Damon shuddered again. He felt a tear run down his cheek and, infuriated, wiped it away.
"And you know why that is, don't you, Damon?" the creature went on smoothly. "Stefan. Stefan's always taken everything you've ever wanted. He's gotten the things you wanted before you even saw them, and left nothing for you. Elena doesn't love you. She never has and she never wil ."
Something broke inside Damon at the creature's words, and instantly he snapped back to himself. How dare the phantom make him question Elena's love? It was the only true thing he knew.
A cold breeze fluttered Damon's clothing. He couldn't hear the moaning now. And then everything went stil .
"I know what you're doing," Damon snarled. "You think you can trick me? Do you suppose you can turn me against Elena?"
A soft, wet footstep in the mud sounded behind him. "Oh, little vampire," the voice said mockingly.
"Oh, little phantom," Damon said back, matching the creature's tone. "You have no idea the mistake you just made." Steeling himself to leap, he whirled around, fangs ful y extended. But before he could pounce, cold strong hands seized him by the throat and pul ed him into the air.
"I'd also recommend burying pieces of iron around whatever you're trying to protect," the shopkeeper suggested. "Horseshoes are traditional, but anything made of iron, especial y anything round or curved, wil do." She'd passed through various stages of disbelief as Stefan had tried to buy up what seemed like every single object, herb, or charm related to protection in the shop, and now had become manical y helpful.
"I think I've got everything I need for now," Stefan said politely. "Thank you so much for your help."
Her dimples shone as she rang up his purchases on the shop's old-fashioned metal cash register, and he smiled back. He thought he had managed to decipher every item on Mrs. Flowers's list correctly, and was feeling fairly proud of himself.
Someone opened the door to come in, and a cold breeze whooshed into the shop, setting the magical items and wal hangings flapping.
"Do you feel that?" the shopkeeper asked. "I think a storm's coming." Her hair, caught by the wind, fanned out in the air.
Stefan, about to make a pleasant rejoinder, stared in horror. Her long locks, suspended for a moment, twisted their tendrils into one curling strand that spel ed out, clearly and chil ingly:
matt
But if the phantom had found a new target, that meant Elena -
Stefan whipped around, looking frantical y toward the front of the shop. Elena wasn't there.
"Are you al right?" the shopkeeper asked as Stefan stared wildly around. Ignoring her, he hurried back toward the door of the shop, looking down every aisle, in every nook.
Stefan let his Power spread out, reaching for a trace of Elena's distinctive presence. Nothing. She wasn't in the shop. How could he not have noticed her leaving?
He pressed his fists into his eyes until little stars burst beneath his lids. This was his fault. He hadn't been feeding on human blood, and his powers were sorely diminished. Why had he let himself get so weak? If he had been at ful strength, he would have realized immediately that she had gone. It was self-indulgent to give in to his conscience when he had people to protect.
"Are you al right?" the woman asked again. She'd fol owed him down the aisles of the store, holding out his bag, and was looking at him anxiously.
Stefan took hold of the bag. "The girl I came in with," he said urgently. "Did you see where she went?"
"Oh," she replied, frowning. "She went back outside when we were heading off to look through the incense section."
That long ago. Even the shopkeeper had noticed Elena leaving.
Stefan gave a jerky nod of thanks before striding out into the dazzling sunlight. He looked frantical y up and down Main Street.
He felt a wave of relief when he spotted her sitting on a bench outside the drugstore a few doors down. But then he took note of her slumped posture, her beautiful blond head resting limply on one of her shoulders.
Stefan was at her side in a flash, grateful to find her breathing shal ow yet steady, her pulse strong. But she was unconscious.
"Elena," he said, gently stroking her cheek. "Elena, wake up. Come back to me." She didn't move. He shook her arm a bit harder. "Elena!" Her body flopped on the bench, but neither her breathing nor the steady beat of her heart changed at al .
Just like Bonnie. The phantom had gotten Elena, and Stefan felt something inside him tear in two. He had failed to protect her, to protect either of them.
Stefan gently slid a hand under Elena's body, cupping her head protectively with his other hand, and pul ed her into his arms. He cradled her against him and, channeling what little Power he had left into speed, began to run. Meredith checked her watch for what felt like the hundredth time, wondering why Stefan and Elena weren't back yet.
"I can't read this word at al ," Matt complained. "I swear, I thought my handwriting was bad. It looks like Caleb wrote this with his eyes closed." He had been running his hands through his hair in frustration and it stood up in messy little spikes, and there were faint blue shadows under his eyes. Meredith took a swig of coffee and held out her hand. Matt passed her the notebook he'd been examining. They'd discovered that she was the best at reading Caleb's tiny, angular handwriting. "That's an O, I think," she said. "Is deosil a word?"
"Yes," said Alaric, sitting up a little straighter. "It means clockwise. It represents moving spiritual energy into physical forms. Might be something there. Can I see?"
Meredith handed him the notebook. Her eyes were sore and her muscles stiff from sitting al morning and going through Caleb's notebooks, clippings, and pictures. She rol ed her shoulders forward and back, stretching.