As is turned out, sitting with the information for just one night was not enough. In the following days, Elena sat with her journal on the couch, reading and re-reading all the information she'd scribbled down at the library, and all the notes she'd taken since. Every time she scanned over them, however, that thrumming headache returned, and she had to take a break. That didn't stop the thoughts from turning in her head every moment of the day, though. No matter what else went on around her, her mind always drifted back to Arthur and Celeste and their well-kept secrets.
"What's so interesting in that book, anyway?" Caroline asked, placing a mug of coffee in front of Elena as she took a seat with her own.
Elena sighed. She hadn't bothered explaining it to Caroline, guessing that it wouldn't be of any interest. Not that Caroline wasn't smart, she had her own talents. But interested in mysteries and puzzles? Elena didn't think so. But then again, she'd never thought to ask, either.
"Still trying to figure out everything I can about Harmon," Elena said, leaning forward to take a sip of coffee.
The blonde only nodded, picking up one of the books set out on the coffee table before her. "Arthur Harmon," she said, putting on a pretentious voice. "I bet he was a real cad."
"He's a man," Elena said with a raise of both brows. "Chances are high."
"A rich man, even worse."
Elena raised her mug in silent agreement. Her father had been wealthy beyond her imagination, but the men she'd met lately had even more money to their name. The Salvatore house in all its grandeur, all the books lining the walls, the grand piano, the countless guest rooms, it was all just a show of wealth.
"He founded the college and the society. I thought maybe learning about him would give me some insight, maybe even a clue. But so far, I only have more questions."
"A clue?" Caroline asked, looking at her friend, clear skepticism on her face, maybe even a twinge of worry.
She folded the book closed, using her thumb as a bookmark. "I can't let Damon have all the fun in that society by himself, now can I?"
"Elena," Caroline said, exasperated.
"What?" Elena asked, immediately on defense, thinking not her too. She could deal with Damon trying to bar her from entry into the society, but Caroline? No, right now she needed her best friend's support in this.
The blonde must have sensed it, or seen the change in Elena's expression because her exasperated expression melted away and instead she only said. "Just be careful, okay? I don't know what Damon thinks is so dangerous about this group, but please be careful."
"I'm sure he's just exaggerating. I don't think it's possible for a collection of scholars to cause me any harm. Unless he's worried about them boring me to death while they discuss mathematics."
Caroline and Damon's relationship had always interested the brunette. Were they close? Did Caroline know his deep dark secrets? Would she share them? If it came down to it, would she be on Elena's side or Damon's? The fact that the blonde now shared an apartment with her made it seem like the answer was obvious—but every once in a while, she got the impression that they were conspiring behind her back like she was the only one who couldn't see what was right in front of her. In the same vein, she trusted Caroline implicitly. The girl never led her astray, always had her back, and even paid off blackmailers in order to help her continue following her dreams. All this questioning was just her subconscious being afraid, still not used to having a friend who wasn't related to her.
"That reminds me," Caroline said, standing up and briefly exiting the room. A moment later she returned with a small velvet box, a bow tied tightly around it. "I got you this just as a thank you. For being my friend and letting me move in, and just all of it." She placed a hand over Elena's and offered her a warm smile that had all of those self-conscious thoughts from moments ago melting away completely.
"Care," Elena beamed. "You didn't have to do this, really. Your friendship is gift enough." She held a hand to her heart and then laughed at her own words.
"Oh, just open it would you?" Caroline smiled, bright and beautiful.
Elena untied the bow and neatly folded it, placing it next to her on the couch. Then, she slipped the cover off the box and examined the piece inside. A silver chain with wide links. A bracelet?
"Okay, I know it's not the most beautiful piece of jewelry you've ever seen. But I think it's simple enough that you could wear it even when you're Jeremy." She took the box from Elena's hands and removed the bracelet, then motioned for Elena's wrist, gently clasping it on. There was a small green stone in the center, inlaid between two links. "Think of it as your good luck charm. It'll protect you from scholars who think math is the most interesting subject."
Speechless. That's how Elena felt. Never had anyone given her such a meaningful gift. The most Jeremy had given her was his name, but this was a physical reminder of Caroline's friendship, a somewhat heavy token of their friendship. She pulled Caroline into her arms, hugging her tight. "Thank you. I love it."
As much as she wanted to take a few more days to rest, to let the information she'd learned truly sink in, she couldn't bear the thought of Damon attending a society meeting without her. She didn't know how frequently they met, it was possible she'd already missed a few meetings, and she just knew he'd sat there smugger than ever, engaging in conversation with the other scholars, happy while thinking about how he'd barred her from entry. Still, those thoughts boggled her mind, and as much as she tried not to let herself go down the twisted path that was Damon Salvatore, she couldn't help it.
There were two different mysteries she was working to solve. The first would lead her to the meeting spot of the secret society, and the second would unravel why her rival had been so secretive and off-putting. As it stood, she had more information for the first mystery, regarding Harmon's Great Minds. And even then, it wasn't much. Scraps of knowledge here and there. A few puzzle pieces that made no sense, did not produce an image no matter how she put them together.
But she had a plan, and that was what mattered. As she walked into town, passing by the library she'd spent hours on end in for the past week, she had to ignore the urge to dip back inside, to read just one more book on the subject matter. Instead, she followed her gut and a path that took her toward the town's oldest cemetery.
Summer in Vermont was just about as unbearable as back home, and all the layers she had to put on each and every day to keep up her act only made it worse. Going out as Elena Gilbert presented too much risk, even when school wasn't in session. What if someone recognized her? And besides, she liked the freedom that being Jeremy Gilbert afforded her. Never once did anyone stop her in the street, ask about her missing husband, harass her while she tried to go about her day.
Sweat collected on her brow and at her hairline as she walked, clad in thick trousers, a tight undershirt, a button-up, and a cardigan. She'd found, early on, that more layers helped to disguise her more feminine form more than anything else.
Trees shot up from the ground along the street, offering a modicum of shade from the blistering sun. By the time she reached the cemetery, her hair was slick with sweat underneath the cap, beads dripping down the back of her neck.
As she pushed through the wrought iron gate of the cemetery, she pulled out her leather-bound notebook and turned to the page bookmarked with a shred of ribbon.
It didn't take too long to find the Harmon family tomb. The large stone building stood out amongst much smaller tombstones marking the graves of those deemed less important or not wealthy enough to have the luxurious resting place that the Harmon's did.
Large stone bricks made up the rectangular building. The front of the tomb featured a brass door with the name Harmon inlaid on it. Pillars framed the door on either side, and a pitched stone roof topped the whole of the tomb, with a praying woman at the very top, like she watched over those at rest inside.
Maybe she should have stopped to think about the itching feeling that spread across her skin as she came to a stop in front of the tomb like a warning, but the potential clue lurking inside beckoned to her louder than the warning. It could not be ignored.
Pulling open the heavy door, she was met with a dark, damp space. The light from outside revealed four stone coffins on ornate pedestals. The walls were lined with sconces holding candles melted to the base, but the door closed too fast, the daylight winking out with it before she could explore further. At the same time, she whipped around to try and stop it, throwing hands up against the cold stone and pressing with all her weight, but it wouldn't budge.
Her breathing got heavy and fast and for a moment it felt as if she might pass out from fear. But she was nothing if not prepared, so she dug her fingers into the bag at her side, immediately finding the matches she'd tucked away in case of this exact predicament. She struck one against the stone wall, but it didn't light, the stones were too damp, too musty and moss covered. As if the tomb hadn't been opened in ages.
But she didn't give up. She struck the match again and again, trying with another when the first refused to light. And finally, she found a patch of dry stone or a particularly forgiving match and a small flame burst forth, shoving the tomb back into the light.
The small light cast long shadows, so she had to hold the flame close to anything she wanted to see properly. The plaques on the four coffins, for example, were especially difficult to read without getting her eyes and hair dangerously close to the fire.
Her fingers ran across the metal plate, bronze just like the doors and cold to the touch. The script was delicate and difficult to read, with some of the letters in serifed font and the others in a looping cursive that couldn't be deciphered by match light.
Thankfully, bold font made the names easy to read. The important information made easy to access, never to be forgotten. The coffins held four Harmons, of course. Isaac and Genevieve sat next to each other, with Celeste and Arthur in the other two, parted by a small aisle.
Just as she knelt on the floor to get a better look at the inscription on Arthur's coffin, the stone door moved ever so slightly, making her jump back against the wall, only to realize there was nowhere to run. But she wasn't doing anything wrong, was she? Her actions could easily be passed off as paying her respects, and she could just as easily dismiss herself without further inspection, to return at a later date.
Never would she have imagined that the face that peered in from the bright afternoon sun would have been one she recognized.
"Gilbert?" Damon asked, half groan, exasperation evident.
She straightened against the wall, brows drawn together, arms crossed over her chest, and match long since discarded on the floor. "Are you following me?" she asked, because it was the only reasonable thought she could muster, why else would he be investigating a tomb that seemed long since forgotten even in a town named for the family?
"I find you in the dark in the Harmon tomb, and that's the first thing you have to say? Not even a hello? Unfortunately, Gilbert, not everything is about you," Salvatore responded.
"Then why are you…?" she trailed off, answering her own question with a proud smile as she basked in the light that beamed in through the held-open door. "You're here for a clue, aren't you?"
"Try not to look so smug."
"Not possible. I'm a very smug person."
"I've noticed," Damon said, already tired of her after a mere few moments in her presence. The feeling was mutual.
"This means… I'm on the right track," she started, pacing back and forth in front of Arthur's coffin with a grin on her face that likely could have been spotted even in the dark. "If you're here, well, I won't lie, it is quite the coincidence that it's at the exact same time as myself, but still. You're looking for a clue, the next clue. Or perhaps the next, next."
"Get to the point, Gilbert. If there is one."
"Oh, sorry. It's just that it seems like I didn't need to win Bartlow's competition to be ahead of you, is all." Oh, she was so smug. This was a great day. The best in a long time, even. Her joy overshadowed the coincidence of it all.
"So," he said, motioning with one hand, gesturing at the coffins, the notebook that had made it onto the floor when she'd jumped across the room in fear.
"So?" she repeated, brows creased in the center.
His eyes widened a fraction. "What did you find?" he talked to her like she was an infant child like he had to spell out everything with startling clarity. In this case, he did.
"Oh!" Elena said, leaning an elbow on Arthur's coffin in an attempt to look casual. It did not work. "Well—"
It was his turn to grin with satisfaction. "You haven't found anything."
"I haven't found anything, yet!"
He pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger then took a step forward, away from the door and toward the coffin. But Elena held up a hand, and said, "Wait!" in a voice so desperate he actually listened.
"The door doesn't open from the inside. Maybe it was supposed to once upon a time, but it doesn't anymore. You have to stay there, else we'll both be locked in," she said proudly.
"Are you saying that if I hadn't come along, you'd be trapped in this tomb?" he asked, not bothering to cover his pleased tone.
Her brown eyes narrowed at him. "That's beside the point."
"I don't think it is."
"You're wasting my time," she commented, then got back to her search about the room, looking for anything that could constitute a clue.
She could sense his grin even when she turned away, and that only served to infuriate her further. Wasn't the summer supposed to be free of Damon Salvatore?
"You have no idea what you're looking for, do you?" Damon asked. When she didn't immediately respond, he chuckled under his breath—more than loud enough for her to hear. "Open the coffin, Gilbert."
Her eyes widened at the mere suggestion of opening a deceased person's ages-old coffin. What would she even find in there? She didn't want to know. He must have been able to read the look on her face—she hadn't attempted to her her disgust at the idea, because he said. "Shall I?"
To which she said, "And get us trapped in here?"
"You could hold the door open. Or wait outside."
She pressed her lips into a thin line. "And trust that you'd share the clue? Not a chance."
He motioned at the coffin again. "Then, by all means."
Narrowing her eyes, she rolled her shoulders back, slipped her bag off and let it drop onto the floor, and tucked her journal and pen into the waistband of her pants. She could feel his eyes on her, burning holes through her many layers, but she didn't dare look at him. Instead, she braced her hands on the lid of the stone coffin and pushed with all her might, doing her very best not to make a face, though the effort nearly required it.
Stone grated against stone as the lid slid out of place. Opening a coffin was not something Elena had done ever before, she didn't want to add to the tally of dead bodies she'd seen, a pretty normal desire. But if scholarship was on the line, then she'd do what she must. Thankfully, for her, though perhaps not for the Harmon family, the coffin contained no body. Inside only cool metal greeted her, and a small scroll that fingers quickly wrapped around and extracted.
"What is it?" Damon asked, leaning closer to try and get a better look, but from the door his vision must have been obscured.
"It's empty," she said as she unfurled the small scroll and scanned the scratched cursive text. The same text that she'd been reading for weeks on end in the Harmon journal she kept tucked under her mattress for safekeeping.
Dearest Celeste Harmon,
It was a true delight to see you at your father's estate this past month, my only regret being that we did not plan for our next encounter. I'd love to see you again to discuss our mutual interest in the supernatural, in the immortal. I believe your magic and my intuition could prove quite valuable. I do believe the pair of us could cook up quite an elixir if you'd be so interested.
Yours,
AM.
The words were a lot to take in, and she'd certainly have to scan them over and over again at a later time. But for now, Salvatore still peered at her greedily from the door, waiting his turn for the next clue in his search. Her eyes met his and a plan fell into place in the same instant. Taking the journal from her waistband, she quickly scratched down a copy of the letter. Except, where the original said "AM" she only wrote "A," keeping one small clue for herself alone. A prize, for getting there first.
She tore out the page, tucked her journal away, picked up her bag, stored her original and unaltered clue, and then stepped toward Damon. He hadn't stopped watching her.
"For you," she said, extending her hand to offer him the ripped scrap of paper with the copied clue.
He surveyed it for a moment. "Hm," he said as he looked back up at her. "How am I supposed to know for certain that this is what you found?"
"I suppose you'll just have to trust me," she said, a slight shrug to her shoulders as she passed through the open door and back into the warm summer sun.