shaking her head.

"Oh don't you shake your head at me, Tituba Bennett. This stuff really works. You'd know that if you actually tried some."

"Well thanks, but no thanks. Love and me - we've already enjoyed a long run together. It was perfect. No need for another round."

"Maurice was a lovely man," the fairy mused.

"He was, indeed." Tituba smiled in fond recollection of her late husband and Bonnie's grandfather. He was such a kind and gentle soul.

For a moment, both women found themselves basking in the warm, comforting embrace of Memory Lane.

"So what brings you to my lair?" Maya inquired, blending a blue liquid with a pink gel-like substance.

Tituba's features hardened. "He's back, My."

"Who?"

"Your brother," Tituba responded. "And he's up to no damn good."

"But I thought Rufus was in England. How do you know for sure?" the wide-eyed fairy replied.

"I went back to the woods this morning," she began. "I had to know what went wrong last night."

"You said not even you could stop the flames, right?" she asked.

"Right."

"Someone else had to be working a counter spell," she offered. "That's the only logical explanation I can think of."

It was highly ironic, two Supernatural beings speaking of logic when their very existence was quite a feat on its own.

"You know," Maya continued. "My Aunt Maggie was a pro at fire spells. She taught me and Rufus..."

"Everything you know," Tituba finished, as she watched realization creep up on her friend. "This is what I found a few meters away from the flames."

Tituba reached out and handed the pale fairy a pressed brass coin with wings and the McCullough family crest on it. It was attached to a silver chain, a trinket Maya had crafted specifically for her baby brother.

"It can't be," she replied, placing her hand over her mouth in shock. "It's been 17 years since he went away."

"That's the part I find most peculiar," Tituba offered. "Why, after 17 years, would he choose to return to Mystic Falls? And why would he be lurking in the woods on the exact same night Bonnie nearly dies?"

The two women exchanged knowing glances. Rufus McCullough had returned to Mystic Falls, still a card-carrying member of the pure blood league of fairies.

"The Glan," Maya said in a hush tone. "But how do they know?"

"I don't know," the witch replied. "I suppose...it was only a matter of time before one of the pure blood leagues figured it out."

"We need to protect Bonnie," the fairy exclaimed, her eyes welling up with fear, frustration and hurt. "I'll brew a potion."

She turned back to her work station and instantly began to combine a purple liquid with golden flecks of dust and a thick syrup-like concoction. "She'll be at the dance tonight, right?"

Tituba nodded. "Then give her this to drink before she leaves. She must drink all of it. It will protect her - for the night, at least. Until then, I'll see if I can find that horrid little brother of mine."

The guilt had become quite evident on Maya's round face. The tears were threatening to cascade over her cheeks and it broke the witch's heart. "This is not your fault, sweetheart."

"Yes it is," she cried, now unable to contain the streams of pain. "I knew there was evil in him. I knew it and I didn't stop him!"

Tituba could still remember that night out on the cliffs of Old Wickery Hills. Word had spread that a warlock was afoot. Three young girls had gone missing in Mystic Falls.

The fact that they were each descendants of great wealth and notoriety wasn't nearly as intriguing as another tie that bound them together. It turned out that they were all witches.

Their bodies had been found in a field not far from the Hills. The crime bore all the hallmarks of a pureblood killing. It was in the ritualistic way the girls had been murdered, the intricate carvings on their bodies and the symbol that had been left on the grass.

Unfortunately the Mystic Falls Police Department had not been briefed on fairies nearly half as well as they had been on vampires. They regarded the robin's feather as just another facet of the landscape. They were wrong.

It was a declaration that The Glan had been there and some day, they would return. Maya and Tituba knew very well the symbolism behind the seemingly harmless object.

The Glan had acquired quite the following in Mystic Falls. They were out to protect the purity of their kind and maintain the distinctions between The Supernaturals - a cause similar to the one The Fiors covetted.

Maya and Tituba had combined their strengths that night and asked the spirits of the dead girls to show them who had murdered them. They were able to recognize one object amidst the flames: a pressed brass coin with wings and the McCullough family crest on it dangling from a chain around a man's neck.

It was then that they knew. The showdown was imminent.

Rufus McCullough had been married for 10 years to the love of his life. She was vibrant, beautiful and a fairy. It was a passionate, all-consuming bond that he would go to the ends of the Earth to protect. In the end, that wasn't enough.

Emmeline McCullough had been murdered by a witch who had never been held accountable for his crime. The utter devastation and emotional turmoil in his life bred a deep hatred of the witching world in Rufus.

Maya confronted him on the cliff. She insisted upon going alone. Like most siblings do, they fought; but unlike the situation with most siblings, it was a battle of Supernatural proportions.

It all came down to that one pivotal moment when she had him pinned against a tree by the neck. She made her greatest mistake staring into his eyes. Images of their childhood instantly flashed through her brain.

The moment where she watched her mother with wide-eyed curiosity and adoration as she fed her baby brother a bottle of milk. The time where he scratched his four-year-old knees and she, a brave and rambunctious eight-year-old, had hugged him tightly to comfort him.

She couldn't bring herself to thrust the silver blade through his heart. It would have killed her to do it.

"Leave now!" she commanded, tears flowing freely from her green eyes. "Don't you ever come back here, Rufus!"

Maya watched her brother run off into the night. He looked back just once to take a final glance at the woman who had shown him mercy. It broke her heart, but in the meantime, she would do whatever she could to prevent The Glan from resurfacing in the town.

Tituba scribed for his location soon after. He was already well on his way to Brighton, a seaside town in East Sussex, England. There was a large Supernatural contingent there - mostly fairies and vampires.

For years he had seemed content to steer clear of Mystic Falls...until now.

***

Bonnie couldn't contain her laughter. The thought of her best friend getting caught smack dab in the middle of a make-out session with her life-challenged, hot beau was too much - especially since they were getting frisky in the janitor's closet.

"I can't believe DeWitt and the new janitor caught you two in the act!" she shrieked.

"Correction," Elena began, cheeks still clearly flushed. "We were almost in the act."

"Whatever. Technicalities, shmechnicalities," Bonnie giggled.

The two girls made their way to Bonnie's Prius amidst the throng of students scurrying off of school property. They were all in a mad rush to get themselves perfectly done up for the dance - Bonnie and Elena were no exception.

Tossing their bags into the back seat, they began the trip back to Elena's. The ride seemed to go by that much quicker today. After all, the air was rife with excitement and both girls were relishing in it.

"So," Bonnie began in a teasing tone. "You and sugar lips color coordinating tonight?"

Unable to stifle a chuckle, Elena playfully smacked her on the shoulder. "No!" Momentary silence. "Yes."

"Ooooh, so the color of love will be green this evening," the witch replied lyrically referencing the strapless design her friend had selected.

"Or azure," the leggy brunette inserted. "Of course that all depends on whether or not you and Matt really hit it off tonight," she finished with a wink.

"Not. Likely," Bonnie replied with a grin. "We've known each other since we were kids. It'd be like dating my brother."

"If you say so," Elena exclaimed.

"I do," she maintained. "Besides, with Damon and The Prophecy on my mind all the time, it's hard enough to think about anything else."

"What does Grams say about the dreams?" Elena inquired, offering her best friend a sympathetic glance.

"She says they're some psychosomatic manifestation of all the stress I've been through," the witch replied with a roll of her green eyes. "She thinks I need to give myself time to heal."

"Well you have been through a lot."

"But Elena, I've been dreaming about him for nearly two weeks now," she pointed out. "Who dreams about having sex with a homicidal vampire every night for that long?"

"I'm sorry, did you say you were having sex with Damon in your dreams?" The brunette inquired with her eyes bulging out of their sockets in utter shock. "I thought you said he was trying to kill you."

"He does that too," Bonnie insisted, trying to maintain her concentration on the road.

"How? By ravishing you to death?"

Taking a deep breath, she fought the onslaught of steamy flashbacks. "No...not...exactly."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Elena responded, placing a hand over her mouth. "This is Damon we're talking about. Remember? The guy who tried to kill you two weeks ago."

"And in a strange twist, the same guy who saved my life last night." The girls exchanged astonished looks at the mere remembrance of what had transpired in the woods.

He had swooped into the ring of fire like a blue-eyed bat out of hell and plucked Bonnie from danger. Damon rarely committed random acts of kindness and he certainly wasn't a renown life-saver. Needless to say, everyone was still dumbfounded by his uncharacteristic act.

Bonnie pulled into the Gilbert driveway and brought the engine to a halt. As the girls entered the house, the enticing aroma of bolognese sauce made their mouths water and their stomachs cry out in need of sustenance.

"Ah, Italy today." Elena smiled warmly. "Aunt Jena's been making dishes from this book, 'Culinary Tour of the World' for about a week now."

"Must be nice," Bonnie replied.

"So far we've been to China, India, France... oh and then there was that less than appetizing trip to Scotland."

"Haggis?" Bonnie wagered a guess.

"Thankfully no, but it may as well have been."

After saying a quick hello to Aunt Jena, the girls ran up to Elena's room to begin the all important primping process. Besides, Stefan and Matt would be dropping by in just a few hours.

They would head to the dance separately - Bonnie in her date's Chevy pick-up truck and Elena in Stefan's convertible. It looked a lot like Damon's; then again he'd never let anyone put their hands on his baby.

Instead of coming home afterward, Elena told Jena she'd be staying with Bonnie and her grandmother for the weekend. Of course, not one to deny her niece, she bought the lie - hook, line and sinker.

In reality, the leggy 17-year-old would be spending her free time with Stefan at the boarding house and on the road. There just wasn't a better way she could think to spend her weekend.

"So what do you think?" Bonnie nervously emerged from the walk-in closet.

Her one-shoulder azure dress embraced every sensual curve of her body, while highlighting the rich chocolate hue of her skin. Her hair had been swept into an elegant up-do and her shoes were bronze and strappy.

Elena was quite certain at this moment that Matt Donovan would need help lifting his jaw off the floor of her living room when Bonnie came down the stairs.

***

Meanwhile, another strapping male couldn't believe his luck. "Two Bennett women on the same day? What are the chances?" Damon Salvatore smiled, ushering Tituba in with a devilish smirk.

"I'll pretend your voice isn't dripping with sarcasm," Tituba retorted in usual top form.

A vision of her granddaughter confronting the fanged one entered her mystical mind. Bonnie had indeed taken her advice.

"And I'll go on pretending the prophecy isn't a whopping load of horsesh-"

"I'm afraid I don't have time for our usual back and forth," she interrupted, lifting a finger to silence him. "As much as I enjoy giving you a good verbal whipping and all."

"Oh, but I do love a good tongue lashing."

Tituba rolled her eyes and painfully remembered this was the man Bonnie was destined to spend an eternity with. You're about as charming as a pimp working the Red Light District.

You wound me, witch.

You need to be at that dance tonight. Tituba folded her arms across her chest and regarded the vampire with a sense of seriousness she hoped he would note.

Damon placed one hand over his heart and the other over his mouth, clearly mocking her. Without a date? Me? Never!

"Ever heard of The Glan?" she questioned sharply, feeling herself nearing the end of her tether.

"The Glan? Sounds like a group of elves you might find dancing in the woods."

"Could you be serious for once in your after life?" she balked. "This is a matter of life and death!"

"Who's?" he lightly inquired.

"The young lady you supposedly don't care about, yet saved last night," she explained.

"Let's not go reading too much into that now," he responded dryly. "I was there. So was she. That's all there is to it."

"Horseshit!" the witch declared. "And for your information, The Glan is the magical equivalent of the ultimate racists. They're fairies who hate the idea of procreation between different Supernaturals."

"Fairies?" he chuckled. "Racist fairies? Are you kidding me? Sheesh, Tinker Bell's gonna be pissed about this."

Concentrating hard on an antique sculpture of a nude woman, Tituba sent the object flying across the living room into the wall. It shattered into tiny fragments.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, witch?" He ran to the decimated piece in lightspeed and began to survey the mess it had left. His eyes were becoming dark and shadowy, the veins beginning to go a deep, disturbing crimson. "You really do have a death wish."

"Like I haven't heard that one before," she replied, unflinching. "Now that I have your attention, these racist fairies are out to stop The Prophecy. They were also behind what happened last night in the woods."

"How can you be so sure about that?" Damon inquired, still not devouring every morsel.

"I found an object near the fire this morning. It belongs to one of their members. He...used to be a friend."

Damon couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "A friend of yours. So much for those sharp witchy instincts."

"Former friend," she corrected him. "Anyway, I need you to keep an eye on Bonnie tonight. Just make sure she stays safe."

"Why don't you just ask Saint Stefan to do it?" he asked. "Do-gooding is his forte."

"He's not going to be the father of my great grandchild," she replied, quirking an eyebrow suggestively at him.

He couldn't contain the slight smirk that spread across his lips. If this was really all a lie, Tituba Bennett had to be the finest actress he'd ever laid his blue eyes upon.

"Goodbye Damon." The vampire watched as she exited the boarding house.

Protect Bonnie. Love Bonnie. Procreate with Bonnie. Save the Supernatural World. This was his destiny? Right...