Other Side, by the dark places they would never be allowed to see or understand.
Absently, he had been rubbing a towel over his arms and hands and black shirt. Now, he looked at the towel and decided that Bonnie deserved at least a sop to modesty, especially since he could think of no more work to be done on her. He soaked the towel and then spread it out and pushed it underwater to cover Bonnie from throat to feet. It floated in some places, sank in others, but generally did the job.
He turned the water temperature up again, but it made no difference. Bonnie was stiffening into the true death, young as she was. His peers in old Italy had had it right, he thought, a female like this was amaiden , no longer girl, not yet woman. It was especially apposite since any vampire could tell that she was a maiden in both senses.
And it had all been done under his nose. The lure, the pack-attack, the marvelous technique and synchronization - they had killed this maiden while he sat and watched. He'd applauded it.
Slowly, inside, Damon could feel something growing. It had sparked when he thought of the audacity of the malach, hunting his humans right under his nose. It didn't ask the question of when the group in the car had becomehis humans - he supposed it was because they had been so close lately that it seemed they were his to dispose of, to say whether they lived or died, or whether they became what he was. The growing thing surged when he'd thought of the way the malach had manipulated his thoughts, drawing him into a blissful contemplation of death in general terms, while death in very specific terms was going on right at his feet. And now it was reaching incendiary levels because he had been shown up too many times today. It really was unbearable....
...and it was Bonnie....
Bonnie, who had never hurt a - a harmless thing for malice. Bonnie, who was like a kitten, making airy pounces at no prey at all. Bonnie, with her hair that was called something strawberry, but that looked simply as if it was on fire. Bonnie of the translucent skin, with the delicate violet fjords and estuaries of veins all over her throat and inner arms. Bonnie, who had lately taken to looking at him sideways with her large childlike eyes, big and brown, under lashes like stars....
His jaws and canines were aching, and his mouth felt as if it were on fire from the poisonous resin. But all that could be ignored, because he was consumed with one other thought.
Bonnie had called for his help for nearly half an hour before succumbing to the darkness.
That was what needed to be said. Needed to be examined. Bonnie had called for Stefan - who had been too far away and too busy with his angel - but she had called for Damon, too, and she had pleaded for his help.
And he had ignored it. With three of Elena's friends at his feet, he had ignored their agonies, had ignored Bonnie's frenzied pleas not to let them die.
Usually, this sort of thing would only make him take off for some other town. But somehow he was still here and still tasting the bitter consequences of his act.
Damon leaned back with his eyes closed, trying to shut out the overwhelming smell of blood and the musty scent of...something.
He frowned and looked around. The little room was clean even to its corners. Nothing musty here. But the odor wouldn't go away.
And then he remembered.
Chapter 12
It came back to him, all of it: the cramped aisles and the tiny windows and the musty smell of old books. He had been in Belgium some fifty years ago, and had been surprised to find an English-language book on such a subject still in existence. But there it was, its cover worn to a solid burnished rust, with nothing of the writing remaining, if there ever had been any. Pages were missing inside, so no one would ever know the author or the title, if either had ever been printed there. Every "receipt" - recipe, or charm, or spell - inside involved forbidden knowledge.
Damon could easily remember the simplest spell of all: "Ye Bloode of ye Samphire or Vampyre i?fair goode a?a general physic for all Maladie?or mischief Done by those who Dance in the Woode?at Moonspire."