her elderly mentor back in Fell’s Church. “Elena, keep your Guardian Powers on alert. If there’s an Old One near Dalcrest, there ought to be some signs of evil you can pick up on.” He let go of Elena and began to pace the room, his steps quickening as he thought. “Jack, we should get together with your team, figure out how we can best work together.”
He crossed to the closet and pulled out his hunter’s bag, trying to think what they would need. More vervain for Meredith’s weapons, to keep Solomon and any other vampires he might have with him from clouding the humans’ minds. Stakes of white ash. Iron.
He unzipped the bag, and for a moment his mind stopped, unable to process what he was seeing. There was a fine dust all over his weapons. Wood dust, he realized, soft under his hands except for a few small splinters. Something cut into his palm and he pulled it back quickly, wincing. It was a tiny shard of metal. There was an ache in his gums as his canines extended slowly, throbbing in time with his beating heart, and he realized that he was smelling blood. Elena’s blood.
“My stave,” he said, slowly. “It’s—it’s been destroyed.”
He could hear his friends exclaiming, getting to their feet, Sammy meowing in complaint as Bonnie unceremoniously dumped him off her lap. They were crowding behind him, all but Jack, who was standing a little away from the rest of the group. Elena touched Stefan’s arm gently. But his gaze was riveted on the pulverized remains of his best weapon against the Old Ones. Nothing else had been touched.
“He came right in,” Stefan said, amazed. “Without being invited. All the safeguards and charms we have on this apartment, and somehow he knew where our only real weapon against him was hidden and came straight to it.” He finally dragged his gaze away from the remains of his stave, and his eyes met Jack’s. They were dark and full of what looked like pity.
“You see what I mean about Solomon,” the hunter said softly. “He broke through all your protective charms like they were tissue paper and disappeared without a trace. This is what we’re up against. This is what we have to fight.” His voice grew somber. “This was a warning.”
#TVD11WithoutaTrace
Chapter 8
Matt was late meeting Jasmine. When he jogged around the corner, she was standing outside the little vintage movie theater, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill of the late spring night.
A fierce, protective happiness lit up inside Matt at the sight of Jasmine. She glanced at her watch, clearly a little irritated—she didn’t get much time off from her residency at the hospital—but she wouldn’t be instinctively worried by Matt’s lateness. Jasmine didn’t automatically assume horrible things had happened. Because they never did, not to her.
Matt tried to shove aside the thoughts of Elena in danger, of Stefan’s face that afternoon as he had gazed down at the remains of his stave. Now he was here, with Jasmine, in the normal world.
“Hey,” he said, halting in front of her, panting a little. “I’m really sorry.”
Jasmine crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. “Monster,” she said sweetly. “The only way you can make it up to me is by buying me a very large popcorn and getting lots of fake butter.”
As they waited in line at the concession stand, Matt wrapped his arms around Jasmine’s shoulders, and she reached up to twine the fingers of her hand with his. “So what held you up?” she asked. “It’s not like you to be late.” Her big brown eyes fixed on his expectantly.
Matt froze. He hadn’t thought about what to tell her. His silence was long enough that Jasmine’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“Elena was in a car accident,” he blurted, not lying, but not telling the whole truth.
Jasmine gasped, pressing her free hand against her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said. “Is she okay?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine, but she got a little banged up,” Matt said, and then hurriedly corrected himself, remembering how Stefan’s blood had healed Elena. Jasmine was a doctor; she would want to see Elena’s injuries. “I mean, she’s okay, but her car got pretty banged up. She hit a telephone pole.”
They ordered popcorn and sodas and headed into the theater.
“That’s terrifying. How did she manage to hit a telephone pole?” Jasmine asked as they settled into their seats, her hand still in his. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.