By the time the second meeting of Harmon's Great Minds rolled around, Elena's excitement had turned back into anxiety. Standing at the base of the stairs in that bar felt out of time, like a place separated from the outside world. Stepping inside was like severing the piece that kept her grounded, allowing her to float away in the sea of knowledge she'd desired for so long.
She'd managed to continue keeping her distance from Damon in the few classes they'd had since the start of the semester. In fact, she'd become somewhat of a shut-in, occupying her bedroom and the library in equal measure and not often entertaining friendship, even with Caroline. She didn't have time to stop and think about the implications of Caroline's absence. And even if she had, Caroline wasn't around to be questioned about it. Just as she was avoiding Damon, Caroline was avoiding her. Neither with clear reason.
As it turned out, knowledge isolated her. It was impossible to guess what the other people in her life believed, and bringing up a concept like the supernatural, like immortality, felt like taking a long walk off a short pier.
But within those four walls in the basement west of town center, she could discuss these topics without fear. And so, she did.
Moller, Blackwell, and Gallagher sat in a corner booth nursing amber liquor in short crystal glasses. When Elena entered, Moller raised a hand to catch her attention and made space for her to sit next to him. She held up one finger, making her way to the bar to grab a drink first. It was so much easier to speak to these people with a little alcohol in her system.
Damon caught her by surprise, saddling up next to her in the cramped space between many other men trying to get a drink before heading to their intellectual conversations. He said, lowering his voice so only she could hear, "I hope you know what you're doing."
Certainly, this was meant to be an insult, but she only smiled. "Ordering a drink. I was thinking a Gin & Tonic, or perhaps I'll try something new. Any suggestions?"
He didn't react to her playful banter, only continued staring at her with grit teeth, muscles in his jaw visibly working, like he was trying to prevent words from slipping out without his permission. "A fan of bourbon myself," he said, finally. Calculated.
The bartender attempted to cut the tension, but Damon's eyes didn't move from hers even as she ordered. "Bourbon, neat." Her eyes flicked back to his. "Two."
"Moller's got a reputation, you know," he said, unprompted.
Her eyes couldn't have rolled more if she'd tried. "God," she said through clenched teeth, seething.
He seemed taken aback by this, but she couldn't for the life of her understand why. It all boiled down to the idea that he must have believed himself better than her. But they were on even playing field now, and she didn't need anyone to protect her, least of all him.
"What?" he asked, eyes boring into hers, searching. "I didn't mean—"
"I do not care what you did or did not mean. And I will not make a scene here," she said, wrapping her hand around the glass as soon as it was placed in front of her. "But I do not need you," she paused, letting the words hang "to look out for me, if that's what you think you're doing, I don't know, but I don't need it."
This time, it was she who left him speechless. She hated how good it felt to walk away from him, to turn her back and walk into the den of men with bad reputations, or whatever it was Damon thought of them. It wasn't that she had completely disregarded his warning, no, she'd keep it tucked in the back of her mind. It was that she'd already known, already could tell by everything about Moller, about Blackwell and Gallagher, about their interests and the way they carried themselves. She hadn't needed Damon Salvatore to instruct her to be careful. She wasn't an idiot, regardless of how often he made her feel that way.
Elena took a seat next to Moller, sipping her drink until it was nearly empty, but no one questioned her. In fact, they just continued on with their conversation like she wasn't there. Maybe they were saying something interesting, but she had quite a difficult time checking back in, ignoring the rage that bubbled up at Damon's words, his once again overstepping behavior.
"Gilbert," Blackwell raised a glance in her direction and she finally snapped out of it. "How'd the break treat you?"
The break between meetings was often used to conduct research on projects the group worked on, to ask questions, and to dig deeper. Many members, however, including the trio in front of her, tended to meet more often on the side to further their projects.
"Oh, good. It was good," she said. They seemed disinterested in this answer, so she continued. "I was going over some of Harmon's research, and the story he led me on to find this place. There's one thing that's been bothering me."
Blackwell and Gallagher exchanged a glance and Gallagher said, "Here it comes." Moller nodded at this, steepled his fingers on the table in front him as if waiting.
"Should we really believe that Harmon failed?" she asked, trying to inject a confidence into her voice that she never felt around these men. All three leaned in closer, signaling her to continue speaking. "I mean, pardon the disrespectful question, but where is his body?"
"Investigated the tomb, did you?" Gallagher asked.
"Didn't we all?" she asked, confused.
Blackwell let out another one of his deep belly laughs at this like she was some unintelligent gnat spouting ridiculous questions for his enjoyment alone. Settling himself with a sip, he leaned back and said, "Many of us were invited directly. In fact, I think you and Mr. Salvatore are the only ones who have ever been invited via treasure hunt," he said this as if it made them less than.
"Invited?" Elena asked. "By whom?"
"The Harmon estate," Moller clarified. "That's how it usually works. They choose prevalent, well, accomplished," again, this felt like an insult, "people in different industries. Hence, the greatest minds."
"Then why the change of system?" she asked, feeling even more out of place than ever.
Another glance was exchanged between the lot of them and Elena felt the need to shrink herself as small as possible.
Moller only shrugged, like it didn't matter at all that she was there. "No idea."
Blackwell chimed in with, "Would love to know." Gallagher only offered another shrug.
Then, Moller continued like the conversation hadn't taken place at all. "Anyways. Yes, it is quite interesting that Harmon's, well, corpse, is nowhere to be found."
"The town record lists no date of death, either. And there were no markings in the tomb to indicate when he died, either," Elena said, fingers itching to reach for the journal in her bag, to read the information she'd written aloud for them to hear. Though, knowing what she now knew, it felt as if they knew everything that she did and more. "Come to think of it," she started, thinking back on one particular instance of information that still confused her. "Celeste Harmon, his wife. Her birth date was redacted."
This elicited thoughtful hums from the group and she paused a moment to give space for them to respond. When they didn't, she continued. "Harmon not having a year of death, having an empty tomb, I mean that's easy to figure out given his research material." She didn't have to say the words. They all knew what she meant. "But Celeste, why would her birthday be redacted? Her death is clearly marked, her body is, unfortunately, present. But hiding her day of birth, what does that signify?"
"Her age," Gallagher said simply, offhand, like it didn't matter.
Elena sat in silence for a moment while the information washed over her. It had been right there, right in front of her this entire time, she just hadn't been able to see it. But those two words cracked something open inside of her, a deluge of information cascading out.
"Were Arthur and Celeste vampires?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper if it even mattered.
"Was Celeste a vampire?" Moller asked, rhetorically. "Seems likely. Is Arthur?"
"The disease he inflicted upon himself and his friends," she stated, working out the puzzle aloud. "They were vampires? All of them?"
None of them would confirm nor deny this information, but Moller looked exceptionally smug.
"Then why…" Crack one mystery, and there were so many more to solve. "Are vampires not immortal? Why continue to seek immortality if you've already achieved it?"
Abruptly, Gallagher stood up from the table and stepped out from behind the booth, Blackwell in tow. Blackwell nodded in the direction of the bar, and Moller motioned for Elena to stand. She followed the unspoken instructions. Moller, the leader of the trio if they had one at all, leaned down to speak in a hushed tone.
"I think there's someone who'd take quite an interest in you, Mr. Gilbert," Moller said, then beckoned her to follow. Blackwell and Gallagher walked behind her, feeling more like soldiers than scholars. As she followed Moller toward the bar, he opened a door she hadn't noticed before and beckoned her into the room. As she entered, she turned around just long enough to cast her glance around the room, trying to catch Damon's eyes anywhere. For once hoping he would see her. The door closed behind them before she could find him.
Even worse, she found herself missing the connection of their eyes. If only they'd latched on in the split second of time she had, it would have felt like electricity. Now she only felt fear for what she'd gotten herself into. Though, she refused to let herself give Damon Salvatore a win. Perhaps this situation wouldn't be dangerous at all, but strictly informative.
The small room she entered mirrored the bar behind them, wood paneling and a heavy wooden table in the center, surrounded by chairs. There were a few people already present, discussing who knows what—she was too caught off guard by the moments prior to focus on the sound of anything except the ringing in her head.
Moller motioned for her to have a seat, and the three quickly occupied other free chairs around the table as she slid into the one she was guided in front of.
The others present were mostly unremarkable, average looking men in the same way as the rest of the society. They were dressed similarly, in pinstriped suits that looked perfectly tailored, with dark button up shirts and crisp ties. Polished shoes and golden pocket watch chains poking out from interior pockets. While it was clear that the society was run by the rich, for the rich, these men looked even wealthier than those she'd already met. Something about them struck her as odd, then, too. A particular shine to them, and not just from the jewelry. Their skin was impossibly clear and their eyes almost seemed to glow. It could have just been the lighting, the warm, flickering firelight that cast a certain warmth on everyone in equal measure.
"Mr. Gilbert, was it?" the man at the head of the table said, clearing his voice in an attempt to get the attention of everyone else, though they were already all looking at him. While his attire screamed wealth, his appearance was quite simple. Dark hair swept gently over hazel eyes. His face was angular and regal in a way. He looked at her like she was the only person in the room, and she wasn't sure if she should be scared or flattered. Refusing to think Salvatore correct in his worries, she chose flattered.
"That's correct," she said, again forcing some sliver of confidence into your voice. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so many things she could have blurted out right then and there. But she kept quiet instead and let this new person speak.
"There are a few things you need to understand, Mr. Gilbert," the man said, standing up from his seat and pacing around behind it. The room was windowless, just like the main bar area. Behind him was a large oil painting with a gilded frame. The subject unidentifiable from so far away.
From her side, Moller nodded almost imperceptibly.
"My brother Arthur, well. He's done some unforgivable things," the man said, and Elena tried her absolute best to keep the shock off her face. "It is an arrogant thing, to seek immortality. Don't you think? To believe that you deserve more time than one should be allocated?" He picked up a blade that lay on the table before him. A slender piece of metal, small enough to be a mail opener. "Arthur was arrogant. His search often hurt those around him. Celeste included. His friends. They were all damaged by his research."
Still, she did not speak, caught in rapt attention as he held the blade delicately between finger and thumb, admiring it as he spoke.
"I seek to right his wrongs," he said, looking up abruptly to meet Elena's eyes. She struggled to maintain the eye contact. "For he's hurt a good many people, myself included."
Elena cleared her throat, not to attract attention, but because it felt impossibly dry. "These wrongs?" she asked.
"Vampirism," he said. "You know of it?"
She felt the question rhetorical, but she answered anyway. "Yes."
"Vampires have not always existed, my friend. Arthur, well, it's more complicated, but let's just say he created them."
Elena nodded at this. "Unintentionally?"
"You've done your research," he said.
"I've only followed the trail that he left. Though I have to admit I do still have a great many questions," Elena said, leaning forward, arms crossed over her chest—to stop her hands from shaking. "What exactly are we doing here?" she asked. Answers to her questions were great, fantastic, even. But why had she been invited into this room? Why did they care about her, a college student, when they were the actual greatest minds in the room? In the city?
He stopped pacing for a moment, looking down at the blade in his hand. "My brother, Arthur," he said the name with obvious disgust. "Created monsters. Those who only kill and kill with an insatiable blood lust. Like I said, I seek to right his wrongs. To put him down."
"You want to kill Arthur Harmon?" she asked in a moment of disbelief that allowed words to slip through her lips without thinking.
"He is the creator of us. Of vampires. As the first, he is only that much more dangerous. We need like-minded people, people who understand, such as yourself to help us with that mission." With this, he dragged the blade across the palm of his hand and held it outstretched, across the table. "Will you join us?"
Her head spun and swam, full of new information and yet more confused than she'd ever been. This was the proof she'd wanted, wasn't it? Cold, hard, dead, and bleeding before her. She watched as the wound on his hand stitched itself back together. Acid crept up her throat and she had to take a sip of her drink to prevent her stomach from emptying on the expensive floors.
Once the wound was gone, as if it had never been there to begin with, the man sighed. "And here I thought you'd be quite amenable, Mr. Gilbert."
"I don't even know your name," she said, the words feeling funny in her mouth.
"It is unimportant." He crossed the room and looked down at her, head tilted slightly to the side. "I'll give you time. Until the next meeting. After that, I will not ask again." Then, he took a step back, breaking the eye contact that had seemed to last a lifetime, and said, "Moller, see him out."
Seeing him out apparently only meant as much as opening the door and nearly shoving him back into the bar. Feeling sick to her stomach and dreading seeing Salvatore and the look on his face that she knew would feel like a massive I told you so, she quickly dipped out of the basement and into the humid August air.
Trying to collect her thoughts felt like an impossible challenge. She'd gone in with an optimism, an eagerness for intelligence, and now she felt like a woman drowning in information she'd wanted so eagerly.
A/N: Okay so I totally couldn't wait on posting this one, because I was too excited. I have two more chapters ready to go for Act II, if you guys are as invested as I am, sound off in the comments and maybe I'll have those last two posted by the end of the week!