"Very useful indeed, my dear," she was saying, a warm note of approval in her voice. "You've done very wel . I'm so grateful."
Meredith gaped. At the kitchen table with Mrs. Flowers, cool and calm and pretty in a blue linen dress, sat Dr. Celia Conner, sipping tea.
"Hel o, Alaric. Hel o, Meredith," said Celia. Her dark eyes bored cool y into Meredith's. "You'l never believe what I've found."
"What?" said Alaric eagerly, letting go of Meredith's hand. Her heart sank.
Celia reached into a tote bag sitting by her chair and pul ed out a thick book bound in ragged brown leather. She smiled triumphantly and announced, "It's a book on phantoms. Dr. Beltram ended up sending me to Dalcrest Col ege, which actual y has a very comprehensive col ection of texts on the paranormal."
"I suggest we adjourn to the den," Mrs. Flowers said,
"where we can be more comfortable, and examine its contents together."
They moved to the den, but Stefan, when he joined them, did not seem any more comfortable.
"Different types of phantoms," he said, taking the book from Celia and flipping rapidly through the pages. "The history of phantoms in our dimension. Where is the banishment ritual? Why doesn't this thing have an index?"
Celia shrugged. "It's very old and rare," she said. "It was difficult to find, and it's the only book on the subject we're likely to be able to get our hands on, maybe the only one that exists, so we'l have to excuse things like that. These older texts, the authors wanted you to read straight through and real y learn about their subject, to understand what they wanted to tel you, not just to find the page you needed right away. You might try looking near the end, though."
Alaric was watching Stefan whip through the pages with an expression of pain. "It's a rare book, Stefan," he said.
"Please be more careful with it. Would you like me to look?
I'm used to finding what I need in these kinds of books."
Stefan snarled, literal y snarled at him, and Meredith felt the hairs along the back of her neck rise. "I'l do it myself, teacher. I'm in a hurry."
He squinted down at the text. "Why does it have to be in such ornate print?" he complained. "Don't tel me it's because it's old. I'm older than it is, and I can barely read it. Huh. 'Phantoms who are feeding like vampires on one choice sensibility, whether it be guilt, or despair, or grudge; or lust for victuals, the demon rum, or fal en women. The stronger be the sensibility, the worse be the outcome of the phantom created.' I think we could have figured that out ourselves."
Mrs. Flowers was standing slightly removed from the rest of the group, eyes fixed on empty air, muttering seemingly to herself as she communed with her mother.
"I know," she said. "I'l tel them." Her eyes focused on the others as they stood around Stefan, peering over his shoulders. "Mama says that time is getting short," she warned.
Stefan leaped to his feet and exploded. "I know it's getting short," he roared, getting right up into Mrs. Flowers's surprised face. "Can't your mother tel us something useful for once?"
Mrs. Flowers staggered away from him, reaching out to steady herself on the back of a chair. Her face was white, and suddenly she looked older and more frail than ever before.
Stefan's eyes widened, their color darkening to a stormy sea green, and he held out his hands, his face horrified.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Mrs. Flowers, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I don't know what came over me... I'm just so worried about Elena and the others."
"I know, Stefan," Mrs. Flowers said gravely. She had regained her balance and she looked stronger, calm and wise again. "We will get them back, you know. You must have faith. Mama does."
Stefan sat down, turning back to the book, his lips pressed together into a straight line.
Her skin prickling with apprehension, Meredith gripped her stave more tightly as she watched him. When she had revealed to the others that the members of her family were hereditary vampire hunters and that it was now her turn to take on the duty, she had told Elena and Stefan that she would never turn on Stefan, that she understood that he wasn't like other, evil vampires, that he was good: harmless and benign to humans.
She had made no such promises about Damon, and Elena and Stefan hadn't asked her to. They al shared an unspoken understanding that Damon couldn't real y be characterized as harmless, not even when he begrudgingly worked with them, and that Meredith would need to keep her options open when it came to him.
But Stefan... she had never thought this would happen, but now Meredith was worried that someday she might not be able to keep her promises about Stefan. She had never seen him acting the way he had been lately: irrational, angry, violent, unpredictable. She knew his behavior was probably caused by the phantom, but was Stefan becoming too dangerous? Could she kil him if she had to? He was her friend.
Meredith's heart was racing. She realized that her knuckles had whitened against her fighting stave, and her hand ached. Yes, she realized, she would fight Stefan and try to kil him, if she had to. It was true that he was her friend, but her duty had to come first.
She took a deep breath and consciously relaxed her hands. Stay calm, she coached herself. Breathe. Stefan was keeping himself more or less under control. It wasn't a decision she had to make. Not yet, anyway.
A few minutes later, Stefan stopped flipping pages. "Here,"
he said. "I think this is it." He handed the book to Mrs. Flowers. She scanned the page quickly and nodded. "That feels like the right ritual," she said seriously. "I ought to have everything we need to perform it right here in the house."