The room around her was blurring. She could see only his eyes, and they were making her feel more and more sleepy. She allowed her own eyes to half close, her head to fall back. She sighed.
She could feel his gaze now, on her lips, on her throat. She smiled to herself and let her eyes close completely.
He was supporting her weight now, keeping her from falling down. She felt his lips on the skin of her neck, burning hot as if he had a fever. Then she felt the sting, like the jabs of two needles. It was over quickly, though, and she relaxed to the pleasure of having her blood drawn out.
She remembered this feeling, the feeling of floating on a bed of golden light. A delicious languor stole through all her limbs. She felt drowsy, as if it were too much trouble to move. She didn’t want to move anyway; she felt too good.
Her fingers were resting on his hair, clasping his head to her. Idly, she threaded them through the soft dark strands. His hair was like silk, warm and alive under her fingers. When she opened her eyes a slit, she saw that it reflected rainbows in the candlelight. Red and blue and purple, just like—just like the feathers…
And then everything shattered. There was pain at her throat suddenly, as if her soul was being torn out of her. She was pushing at Damon, clawing at him, trying to force him away. Screams rang in her ears. Damon was fighting her, but it wasn’t Damon; it was a crow. Huge wings beat against her, thrashing in the air.
Her eyes were open. She was awake and screaming. The ballroom was gone, and she was in a darkened bedroom. But the nightmare had followed her. Even as she reached for the light, it came at her again, wings thrashing in her face, sharp beak diving for her.
Elena struck out at it, one hand flung up to protect her eyes. She was still screaming. She couldn’t get away from it, those terrible wings kept flailing frantically, with a sound like a thousand decks of cards being shuffled at once.
The door burst open, and she heard shouts. The warm, heavy body of the crow struck her and her screams went higher. Then someone was pulling her off the bed, and she was standing protected behind Bonnie’s father. He had a broom and he was beating at the bird with it.
Bonnie was standing in the doorway. Elena ran into her arms. Bonnie’s father was shouting, and then came the slam of a window.
“It’s out,” Mr. McCullough said, breathing hard.
Mary and Mrs. McCullough were just outside in the hallway, clad in bathrobes. “You’re hurt,” Mrs. McCullough said to Elena in amazement. “The nasty thing’s pecked you.”
“I’m okay,” Elena said, brushing at a spot of blood on her face. She was so shaken that her knees were about to give out.
“How did it get in?” said Bonnie.
Mr. McCullough was inspecting the window. “You shouldn’t have left this open,” he said. “And what did you want to take the locks off for?”
“I didn’t,” Elena cried.
“It was unlocked and open when I heard you screaming and came in,” Bonnie’s father said. “I don’t know who else could have opened it but you.”
Elena choked back her protests. Hesitantly, cautiously, she moved to the window. He was right; the locks had been unscrewed. And it could have been done only from the inside.
“Maybe you were sleepwalking,” said Bonnie, leading Elena away from the window as Mr. McCullough began putting the locks back on. “We’d better get you cleaned up.”
Sleepwalking. Suddenly the entire dream flooded back to Elena. The hall of mirrors, and the ballroom, and Damon. Dancing with Damon. She pulled out of Bonnie’s grasp.
“I’ll do it myself,” she said, hearing her own voice quaver on the edge of hysteria. “No—really—I want to.” She escaped into the bathroom and stood with her back to the locked door, trying to breathe.
The last thing she wanted to do was look in a mirror. But at last, slowly, she approached the one over the sink, trembling as she saw the edge of her reflection, moving inch by inch until she was framed in the silvery surface.
Her image stared back, ghastly pale, with eyes that looked bruised and frightened. There were deep shadows under them and smears of blood on her face.
Slowly, she turned her head slightly and lifted up her hair. She almost cried out loud when she saw what was underneath.
Two little wounds, fresh and open on the skin of her neck.
Nine
“I know I’m going to be sorry I asked this,” Matt said, turning red-rimmed eyes from their contemplation of I-95 to Stefan in the passenger seat beside him. “But can you tell me why we want these extra-special, not-available-locally, semi-tropical weeds for Elena?”
Stefan looked into the back seat at the results of their search through hedgerows and rough grass. The plants, with their branching green stems and their small-toothed leaves, did look more like weeds than anything else. The dried remains of blossoms at the ends of the shoots were almost invisible, and no one could pretend the shoots themselves were decorative.
“What if I said they could be used to make an all-natural eyewash?” he offered, after a moment’s thought. “Or an herbal tea?”
“Why? Were you thinking of saying something like that?”
“Not really.”
“Good. Because if you did I’d probably deck you.”
Without actually looking at Matt, Stefan smiled. There was something new stirring inside him, something he hadn’t felt for nearly five centuries, except with Elena. Acceptance. Warmth and friendship shared with a fellow being, who did not know the truth about him, but who trusted him anyway. Who was willing to take him on faith. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he couldn’t deny what it meant to him. It almost made him feel… human again.
Elena stared at her image in the mirror. It hadn’t been a dream. Not entirely. The wounds in her neck proved that. And now that she’d seen them, she noticed the feeling of light-headedness, of lethargy.
It was her own fault. She’d taken so much trouble to warn Bonnie and Meredith not to invite any strangers into their houses. And all the time she’d forgotten that she herself had invited Damon into Bonnie’s house. She’d done it that night she had set up the dumb supper in Bonnie’s dining room and called out into the darkness, “Come in.”
And the invitation was good forever. He could return any time he liked, even now. Especially now, while she was weak and might easily be hypnotized into unlocking a window again.
Elena stumbled out of the bathroom, past Bonnie, and into the guest bedroom. She grabbed her tote bag and began stuffing things into it.
“Elena, you can’t go home!”
“I can’t stay here,” Elena said. She looked around for her shoes, spotted them by the bed, and started forward. Then she stopped, with a strangled sound. Lying on the dainty crumpled linen of the bed there was a single black feather. It was huge, horribly huge and real and solid, with a thick, waxy-looking shaft. It looked almost obscene resting there on the white percale sheets.
Nausea swept over Elena, and she turned away. She couldn’t breathe.
“Okay, okay,” Bonnie said. “If you feel that way about it, I’ll get Dad to take you home.”
“You have to come, too.” It had just dawned on Elena that Bonnie was no safer in this house than she was. You and your loved ones, she remembered, and turned to grasp Bonnie’s arm. “You have to, Bonnie. I need you with me.”