Elena was sure that, as composed and calm as Meredith was, she was already missing Alaric.
“Sure,” Bonnie said amiably. “It’s awesome, but I’d like to get to the next stage for once. I want to have a relationship where we know each other real y wel , a serious boyfriend instead of just a crush. Like you guys have. That’s even better, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” said Meredith. “But you shouldn’t try to hurry through the we-just-met stuff, because you’ve only got a limited time to enjoy it. Right, Elena?” Elena dabbed a cotton bal around the edges of Meredith’s polished toenails and thought about when she had first met Stefan. With al that had happened since then, it was hard to believe it was only a year ago.
What she remembered most was her own
determination to have Stefan. No matter what had gotten in her way, she had known with a clear, firm purpose that he would be hers. And then, in those early days, once he was hers, it was glorious. It felt as if the missing piece of herself had slotted into place.
“Right,” she said final y, answering Meredith. “Afterward, things get more complicated.”
At first, Stefan had been a prize that Elena wanted to win: sophisticated and mysterious. He was a prize Caroline wanted, too, and Elena would never let Caroline beat her.
But then Stefan had let Elena see the pain and passion, the integrity and nobility, he held inside him and she had forgotten the competition and loved Stefan with her whole heart.
And now? She stil loved Stefan with everything she had, and he loved her. But she loved Damon, too, and sometimes she understood him—plotting, manipulative, dangerous Damon—better than she did Stefan. Damon was like her in some ways: he, too, would be relentless in pursuing what he wanted. She and Damon connected, she thought, on some deep core instinctive level that Stefan was too good, too honorable to understand. How could you love two people at the same time?
“Complicated,” Bonnie scoffed. “More complicated than never being sure if somebody likes you or not? More complicated than having to wait by the phone to see if you have a date for Saturday night or not? I’m ready for complicated. Did you know that forty-nine percent of col ege-educated women meet their future husbands on campus?”
“You made that statistic up,” Meredith said, rising and picking her way toward her own bed, careful not to smudge her polish.
Bonnie shrugged. “Okay, maybe I did. But I bet it’s a real y high percentage, anyway. Didn’t your parents meet right here, Elena?”
“They did,” Elena said. “I think they had a class together sophomore year.”
“How romantic,” Bonnie said happily.
“Wel , if you get married, you have to meet your future spouse somewhere,” Meredith said. “And there are a lot of possible future spouses at col ege.” She frowned at the silky cover on her bed. “Do you think I can dry my nails faster if I use the hair dryer, or wil it mess up the polish? I want to go to sleep.”
She examined the hair dryer as if it were the focal point of some science experiment, her face intent. Bonnie was watching her upside down, her head tipped back off the end of the bed and her red curls brushing the floor, tapping her feet energetical y against the wal . Elena felt a great swel of love for both of them. She remembered the countless sleepovers they’d had al through school, back before their lives had gotten … complicated.
“I love having the three of us together,” she said. “I hope the whole year is going to be just like this.” That was when they first heard the sirens.
Meredith peered through the blinds, col ecting facts, trying to analyze what was going on outside Pruitt House. An ambulance and several police cars were parked across the street, their lights silently blinking red and blue. Floodlights lit the quad a ghastly white, and it was crawling with police officers.
“I think we should go out there,” she said.
“Are you kidding me?” Bonnie asked from behind her.
“Why would we want to do that? I’m in my pajamas.” Meredith glanced back. Bonnie was standing, hands on hips, brown eyes indignant. She was indeed wearing cute ice-cream-cone-printed pajamas.
“Wel , quick, put on some jeans,” Meredith said.
“But why?” asked Bonnie plaintively.
Meredith’s eyes met Elena’s across the room, and they nodded briskly to each other.
“Bonnie,” Elena said patiently, “we have a responsibility to check out everything that’s going on around here. We might just want to be normal col ege students, but we know the truth about the world—the truth other people don’t realize, about vampires and werewolves and monsters—
and we need to make sure that what’s going on out there isn’t part of that truth. If it’s a human problem, the police wil deal with it. But if it’s something else, it’s our responsibility.”
“Honestly,” grumbled Bonnie, already reaching for her clothes, “you two have a—a saving-people complex or something. After I take psychology, I’m going to diagnose you.”
“And then we’l be sorry,” Meredith said agreeably.
On their way out the door, Meredith grabbed the long velvet case that held her fighting stave. The stave was special, designed to fight both human and supernatural adversaries, and was made to specifications handed down through her family for generations. Only a Sulez could have a staff like this. She caressed it through the case, feeling the sharp spikes of different materials that dotted its ends: silver for werewolves, wood for vampires, white ash for Old Ones, iron for al eldritch creatures, tiny hypodermics to fil with poisons. She knew she couldn’t take the stave out of its case on the quad, not surrounded by police officers and innocent bystanders, but she felt stronger when she could feel the weight of it in her hand.
Outside, the mugginess of the Virginia September day had given way to a chil y night, and the girls walked quickly toward the crowd around the quad.
“Don’t look like we’re heading straight over there,” Meredith whispered. “Pretend we’re going to one of the
