"Stop!" I cal ed, my voice ringing like a clarion bel in the darkness. My feet hit the uneven boards of a dock, but the vampire had disappeared.
An abandoned pier stood on one side of me, a warehouse on the other, but no sign of the kil er. Police bel s were clanging from the al eys. I gazed wildly in al directions.
"Show yourself!" I cal ed. My gaze fixed on the warehouse. Could he have ducked in there? I picked my way toward it, stepping on an overturned milk crate to get a view inside one of the windows.
The window was frosted and filthy. I squinted, but even with my heightened senses, I couldn't make out anything within, though I knew the vampire was in there. He had to be. I didn't want to break in and find myself in a death trap. And I knew that if I stayed here, the police would soon find me - and the vampire. A cornered vampire could easily take on the police, and that would lead to more bloodshed. But I couldn't go into the warehouse on my own. There was nothing to do except turn back and get Damon to devise a plan.
I kicked the side of the warehouse in frustration, but then I heard a sound. It was so subtle, I thought it was the waves of the river lapping against the dock until I realized that wasn't it at al .
It was the sound of laughter.
Turning, I trudged back to the tavern.
Unlike an hour earlier, a sober atmosphere had taken over at the Ten Bel s when I returned. Candles had been lit, brandy had been poured, and almost every table was occupied by a policeman taking a report from the various revelers who'd been in the tavern when the drunk had come in screaming bloody murder.
"I saw the girl. She was lying in her blood," the man kept saying, his face red. "I told you, there was no one else." Eliza walked up to me, holding a snifter of brandy. "I was worried about you!" she said. "You ran out, and I thought, that bloke's going to get himself kil ed, he is. 'Ow's Martha doing?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. Martha must have been the girl. Had Damon brought her back? I caught a glimpse of Violet, fil ing brandy glasses as quickly as she could behind the bar. Her face was white with fright.
"Violet!" I cal ed, relieved to see her. "Where is the girl? Is she alive?" I asked brusquely.
"U-u-upstairs," she stuttered, sounding scared and exhausted. "Damon took her up to my old chambers. The d-d-doctor is supposed to be here any minute," she explained.
"Very good," I said. I clasped her hand and she flinched, clearly on edge. "I'm sorry. I want to let you know . . ."
"What?" Violet asked.
"Where's your vervain?" I asked, suddenly in a panic.
"'Vervain'?" she parroted.
"Yes. The charm I gave you."
"It's here!" Violet said, pul ing it out of her pocket. "It's a rough crowd here, so I don't like wearing jewelry. But I do like it."
"Good. I was afraid you'd lost it," I said. I leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Stay brave," I said.
"Okay," Violet said, eyes wide, without any idea of what she was agreeing to.
Hurrying upstairs, I clambered the wooden steps two at a time until I reached a door that led to a tiny room with a slanted roof. Two thin cast-iron beds were on opposite sides of the room, and a single candle was burning in a pewter holder that was precariously placed on an overturned orange crate. Damon was nowhere to be found. In the melee, everyone seemed to have forgotten about Martha. She was lying alone on one of the beds. Although her neck had been bandaged, blood was stil seeping out of the wound, forming a sticky red puddle by her ear.
I perched on the edge of the tattered flannel coverlet and smoothed my cracked hand against the girl's forehead. It didn't take a doctor to know that she was stil deathly il . Her breath would catch, then she'd gasp. Al I could hear was an ever so faint thump-da-thump coming from her chest.
I looked down at my wrist. Already, the wound I'd created less than an hour ago had faded. But although the mark had healed, I stil felt depleted, and I knew I had to be very careful with my own reserves of blood. Even so, she needed something more than I'd given her. I brought my other wrist to my mouth and dug my teeth into my flesh, flinching as I felt my mind go woozy.
"Here," I said, cradling the back of the girl's head in my hand. "Drink." I put my wrist up to her lips.
Guided by instinct, the girl tentatively began to suck until I pul ed my wrist away. Her head lol ed back, and a smile of sleepy satisfaction played on her lips.
Just then a door opened and a man wearing a white coat walked in, carrying a basin of water.
"Are you a friend?" he asked firmly.
"I'm Stefan," I said, putting my hand behind my back and pressing it into the fabric of my coat, hoping he wouldn't notice my wound. "I found her."
"Very wel ," the man said. "You can stay for a moment, but I'l need some time alone with the patient."
"Yes, of course," I said, relieved he didn't find it odd I was up here. The girl was starting to stir. She'd wake up soon. I hung back as he approached, wanting to make sure she was al right.
The doctor took a towel and dipped it into the basin, then held it against the girl's forehead. As her eyes snapped open, they locked with mine.
Then, her features froze and an unholy shriek emerged from her lips.
"Murderer!" she screamed.
The doctor pul ed away in shock, almost dropping the basin. His eyes went immediately to the door, as if he was considering yel ing for help.
"Shhh, you're safe," I hissed. "I'm your friend. I'm her friend!" I added desperately, turning to the doctor.