The Vampire Diaries: The Salvation, Unspoken(32)

“Are we ready?” she asked, staring at the house. Its windows flashed, reflecting sunlight back at her. Did something move behind them? She tried to focus her Power to see if she could sense an aura there, but felt nothing.

“Maybe we should try talking to the vampire first,” Matt blurted out. They all looked at him, and he blushed. “He—or she—hasn’t attacked us. We want information, not a fight. And we know not every vampire is just going to try to kill you right away. Damon wouldn’t. Stefan and Chloe wouldn’t have.” Jasmine’s hand slipped into his, Elena noted. So Matt had told her about poor Chloe, his college girlfriend who had become a vampire and then died.

“You’re right,” Bonnie said. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hold a vampire anyway, without Damon’s help.” She glanced at Alaric. “If we can put a strong enough protection spell over all of us.”

As they spoke, Elena’s discomfort was growing, vague twitchiness escalating to apprehension. She began to breathe faster, her heart banging against her chest. She focused on the first floor windows. They seemed ominous, like hooded unfriendly eyes gazing out at her across the porch.

“There’s something wrong,” she said suddenly. She was sure of it.

She had to get in there right now. Something inside her was opening up, and she felt hypersensitive to everything around her: the breeze through the trees, the chirp of the birds, the fresh morning smell of pines and maples. Most of all, the tiny house where nothing moved.

It was her Guardian Powers. Behind those blank windows, some innocent human was in trouble.

“What’s going on?” Bonnie asked her, but Elena was already striding out into the clearing, abandoning any attempt at stealth. She barely noticed the others hurrying after her.

The porch steps creaked under her feet. Up close, the gingerbread cottage was grimy and out of repair, the scrollwork trim cracked. Elena hesitated for a second, clutching her stake. She tried again to find an aura inside the house, but her perception remained frustratingly blank. The sense that something terrible was happening only grew stronger.

“We have to get in there right now,” she said urgently. She slammed her shoulder against the door once and then again, grunting in frustration when the latch held. “Help me.”

Matt, stave in hand, took a running leap and kicked the door open. It hit the wall behind it with a crash, bouncing back toward them, and Elena shouldered it aside as she rushed into the cottage.

At first, the room seemed empty. The sun shone peacefully through the windows, falling on an empty sofa, a patterned rug. But the smell of blood hung in the air, heavy and overwhelming.

Elena turned—and froze in horror.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what she saw. There was just a pattern of reds and flesh tones against the white wall.

As Elena’s vision cleared, the abstract bloodred shapes resolved to a hanging figure. A young girl, maybe fourteen years old, chained to the wall. She had been torn open, bright blood everywhere. Dark, glazed eyes stared unseeingly from a bloody face. Her hair was a honey shade of brown. Elena’s heart twisted with pity. She must have been a pretty girl, once.

Elena reached out and ran a hand lightly across the girl’s brow, as gently as if the girl could feel it. As if gentleness would do any good now, Elena thought bitterly, and bit her own lip hard to keep from crying. The girl was still warm, but her blood was sticky, drying. Once again, Elena was too late.

“Let me see.” Jasmine pushed in next to Elena, her strong, sure hands running over the girl’s body. Pulling off the ropes, she got her down from the wall and started CPR, but Elena knew it was useless. After a few minutes, Jasmine stopped and kneeled back away from the body. “He ripped her apart,” she said, her voice low with shock. “This wasn’t just for food. Whatever happened… he wanted to hurt her.”

Matt frowned. “Forget about talking to him. We’d better go back to planning an attack.”

Elena looked around the room. Blue curtains. Log walls, wooden floor. A stone fireplace at one side of the room, cold now but blackened with the smoke of an earlier fire. It was so familiar. Not Hansel and Gretel, but Snow White.

“Not him,” she told them, her voice a harsh whisper. “The vampire’s a her. Jack’s original vampire is Siobhan. My Guardian task.”



It was late afternoon when Damon landed on the sill of Elena’s bedroom window. He balanced carefully on the slightly too-small ledge, his talons digging into the wood, and tapped hard with his beak on the window. Elena was in there, he could feel her, and he was too tired to wait.