Chapter 20

Hours later, the two girls stood in the hallway outside the twin's apartment. Elena held a bottle of wine at her side, and Caroline looked at her pointedly, with an expression that said be nice. Elena's hair was braided so tight that it had already begun to give her a headache, and the snug cap atop it all didn't help either. Perhaps it contributed to her already sour attitude.

The door swung open before them and John embraced Caroline with open arms, throwing only a half glance, half glare in Elena's direction. "Please, come in," he said, pulling away from her and stepping aside to let them both in, all the while maintaining the same dead gaze, no warmth toward Elena. John had never once been polite with her, but this seemed like more than that.

John immediately stole Caroline away, leading her to the couch and offering her a glass of wine from a bottle they'd already opened. Elena sought out James, who stood in the kitchen. He'd always been the one responsible for actually cooking dinner, while John always entertained, if you could call ragging on Elena entertainment. She supposed it entertained everyone other than herself.

She placed the bottle of red on the counter next to the open bottle and reached for a wine glass, pouring herself a heavy-handed amount and immediately bringing it to her lips.

"Good to see you too, Jeremy," James said, giving a cursory over the shoulder glance while he continued to stir whatever it was he worked on in the pot on the stove.

"You too," she said once she'd finally pulled the wine away from her lips, though she likely could have drained that entire first glass without even thinking about it. It wasn't that she was stressed exactly, but she wasn't calm or collected, either. In fact, her brain felt as if it had experienced some great electric shock, or like someone had taken it out, set it on fire, and placed it back inside her head. Magic, supernatural, vampires, immortality. How was a normal girl expected to parse all of that information on her own? And even further, how could she ever ask another living person to help her understand? How absolutely mad would any of these people think she'd gone if she'd started tonight's dinner with the question, does anyone believe in magic? They'd likely have her acquitted right then and there.

No, this type of insanity, unfortunately, she had to keep all to herself.

"You feeling alright, Gilbert?" he asked, and Elena blinked with shock, surprised that he'd noticed, knew her idiosyncrasies well enough to tell that something bothered her.

She didn't want to get into it, so she shook her head, took another sip of her wine, and shrugged. "Trying to find ways to occupy my time over the summer has proved more difficult than I thought," she said, instead of all of the other things she thought about, because she had to say something, even if it was not the truth.

He returned her shrug with his own. "Ah yes, the existential dread of the scholar. Believe it or not, most of us become unbearably bored over the summer. John keeps himself busy with frivolous travel, I spend most of my time cooking, and well, you know Marcus. He's always got a book a centimeter away from his face no matter the time of year. You just have to find a hobby, Gilbert. Or, you could rely on your friends, too."

The insinuation that they were friends caught her off guard. Had any of them ever actually referred to her as such? Or had they always just been peers caught up in the same situation together, forced to study language in proximity?

"Yes, friends," he said the word again, maybe because he could see the look on Elena's face or maybe because he himself realized that he'd never referred to her as more than a casual acquaintance. "We tend to gather more during the summer anyways, and you're always welcome. Caroline says you've been avoiding us, however."

"Yes, well—" she started.

"It's nothing personal, you avoid us during the school year, as well. It's nothing we aren't used to. Though, we do enjoy your company. Perhaps everyone except John, at least. But John doesn't enjoy anyone's company. Except for maybe Caroline's," he wiggled a brow at the mention of the blonde.

Had that been why the other twin had glared at her upon her arrival? God, did he harbor jealousy against Jeremy Gilbert? Elena took such a joyful fascination in the idea of John and Caroline as an item. Oh, she would chew him up and spit him out before he could even get a word in. And to think that anyone thought that she and Caroline were an item. At least she knew that her disguise truly still worked.

"It's not you, it's—" she started again, but still she couldn't get out her full sentence.

"Salvatore," James said, but though it fit her thoughts, it wasn't the end to her sentence, but a greeting to the man who now stood behind her. He stepped closer, placed a bottle of whiskey on the counter, and offered James a solid handshake and Elena a tentative smile.

Elena used his arrival as an opportunity to step away, but as she did so, Damon wrapped a hand around her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. Red wine sloshed in her glass, came close to spilling over the rim.

"Gilbert?" he said, looking down at her with cool blue eyes and brows creating a wrinkle in the center of his forehead. "A quick word?" Then he tilted his head toward the corridor and released her arm.

While he stalked off, Elena's eyes met James', and he offered only a shrug. Knowing that speaking to him was an inescapable kind of doom, she followed.

She cleared her throat, ensuring that her voice dropped into the lower register, as it had been when speaking with James—arguing with Damon tended to bring the trilled tones of her feminine voice to the surface. "Yes, Salvatore?" she said, impatient, arms crossed over her chest, eyes settling on the center of his face. Avoiding direct eye contact made it easier to speak with him. She didn't want to look into his eyes and see the genuine way in which he asked questions, even though his tone often reflected a falseness or an aggression that missed his eyes. It was easier not to care at all, focusing her eyes on a patch of skin, instead.

He jumped straight to the point. "You leave something out of that clue you wrote down for me?"

She couldn't help but snicker. "Are you saying you haven't figured it out already? Just say you need my help, and we can go from there."

His eyes closed for a moment like he actually attempted to think before he spoke. A new experiment, perhaps? Finally, he said, "No."

"That's it?" she asked, brow raised and a coy smile. "You corner me in the corridor to excuse me of, what, forgery" of which she was guilty "and I insult your intelligence with a question, and all you have to say back is no?" She had to restrain herself from reaching out to place a hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling alright? You're not ill are you?"

He scoffed at this, and she could see the glint in his eyes—because of course, she'd given up and looked at them—that wanted to go toe to toe with her, that wanted to argue. It was, after all, what they were best at. Their other collaborative work had been sub-par at best.

"You're certain the clue you wrote down was the full extent of what you found?" he asked again.

"Yes, Damon," she said. "Are you saying you didn't glean anything interesting from the script?" Had he seen words like supernatural and magic before, or was he losing his mind just as certainly as she was?

"I've gleaned quite a few things, in fact. I was just hoping to learn more about Arthur. I assume you've already figured out that he's not exactly who he seems."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, careful in her words. If she could gain any additional information from him by playing the fool, she would.

Unfortunately, Damon knew exactly what she was trying to do, and said, "No last name on the note, quite peculiar. Don't you think?"

"Indeed," she said, like the scholar she was. "Have you been to the library as of late?"

"I have," he said. Speaking with him felt like a conversational dance, like swordplay. Neither one giving anything to their opponent, not revealing too much, both looking for a place to strike.

"I do find it quite interesting that his last name has seemingly gone missing. Do you think that's what we must find in order to find the meeting place?" she asked. "His true last name?"

He looked at her with a kind of interest she could not quite identify. "I'm not certain he wants that information found at all, even for this little game."

To hear Damon Salvatore equate her week of grueling research to a game stung deep in her chest. But she'd always loved games, so let it be seen that way. If she were the only one taking it seriously, she'd have all the more chance of arriving at the conclusion first.

She could feel her journal nearly vibrating in her shoulder bag. The script she'd taken from the tomb heavy like lead. The mysterious 'M' still unsolved. "Can I expect to see you at the next clue's location?"

"Is that to say you know where it is?" he asked.

"Do you not?" she returned the question with another, a smile gracing her lips. But she let it drop. "All jokes aside Salvatore, I'm not certain where this clue leads quite yet. I think I'm hung up on the magic of it all. The supernatural, the immortality. I'm certain it has something to do with that. What we're looking for. Though I wouldn't blame this Arthur fellow if his quest also involved unearthing his name. Us gentlemen do like to be remembered."

Damon's glowering expression softened a bit at her words. "You've learned quite a bit without the first clue." Was that supposed to be a compliment?

"Yes."

"Why?"

Again, she was taken aback. A common experience when in the company of her peers, apparently. "I'm sorry?"

"I just don't believe we've ever had the chance to discuss our shared interest."

"You're asking me what interests me about the secret society?" She asked, and he nodded, so she continued. "I'm a scholar, Salvatore. I want to know, and I don't like it when knowledge is something kept behind lock and key. And if I'm being completely honest, I like the idea of beating you. And I like the puzzles. Nothing more satisfying than putting the pieces together, solving that which is unknown."

He parted his lips to respond, but Caroline chose that moment to step into the corridor. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, close in proximity, though both casual. Unlike their other arguments, this had been less heated. More of an actual conversation.

"Did you ask him about the stalking thing?" Caroline asked, eying Damon though her words were directed at Elena.

Elena's eyes cut over to her and she widened them. Damon only laughed and Caroline said, "See, I told you it was irrational."

Damon stepped away from the pair of them, shaking his head. "You should listen to your roommate, Gilbert. She's very wise."

Caroline whirled on him, pointing a finger in his direction. "I don't like the way you said that."

He smiled without showing his teeth. "You shouldn't."

Shortly after intruding upon her very enlightening conversation with Salvatore, Caroline pulled her back into the living room, where everyone had gathered with glasses in hand. Even Marcus had put down the book for once and swirled whiskey in a rocks glass in between gracious sips.

James took a break from the kitchen, claiming that the dish needed to spend quite a bit of time on the heat uninterrupted, which elicited a groan from many of them, who'd endured their friend's cooking on a regular basis.

Elena stood with her own glass behind a wing-back chair occupied by John, looking over at James and Damon on the couch, and Marcus and Caroline on the settee, whispering about something she couldn't hear.

The twins had been bickering for a long while about a topic of which Elena was unfamiliar and uninterested, so she'd faded out of the conversation, let her mind continue to wander, as it often did those days. Sipping wine and thinking about magic. It felt like being pulled from a body of water when someone said her borrowed name and she had to snap out of it.

"I'm sorry, what?" she said, simply, backtracking over the past few lines of conversation. Something about romance novels or the latest instillation of whatever fiction was being printed in the paper those days.

John twisted in his chair so he could look at Elena, and repeated himself. "Salvatore says you've been doing some research on our town's dear founder. Tell me, what do you think about his desire to gain immortality?"

Great. Exactly the thoughts she'd been trying to wipe clean from her brain. And of course, as always, Salvatore to thank. However, it didn't seem as if the dark-haired man was altogether pleased with John's comments, as his eyes were as sharp as daggers, staring at the back of the obnoxious twin's head like he was trying to curse him where he sat.

What did she think about Harmon and his interest in immortality? She'd been so busy thinking about the other words used, that she hadn't spent a long time lingering on his main goal.

"Harmon seemed a power hungry man," she started, looking into the depths of her red wine that swirled in the glass, watching the legs drip back down into the reservoir. Chewing on her lip, she thought, trying to piece words together into a sentence that made sense, that got her thoughts across on the subject, a subject she'd been spending days, weeks ruminating over, but not truly thinking about. "Seems that his quest for immortality is just that. Who truly needs to live that long, if they do not seek power and control?"

A brief glance was exchanged between Damon and Marcus, words unspoken. "Though it did seem like he wished for immortality as a cure to some disease he inflicted himself with, some pain he caused him and his wife." Truly, she did not fully understand his motives. "I only know what I've read, but I can't say he seems like a charming fellow."

There was an air of darkness to all of it, from Harmon's guilt in talking about what he'd done, to the desperation with which he wrote about his search. It was tainted in a way that made him seem untrustworthy, slimy.

Caroline sat up straighter, looked at Elena, and asked, "Did it say what he did to himself? And to his friends?" She looked interested, which was more than Elena could say about the blonde previously. She always seemed to tune out Elena's ramblings about Harmon and the great mystery of the secret society.

She shook her head. "Not that I've read. Only that he wished to find a cure. Immortality, I'm assuming, would cure any disease or illness. Though I'm not certain how he could have inflicted his friends with a disease." She pondered this for a moment before speaking again. "Maybe an initial attempt gone wrong?" Perhaps immortality had been the goal before the disease, and she'd been seeing it all wrong. It wasn't a means to cure the disease, but the disease an effect of the search.

Damon clapped his hands together with a resounding boom as he stood up from the couch. He didn't make eye contact with her as he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter, as he said with a smile only a bit too tight, "Another round?" and began to pour whiskey into the glasses of those partaking.