The Salvation: Unseen Page 0,19

“Wait, was she on the phone? I told her, driving while using a phone is just as dangerous as driving drunk.”

“No, I don’t think she was on the phone,” Matt said, although he wasn’t sure.

“Well, what happened, then?” Jasmine asked again. Matt could feel himself stiffening and rolled his neck to let go of the tension building up in him. It wasn’t Jasmine’s fault he didn’t know what to tell her about Elena’s accident; these were perfectly natural questions.

“Elena wasn’t drinking, was she?” Jasmine asked him, her forehead crinkling.

“No! God!” Matt said. “There’s nothing to tell. It was just a normal accident, and we’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” A woman in the row ahead turned to look at them, and Matt realized his voice had risen.

“What do you mean you’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again?” Jasmine asked in a low, persistent voice.

For one crazy moment, Matt wondered if maybe he could tell Jasmine the truth. She wouldn’t believe him at first—no one would. But he guessed she’d probably noticed things that didn’t quite add up about them in the past. And she cared about all his friends. If he shared some of the worries that weighed him down, maybe Jasmine could help him bear them.

Something in him immediately recoiled from the idea. It was selfish of him to even consider it. Jasmine existed outside of all the violence and fear that had been Matt’s life ever since high school, ever since the Salvatore brothers had first come to Fell’s Church. She reminded Matt of the way he’d been before this all started.

Everything they had suffered—Elena’s death, Klaus’s attacks, hunting the Old Ones—had marked Matt and all his friends. Even Bonnie, the sweetest of them, had something hard-edged and fierce about her now. This new toughness had saved their lives more than once. But he didn’t want Jasmine to have to change like that.

“I don’t know,” he told her. “I don’t know why I said that. It was an accident.”

Jasmine turned to look carefully into his face, then frowned, clearly aware that he was hiding something. She’d let go of his hand, Matt realized, and his fingers felt cold without hers.

Matt clenched his jaw, swallowing his urge to beg her forgiveness, tell her everything. But then he thought of what could happen. Chloe had died because of her involvement in the mess of vampires and werewolves, warriors and demons that Matt’s life had become. Even if Jasmine resented him for it, he would never tell her. He would keep her safe, no matter what.

“Duck!” Bonnie shouted wildly, scrunching down as far as she could in the passenger seat of the car.

“I can’t duck; I’m driving,” Zander said calmly. “Anyway, your parents aren’t going to see us.”

Bonnie sat up and turned in her seat to look back at her parents’ house. There was no car in the drive; they must be out. “I just feel guilty, coming to Fell’s Church and not letting them know,” she said.

“You’re on a very important mission,” Zander told her. “Anyway, we’re having dinner with them next week.”

“I know,” Bonnie said. “I just hope Mrs. Flowers has some ideas about how to search for Solomon. Elena’s Powers aren’t picking up anything.” The elderly, powerful witch had taught Bonnie a lot of what she knew.

“Hmm,” Zander responded, taking a left toward Mrs. Flowers’s house. Bonnie’s eyes drifted to his arm muscles flexing beneath his golden-tanned skin. Werewolves were naturally strong, of course, but ever since Zander and a couple of his Packmates had started a landscaping business after college, he’d only gotten buffer. She sighed appreciatively.

“There’s a car in Mrs. Flowers’s drive,” Zander said curiously as they pulled up. Bonnie blinked; there was a car, a shiny little blue Honda. That was strange. Mrs. Flowers was basically a recluse and, anyway, she had known Bonnie and Zander were coming.

“Maybe it’s somebody selling something?” Bonnie wondered aloud as they trailed through the untidy herb garden and up the path to the front door.

In the kitchen, they found Mrs. Flowers sipping tea with a girl about their own age. She didn’t look like she was selling anything: She was as tiny as Bonnie herself, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, with wild curly blond hair and a spattering of freckles across her cheeks.

“Hey!” the girl said as soon as she saw them. She put her teacup down a little too hard, sloshing tea into the saucer and onto the table. “Oops,” she added,