The Return: Shadow Souls

talk about, lovely little love….”

Then why use words? she thought, still weeping, but coming down to his level so she could snuffle just above his throat.

It’s just…they’re not too free with the refreshments around here,

he told her. As you guessed. If you hadn’t — helped me — I’d’ve been dead by now. They can’t figure out why I’m not. So they — well they run out before they get to me, sometimes, you see—

Elena lifted her head, and this time tears of pure rage fell right onto his face. Where are they? I’ll kill them. Don’t tell me I can’t because I’ll find a way. I’ll find a way to kill them even though I’m in this state—

He shook his head at her. Angel, angel, don’t you see? You don’t have to kill them. Because your tears, the phantom tears of a pure maiden—

She shook her head back at him. Stefan, if anyone knows I’m not a pure maiden, it’s you—

— of a pure maiden, Stefan continued, not even disturbed by her interruption, can cure all ills. And I was ill tonight, Elena, even though I tried to hide it. But I’m cured now! As good as new! They’ll never be able to understand how it could happen.

Are you sure?

Look at me!

Elena looked at him. Stefan’s face, which had been gray and drawn before, was different now. He was usually pale, but now his fine features looked flushed — as if he had been standing in front of a bonfire and the light was still reflecting off the pure lines and elegant planes of his beloved face.

I…did that? She remembered the first tear droplets falling, and how they had looked like blood on his face. Not like blood, she realized, but like natural color, sinking into him, refreshing him.

She couldn’t help but hide her face again in his throat as she thought, I’m glad. Oh, I’m so glad. But I wish we could touch each other. I want to feel your arms around me.

“At least I can look at you,” Stefan whispered, and Elena knew that even this is like water in the wasteland to him. “And if we could touch, I’d put my arm around your waist here, and kiss you here and here….”

They spoke to each other this way for a while — just exchanging lovers’ nonsense, each sustained by the sight and sound of the other. And then, softly but firmly, Stefan asked her to tell him all about Damon — everything since they’d started. By now Elena was cool-headed enough to tell him about the incident with Matt without making Damon sound too much like a villain.

“And Stefan, Damon really is protecting us as best he can.” She told him about the two possessed vampires who had been tracking them and what Damon had done.

Stefan merely shrugged and said wryly, “Most people write with pencils; Damon writes people off with them.” He added, “And your clothes got dirty?”

“Because I heard a great big crash — which ended up being Matt on top of the car,” she said. “But, to be fair, he was trying to stake Damon at the time. I made him get rid of the stake.” She added, in the barest of whispers: “Stefan, please don’t mind that Damon and I have to — to be together a lot right now. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

“I know.”

And the amazing thing was that he did know. Elena was bathed in the deep glow of his trust for her.

After that they “held” each other, Elena snuggling weightlessly above the curve of Stefan’s arm…and it was bliss.

And then abruptly the world — the entire universe — shuddered at the sound of a gigantic slamming sound. It jerked at Elena. It didn’t belong in here with love and trust and the sweetness of sharing every part of her self with Stefan.

It began again — a monstrous booming that terrified Elena. She clutched uselessly at Stefan, who was looking at her with concern. He didn’t hear the clanging that was defeaning her, she realized.

And then something even worse happened. She was torn out of Stefan’s arms bodily, and she was rushing backward, back through objects, back faster and faster until with a jar she landed in her body.

For all her reluctance she landed perfectly on the solid body that until now had been the only one she’d known. She landed on it and melded into it and then she was sitting up and the sounds were the sounds of Matt rapping at the window.

“It’s been over two hours since you went to sleep,” he said as she opened the door. “But I figured you needed it. Are you all right?”

“Oh, Matt,” Elena said. For a moment it seemed impossible that she was going to be able to keep from crying. But then she remembered Stefan’s smile.

Elena blinked, forcing herself to deal with her new situation. She hadn’t seen Stefan for nearly long enough. But her memories of their short, sweet time together were wrapped in jonquils and lavender and nothing could ever take them away from her.

Damon was irritated. As he flew higher on his wide, black crow’s wings, the landscape beneath him unfolded like a magnificent carpet, the breaking day making the grasslands and rolling hills glow like emerald.

Damon ignored it. He’d seen it too many times. What he was looking for was una donna splendida.

But his mind kept drifting. Mutt and his stake…Damon still didn’t see why Elena wanted to take a fugitive from justice along with them. Elena…Damon tried to conjure up the same irritated feelings for her as he had for Mutt, but just couldn’t manage it.

He circled down toward the town below, keeping to the residential district, searching for auras. He wanted a strong aura as much as a beautiful one. And he’d been in America long enough to know that this early in the morning you could find three sorts of people up and outdoors. Students were the first, but this was summer, so there were fewer to pick from. Despite Mutt’s assumptions, Damon seldom sank to high school girls. Joggers were the second. And the third, thinking beautiful thoughts, just like…that one down there… were home gardeners.

The young woman with the pruning shears looked up as Damon turned the corner and approached her house, deliberately hurrying and then slowing his stride. His very footsteps made it clear that he was delighted to take in the floral extravaganza in front of the charming Victorian house. For a moment the girl looked startled, almost afraid. That was normal. Damon was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket, in addition to his Ray-Bans. But then he smiled and at the same moment began the first delicate infiltration of la bella donna’s mind.

One thing was clear even before that. She liked roses.

“A full flush of Dreamweavers,” he said, shaking his head in admiration as he looked at the bushes covered with brilliant pink bloom. “And those White Icebergs climbing the trellis…. Ah, but your Moonstones!” He lightly touched an open rose, its petals moonlight-colored but shading to palest pink at the edges.

The young woman — Krysta — couldn’t help smiling. Damon felt the information flow effortlessly from her mind to his. She was just twenty-two, not married, still living at home. She had precisely the kind of aura he was looking for, and only a sleeping father in the house.

“You don’t look like the type to know so much about roses,” Krysta said frankly, and then gave a self- conscious laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ve met all sorts at the Creekville Rose Shows.”

“My mother is an avid gardener,” Damon lied fluently and without a trace of misgiving. “I guess I got my passion from her. Now I don’t stay in one place long enough to grow them, but I can still dream. Would you like to know what my ultimate dream is?”

By this time Krysta felt as if she were floating on a delicious rose-scented cloud. Damon felt every delicate nuance with her, enjoyed seeing her flush, enjoyed the slight tremor that shook her body.

“Yes,” Krysta said simply. “I’d love to know your dream.”

Damon leaned forward, lowered his voice. “I want to breed a true black rose.”

Krysta looked startled and something flashed through her mind too quickly for Damon to catch. But then she