Author's Note: Apologies for the very, very long hiatus. Motivation and writer's stuckness came and went like crazy, and I also tried to focus on my original works. Chapter summaries can be found at wordspin-shares-dot-tumblr-dot-com/tagged/fts-summaries.
Chapter 7
Second Impressions
The next few days Claire was more attentive to news and kept her eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Damon's comment about the tomb vampires wasn't something to be taken lightly. Nothing happened, however. She was glad for that. Things were bound to get messy if more strange things happened. The only noteworthy occurrence was John Gilbert's return.
"I get him, not wanting to sell his brother's office," Claire said to Jenna as they sat at the Coffee Ground. "It probably feels like it's the last thing he has left of him that was really his. Same with my dad's studio. It's been months and I haven't even rented it yet . . . even though I should," she finished in a low voice.
"John's not that sentimental." Jenna stirred her drink. "It's something else he wants. Can't figure out what, though."
Claire peered at her. "Does it matter?"
Jenna considered the question. "I was thinking he might get drunk at the Founders' Party and spill the beans, but I guess it doesn't really matter," she finally decided.
•
The entrance to the Founders' Hall was lit by fairy lights as though it were still Christmas. Claire looked around, recognizing familiar faces from the school staff. Jenna wasn't there yet. She drifted farther in.
"Having fun staying out of it?"
Claire turned to see Damon next to her. The conversation they had that night at the boarding house came to the forefront of her mind. She hesitated. "Any progress with the rest?"
Damon's face grew serious. "I thought you wanted to avoid the things that go bump in the night."
Claire took a breath. "It's good to know how much I have to worry about."
"Well, I haven't killed anyone recently, and I haven't seen any new faces around, either."
For a second Claire thought she could hear her own heartbeat. He spoke so lightly of killing. Then again, that was a vampire's nature.
"That's good, I suppose," she said at last. Her gaze strayed to the DJ in the distance.
"These parties are never much fun," Damon said.
Claire turned to look at him. He had followed her line of sight. The names on the guest registry of the first Founders' Party suddenly flashed before her eyes. Stefan and Damon Salvatore. She blinked.
"What?"
Damon's question brought her out of her little trance. She blinked again. "I just realized your last name is Salvatore. You were there back then, in 1864?"
Damon didn't answer immediately, but the hint of a smile curved his mouth, one eyebrow twitching upward and his eyes glinting as he looked at her. "I was. Or, I should say, we were."
Claire gave a tiny nod. "The animal attacks . . . That was you?" Her dreams started making sense.
"A vampire's gotta eat," Damon answered. "Stefan's off the human stuff, though," he added. "He's on a bunny diet, trying to be noble."
"The attacks in previous years?"
This time Damon's surprise was more evident. "You know about those?"
"My grandparents found one of the bodies in 1953," Claire explained. "Plus, my mom was one of the town's historians."
Damon smirked. "As much as I'd love to take credit, those weren't all me. Scared yet?"
Claire tilted her head. She should be. "No." She knew it was true, as true as it had been the last time they'd talked. They weren't strangers anymore, but if anything ever happened, she could handle it.
He hummed, his eyes on her, and saluted her with his drink before walking toward the empty dance floor.
Claire spotted Lisa and made toward her. A collective sound of surprise rose around her as the music in the room suddenly changed.
"That's a first," the Italian language teacher said. "Looks like the DJ dared go against Carol Lockwood's playlist."
Claire huffed a laugh.
"People are actually having fun." Lisa's husband came from the bar, his eyes bright. He held out a hand to Lisa but looked at Claire. "May I steal my wife for a bit?"
"Go ahead."
Lisa followed John to the dance floor, her face lit. Claire watched them, a small smile touching her lips. It was a beautiful thing, such loving relationships like theirs.
She found Jenna as the mayor began his speech a while later. When he called John Gilbert to join him, Claire heard her friend snort under her breath.
"Town's favorite son . . . Please," she drawled.
Claire turned to her. "Upset you couldn't get him to spill his hidden agenda?"
Jenna made a vague sound and crossed her arms. "I mean, what's he done for this town, really? He's been gone for years."
That was a fact Claire couldn't argue with.
•
Come Monday and with Founders' Day approaching once again, Claire was swept into the preparations for the parade, discussing concepts, materials and dimensions for the floats. The creative process was broken in earnest only once, when she realized Cicero had bolted out of the house.
Claire closed the half-open window and went outside. He wasn't in the yard, or on the front porch. She began pacing the sidewalk, looking in neighboring yards and up trees. He'd never been gone for so long.
"Claire!"
Turning at the sound of her name, she saw Rudy Hopkins holding Cicero in his arms.
"I believe this belongs to you?" He scratched the cat under the chin, making his collar jingle.
"Thank you." Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "He doesn't usually roam." She picked Cicero up and stroked his back. "I should get him fixed."
"Poor guy." Rudy chuckled.
"How's work?"
Rudy shrugged. "The mayor's office's busy, as usual."
Behind him the door to the house swung open.
"Dad, dinner's ready."
Bonnie smiled when she saw Claire, walking down the steps to reach them.
"Welcome back." Claire returned the smile.
Bonnie ran a hand over Cicero's fur. Her gaze landed on the clover pendant Claire wore, and her face softened. The cat began squirming.
"I'd better get going." Claire adjusted her grip on him. "I guess I'll see you at the pageant."
The walk home was uneventful, and the rest of the week passed quickly in a flurry of activity. When the day of the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant came, Claire was glad to simply do nothing.
The Founders' Hall was filled with natural light and felt airy, in stark contrast to the last time she'd been there. She arrived at the same time as Jenna, Elena and Ric did and stayed with the history teacher as Jenna went with Elena to help her get ready. She looked around as he made for the bar, noting how her off-white halter sheath dress stood out among the sea of darker colors. She saw Ric returning with their drinks, walking past Damon who nodded a greeting at him.
Claire took a sip of her cocktail. "I thought you weren't on good terms, what with all that happened on raffle night."
Ric avoided her gaze, looking down at the floor instead. "Yeah, we, uh, talked things over." He tapped his glass with one finger. "Jenna told you Isobel was Elena's birth mother?"
So it was confirmed. "Yeah," Claire said.
"Talk about coincidences, right?" Ric swirled his glass. "It's like everything's connected on purpose."
"Well, some believe everything in life's preordained," Claire said. "It can be a sad concept, not having real control over what's going to happen to you."
The conversation waxed philosophical from then on until Jenna came back. At some point Claire excused herself from the couple, going inside for another cocktail.
Damon sidled up to her. "Just so you know, I heard the tomb vampires are gone," he said in a low voice. "Nice dress, by the way."
Claire looked at him. "How—" She shook her head. "I don't need to know."
He studied her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So, did you ever enter?" He gestured at the people coming and going.
"No," Claire answered. "That kind of spotlight isn't my thing. My sister entered once."
He considered her, his eyes twinkling. "What is your thing?"
Claire took a moment. "I don't mind speaking in front of people about a subject I know," she said, "but this . . . people judging how you dress and how you walk . . . There's no point."
"Huh."
Claire peered at him. "What?"
"I pegged you as one of those people who wouldn't mind this kind of attention," Damon said. "Guess my assessment was spot off."
Claire shrugged. "You're not the first."
"Not one for the public eye, then," Damon spoke as if making a mental note.
Claire waited for a couple of seconds. "So, what happened between you and Ric?"
Damon eyed her. Then he took a breath. "Short story: he thought I killed his wife, tried to kill me, I killed him, he came back to life, helped with a situation, plus, the fact Isobel's not dead counted, I think."
Claire gaped at him, her mind reeling. "Came back to life? And I thought his wife was dead."
"He has a ring that brings its wearer back from the dead," Damon said. "Isobel . . . I turned her; Ric didn't see the whole thing."
Claire stared again. "You what?"
Damon sighed, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the music was turned low. He shot Claire a little smirk and walked away.
She spent the majority of the pageant processing what he had told her. So many questions needed answering. She even began considering asking Ric about it and then remembered only Damon knew she had knowledge of these things. One thoughtless move could shatter the relative peace she was trying to maintain.
After Damon had left Elena's side when the contestants' dance ended, Claire approached him. He groaned as he looked at someone in the distance.
"I forgot to mention that John Gilbert knows who we are." He leaned toward her with a fake smile.
That pulled Claire up short. Would there be no end to surprises?
"He knows about me and Stefan," Damon continued, "and Ric being a vampire hunter, and Katherine."
No end to surprises, indeed. Claire shut her mouth, thinking back to the day Ric had talked to her about Jeremy's essay on vampires, and to his reaction when he saw Damon at the Decade Dance. Things began clicking into place.
She squinted. "Katherine? You haven't mentioned her before."
Damon's face darkened. "Right. She's the vampire who turned me and Stefan," he spoke at last. "We both had a thing for her. Looks a lot like Elena."
Claire nodded without speaking. More things clicked into place. Judging by Damon's reaction, there was a lot to unpack, but she saw he wasn't in the mind-frame to elaborate.
"What are you gonna do about John Gilbert?"
Damon didn't reply immediately, still watching her instead. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.
Claire took a breath. "No. The less I know, the better."
One of the sheriff's deputies approached them. "Mr. Salvatore? Sheriff Forbes needs to see you."
Damon narrowed his eyes before nodding. He glanced at Claire and followed the man.
She was on her way to her car when she saw him again, an hour or so later. He was looking up at the sky, frowning.
"You don't look good."
He turned at the sound of her voice and studied her for an instant. "Stefan problems," he finally said.
Claire felt her eyebrows drawing together. Stefan didn't strike her as one of those people who would make trouble. "How come?"
"Tried to eat one of the contestants," Damon answered slowly.
Claire's mouth fell open. She closed it hurriedly and blinked. There went her need-to-know plan. "I thought you said he was on a bunny diet."
"He lapsed," Damon said. "Had to have some human blood recently — long story — got addicted, and when he gets addicted, things get bad. Even smelling blood can make him lose control."
Claire recalled that Amber Bradley was supposed to take part in the pageant but never showed.
"What are you gonna do?"
Damon frowned again and his lips flattened into a straight line. He didn't answer.
•
Early morning light streamed in through the kitchen window. Claire tried to balance the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she picked up the pair of shears.
"It's my free period, so I'm heading there now," she said into the speaker. "Love you, Mom, bye." She put the cell phone in her pocket and turned her full attention to the flowers. The Algerian irises were the only dash of color in the garden, deep violet against the muted greens.
She cut a few and took them to the kitchen. Wrapping the stems in damp cotton and aluminum foil, she picked up her bag and made for her car.
The cemetery was empty when Claire got there. She brushed a hand along the headstones of her father and grandmother, squatting between the plots.
"Des iris. Votre préférés." She held up the flowers before placing half of them on one tombstone and half on the other.
It was quiet, peaceful, with the sun shining down and the occasional birdsong punctuating the silence.
"Skipping school?"
Claire turned. Damon was standing behind her.
"I have a free period Friday morning," she said. "What are you doing here?"
He shifted his gaze from the two headstones to her. "Taking a break from babysitting Stefan."
Claire stood. "How is he?"
Damon narrowed his eyes. "Determined to starve, punishing himself for falling off the wagon. As if that'd do any good."
Despite his scoff, one corner of Claire's mouth curled upward.
Damon squinted again. "What?"
She allowed herself a proper little smile. "It's just nice that you care about him."
"I don't."
Claire peered at him. "Then you could've let the police find him and claim you had no idea your brother was a vampire."
"And John Gilbert would've called my bluff."
Claire grimaced. "Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about him."
"I wish he was that easy to remove from the equation," Damon said. "I have a feeling he might become an even bigger pain in the ass, now that I have something he wants."
Claire hesitated. She'd told herself she wouldn't ask questions, and yet she couldn't deny she was interested. "Something important?"
Damon eyed her but answered all the same. "Probably. It was created by Johnathan Gilbert back in 1864, and judging by the fact that he also created a compass that finds vampires, this could be something similar."
Claire gave an absent half-nod. That was intriguing information, but perhaps she shouldn't delve much more into it.
"Reached your quota of information for the day?" Damon's eyes twinkled.
Claire focused. She recalled what she had told him at the pageant. "Yeah."
"It's not gonna last, you know," he said, taking a step back. "You try to stay out of it, but once you know and you get curious . . ." He turned on his heel and walked away.
Perhaps he was right. She was going to keep trying to find the balance, though.
•
The base pieces of the floats were all ready by week's end. Once they and the selected props were painted and assembled, Claire's part in the preparations for the Founders' Day parade would be over.
She met with Jenna at the Grill for a bite, coffee and catching up.
"So, yeah, Jer really likes her," Jenna was telling her about Jeremy's new friend, Anna, as they left the restaurant. "She's a nice kid, seems mature for her age."
Claire grinned at her. "Look at you, going all mom mode."
Jenna laughed.
Claire looked up as they neared Soundwave, recalling what she had told her friend about John and his not wanting to sell Grayson's clinic. She knew that this place here should have a purpose. It would make her feel better if it was rented as a music studio, but even if it wasn't used as such, it should still not remain empty.
"What are you thinking about?" Jenna asked.
"That maybe it's time."
"It is." Jenna looped her arm through hers. "This place deserves to be used properly again."
Claire felt herself smile, and once home, took the business card out of her wallet.
"Hi, Alex, it's Claire," she began when the call connected. "It's about my dad's studio." She tapped the card against the counter.
When she put down her phone, she went over to the piano in the living room. That was a tangible daily reminder of her father right there.
Claire ran her fingers over the keys and sat at the bench, playing a few notes in slow succession. The sound punctured the stillness. Despite the darkness outside, the night was warm, more reminiscent of autumn than winter. Cicero was sitting on the window sill, his paws and tail tucked underneath his body and his eyes closed.
Claire turned back to the piano. Whether she had picked it subconsciously because of the weather, or because her dad had loved that particular piece, Autumn Leaves seemed the perfect choice. She smiled, focusing on the chords.
Cicero hissed. Claire turned to him immediately. His back was arched, his fur standing on end, his whole body rigid. As she looked out the half-open window, Claire felt her heart give an explosive thud.
"So this is where you live." Damon peered into the living room, keeping some distance from the watchful cat.
Her pulse returning to normal, Claire stood and approached Cicero, trying to soothe him with soft noises. She touched his back gingerly. He twitched and hissed again as Damon took a step closer.
"Easy, kitty."
"He feels you're a threat to him," Claire said. Cicero growled softly.
Damon turned to the cat. "I have bigger fangs, Blacky, but animals are not my thing."
"As a blood source or in general?"
The vampire looked up at Claire. "They taste weird," he said. "And I haven't had pets, so I wouldn't know about the in general part."
"I haven't had pets before Cicero, either. He's my first." Claire's face lit up. "My grand-aunts in France have cats, but I've never had one of my own until now." She smiled down at the black cat and ran her hand through his fur. He sat.
"France?" Damon leaned in, his head tilting slightly.
Cicero lashed out with his claws, spitting.
The vampire stood still for a second, his bent elbow suspended near the window sill, red lines appearing on his skin. His eyes narrowed.
"Cicero!" Claire picked up the cat and put him down on the floor beside her. He flicked his tail.
"Possessive little thing." Damon's voice was low and taut. He inspected his arm. The marks were gone.
"Sorry," Claire said. "Do you want to come in? Sit down instead of standing out here?"
Damon cocked a brow, his eyes glinting. "You sure about that?"
Claire blinked, her mouth opening and then closing as realization came. "Yes." She nodded toward the front porch. Damon began walking with her. She opened the door and stepped to the side. "Come in."
He glanced at her, hesitating for a heartbeat before crossing the threshold. He looked around as he followed Claire to the living room. "The spitting furball?"
"He won't do anything unless you provoke him," she said. "I think."
"Good to know."
Cicero was nestled against one corner of the couch. He bristled when Damon came near but relaxed once he took a seat in an armchair away from him.
"Do you want coffee, tea?"
Damon gave Claire a pointed look.
She pressed her lips together in a silent groan. "Sorry, I didn't think."
He let out a huff that might have resembled a grin, watching her as she settled on the couch. "You're the first person who knows who's ever asked me something like that. So, France?"
Claire frowned. Then she remembered what she had mentioned. "My dad's family are from Narbonne. My grandma moved to the US after she met my grandfather. The rest have come to visit once, but we used to go to Narbonne every summer when we were kids."
"What about now?"
"It's more difficult to coordinate the trip, what with work, and the immediate family not all living in Mystic Falls," Claire said, "but it's still the best time of the year when we do go."
"Sounds nice." A small smile curled Damon's mouth.
"What about you? Any interesting travels?" Claire asked.
"Nothing outside the US," he answered, "although I heard Italy is worth visiting." He fiddled with a little ornament on the side table next to his armchair.
Claire's eyes lit up. "It is. Some places feel like they're taken out of a fairytale."
Damon hummed. "My dad's family were originally from Florence." He pursed his lips but didn't continue.
When the silence threatened to stretch on, Claire checked her watch. "Is it safe to leave your brother alone for so long?"
Focusing on her, Damon waved a hand. "He's locked up, and Elena's babysitting," he said. "It's good to take a longer break from all that, especially after our little errand with Ric."
Claire tilted her head. "I feel I'm missing a lot here."
Damon gave her a long look. "That's because you said you didn't want to know. Sparing all the details, Ric wants to stop looking for his wife. Doesn't want to waste his life searching for answers he really doesn't want." He paused. "His words."
"Makes sense," Claire said. "He's tired. His wife suddenly decided what they had wasn't enough, and since she left without an explanation, it turns out she couldn't care less about him. That hurts." She took a breath. Damon was watching her. "I know I'd be miserable if my man left me without so much as a hint. I'd be angry if I found out I meant so little to him that he wouldn't even try to share with me and find a way out of whatever it was that troubled him. It's supposed to be teamwork – you talk and try to find solutions, and if that fails, then I guess it wasn't meant to be."
Damon lifted an eyebrow. "You should double as a psychologist."
Claire shook her head. "I wouldn't last. Too much to handle. Sometimes I wonder how my sister and brother-in-law manage."
"Both psychologists, huh?"
Claire nodded. "Speaking of handling, any luck with that device thing John wants?"
"Nope, still doesn't work." There was a slight edge to his voice, and Claire could tell the fact irritated him.
She tapped her finger on against a cushion. "It doesn't make sense, though. How could a normal person have invented devices that point towards vampires and who knows what else? No sense at all." She took a second to think. "There has to be magic involved."
"Well, if you do find out anything, let me know." Damon crossed his arms.
Claire took a deep breath through her nose and flexed her fingers against the fabric of the couch. "How can I do that? I've never even been near the thing."
Damon squinted at her. Then he groaned and stuck a hand in his pocket. He held out a device that resembled an incomplete compass.
Claire picked it up and studied it. "It's magic, alright." She gave the device back to Damon.
He put it back in his pocket. "And now I should really get going," he said. "I left Elena alone longer than I should have." He got up.
Cicero tensed and hissed when he moved, despite Damon's not approaching him. The vampire simply cocked an eyebrow and let himself out.
•
The next days went by in a flash. The concepts for the Founders' Day floats were chosen, the designs refined, the color schemes and props decided upon. Overseeing the assembly and painting process kept Claire busy.
"Maybe a little more to the left," she called up to one of the students installing the flower arch on the Miss Mystic Falls float. "Perfect."
That was the last one. All the floats were officially ready.
"Lock them in the gym and we're done."
"Glad that's over?" Ric came to stand beside her.
"God, yes," Claire replied. She stretched. "I feel I can finally sleep properly tonight."
That statement remained wishful thinking, however. Claire's eyes snapped open in the dead of night, and she sighed. That wouldn't do. It had been a long, tiring week; the Founders' Parade was in the morning; she couldn't afford a second night of bad sleep. She had to tire herself in order to ensure she wouldn't dream again.
Her jogging route took Claire toward the old cemetery. The long distance was perfect.
When she stopped to rest, she saw a figure approaching. People seldom came to this part of town after hours. She made to turn off her music player. Then she realized the man was no stranger.
"Chris Rea." Damon walked up to her slowly as she paused the song. "Nice." He sat beside her on the slab of stone by the road. "You missed a lot of juicy events."
Claire debated with herself whether to ask more or not. That choice of words, though, was impossible to resist. "Such as?"
"Isobel came and went," Damon replied.
Claire turned her body toward him. "She was in Mystic Falls?"
"Yep. Came, saw Elena, schemed to get John Gilbert the device he wanted, left."
Claire shook her head slightly. "You lost me at schemed."
Damon let out a breath. "That device I had he was after, turns out it's a sort of weapon against vampires. Bonnie deactivated it. Also, Isobel dated John in high school."
Claire thought back to what Jenna had shared. "You think there's a chance John's Elena's birth father?"
"He is." Damon looked pleased for some reason.
Claire opened her mouth and then closed it again. "I've been meaning to ask, how did you know Isobel in the first place?"
"She found me," Damon answered. "Found out I'm a vampire, approached me, poured out a sad story about how her life sucked and practically begged me to turn her."
Claire gave him a flat stare. "You should've told her to see a therapist."
"She said please." Damon's lips began curving into a smirk that faltered when he saw her expression.
Claire sighed. "Well, next time you'll know to let desperate strangers deal with their problems the conventional way."
"Your faith in me is misplaced. I'm not a good person." Damon's eyes narrowed slightly. "You remind me of Ric."
Claire blinked. "How come?"
"He says he sees something human in me." Damon rolled his eyes. "After all I've done. Does it look like there's something human in me?" He spread his arms wide.
Claire let out a chuckle. Then her expression grew serious. "It's never just black or just white. You're a darker shade of gray, and from what I've seen, there's potential for tints." She caught herself. "That is—"
"And there's potential for you to be proven wrong, Cecilia Beaux," Damon cut her off.
Claire's head tilted to the side, her mouth open in a half-smile. "Cecilia Beaux?"
Damon shrugged. "You look a little like her, you're an artist, you have a knack for psychology, and she could capture the character of her subjects."
It took Claire a moment to take in his words. "You met Cecilia Beaux?"
"Once, in the late 1800s," Damon answered. "Don't get excited," he continued when he saw Claire's eyes grow round. "It was basically in passing."
"Oh." Claire deflated.
Damon suddenly looked around him. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night, anyway?"
"Trying to tire myself out," Claire answered.
Damon looked smug. "Naughty thoughts keeping you awake?"
"A dream, actually." Claire's expression remained serious. "Big room with no windows, there was a fire, a lot of people screaming in the dark, but I couldn't make out any faces."
Damon's face lost all playfulness. "A witchy vision?"
Claire nodded. "In my family we call them dreams, because that's when they first come to us."
"I thought they were supposed to be HD images?"
"Pretty much, but until September, the last dream I had was three years before," Claire said. "My grandma's death. It takes time for the brain to get used to that magic again."
"Huh." Damon considered the information. "Do they always come true?"
"Unless there's supernatural intervention, yes."
He frowned. "How long does it take before what you see happens?"
"Usually two or three days," Claire answered. "My grandma had a real gift for divination — clairvoyance, psychometry, and her dreams . . . She could see up to a week before stuff happened. But none in the family are seers. Our affinity is towards fire. "
"Well, your dream doesn't sound very pleasant, so hopefully it won't come true," Damon said.
"Let's hope so," Claire agreed, getting up.
•
The parade went off without a hitch. The weather was nice, and everyone was in a good mood.
"The floats looked beautiful," Jenna said as they made their way to the Grill. "Especially the Miss Mystic one. Much better than last year from what I heard."
Ric laughed. "Was it that bad?"
Claire cringed just thinking about it. "The girls wanted to do everything themselves. I should've been more pushy."
Ric nodded slowly, his mouth twitching.
"The Grill's full." Jenna came back to them from where she'd gone ahead to check the restaurant.
"The Coffee Ground, then?" Claire asked. The others nodded.
They sat at the café until late, just talking. Jenna got up when the sunlight began to fade.
"I'm gonna go home," she said, picking up her bag. "It's been a long day, and I don't really care about the fireworks." She looked at Ric.
"I think I'll stay and look around," he returned. "First time I've ever been to such a celebration before."
Claire smiled apologetically when her friend turned to her. "Haven't had my cotton candy yet."
"Okay," Jenna said. "I'll see you later."
"There's a booth with the family trees of the founding families. If you're interested," Claire told Ric when they paid their bill. "And there's another with maps of the town as it was back in the 1860s."
"Sounds like you've already checked those out," he said.
"Not this year," Claire replied, "but the concepts for some booths always stay the same." She looked at the people in the square. "I'm off to get my candy. Have fun."
Ric gestured goodbye, and Claire set off alone.
Browsing was fun, but she was beginning to feel tired even before the fireworks started. Someone brushed against her as they walked by. A cold shiver ran down Claire's arm. Her senses sharpened again. She turned to look, and several feet away, she saw the woman clutching her head, folding in on herself. One of the sheriff's deputies bent over her.
She saw a man crumple to the ground at the far side of the square. Within seconds, another deputy was beside him. Despite it all, the attention of most people was on the fireworks. Claire frowned.
That device Damon had told her about . . . Still, it had been deactivated. And this was nothing like her dream.
Claire began pacing the square, looking around her. No familiar faces. Maybe she was worrying over nothing. What was she seeing, really?
She stayed where she stood, thinking. If something supernatural was afoot, she didn't want to get caught in it. Too many people were already involved. Alaric, Bonnie . . . Surely they could handle things. Getting herself involved felt too messy. She began walking away.
By the time she reached home, Claire's distracting thoughts had begun to dissipate. Cicero leapt down from his perch on the bookcase and followed her to the couch. He touched his paw to her cheek, a sign he wanted attention. Claire smiled. She spent the next ten minutes playing with him, but once she topped his food bowl, the thoughts crept up on her once more.
She returned to the living room and retrieved the wooden box and map from the cabinet by the TV stand. Spreading the map on the coffee table, she let the thin chain that had been inside the box hang above the paper. The crystal of clear quartz at its end hovered above the town square for a few seconds. Then it swung to the side and dropped down in the park.
Claire let out a breath. No buildings there. She put everything away and made herself a cup of tea. One less thing to worry about.
Even so, as she lay in bed later, she started thinking again. What if something else had happened? She huffed. Staring at the ceiling wouldn't help. She got up and put on her jogging outfit. Cicero opened one eye as she hunted for her MP3 player, snuggling deeper into his igloo before she reached the door.
The quiet in the streets outside felt calming and kept Claire alert at the same time. The music in her ears began to chase the thoughts from her mind. Then she saw Damon approaching from the opposite direction. She paused the song. He was almost at her level when she realized he showed no signs of noticing her.
"Hey!"
That got his attention. He focused on her.
"I was looking for you earlier in the square," Claire continued. "Are you OK?"
Damon blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. I got out thanks to Bonnie." He glanced to the side.
So her dream had come true after all. Claire felt her eyes narrowing and tried to reason with herself. Some part of her had thought he would have sought her out to let her know he was alright, especially after their talk the previous night. Still, they weren't quite friends, even if they were past being mere acquaintances. Friends exchanged phone numbers. She saw Damon's gaze flicking to the road and back up again. A small crease appeared above the bridge of his nose. Her expression softened.
"Do you wanna sit for a minute? You look—"
"I'm fine."
There was an instant of silence, and then Damon let out a breath. "It's been a very long night. Let's talk tomorrow."
Claire took in his features. "OK." She nodded slowly. "Goodnight."
Damon's lips twitched in the briefest semblance of a smile.
She looked at his retreating back as she fished for her earbuds. It wasn't just the fire that had him worked up. Claire began jogging again.
By the time she returned home, she felt tired enough to sleep. Her rest did not prove to be entirely restful, though. She jolted awake before dawn, her heart hammering. The unpleasant feeling that lingered wasn't caused by some vague remembrance. The dream images were clear in her mind. What disturbed her this time was that she recognized the people in her vision. Jeremy Gilbert and Damon Salvatore.
Chapter 7 soundtrack
• Misery Business, Vitamin String Quarter (Paramore cover) — Claire and Damon talk at the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant
• Autumn Leaves, Joseph Kosma — Claire plays piano at home
• The Road to Hell, Chris Rea — Claire and Damon meet near the old cemetery
• For You, Coldplay — the Founders' Day Festival ends in fire
• Standing Still, Zack Hemsey — Claire meets Damon after the events in the town square