Elena clenched her fists and glared into the gray nothingness. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She wasn’t going to lie down and die, just because the Celestial Guardians wanted her to.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! I’m still here!” Her words sounded muffled to her own ears, as if she was wrapped in a thick layer of cotton. “Let me out!” she shouted, trying to get louder, fiercer. Somebody had to be in charge here, and she would get their attention and make them let her go.
Elena’s stomach jolted nervously. What if no one ever responded? She couldn’t stay here forever. The moment she thought this, finally, something changed. The fog drew back, and a sunlit road appeared.
Elena recognized the street. If she ignored the banks of gray nothingness on either side, it was the road that led to the house she had grown up in, back in Fell’s Church. She recognized a long crack in the asphalt, the short grass growing at the edge of the road. But she hadn’t lived there for years, not since that final year of high school. Stefan had bought it for her before he died, but she had been able to bring herself to visit only once.
Elena had a sudden, almost physical longing to walk down the path, to feel the sunlight on her shoulders, smell the summer scent of just-cut grass. As she watched, the sunshine intensified at the far end of the road, glowing so brightly Elena had to squint.
It was pulling her toward it, a steady, warm tug somewhere in the middle of her chest. There was peace down that road, she knew.
No. She stepped back, away from the road. They weren’t going to trap her so easily.
“Walk into the light?” she shouted, suddenly furious. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
The longing only increased. At the end of that road, she was sure, was almost everything she had ever wanted. Stefan, alive again, his leaf-green eyes shining with excitement at seeing her. Her parents, just as young and happy as they’d been when they died. Elena could almost see their welcoming faces, and it made her ache with love and loneliness.
Unwillingly, she raised a foot, ready to step forward, and then forced herself still.
“No,” she said, her voice cracking. She swallowed hard and steadied it, then spoke again more firmly. “No. I refuse. I am Elena Gilbert, and I am a Guardian. I still have a part to play in the living world. Send me back.”
The road stretched farther in front of her, sunlit and tempting. Grinding her teeth, Elena swung around and turned her back on it.
When she turned, she could see the same formless fog. But now there was a dark shape moving through it. A person, Elena realized. Her heart began to pound harder, and her mouth went dry. Was it someone coming in response to her call? For a panicky moment, she imagined a Grim Reaper, silent in black, come to collect her.
But no. As the figure came closer, Elena was able to make out that it was Mylea, the Celestial Guardian who had been overseeing Elena’s life for years. When she finally halted in front of Elena, Mylea looked as serene and unruffled as ever, her golden hair pulled back into a bun, her ice-blue gaze level and cool.
“Elena, you made a bargain,” she said firmly. “Damon killed a human, and so you have to die. You agreed to this, years ago.”
“That’s not fair,” Elena said, scowling. She sounded like a child, she realized, and she made an effort to temper her voice so that she sounded more reasonable. “Damon was working under the assumption that Jack Daltry was a vampire, and so he could be killed without breaking our agreement. Jack was a vampire. He drank blood, and he had all the strengths of a vampire. He was a monster.”
Mylea sighed. “As I’ve already explained to you, the fact that Jack Daltry chose to use his scientific gifts to mutilate himself did not make him less human.” Her face softened, just a fraction. “He might have been a monster, but he was a human one.”
“But we didn’t know that,” Elena told her, exasperated.
“You knew that he had never died, that he had never gone through the transformations every vampire suffers through. You knew that he and his creations did not have the flaws that weaken true vampires.” Mylea spread her hands. “If anyone should have been able to recognize a true vampire, it would be you and Damon Salvatore.”
“Jack was dangerous,” Elena snapped. “The Guardians ought to be thanking us. I’m supposed to protect people.”
Mylea shrugged, a graceful tilt of her shoulders. “You were warned that he was not your concern.”
It was true; the Guardians had warned her. But in such a roundabout way that she’d had no idea of the possible consequences of hunting Jack. Fear ran through Elena, and she swallowed hard. This was real. She hadn’t quite believed that the Guardians would kill her, but it was true. They would let her die.
“Please,” she said impulsively, reaching out for Mylea’s arm. “There must be something I can do. Isn’t there any way to change this? I’ve served the Guardians for a long time.”
Mylea’s expression remained as emotionless as ever, but Elena thought she saw a flash of sympathy deep in her eyes.
“There must be something,” Elena said desperately.
Mylea frowned, a tiny crease appearing between her slim eyebrows. “There is one way you can change your future,” she admitted.
“Please,” Elena begged again. “Anything.”
“If you can go back and change the course of things, prove that you and the Salvatore brothers can live without destroying one another or other people, you can have your life back.” Mylea tilted her head a little, watching Elena closely. Obviously, she thought that she had made herself clear.