A/N: Things start to come together. Part I of III. Enjoy.
Kindling
Bonnie watched the morning arrive. Sleep had been impossible ever since the severe magic concussion. Closing her eyes meant dreams about fire and black wings, and she had enough crazy crap going on to let her mind drive her insane. Besides, her body seemed on a different wavelength that required only fifteen minutes to recharge. She felt powerful, but hesitated to test it. She wasn't ready to repeat the events of three days ago.
Her thoughts turned to Damon. Not a word since he dumped her at Elena's. Unusual, but then he did admit to caring for her in some capacity. Bonnie reasoned he was on an extended bender, screwing and drinking and killing in order to be the perfect vampire when he showed his face. A part of her, small and insignificant, wished he stopped trying to be a dick. That part of her wanted the Damon who she felt compelled to trust, the one who sniffed out Coq Au Vin and grasped her hand like it was a lifeline. It was a stupid, naïve, completely lame part of herself she wanted absolutely zero association with.
But she thought of him through brushing her teeth and getting ready for school and settling in for first period. Bonnie chewed her pen cap in PreCalculus, thinking of the last time she saw him instead of worrying with functions. By American History, Bonnie had formulated a complex plan to drop by the Manor and casually investigate whether or not Damon was still alive.
"How was space?" Elena asked as they exited the class.
"Hm?"
Elena stared at her. Bonnie waved a hand. "Oh, yeah. I've got a lot on my mind. Papers, practice, you know."
"Damon?"
They stopped in front of Bonnie's locker. She concentrated on the lock despite Elena's prying look. Bonnie called it the "pick axe" and it had a success rate of ninety-five percent. But not today. Today she had to seem normal busy.
"Why would I preoccupy myself with Damon?"
"Because you guys have been bonding. And bonding with Damon is either good or bad, no gray."
Bonnie reached into her locker and exchanged a book for a binder. "Like I said, Damon and I have an understanding. He provides the added muscle, I provide the brains."
"But—"
Bonnie closed the locker with a tired smile. "Elena, that's all it is, okay?"
Elena frowned and cinched her bag straps, frustrated. "Fine, okay, I guess. What are you doing for free period?"
Bonnie shrugged. "I'll probably hit the library or go home, take a nap."
"Don't oversleep, we have a quiz in Bio," Elena said. Bonnie made a face and they parted ways. Bonnie waited until Elena disappeared to speed down the hall and out the school. She tossed her backpack in the backseat of her car and took off to Salvatore Manor.
Doubt started to take huge chunks out of her reserve as Bonnie pulled up the drive. He might be home, in one of his moods, and then it would seem as though…Bonnie looked at her eyes in the rearview mirror.
Bonnie left the car and jogged the short distance to the front door. She knew they left it unlocked but she used the doorknocker anyway.
Stefan answered. He smiled at her and stepped aside to let her in. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked.
"Shouldn't you?"
They grinned at each other. Stefan led her to the front room. Numerous dusty looking leather bound books were on the tables and strewn about the chairs. Loose sheets of yellowed paper were spread over every available table space. Bonnie raised an eyebrow.
"What's going on?"
Stefan held up a book. "I'm on my way to becoming an expert on the sun and moon curse."
Bonnie read the spine of another book. "Sumerian stories? Is the curse that old?"
"I don't know. The earliest I dated the curse is the 11th century, in Viking lore, but stories about vampires and werewolves predate the Vikings. So I'm digging, trying to piece everything together."
"This all sounds very…"
"Scholastic?"
"No, boring," Bonnie said. Stefan grinned again.
"Well, your help would be more than welcomed. I've forgotten most of my Latin."
Stefan picked up a yellow sheet and scanned it. Bonnie searched for a way to broach the purpose of her visit since Stefan had to be a gentleman about everything.
"You can't do this on your own. I'm sure Alaric knows something, and then there's Damon…" Bonnie made sure her eyes were on a book before Stefan turned to glance at her.
"Alaric, yes. Damon," Stefan sighed, "Damon is a separate issue altogether."
Bonnie casually latched onto Stefan's aggravation. "He hasn't been helping?"
"He helps in his own spectacularly stupid way. I shouldn't even complain," Stefan returned to the paper in hand, "at least he's not out snapping necks and destroying property."
She suppressed her own irritation. This roundabout way led nowhere but to vague. A clock chimed throughout the house. Bonnie checked her watch. She had an hour before that Bio quiz.
"Hey, Stefan, I was wondering if—"
"Bonnie, can you do me a favor?" Stefan straightened from bending over a stack of papers.
Bonnie rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Sure."
"I think Damon moved a collection of Roman myths and legends to his personal library. Can you check? I could have sworn they were around here."
Bonnie looked around in disbelief. "Are you asking me to search Damon's room?"
Stefan blinked at her. "He's not home, if that's your concern. Hasn't been in three days." He lifted a shoulder. "I doubt he'll even notice you looked."
Bonnie was about to protest when the opportunity dawned on her. She nodded and hurried to the staircase. "What's the name?"
"I don't know, something Roman," Stefan responded. He listened to her climb the stairs with a smile.
The only time Bonnie had seen the upstairs was the morning after her disastrous first confrontation with the tomb vampires. She took a wrong turn and ended up in what had to be Stefan's room. Elena's shirt draped over a chair. Bonnie hastily backed out and went the opposite way. Soon she encountered a tidy study. A liquor cabinet near the window screamed Damon. Two identical vintage leather jackets hung on a coat rack near the door. How many irreplaceable vintage jackets did one asshole have? She shook her head and perused the room.
It reminded her of one of those Ivy League reading rooms she saw in college pamphlets, even down to the rug and the old wood and leather wingback chair. A large desk sat nearer to the window. A closed laptop and a few black folders were the only items on the desk. She moved around and saw multiple drawers, but they had keyholes and she knew Damon well enough to know what needed a key would be locked.
Besides, anyone who went looking for something would naturally head to a desk, open the laptop, scan the folders, break into locked places.
"Too easy," said Bonnie. She spotted a door. Through it was a bathroom. "Now where was this the last time?" She passed through to the door opposite and found herself in Damon's bedroom.
Now that Damon and his overwhelming ego weren't here to harass her, Bonnie got a feel for his space. Open, uncluttered, and modern. There were no immediate or obvious signs of a past remembered. She went to the made bed that looked entirely too large for one person. She touched the white sheets. Soft. So many adjectives and not one of them relatable to the Damon she knew.
Her eye swept past the bedside table, hovered over a painting of a woman lounging on a green chaise, and landed on a small linen cabinet. A folded map, a charging mat, and a bottle of cologne she couldn't pronounce sat on top. Two of the slim drawers were open, and the glass doors stood slightly ajar. She opened the doors. Stacked inside was an assortment of Moleskin journals and address books. She pulled out a rather worn journal and opened it to a random page. He wrote in a tight cursive, and was fluent in French. She tucked the journal back and picked up another one. Italian. Another one. Dutch.
Bonnie peeked at another journal before giving up. Pointless. She pulled out a drawer and found a small carmine notebook. A black satin ribbon marked a page. Verona Paige, 8456 Elder Lane, St. Augustine, Fl. Next to the name was a star. She flipped through the book. All the names had stars. Some had been crossed out, some had dates going back to 1948, all were commonly considered female names. She came back to the marked page. Verona.
Bonnie stood and sat in a chair close to the bed. Stefan hadn't seen him in three days. She looked at the address again. Went back to the cabinet and unfolded the map. Followed a red ink line from Richmond to the upper northeast coast of Florida.
A growing sense of unease transformed a rational curiosity for his whereabouts into rational concern. She considered using his laptop but whipped out her phone instead. A few minutes later, her concern turned to trepidation.
Besides it taking a day to drive to and back from St. Augustine, a quick search of Verona Paige produced a herbalist shop, an occult website, and the picture of a very beautiful woman currently going through a nasty divorce from her wealthy third husband. One look at the photo and Bonnie felt a twinge of recognition. Power. Magic.
She returned everything the way she found it and went to his study to pace. There were two ways to know for sure: magic and calling him. Using magic felt sneaky, but then again she just went through his things. Calling him meant the very real possibility of admitting her concern for him. Bonnie winced at the mere thought of it. Caring was such a bitch.
She checked her watch. It was a quarter to one. If she didn't show up to Bio, Elena would know something was up and contact Stefan or Caroline and she'd be screwed. The mystery would have to wait.
Bonnie practically galloped down the steps. "Stefan! I didn't find the books. I gotta go, I'll be back later to help with the Latin."
Stefan might have responded but she was out the door and in her car in a few seconds. She zoomed down the road and turned onto Maple, then made a right instead of a left at the cemetery. As much as Bonnie wanted to table the situation, her gut instinct obliterated reason and steered her to the one person she knew could help.
The construction of a spell was time consuming, even for an old, potent witch. One word without the proper intention could spoil entire months work, and then there were the steps to destroy all traces of it, the hassle of starting again, the sheer torture of searching for exactly the right words to match the exact meaning and, in sum, the purpose for the spell.
Crafting was never Akiri's strong suit. She relied on intuition and instinct to create. All her spells resided not in a book but her emotions, in the memory of the language as it came from her lips. If a spell required actual notation, then she cobbled it together from various grimoires, and if pressed, she'd sit and write it on the back of the nearest paper.
But this spell required more attention, more care, and more work than Akiri imagined. It had never been attempted and so she worked blind, without the help of history or rumor. Nature even seemed resistant to her. The herbs and spices, some of them precious, turned before she could ground them into her ink. And when she, finally, made a bottle, the feather quills became brittle and the paper molded. She maintained her patience, despite the setbacks, and nature rewarded her for every trial.
Akiri passed her the tip of a red hawk feather through a flame and dipped it in a small jar of ink. She hunched over the patchwork mess of her grimoire. Three black dots swelled on the dusky pink paper. The final couplet. These words would be the key in the door, turning the lock, opening up the possible to reality. These words would be the fulfillment of centuries of desire.
She felt his touch on her cheek, tracing the ridge of her ear. We can have it all, he would whisper. And she never wanted it until he showed her.
Akiri let the ink dry on the quill. Joshua pervaded her thoughts and senses. She touched the thread between them. It was fragile, growing weaker every day. She thought of the thread disintegrating. The imagined pain forced her from the table. She went to the kitchen and quickly poured a tall glass of tequila. The alcohol eased the sharpness of total despair long enough for Akiri to tuck the link away.
Retuning back to the spell, Akiri cleared her thoughts. She read through what was written. Words began to form and she picked up the red feather, passed the bone through the flame, dipped it in the ink, and touched the tip to paper. A knock on the front door rankled her concentration.
Akiri went to the door, distracted. It was her distraction that potentially doomed her.
She opened the door and fine, fragrant green powder flew into her face. She stumbled back, tripped, and tried to use her power but she couldn't think, couldn't focus. A grip tightened on her throat and hefted her up.
"Where's the moonstone?" Damon asked.
Akiri coughed, screwing up her eyes. Damon threw her into a wall. She bounced of a sideboard and hit the ground, brought baskets and candles and mail with her. The minute pause gave her time to assess the situation. The powder muted her strength. Her limbs were heavy and the more she tried to call upon her power, the weaker she became.
Damon walked into her line of vision. There was a touch and then she flew across the room. Akiri sailed into a couch with such force it flipped and the hard wood floor smacked the breath from her. One more hit and she would go unconscious. She remembered the candle in the study. She felt its flame expanding, felt its heat spread along her skin and blood. Its energy cleared her vision. She saw him clearly, coming towards her. When he hauled her up, she spoke.
"Stop, please."
Damon squeezed her arm until the joints popped. Pain blossomed but her anger was dull in comparison. Akiri managed a whimper and a couple of fearful tears.
"The next time I have to ask, I break your arm. The moonstone."
Akiri hesitated. He applied more pressure.
"It's in a vase. In the kitchen."
Damon pulled her with to the kitchen and shoved her against the island. He gazed at the collection of colored vases sitting along the windowsill.
"Which one?"
When Akiri only stared at him, he smashed one. He went through the row until the moonstone appeared in the midst of damp soil, gardenias, and blue shards of glass. Damon picked it up and held it to the light. He glanced at Akiri and smiled.
"You know what happens next, right?"
Akiri watched him stand and move closer. "You kill me."
Damon shook his head. "No, that's too obvious. She kills you."
Akiri whirled around just as Katherine flew at her, knocking her over the island. Akiri heard her arm break as Katherine twisted it. Katherine grasped her throat and lifted her head a few inches. She grinned as Akiri stared up at her.
"You're expendable, Akiri. Remember?"
"Yes," Akiri said. She smiled. "I remember."
Katherine went hurtling through the air and crashed into the dining room table. Damon inched forward and Akiri sent a wooden knife centimeters from his heart. His scream broke the silence in the house. Katherine growled, bared her teeth, and charged at Akiri. A psychic blow sent her reeling; another one had her on the ground. Akiri looked wildly to the kitchen entrance.
Bonnie stepped inside. Her eyes went to Akiri, then to the struggling figure behind her.
"Damon?"
"They used some kind of powder to disorient me," Akiri said. Bonnie stared at Damon. He lay slumped against the refrigerator. The handle of a chopping knife protruded from his chest. Blood soaked his shirt. He growled as he tried to take hold of the handle, but every touch edged the blade closer to his heart.
Akiri insisted on leaving the knife in. Bonnie didn't have a mind to disagree. She watched him struggle, watched the blood saturate his shirt, and wondered when he would pass out from the blood loss. Damon raised his eyes to hers and she looked away, shocked to find a strange ache in her chest, a blurring behind her eyes.
"What do we do now? They know the plan," Bonnie said.
Akiri turned the moonstone in her hand. A dusky bruise began to form on her cheek and around an eye. Her lip bled. Bonnie listened to her wheeze. She knew the answer. She hoped Akiri would come to a different conclusion, at least for Damon.
"We kill them, naturally," Akiri said. Bonnie heard Damon growl and grasp as he hastened to latch onto the handle.
"And how exactly do you propose we do that? Stefan is his brother, and my friend. And Katherine must have had a reason to attack you. We can't just kill her without finding out who helped her and why."
Akiri righted a stool and sat. She held the moonstone to her forehead and closed her eyes. Bonnie waited. If Akiri wanted to kill them, what could she do? She wasn't powerful enough to challenge her. But she would have to do something. Could she send Damon away? That would use all her power. And the process might kill him. She could weave a spell preventing further harm. But she would need his blood and she couldn't just walk over to him and poke his wound.
"You want to save him after he tried to kill me," Akiri said. She locked her eyes on Bonnie. "Why?"
Bonnie's mouth went dry. She shook her head. "I…it's not like what you're suggesting."
"Then enlighten me."
Bonnie felt a slight strain on her hold on Katherine. A headache formed behind her eyes. She made a fist, digging her nails into her palm. A little truth and a little lie made the best story. Grams told her that.
"He helped me and I owe him," Bonnie glanced down at Damon, "I trusted him. And he has betrayed that. Consider this a parting gift." Bonnie looked at Akiri. "If you'll grant it."
Akiri raised an eyebrow. "Convincing. Damon shall live. But Katherine…you're right. We know too little." She got up and went to the prostrate body. Katherine bared her teeth at her.
"What to do with you?" Akiri whispered. Her eyes traveled over Katherine's face.
"You mentioned Stefan Salvatore."
Bonnie swallowed. "Yes."
"Call him, tell him to come. He will be of use."
Bonnie hesitated before placing the call.