“But not all the details,” said Bonnie firmly. “In fact, there are things the police still haven’t let out, because they think it might help them catch the killer. For instance,” she dropped her voice, “do you know what Mary said? Dr. Feinberg was talking to the guy who did the autopsy, the medical examiner. And he said that there was no blood left in the body at all. Not a drop.”
Elena felt an icy wind blow through her, as if she stood once again in the graveyard. She couldn’t speak. But Ed said, “Where’d it go?”
“Well, all over the floor, I suppose,” said Bonnie calmly. “All over the altar and everything. That’s what the police are investigating now. But it’s unusual for a corpse not to have any blood left; usually there’s some that settles down on the underside of the body. Postmortem lividity, it’s called. It looks like big purple bruises. What’s wrong?”
“Your incredible sensitivity has me ready to throw up,” said Meredith in a strangled voice. “Could we possibly talk about something else?”
“You weren’t the one with blood all over you,” Bonnie began, but Stefan interrupted her.
“Have the investigators come to any conclusions from what they’ve learned? Are they any closer to finding the killer?”
“I don’t know,” said Bonnie, and then she brightened. “That’s right, Elena, you said you knew—”
“Shut up, Bonnie,” said Elena desperately. If there ever were a place not to discuss this, it was in a crowded room surrounded by people who hated Stefan. Bonnie’s eyes widened, and then she nodded, subsiding.
Elena could not relax, though. Stefan hadn’t killed Mr. Tanner, and yet the same evidence that would lead to Damon could as easily lead to him. And would lead to him, because no one but she and Stefan knew of Damon’s existence. He was out there, somewhere, in the shadows. Waiting for his next victim. Maybe waiting for Stefan—or for her.
“I’m hot,” she said abruptly. “I think I’ll go see what kinds of refreshments Alaric has provided.”
Stefan started to rise, but Elena waved him back down. He wouldn’t have any use for potato chips and punch. And she wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to be moving instead of sitting, to calm herself.
Being with Meredith and Bonnie had given her a false sense of security. Leaving them, she was once again confronted by sidelong glances and suddenly turned backs. This time it made her angry. She moved through the crowd with deliberate insolence, holding any eye she accidentally caught. I’m already notorious, she thought. I might as well be brazen, too.
She was hungry. In the Ramsey dining room someone had set up an assortment of finger foods that looked surprisingly good. Elena took a paper plate and dropped a few carrot sticks on it, ignoring the people around the bleached oak table. She wasn’t going to speak to them unless they spoke first. She gave her full attention to the refreshments, leaning past people to select cheese wedges and Ritz crackers, reaching in front of them to pluck grapes, ostentatiously looking up and down the whole array to see if there was anything she’d missed.
She’d succeeded in riveting everyone’s attention, something she knew without raising her eyes. She bit delicately down on a bread stick, holding it between her teeth like a pencil, and turned from the table.
“Mind if I have a bite?”
Shock snapped her eyes wide open and froze her breath. Her mind jammed, refusing to acknowledge what was going on, and leaving her helpless, vulnerable, in the face of it. But though rational thought had disappeared, her senses went right on recording mercilessly: dark eyes dominating her field of vision, a whiff of some kind of cologne in her nostrils, two long fingers tilting her chin up. Damon leaned in, and, neatly and precisely, bit off the other end of the bread stick.
In that moment, their lips were only inches apart. He was leaning in for a second bite before Elena’s wits revived enough to throw her backward, her hand grabbing the bit of crisp bread and tossing it away. He caught it in midair, a virtuoso display of reflex.
His eyes were still on hers. Elena got in a breath at last and opened her mouth; she wasn’t sure what for. To scream, probably. To warn all these people to run out into the night. Her heart was pounding like a triphammer, her vision blurred.
“Easy, easy.” He took the plate from her and then somehow got hold of her wrist. He was holding it lightly, the way Mary had felt for Stefan’s pulse. As she continued to stare and gasp, he stroked it with his thumb, as if comforting her. “Easy. It’s all right.”
What are you doing here? she thought. The scene around her seemed eerily bright and unnatural. It was like one of those nightmares when everything is ordinary, just like waking life, and then suddenly something grotesque happens. He was going to kill them all.
“Elena? Are you okay?” Sue Carson was talking to her, gripping her shoulder.
“I think she choked on something,” Damon said, releasing Elena’s wrist. “But she’s all right now. Why don’t you introduce us?”
He was going to kill them all…
“Elena, this is Damon, um…” Sue spread an apologetic hand, and Damon finished for her.
“Smith.” He lifted a paper cup toward Elena. “La vita.”
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“He’s a college student,” Sue volunteered, when it became apparent that Damon wasn’t going to answer. “From—University of Virginia, was it? William and Mary?”
“Among other places,” Damon said, still looking at Elena. He hadn’t glanced at Sue once. “I like to travel.”
The world had snapped into place again around Elena, but it was a chilling world. There were people on every side, watching this exchange with fascination, keeping her from speaking freely. But they were also keeping her safe. For whatever reason, Damon was playing a game, pretending to be one of them. And while the masquerade went on, he wouldn’t do anything to her in front of a crowd… she hoped.
A game. But he was making up the rules. He was standing here in the Ramseys’ dining room playing with her.
“He’s just down for a few days,” Sue was continuing helpfully. “Visiting—friends, did you say? Or relatives?”
“Yes,” said Damon.
“You’re lucky to be able to take off whenever you want,” Elena said. She didn’t know what was possessing her, to make her try and unmask him.
“Luck has very little to do with it,” said Damon. “Do you like dancing?”
“What’s your major?”
He smiled at her. “American folklore. Did you know, for instance, that a mole on the neck means you’ll be wealthy? Do you mind if I check?”
“I mind.” The voice came from behind Elena. It was clear and cold and quiet. Elena had heard Stefan speak in that tone only once: when he had found Tyler trying to assault her in the graveyard. Damon’s fingers stilled on her throat, and, released from his spell, she stepped back.
“But do you matter?” he said.
The two of them faced each other under the faintly flickering yellow light of the brass chandelier.
Elena was aware of layers of her own thoughts, like a parfait. Everyone’s staring; this must be better than the movies… I didn’t realize Stefan was taller… There’s Bonnie and Meredith wondering what’s going on… Stefan’s angry but he’s still weak, still hurting… If he goes for Damon now, he’ll lose…
And in front of all these people. Her thoughts came to a clattering halt as everything fell into place. That was what Damon was here for, to make Stefan attack him, apparently unprovoked. No matter what happened after that, he won. If Stefan drove him away, it would just be more proof of Stefan’s “tendency toward violence.” More evidence for Stefan’s accusers. And if Stefan lost the fight…