Stefan slowly came to consciousness inside his black Porsche. The proximity key was in his jeans’ pocket, as was the empty hipflask.
At first he felt all the normal uneasiness of the sleepwalker, but then a desperate searching of his mind yielded up a fragmented picture of what had happened after he had finished feeding on the red-brown buck. He saw himself sink into sleep and then, long hours later, half-awaken slowly and rise, feeling renewed. Sorrow for the dead buck had gripped him briefly, but there was no point in sentimentalizing over what was already done. Evening was coming on, and if there were no ordinary wolves in the Old Wood, Stefan strongly suspected that there were werewolves. He had left the buck’s carcass for them to deal with and had stumbled in the direction of his car. His hunger was satisfied, but he was literally sleepwalking as he tracked down the Porsche. He had fumbled the door open and gotten inside, oversensitive to the smell of leather. And then he had simply locked the doors and reclined his seat as far as it would go, which wasn’t very far. He fallen into a very heavy sleep then, surrounded by the feeling of luxury and safety, his Power fully restored.
But now . . . it was night and his head was clear at last. Elena’s diaries and a few photos that he had taken from her bedroom on Maple Street were safely piled in the passenger seat.
Time to get on the move. He pushed the starter button and the Porsche purred to life. He drove out of the Old Wood and toward the forest that lay beyond Dalcrest College. There he could pick up Meredith’s fighting stave and—
—check on Elena—
—consider what his next move should be, he told himself sternly. He was glad to have the whole business of Influencing humans behind him. Once he had—
—checked on Elena—
—destroyed the diaries and the stave, he could begin to lead a normal life again, somewhere far away from here.
Far from Elena, who would forever be the best part of him. He lightly touched the small lapis ring that hung on the apricot ribbon around his neck. Both had belonged to her; both he had kept as mementoes when she need them no longer. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to wake up and not immediately think of Elena.
Ten minutes to the Dyer Woods, Stefan turned on the radio to distract himself. He was finding it difficult to control his speed as he got closer and closer to—
—Elena—
—the place where he could finish his business.
News for commuters blared out of the car’s speakers. Stefan flinched and hurriedly dialed down the volume. He tried to work up an interest as he heard of more trouble in the Middle East and the effects of rampant global warming. But the words slid by, unheard for the most part, until one phrase seemed to leap out and echo in his ear.
“. . . local news, the nearly-exsanguinated girl from Fell’s Church is in serious condition at Beckley Memorial Hospital in Heron. Police say that there are no suspects as of yet in this mysterious crime, but that her eighteen-year-old boyfriend is a person of interest. Traffic and weather together in three minutes.”
Stefan found himself gripping the steering wheel so hard that it creaked.
What the hell?
They had it all wrong. Everything about Elena except that she was from Fell’s Church. The wrong hospital, the wrong town that the hospital was in, the wrong age for Damon, who had been just-turned-twenty-one for five hundred years. Even the condition of the patient had to be wrong, since Elena had been essentially cured when Stefan left.
Why all the misinformation?
A thought struck him. The police often kept details of serious crimes secret or changed them, knowing that only the true perpetrator could correct the details, thus saving them time from kooks with false confessions. Maybe that was what was happening here . . .
And maybe not. Why should the criminal know which hospital the girl was in, or what her current condition was?
Stefan found his muscles tense with agitation. What if it was merely incredibly bad reporting? What if Elena had had a relapse or had been transferred to a different hospital? What if someone had fingered Stefan, who was eighteen, instead of Damon, as Elena’s boyfriend?
Now Stefan could give into his temptation. He had to give into it before he could even consider leaving this area behind him. He needed to see Elena and talk to Damon as soon as possible.
* * *
At dinnertime, people began to show up at Elena’s door once again. Isobel Saitou and Jim Bryce stopped in to congratulate Elena on her recovery, and Elena looked happy, as always, to see the quiet Japanese girl and her tall, basketball-playing boyfriend. Damon gave the couple a tiny push to gracefully say goodbye after twenty minutes had passed. He preferred not to have anyone around who might remind Elena of kitsune grandmothers or Stefan’s kidnapping by the fox-spirits.
Bonnie and Meredith, Matt and Caroline came as one group, and, after much chattering and argument about toppings, ordered four large pizzas from a local restaurant. Everyone settled in to watch Elena’s TV and began to argue all over again, this time as to which movie to order. No one said a word about whether Damon was moving in with Elena or not—but, Damon reflected, they hardly had to, given that Damon had divested himself of his leather jacket and was now lying at ease on the double bed, with pillows propping up his shoulders.
Meredith ended holding the TV’s remote and she put on a local news channel. And that, Damon reflected later, was when everything started to go to hell in a hand-basket.
Damon had been covertly watching Caroline, who once again was occupying the lounge chair in the corner as per Elena’s orders. He was wondering if the girl had been changing into her wolf-form recently. It must certainly be more comfortable than her present awkward gourd-shaped body.
He had just begun to tally up the numbers of other werewolves that he had been considering s
talking before Bonnie’s psychic scream had split his world in the seedy Pine Grove bar, when Meredith cried out, “Everybody—listen! Be quiet! Shut up!”
She was staring as if entranced at the television. Talk ceased immediately and everyone followed her gaze.