"Just wait," Bonnie told her. She began to mutter words in some ancient language, and the candle flames stretched higher, flickered wildly, although there was no breeze. The little hairs on Elena's arms prickled.
Then, Bonnie's aura was mixing with her own, the rose and the gold looking like the shifting colors of a summer dawn. At the same time, Elena felt a gentle, insistent tugging somewhere near her collarbone-Bonnie asking let me in, let me in. Gulping nervously, she tried to open herself and let Bonnie take what she needed.
Bonnie spoke faster, the ancient words tumbling over one another in a low monotone, and then, suddenly, she fell silent. From each candle a golden ray arced over Bonnie and Elena, over the bed, to meet above the map. A single point of flame fell, scorching the map. And then the candles flickered out.
"There," Bonnie said, laying her finger on the scorch mark. "It worked."
Elena stared numbly. "We've been looking in the wrong places all along," she whispered. "Solomon's not even in Dalcrest."
Chapter 29
After more than five hundred years, Stefan didn't think he should be afraid of the dark, but something about this place unnerved him. They were deep underground in an old reservoir-water hadn't been stored here for years, but the stone was still damp and clammy, moss spotting its surface. Dim light filtered down from above, just enough to navigate by.
"It's like some kind of pagan underworld," Alaric said, wonderingly.
Stefan smiled weakly in acknowledgment but didn't reply. It was so quiet here, just the soft sound of their footsteps and a steady drip of water, somewhere out in the dark. The heavy graveyard scent of the wet stone overlaid everything, and the echo distorted sound, making it impossible for Stefan to tell if there were any noises or smells that didn't belong.
The werewolves didn't like it. They were interspersed among the humans, whining softly in protest, their tails down and their ears back unhappily. Bonnie, striding along just behind Elena, had her hand on Zander's back, her fingers twined in his thick white fur. Stefan wasn't sure who was reassuring whom.
This was Bonnie and Elena's mission, and Stefan hoped that they were right, that Solomon was here somewhere, not in Trinity's body back in Dalcrest. The tightness in Jack's face said that he was taking a lot on faith and wasn't happy about it. "Every moment that we waste here, Trinity could be murdering innocent people," he muttered to Meredith under his breath, but Stefan, with his sharp vampiric senses, heard him.
When Elena had told him that she and Bonnie believed they knew where the real Solomon was hidden-in an abandoned underground reservoir outside a small town called Stag's Crossing, about forty miles from Dalcrest-Stefan had hesitated.
But now, watching brave, beautiful Elena following a trail only she could see, Stefan had faith in her. Elena always came through.
It was getting colder, he realized suddenly. Frost crunched under his heels. Meredith, usually so sure-footed, slipped and swore as she struggled to regain her balance. The wolves drew closer to the humans, and Tristan let out an uneasy whine.
They rounded a corner, and something moved ahead of them in the dim light. Matt flicked up his crossbow and shot without hesitating.
The crossbow bolt stopped in midair and clattered to the ground.
Stefan tried to leap forward and found that, just like at the Plantation Museum, his muscles refused to obey him. The others in front of him were equally still, Zander frozen with one paw raised, Bonnie in the act of turning her head to look toward Elena.
Solomon stepped out of the darkness.
He was not, Stefan thought with a shock of surprise, particularly impressive. At first glance, he was a small, almost timid-looking man, the type of person you might pass on the street without a second look. Nothing like handsome Gabriel Dalton or tall, sweet-faced Trinity. His light brown hair straggled down past his ears, and his shoulders were hunched. Were it not for the Power that held them all helpless, Solomon would have been easy to underestimate.
Then he looked up and his eyes flashed golden in the darkness, and Stefan knew this was him. Those eyes were full of cold intelligence and pure malice, the eyes of something slimy and primeval that had watched from under a rock for countless millennia as civilizations rose and fell.
Solomon stepped closer to them, closer to Elena, and Stefan went cold with dread.
His worst fears were being realized, and there was nothing Stefan could do about it. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. All he could do was watch as everything that mattered to him was about to be destroyed.
"A pretty girl," Solomon said, his voice dry and rasping, and reached a hand out to touch Elena's face.
Stefan wanted to scream with rage, wanted to strike Solomon and knock him back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move.
Almost gently, Solomon traced a finger over Elena's cheekbones, over her soft lips, across her delicate chin. And everywhere he touched, Elena began to bleed, tiny droplets coming through her skin and running down the surface of her face. Stefan could smell the richness of Elena's blood everywhere, and his canines throbbed and lengthened against his will.
"Lovely," Solomon said approvingly. He stroked his fingers through Elena's blood, smearing it in feathery patterns across her face. "Perfect."
There were footsteps coming toward them, and Solomon looked up, his golden eyes sharp. Stefan's hopes rose for a second. Maybe this was someone who could help them.
"There you are," Solomon said approvingly, and Stefan's heart sank again. Even though he couldn't see her yet, he knew who it was. Trinity. Whatever was left of her, fully in thrall to this wicked Old One.