“Listen to this,” she said, and read: ” ’Elena’s the most selfish person I’ve ever known. Everyone thinks she’s so together, but it’s really just coldness. It’s sickening the way people suck up to her, never realizing that she doesn’t give a damn about anyone or anything except Elena.’ ”
“Caroline says that? She should talk!” But Elena could feel heat in her face. It was, practically, what Matt had said about her when she was after Stefan.
“Go on, there’s more,” said Meredith, poking at Bonnie, who continued in an offended voice.
“ ’Bonnie’s almost as bad these days, always trying to make herself important. The newest thing is pretending she’s psychic so people will pay attention to her. If she was really psychic she’d figure out that Elena is just using her.
There was a heavy pause, and then Elena said, “Is that all?”
“No, there’s a bit about Meredith. ’Meredith doesn’t do anything to stop it. In fact, Meredith doesn’t do anything; she just watches. It’s as if she can’t act; she can only react to things. Besides, I’ve heard my parents talking about her family—no wonder she never mentions them.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
Meredith hadn’t moved, and Elena could see only her neck and chin in the dim light. But she spoke quietly and steadily. “It doesn’t matter. Keep on looking, Bonnie, for something about Elena’s diary.”
“Try around October eighteenth. That was when it was stolen,” said Elena, putting her questions aside. She’d ask Meredith about it later.
There was no entry for October eighteenth or the weekend after; in fact, there were only a few entries for the following weeks. None of them mentioned the diary.
“Well, that’s it then,” said Meredith, sitting back. “This book is useless. Unless we want to blackmail her with it. You know, like we won’t show hers if she won’t show yours.”
It was a tempting idea, but Bonnie spotted the flaw. “There’s nothing bad about Caroline in here; it’s all just complaints about other people. Mostly us. I’ll bet Caroline would love to have it read out loud in front of the whole school. It’d make her day.”
“So what do we do with it?”
“Put it back,” said Elena tiredly. She swung her light around the room, which seemed to her eyes to be filled with subtle differences from when they’d come in. “We’ll just have to keep on pretending we don’t know she has my diary, and hope for another chance.”
“All right,” said Bonnie, but she went on thumbing through the little book, occasionally giving vent to an indignant snort or hiss. “Will you listen to this!” she exclaimed.
“There isn’t time,” Elena said. She would have said something else, but at that moment Meredith spoke, her tone commanding everyone’s immediate attention.
“A car.”
It took only a second to ascertain that the vehicle was pulling up into the Forbes’ driveway. Bonnie’s eyes and mouth were wide and round and she seemed to be paralyzed, kneeling by the bed.
“Go! Go on,” said Elena, snatching the di-ary from her. “Turn the flashlights off and get out the back door.”
They were already moving, Meredith urging Bonnie forward. Elena dropped to her knees and lifted the bedspread, pulling up at Caroline’s mattress. With her other hand she pushed the diary forward, wedging it between the mattress and the dust ruffle. The thinly covered box springs bit into her arm from below, but even worse was the weight of the queen-size mattress bearing down from above. She gave the book a few more nudges with her fingertips and then pulled her arm out, tugging the bedspread back in place.
She gave one wild glance back at the room as she left; there was no time to fix anything more now. As she moved swiftly and silently toward the stairs, she heard a key in the front door.
What followed was a sort of dreadful game of tag. Elena knew they were not deliberately chasing her, but the Forbes family seemed determined to corner her in their house. She turned back the way she had come as voices and lights materialized in the hall as they headed up the stairs. She fled from them into the last doorway down the hall, and they seemed to follow. They moved across the landing; they were right outside the master bedroom. She turned toward the adjoining bathroom, but then saw lights spring to life under the closed door, cutting off her escape.
She was trapped. At any moment Caroline’s parents might come in. She saw the french windows leading to a balcony and made her decision in that same instant.
Outside, the air was cool, and her panting breath showed faintly. Yellow light burst forth from the room beside her, and she huddled even farther to the left, keeping out of its path. Then, the sound she had been dreading came with terrible clarity: the snick of a door handle, followed by a billowing of curtains inward as the french windows opened.
She looked around frantically. It was too far to jump to the ground, and there was nothing to grab hold of to climb down. That left only the roof, but there was nothing to climb up, either. Still, some instinct made her try, and she was on the balcony railing and groping for a handhold above even as a shadow appeared on the filmy curtains. A hand parted them, a figure began to emerge, and then Elena felt something clasping her own hand, locking on her wrist and hauling her upwards. Automatically, she boosted with her feet and felt herself scrambling onto the shingled roof. Trying to calm her ragged breath, she looked over gratefully to see who her rescuer was—and froze.
Eleven
“The name is Salvatore. As in savior,” he said. There was a brief flash of white teeth in the darkness.
Elena looked down. The overhang of the roof obscured the balcony, but she could hear shuffling sounds down there. But they were not the sounds of pursuit, and there was no sign that her companion’s words had been overheard. A minute later, she heard the french windows close.
“I thought it was Smith,” she said, still looking down into the darkness.
Damon laughed. It was a terribly engaging laugh, without the bitter edge of Stefan’s. It made her think of the rainbow lights on the crow’s feathers.
Nevertheless, she was not fooled. Charming as he seemed, Damon was dangerous almost beyond imagination. That graceful, lounging body was ten times stronger than a human’s. Those lazy dark eyes were adapted to seeing perfectly at night. The long-fingered hand that had pulled her up to the roof could move with impossible quickness. And, most disturbing of all, his mind was the mind of a killer. A predator.
She could feel it just beneath his surface. He was different from a human. He had lived so long by hunting and killing that he’d forgotten any other way. And he enjoyed it, not fighting his nature as Stefan did, but glorying in it. He had no morals and no conscience, and she was trapped here with him in the middle of the night.
She settled back on one heel, ready to jump into action at any minute. She ought to be angry with him now, after what he’d done to her in the dream. She was, but there was no point in expressing it. He knew how furious she must be, and he would only laugh at her if she told him.
She watched him quietly, intently, waiting for his next move.
But he didn’t move. Those hands that could dart as quickly as striking snakes rested motionlessly on his knees. His expression reminded her of the way he’d looked at her once before. The first time they’d met she’d seen the same guarded, reluctant respect in his eyes—except that then there had also been surprise in them. Now there was none.
“You’re not going to scream at me? Or faint?” he said, as if offering her the standard options.