upward, back into the darkness once more.
The wind was howling at a deafening pitch now, and Stefan had to raise his voice to a shout to even hear himself over it. He had to keep both hands clamped down on the book -
it was being pul ed out of his hands as if something alive and very strong were consciously trying to yank it away.
"Mihi adi. Te voco. Necesse est tibi parere," Stefan said. "Come to me. I summon you. You must obey."
That was the end of the summoning spel in Latin. The next part was the banishing spel , which would be in English. Of course, the phantom would have to actual y be there for that part of the spel to be effective. The wind whipping through the garage grew even stronger. Outside, thunder rumbled.
Stefan watched the innermost circle, deep in the shadows of the garage, but there was nothing there. The unnatural wind was beginning to let up. Panic rose in his chest. Had they failed? He glanced anxiously at Alaric and Meredith, then at Mrs. Flowers, but none of them were looking at him, staring transfixed at the circle. Stefan looked back into it, hoping against hope. But there was nothing there.
Wait.
There was the faintest movement of something, right in the center of the circle, the tiniest flash of blue-green light, and along with it came a chil . Not like the cold wind that had spun through the garage, but more like an icy breath -
inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale - slow and steady and freezing cold, right from that one spot.
The glimmer widened, deepened, darkened, and suddenly what Stefan was looking at shifted and changed from an amorphous glimmer to a woman. An icy, misty, giant woman tinted in shades of blue and green. Inside her chest was a deep red rose, its stem a solid mass of thorns. Meredith and Celia let out audible gasps. Mrs. Flowers stared calmly, while Alaric's jaw had dropped. This must be the jealousy phantom. Stefan had always thought of jealousy as burning hot. Fiery kisses, fiery anger. But anger, lust, envy, al the things that made up jealousy, could be cold, too, and he had no doubt that they had the right phantom.
Stefan noticed al these things about the phantom and forgot them again in a split second, because it wasn't just the ice-woman who materialized at the center of the circle. Confused, weeping, staggering, streaked with ash and mud, three humans had appeared there as wel . His beautiful, elegant Elena, caked in grime, her golden hair tangled and matted, lines of blood running down her face. Delicate little Bonnie, tearstained and pale as milk, but with an expression of fury as she kicked and clawed at the phantom. And al -American, always reliable Matt, dusty and disheveled, turning to peer out at them with a peculiarly blank expression, as if simply wondering what fresh hel he'd landed in now.
And then one more person, a fourth figure wobbling and gasping, the last to shimmer into view. For a moment, Stefan didn't recognize him - couldn't recognize him, because this man wasn't supposed to exist anymore. Instead he just felt like a hauntingly familiar stranger. The stranger put his hands to his throat protectively and looked out of the circle, straight at Stefan. Through a bloody, swol en lip and bruised slits of eyes, the ghost of a bril iant smile appeared, and the gears of Stefan's mind slotted into place and began to turn again at last.
Damon.
Stefan was so flabbergasted he didn't know what to feel at first. Then, deep within him, a slow warmth spread with the realization that his brother was back. The last piece left of al his strange history was here once again. Stefan wasn't alone. Stefan took a step forward toward the edge of the diagram, holding his breath.
"Damon?" he said softly, wonderingly.
Jealousy snapped its head toward him, and Stefan was pinned to his spot by its glassy cold gaze.
"He came back before, you know," it said
conversational y, and its voice chil ed Stefan as if ice water had been thrown in his face. "He just didn't want you to know so he could have Elena al to himself. He's been lurking around, lying low, playing tricks like he always does."
Jealousy was undoubtedly feminine, and its cool observational tone reminded Stefan of the little voice that sometimes spoke from the back of his mind, cal ing out his