The address led the unlikely pair to a small abandoned building in West Harmon. The sun had gone down, and the shack of a building—some sort of tradesmen's workroom—had no exterior lighting. The further from downtown, the less likely it was for a building to have things like electricity, such as lights or a working telephone. Those things were for the rich only, and the owner of this building appeared to have very little. The building did not have any markings, no sign that stated the type of business nor numbers that marked it as the building that they were looking for. However, it had to be the building they were looking for, else that building didn't exist.
Both Damon and Elena looked around the building for any further clues regarding the time and date of the next meeting. It was Elena who found a small placard next to the back door behind a false shingle. The bronze placard featured a delicate engraving of the very same symbols they'd come across before. This time, Damon watched over her shoulder as she quickly worked through it.
He read from her delicate handwriting, "Third Friday, eighteen hundred hours." He paused for a moment to think, but Elena had already pulled out her journal to look over the calendar she'd written out on the first few pages.
She ran her finger along the page, stopping at the third Friday of the current month, June. Already in the past. July, then. "Next month," she said, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet, impatient, wishing they could pry open the back door and find out just what was going on behind it. She felt as if she could jump out of her skin with excitement, or was it anxiety? Either way, she wished not to wait a moment longer. She placed her hand on the doorknob and Damon immediately placed a hand on her forearm. The shock of his touch against her bare skin made her shoot back, her back colliding with his chest, and the overall sensation of closeness made her nearly lose track of what they were doing.
Damon did not step back, only leaned down to speak into her ear with a chuckle. "We know how fond you are of waiting patiently."
Did he know what he was doing? Did he know that the closeness made her incapable of concentration? When did that phenomenon begin? When had proximity to Damon Salvatore made her feel anything other than completely and utterly put out?
Pretending to be a man in his presence would only be more difficult if he continued to intrude upon her boundaries.
She only tucked away her items, quickly closing her messenger bag, and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned to face him. Of course, he still did not relent, did not give her the benefit of any personal space.
"I am capable of waiting patiently," she said, though her fingers still itched to reach for the door.
Damon licked his lips and her brain completely emptied of all coherent, helpful thoughts. She narrowed her eyes, tried to think only negative things about him. He was an absolute jerk of a man, an annoyance, constantly under her skin. He thought he knew better, thought he knew what was best for her. And yet, her eyes still caught on his lips and she had to physically step back to snap herself out of it. This was entirely Caroline's fault. She'd been the one to get these thoughts into her head, and now she barely knew what to think when he was around. No. She refused to have feelings for a man who thought himself better than her. Despite his recent change in behavior, despite their newfound ability to work as a team. Despite everything. Nothing could ever come of it, and therefore those feelings would be best served in the deep dark pit of her stomach where no one could ever see them, where they wouldn't dare bother her again.
"I don't think they will take kindly to us intruding upon their space before the meeting date," Damon said, disregarding her strangeness, if he'd noticed at all. "As much as I love a good break-in, I'm afraid waiting is probably our best option this time."
She should have had follow up questions, but she didn't voice them. "Well, then I suppose I'll see you next week."
"See you next week, Gilbert," he said and they parted ways.
As soon as she got home, she dropped her messenger bag onto the kitchen counter and looked directly at Caroline. The blonde sat on the couch with a compact mirror in one hand and lipstick in the other.
"You have ruined everything for me, I swear it," Elena said, putting a hand dramatically against her forehead. She wished she had something to throw at the blonde from across the room, in order to truly express her frustration.
For a moment, Caroline looked truly concerned at the state of her friend, or perhaps worried about whatever it was she must have done. This was only for a mere second before she dropped the fretted expression and smiled proudly. "Please, whatever have I done?" she said, before continuing to apply the lipstick carefully.
Elena pointed a finger at her. "You got in my head." Caroline only smirked, and Elena glowered. "It's not funny. I can't even be around him anymore without thinking of him—well, like how you insinuated." She dropped on the couch next to Caroline, who nearly drew a red line across her chin at the disturbance.
"I don't see how this is my fault," Caroline said, shrugging. "I still think you should just say something."
"You are truly mad," Elena said, taking off her hat and unbraiding her hair, leaving behind crinkled waves. "I'm Jeremy to him. I could never, and besides, there's nothing to say. Other than the fact that he drives me absolutely insane and that sometimes I want to grab him by the shirt and just—." She scrunched her fingers together in frustration.
But Caroline filled in the words for her. "Kiss him?"
"Or strangle him. I haven't quite decided."
Caroline laughed, clicking the compact shut and sliding it into her makeup bag on the coffee table. "Come out with me tonight. I'm sure you could find someone to help take your mind off of Damon."
She wished it were that simple. "You know I can't risk it."
"Ugh, this disguise of yours is ruining my social calendar."
"I'm so sorry," Elena said dryly. "It's not exactly the easiest for me either." Case in point, Damon Salvatore and the feelings that were haunting her.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to go to these lengths to get what you want."
Elena nodded. "Me too." Oh, how she'd love to spend her time at the college during the day and her nights on the town with Caroline. How she wished she could do as she pleased without the inquiry of a man, without being afraid of violent action being taken against her. But it was only that, a wish. "After I graduate," Elena said, firmly. "Things will be different. We can go anywhere, do anything. I won't have to pretend anymore."
Though, that wasn't exactly true, either. Her degree would say Jeremy Gilbert and any job she'd be eligible for would only hire him, not her. Without realizing it, she'd signed herself up for a lifetime of pretending. It made her ache just thinking about it.
They both let Elena's last words hang in the air around them, as if they both knew they were untrue but didn't wish to break the idea, the wish they shared. But Elena couldn't bear to let it hang any longer. "What if I did say something," she started. "To Salvatore." She watched for any change in Caroline's expression. "Do you think he would say anything? To anyone?"
She seemed to think on this for a moment before saying, "I think he would do anything possible to make you comfortable at Harmon College as Elena."
"How can you be so sure?" Elena asked. To her, it seemed a great uncertainty. Damon. He'd always been. He'd been menacing, controlling, rude. But also kind. He'd lent his guest bedroom, he'd carried her bags, he'd shown her the cipher. And everything else he'd done? What if it truly was in looking out for her best interest? Was it possible that he was unlike any other man she'd met before? Was it possible that he truly did know better, and was only trying to help?
"Damon Salvatore can be an ass, but he is not a bigot," Caroline stated with finality. "If I told him I wished for an education, he'd bend over backward to make it possible for me. I don't see why he wouldn't do the same for you."
The moment she crawled into bed later that night, her eyes drifted closed and the nightmare began anew.
Carriage wheels rattled and the cab rocked gently back and forth. Rough hands held her wrists pinned to the velvet seat behind her and wet kisses trailed down her neck. He knelt on the seat with her legs wrapped around his waist, his weight pressed against her. In the distance, like she was somewhere far away watching the scene take place, she heard herself let out a soft moan of enjoyment. Her eyes were closed, head tossed back in desire. She struggled against the man's grasp, but only because she wished her hands-free in order to touch him as much as he would let her.
The man was fuzzy, like looking at a painting from very far away. All blurred edges and washed-out colors. When he lifted his head, pulling his lips away from her neck and leaving her wrecked with need, he came into sharp focus.
Cold blue eyes took on new warmth as he looked at her from behind half-closed lids. His lips were parted and fangs poked out. There were no veins growing around his eyes, no blood on his mouth. Only the eyes she'd found herself looking at for the past several months and the same messy black hair and sharp features of her rival. But her response was not one of disgust. When he released her wrists, she looped one hand around his neck and pulled him closer, her lips crashing into his.
And god, was it everything she'd ever wanted. This Elena, this dream version of her, had no qualms with the man using his tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. All she wanted was for him to keep going. Her hands roamed all over his body, one threading through his hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer and closer, even though it was not physically possible.
But then he was pulling away and Elena was groaning in annoyance, and her eyes opened, finally seeing things clearer. The blue eyes were replaced with piercing green ones, the hair her hands dipped into was blond, and the man in front of her was not Damon, but his brother.
Another blink and his mouth was coated in blood, once more and she could feel the searing pain in her neck, another and she was thrown against the door of the carriage cab, fighting against Stefan's strength and searching for the handle with a desperation she'd never experienced before. And he was looking at her with a glint in his eye, an excitement at the idea of a true hunt. But she burst through the door anyway, and then she was running through the woods again, screaming for help, trying to will herself awake, but the dream—the nightmare had a hold on her that couldn't be shaken.
Then she was in Damon's arms again and she was screaming and thrashing, and he was quietly saying her name, over and over, "Elena, Elena, look at me. Elena," and placing his hands gently on her upper arms, trying to catch her eyes with his own. But she wouldn't look at him, wouldn't meet his eyes, didn't want him to touch her. She could only feel the monumental pain and the blood that soaked her neck, her hair, her body. And then everything went blurry, everything singed at the edges like a burning photograph, and her body collapsed—she watched from above, saw herself dead, drained, neck twisted at an odd angle, and Damon kneeling in front of her trying to figure out what to do.
Just like the previous instances of this nightmare, she launched upright in a cold sweat, panting heavily and drawing her knees close to her chest. It took her a few minutes to regulate her breathing, to stop hyperventilating. Why did this cruel nightmare continue to plague her every sleeping moment? What exactly was it trying to tell her?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, pacing around her bedroom for a moment before grabbing her journal from between the mattresses. Not wanting to forget a single detail, she scribbled out everything she could still remember. Then, she turned back to her notes from a few days prior, let her fingers run over the word vampire, next to his name, Damon.
For the past few weeks, she'd been denying it, refusing to think about the idea at all. But with all she'd learned, it seemed she could no longer deny what was right in front of her, what had been quite literally coded into the history of Harmon.
If Arthur Harmon had known about vampires, maybe there was something else she was still missing, something about him that she had yet to learn. What she did know, however, was that the man's search for immortality, his interest in vampires, and his mysterious disease, they had to be connected in some way. And like the best protagonists in her favorite mystery novels, she would find the answer.
There was one person she could think to ask, and it only took a moment for her to root around in her school bag and find the business card she'd been handed after one particularly strange encounter several months prior. Yes, perhaps Detective Matthews would be able to answer the questions that burned at her.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I'm super excited about the rest of this act! It's full speed ahead from here, and I hope you all enjoy it just as much as I do. Also, the last chapter of An Autumn Duel should be up soon, hopefully before the end of this next week. Thanks so much for all your support!