brother’s — black tipped with red. The only difference was that the red in her hair was lighter and brighter — a truly brilliant scarlet. The bangs that fell into her eyes had blazing fiery tips, and so did the silky dark hair falling over her shoulders. It was striking but the only neurons that lit in Damon’s mind in response were connected to fire and danger and deception.
She might have fallen into a trap,Shinichi managed.
A trap? Damon frowned.What kind of trap?
I’ll take you to where you can look into them,Shinichi said evasively.
“And the fox can suddenly think again. But you know what? I don’t think you’re cute at all,” Damon whispered, then dropped the kitsune on the ground. Shinichi-as-a-human fountained up, and Damon dropped the barrier just long enough to let the fox in human form try to take his head off with one punch. He leaned away from it easily, and returned it with a blow that knocked Shinichi back into the tree hard enough to bounce. Then, while the kitsune was still dazed and glassy-eyed, he picked him up, slung him over one shoulder, and started back to the car.
What about me? Misao was trying to curb furious and sound pathetic, but she really wasn’t very good at it.
“You’re not cute, either,” Damon said, recklessly. He could get to like this super-Power thing. “But if you mean, when do you get out, it’s when I get Elena back. Safe and healthy, with all her bits attached.”
He left her cursing. He wanted to get Shinichi to wherever they had to go while the fox was still dazed and in pain.
Elena was counting. Go straight one, go straight two — untangle crutch from creeper, three, four, go straight five — it was definitely getting darker now, go straight six, caught by something in hair,yank, seven, eight, go straight — damn! A fallen tree. Too high to scramble over. She’d have to go around it. All right, to the right, one, two, three — a long tree — seven steps. Seven steps back — now,sharp right turn and keep walking. Much as you’d like to, you can’t count any of those steps. So you’re at nine. Straighten yourself because the tree was perpendicular — dear heaven, it’s pitch dark now. Call that eleven and— she was flying. What had caused her crutch to slip, she didn’t know, couldn’t tell. It was too dark to go frisking around, maybe finding herself a case of poison oak. What she had to do was to think about things, to think so that this all-pervading hellish pain in her left leg would quiet down. It hadn’t helped her right arm either — that instinctive windmilling, trying to catch something and save herself. God, that fall had hurt. The whole side of her body hurt so much. But she had to get to civilization because she believed only civilization could help Matt.
You have to get up again, Elena.
I’m doing it!
Now — she couldn’t see anything, but she had a pretty good idea which way she’d been pointed when she’d fallen. And if she was wrong, she would hit the road and be able to backtrack.
Twelve, thirteen — she kept counting, kept talking to herself. When she reached twenty she felt relief and joy. Any minute now, she’d hit the driveway.
Any minute now, she’d hit it.
It was pitch black out, but she was careful to scuff the ground so she would know, the minute she hit it.
Any…minute…now…
When Elena reached forty she knew she was in trouble.
But where could she have gone so far wrong? Every time some small obstacle had made her turn right, she’d turned carefully left the next time. And there was that whole line of landmarks in her way, the house, the barn, the small cornfield. How could she have gotten lost?How? It had only been half a minute in the forest…only a few steps in the Old Wood.
Even the trees were changing. Where she had been, near the road, most of the trees had been hickory or tulip. Now she was in a thicket of white oaks and red oaks…and conifers.
Old oaks…and on the ground, needles and leaves that muffled her foot-hops into soundlessness.
Soundlessness…but she needed help!
“Mrs. Dunstan! Mr. Dunstan! Kristin! Jake!” She threw the names out into a world that was doing its best to muffle her voice. In fact, in the darkness she could discern a certain swirling wispy grayness that seemed to be — yes — it was fog.
“Mrs. Dunstaa — a-aan! Mr. Dunstaa-aa-an! Kriiiissstiiiinnn! Jaaa-aaake!”
She needed shelter; she needed help. Everything hurt, most of all her left leg and right shoulder. She could just imagine what a sight she would make: covered in mud and leaves from falling every few feet, her hair in a wild mop from being caught on trees, blood everywhere….
One good thing: she certainly didn’t look like Elena Gilbert. Elena Gilbert had long silky hair that was always perfectly coifed or charmingly dishabille. Elena Gilbert set the fashions in Fell’s Church and would never be seen wearing a torn camisole and jeans covered with mud. Whoever they thought this forlorn stranger was, they wouldn’t think she was Elena.
But the forlorn stranger was feeling a sudden qualm. She’d walked through woods all her life and never had her hair caught once. Oh, of course she had been able to see then, but she didn’t remember having to step out of her way often to avoid it.
Now, it was as if the trees were deliberately reaching down to catch and snag her hair. She had to hold her body clumsily still and try to whip her head away in the worst cases — she couldn’t manage to stay upright and get the tendril torn out as well.
But painful as the tearing at her hair was, nothing scared her like the grabbing at her legs.
Elena had grown up playing in this forest, and there had always been plenty of room to walk without hurting herself. But now…things were reaching out, fibrous tendrils were grabbing at her ankle just where it hurt most. And then it was agony to try to rip with her fingers at these thick, sap-coated, stinging roots.
I’m frightened, she thought, putting into words at last what all her feelings had been since she stepped into the darkness of the Old Wood. She was damp with dew and sweat, her hair was as wet as if she’d been standing in the rain. It was so dark! And now her imagination began to work, and unlike most people’s imaginations it had genuine, solid information to work with. A vampire’s hand seemed to tangle in her hair. After an endless time of agony in her ankle and her shoulder, she had twisted the “hand” out of her hair — to find another curling stalk.
All right. She would ignore the pain and get her bearings here, here where there was a remarkable tree, a massive white pine that had a huge hole in its center, big enough for Bonnie to get into. She would put that flat at her back and then walk straight west — she couldn’t see stars because of the cloud cover, but she felt that west was to her left. If she were correct, it would bring her to the road. If she were wrong and it was north, it would take her to the Dunstans’. If it were south, it would eventually take her to another curve of the road. If it were east…well, it would be a long walk, but it would eventually take her to the creek.
But first she would gather all her Power, all the Power she’d been unconsciously using to dull the pain and give her strength — she would gather it and light up this place so she could see if the road was visible — or, better, a house — from where she stood. It was only a human’s power but, again, the knowledge of how to use it made all the difference, she thought. She gathered the Power in one tight white ball and then loosed it, twisting to look around before it dissipated.
Trees. Trees. Trees.
Oaks and hickories, white pine and beech. No high ground to get to. In every direction, nothing but trees, as if she were lost in some grimly enchanted forest and could never get out.
But she would get out. Any of those directions would take her to people eventually — even east. Even east, she could just follow the stream until it led to people.
She wished she had a compass.
She wished she could see the stars.
She was trembling all over, and it wasn’t just from the cold. She was injured; she was terrified. But she had to forget about that. Meredith wouldn’t cry. Meredith wouldn’t be terrified. Meredith would find a sensible way to get out.
She had to get help for Matt.
Gritting her teeth to ignore the pain, Elena started off. If any of her wounds had happened to her in isolation, she would have made a big fuss about it, sobbing and writhing over the injury. But with so many different pains, it had all melted into one terrible agony.
