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back down the stairs.
"Well, I'm gladsomeone's happy, after the way dinner turned out. Although
that nice boy, Damon, seemed to enjoy himself. Do you know, Elena, he seemed
quite taken with you, in spite of the way you were acting."
Elena turned back around. "So?"
"Well, I just thought you might give him a chance, that's all. I thought he
was very pleasant. The kind of young man I like to see around here."
Elena goggled a moment, then swallowed to keep the hysterical laughter from
escaping. Her aunt was suggesting that she take up Damon instead of Stefan&
because Damon was safer. The kind of nice young man any aunt would like. "Aunt
Judith," she began, gasping, but then she realized it was useless. She shook
her head mutely, throwing her hands up in defeat, and watched her aunt go up
the stairs.
Usually Elena slept with her door closed. But tonight she left it open and
lay on her bed gazing out into the darkened hallway. Every so often she
glanced at the luminous numbers of the clock on the nightstand beside her.
There was no danger that she would fall asleep. As the minutes crawled by,
she almost began to wish she could. Time moved with agonizing slowness. Eleven
o'clock& eleven thirty& midnight. Onea.m . One thirty. Two.
At 2:10 she heard a sound.
She listened, still lying on her bed, to the faint whisper of noise
downstairs. She'd known he would find a way to get in if he wanted. If Damon
was that determined, no lock would keep him out.
Music from the dream she'd had that night at Bonnie's tinkled through her
mind, a handful of plaintive, silvery notes. It woke strange feelings inside
her. Almost in a daze or dream herself, she got up and went to stand at the
threshold.
The hallway was dark, but her eyes had had a long time to adjust. She could
see the darker silhouette making its way up the stairs. When it reached the
top she saw the swift, deadly glimmer of his smile.
She waited, unsmiling, until he reached her and stood facing her, with only a
yard of hardwood floor between them. The house was completely silent. Across
the hall Margaret slept; at the end of the passage, Aunt Judith lay wrapped in
dreams, unaware of what was going on outside her door.
Damon said nothing, but he looked at her, his eyes taking in the long white
nightgown with its high, lacy neck. Elena had chosen it because it was the
most modest one she owned, but Damon obviously thought it attractive. She
forced herself to stand quietly, but her mouth was dry and her heart was
thudding dully. Now was the time. In another minute she would know.
She backed up, without a word or gesture of invitation, leaving the doorway
empty. She saw the quick flare in his bottomless eyes, and watched him come
eagerly toward her. And watched him stop.
He stood just outside her room, plainly disconcerted. He tried again to step
forward but could not. Something seemed to be preventing him from moving any
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farther. On his face, surprise gave way to puzzlement and then anger.
He looked up, his eyes raking over the lintel, scanning the ceiling on either
side of the threshold. Then, as the full realization hit him, his lips pulled
back from his teeth in an animal snarl.
Safe on her side of the doorway, Elena laughed softly. It had worked.
"My room and the living room below are all that's left of the old house," she
said to him. "And, of course, that was a different dwelling place. One you
werenot invited into, and never will be."
His chest was heaving with anger, his nostrils dilated, his eyes wild. Waves
of black rage emanated from him. He looked as if he would like to tear the
walls down with his hands, which were twitching and clenching with fury.
Triumph and relief made Elena giddy. "You'd better go now," she said.
"There's nothing for you here."
One minute more those menacing eyes blazed into hers, and then Damon turned
around. But he didn't head for the stairway. Instead, he took one step across
the hall and laid his hand on the door to Margaret's room.
Elena started forward before she knew what she was doing. She stopped in the
doorway, grasping the casing trim, her own breath coming hard.
His head whipped around and he smiled at her, a slow, cruel smile. He twisted
the doorknob slightly without looking at it. His eyes, like pools of liquid
ebony, remained on Elena.
"Your choice," he said.
Elena stood very still, feeling as if all of winter was inside her. Margaret
was just a baby. He couldn't mean it; no one could be such a monster as to
hurt a four-year-old.
But there was no hint of softness or compassion in Damon's face. He was a
hunter, killer, and the weak were his prey. She remembered the dreadful animal
snarl that had transfigured his handsome features, and she knew that she could
never leave Margaret to him.
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She saw Damon's hand on the
doorknob; she saw those merciless eyes. She was walking through the doorway,
leaving behind the only safe place she knew.
Death was in the house, Bonnie had said. And now Elena had gone to meet Death
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