The Return: Shadow Souls

The other destination, of course, was to Stefan.

Damon might think she didn’t know where to go, and it was true that she could only vaguely sense from the rising sun that Stefan was in the other direction — to the west of her. But she’d always heard that the souls of true lovers were connected somehow…by a silver string from heart to heart or a red cord from pinky to pinky.

To her delight, she found it almost immediately.

A thin cord the color of moonlight, that seemed to be stretched taut between the sleeping Elena’s heart, and…yes. When she touched the cord, it resonated so clearly to her of Stefan that she knew it would take her to him.

There was never a doubt in her mind as to which direction she would take. She’d been in Fell’s Church. Bonnie was a psychic of some impressive powers, and so was Stefan’s old landlady, Mrs. Theophilia Flowers. They were there, along with Meredith and her brilliant intellect, to protect the town.

And they would all understand, she told herself somewhat desperately. She might not ever have this chance again.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Elena turned toward Stefan and let herself go.

Immediately she found herself rushing through the air, far too quickly to take note of her surroundings. Everything she passed was a blur, differing only in color and texture as Elena realized with a catch in her throat that she was going through objects.

And so, in just a few instants, she found herself looking at a heart-wrenching scene: Stefan on a worn and broken pallet, looking gray-faced and thin. Stefan in a hideous, rush-strewn, lice-infested cell with its damned bars of iron from which no vampire could escape.

Elena turned away for a moment so that when she woke him he wouldn’t see her anguish and her tears. She was just composing herself, when Stefan’s voice jolted through her. He was awake already.

“You try and try, don’t you?” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I guess you should get points for that. But you always get something wrong. Last time it was the little pointed ears. This time it’s the clothes. Elena wouldn’t wear a wrinkled shirt like that and have dirty, bare feet if her life depended on it. Go away.” Shrugging his shoulders under the threadbare blanket, he turned from her.

Elena stared. She was in too many kinds of distress to choose her words: they burst from her like a geyser. “Oh, Stefan! I was just trying to fall asleep in my clothes in case a police officer stopped by while I was in the backseat of the Jag. The Jag you bought me. But I didn’t think you’d care! My clothes are wrinkled because I’m living out of my duffel bag and my feet got dirty when Damon — well — well — never mind that. I have a real nightgown, but I didn’t have it on when I came out of my body and I guess when you come out you still look like yourself in your body….”

Then she threw up her hands in alarm as Stefan swung around. But — marvel of marvels — there was now a tinge of blood in his cheeks. Moreover, he was no longer looking disdainful.

He was looking deadly, his green eyes flashing with menace.

“Your feet got dirty — when Damon did what?” he demanded, enunciating carefully.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It damn well does matter—” Stefan stopped short. “Elena?” he whispered, staring at her as if she had only just appeared.

“Stefan!” She couldn’t help holding out her arms to him. She couldn’t control anything. “Stefan, I don’t know how, but I’m here. It’s me! I’m not a dream or a ghost. I was thinking about you and falling asleep— and here I am!” She tried to touch him with ghostlike hands. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe you…because I was thinking about you. Somehow — somehow that brought you here. Because of love. Because we love each other!” And he spoke the words as if they were a revelation.

Elena shut her eyes. If only she could be here in her body, she would show Stefan how much she loved him. As it was, they had to use clumsy words — cliches that just happened to be uniquely true.

“I will always love you, Elena,” Stefan said, whispering again. “But I don’t want you near Damon. He’ll find a way to hurt you—”

“I can’t help it,” Elena interrupted him.

“You have to help it!”

“—because he’s my only hope, Stefan! He’s not going to hurt me. He’s already killed to protect me. Oh, God, so much has happened! We’re on our way to—” Elena hesitated, her eyes flicking around warily.

Stefan’s eyes widened for an instant. But when he spoke his face was deadpan. “Someplace where you’ll be safe.”

“Yes,” she said, just as seriously, knowing that phantom tears were now racing down her bodiless cheeks. “And…oh, Stefan, there’s so much you don’t know. Caroline accused Matt of attacking her while they were on a date because she’s pregnant. But it wasn’t Matt!”

“Of course not!” Stefan said indignantly, and would have said more, but Elena was racing on.

“And I think that the — the litter is really Tyler Smallwood’s because of the timing, and because Caroline’s changing. Damon said that—”

“A werewolf baby will always turn its mother into a werewolf—”

“Yes! But the werewolf part is going to have to fight the malach that’s already inside her. Bonnie and Meredith told me things about Caroline — like how she was scuttling on the floor like a lizard — that just terrified me. But I had to leave them to deal with that so that I could — could get to that safe place.”

“Werewolves and were-foxes,” Stefan said, shaking his head. “Of course, the kitsune, the foxes, are much more powerful magically, but werewolves tend to kill before they think.” He struck his knee with his fist. “I wish I could be there!”

Elena burst out with mixed wonder and despair, “And instead here I am — with you! I never knew I could do this. But I haven’t been able to bring you anything this way, not even myself. My blood.” She made a helpless gesture and saw the smugness in Stefan’s eyes.

He still had the Clarion Loess Black Magic wine she’d smuggled to him! She knew it! It was the only liquid that would — in a pinch — help keep a vampire alive when no blood was available.

Black Magic “wine”—nonalcoholic and never made for humans in the first place, was the only drink that vampires really enjoyed aside from blood. Damon had told Elena that it was magically made from special grapes that were grown in the soil at the edges of glaciers, loess, and that they were always kept in complete darkness. That was what gave it its velvety dark taste, he’d said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stefan said, undoubtedly for the benefit of anyone who might be spying. “Exactly how did it happen?” he asked then. “This out of body thing? Why don’t you come down here and tell me about it?” He lay back on his pallet, turning aching eyes on her. “I’m sorry that I don’t have a better bed to offer you.” For a moment the humiliation showed clearly in his face. All this time he’d managed to hide it from her: the shame he felt in appearing before her in this way — in a filthy cell, with rags for clothes, and infested with God knew what. He — Stefan Salvatore, who had once been — had once been—

Elena’s heart truly broke then. She knew it was breaking, because she could feel it inside shattering like glass, with each needle-like shard skewering flesh inside her chest. She knew it was breaking, too, because she was weeping, huge spirit tears that dropped on Stefan’s face like blood, translucent in the air as they fell, but turning deep red when they touched Stefan’s face.

Blood? Of course, it wasn’t blood, she thought. She couldn’t even bring anything so useful to him in this form. She was really sobbing now; her shoulders shaking as the tears continued to fall onto Stefan, who now had one hand held up as if to catch one…

“Elena—” There was wonder in his voice.

“Wha — what?” she keened.

“Your tears. Your tears make me feel…” He was staring up at her with something like awe.

Elena still couldn’t stop weeping, although she knew that she had soothed his proud heart — and done something else.

“I d-don’t understand.”

He caught one of her tears and kissed it. Then he looked at her with a sheen in his own eyes. “It’s hard to