The Vampire Diaries: The Salvation: Unspoken (21 page)

Elena looked up again. Damon was humming to himself, softly. His eyes, fixed on the road, had a faraway look.

Something in her chest turned over, a tight, uncomfortable feeling. Elena realized that, for maybe the first time ever, she had no idea what she wanted.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t have any suggestions.” Mrs. Flowers sipped at her tea, holding the delicate china cup carefully. “Vampires created by science are a little outside my area of expertise. All I can recommend is increasing your use of the protection spells you already know. Try to keep your friends safe.”

Bonnie nodded. It had been a long shot, anyway, expecting her old friend to have a suggestion. But it just felt natural to come back to Fell’s Church and ask Mrs. Flowers, who had taught her so much of her magic, for advice.

Since Bonnie had broken up with Zander, she’d thrown herself into trying to find a way to help Meredith and to protect them all from Jack and his minions. It had made her feel a little better, helped her to avoid thinking about how empty her apartment was, how empty her big bed was.

How empty her heart was.

Mrs. Flowers was looking older and frailer than the last time they had seen each other, Bonnie realized with a pang. Her hand, pale and thin and spotted with age, shook as she placed her cup back on the table. A little tea sloshed into the saucer.

“Now tell me, Bonnie,” Mrs. Flowers said, fixing Bonnie with sharp blue eyes that were not in the least dimmed by age. “What else is bothering you?”

Bonnie fumbled for a reply. “Well, Meredith…”

“Not Meredith. Meredith’s problem is the same as the vampire problem. There’s something else.”

Bonnie heard herself give a funny, half-choked laugh. Mrs. Flowers had always been able to read Bonnie’s emotions.

“It’s Zander,” she said, as a hot tear ran down her cheek. “He’s left me.”

With that, the dam broke and she burst into sobs. By the time the frantic storm of tears stopped, Bonnie found herself sitting on the floor, her head in Mrs. Flowers’s lap as the old lady made soft tutting noises and stroked her hair. Mrs. Flowers’s dress smelled of lavender, and Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to care that she was probably staining it with tears and snot—it was amazingly comforting.

“Tell me everything,” Mrs. Flowers said, and Bonnie blurted out the whole story: Zander’s strange disconnectedness and the way Bonnie had finally confronted him about it; how he had proposed in the warm, fragrant rose garden and how Bonnie had said no, even though it broke her heart. That Zander was gone now, and that Bonnie ached with loneliness without him. That the few werewolves he had left behind to temporarily guard Dalcrest looked away, their faces stony,
when they saw her now, and that Bonnie couldn’t blame them. Of course they hated her—she’d hurt their Alpha.

“But I had to,” Bonnie said, sitting back on her heels and wiping her eyes. “Didn’t I? I have to put my friends first right now. They
need
me.”

Mrs. Flowers sighed and sat very still for a moment, gazing off into the distance. Then she rose, resting one hand on the table as she shuffled toward the living room. “I want to show you something,” she said. “Wait here.”

After a moment, she returned, a framed picture in hand. Bonnie recognized it as one she’d seen before, sitting on the mantelpiece in the living room. A black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man in uniform. His dark hair was close cropped, and his eyes were pale, probably blue. His face was serious, but there was a natural curve at the corners of his mouth that suggested he had a sense of humor.

“He looks nice,” Bonnie said, scrubbing her hand against her face again. She felt exhausted and longed to just lie down on Mrs. Flowers’s floor and take a nice long nap. “Who is he?”

“William Flowers.” Mrs. Flowers gazed down at the picture, her smile soft and sad. “Bill.”

“Your husband?” Bonnie asked, peering at the picture with fresh interest.

Mrs. Flowers sighed again, a soft, almost soundless exhalation of breath, and shook her head. “Not quite,
although I took his name,” she said. “He was my sweetheart. We grew up together and fell in love. It felt like it was meant to be. We laughed so much together, knew each other so well. Understood each other without having to try. I thought we’d go on like that forever.”

“So what happened?” Bonnie scrambled up off the floor, settling herself into the chair next to her mentor.

“We were engaged. And then he was drafted.” Mrs. Flowers passed a hand over her eyes. “I was so afraid of losing him. He wanted to get married before he went overseas, but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t start our married life with him in danger. And then he was killed in action. I lost everything.”

Bonnie gasped. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Mrs. Flowers’s wise, calm face crumpled in well-remembered pain. “I spent years trying to contact him from beyond the veil. I wanted him to know how much I loved him. I tried everything: Séances, working with mediums, wandering the no man’s land between the living and the dead, inducing visions… nothing worked. Some people, when they die, pass out of our reach.”

“We couldn’t reach Stefan,” Bonnie said, feeling achingly sad.

“Come outside with me.” Mrs. Flowers rose stiffly and led the way out the kitchen door into her herb garden, moving more quickly than she had earlier.

It was warm and bright outside, and Bonnie automatically tipped her head back to feel the sun on her face. Mrs. Flowers led her through the winding paths of her herb garden. “Let’s see what you remember,” she said. “Tell me about this herb bed.”

“Oh. Um.” Bonnie scanned the plants. “Marjoram. For healing. And for cooking. Amaranth, also known as love-lies-bleeding. For healing and protection. Celandine, or swallow’s wort, for happiness.”

“Very good, I see you haven’t abandoned your training. And the bush next to them?”

The bush had long green leaves and cascading purple flowers, each made of a round spray of thin petals. “Pretty,” Bonnie said. “But I don’t know what it is.”

Mrs. Flowers picked one of the blossoms and sniffed it. “Mimosa, my dear. It’s for joy rising from sorrow. Second chances.” Smiling, she passed the flower to Bonnie, and Bonnie automatically brought it up to her face and sniffed. It smelled clean and fresh. “Sometimes, Bonnie, true love is worth fighting for,” Mrs. Flowers said gently.

Bonnie held the flower carefully, but her heart felt as heavy as a stone. Mrs. Flowers had loved her Bill, and despite everything, had lost him anyway. Mimosa or not, it was hard to believe that joy could come from sorrow.

M
att shifted the two full bags of groceries he carried, balancing one against his hip as he dug his key to Jasmine’s building out of his pocket.

A little thrill of satisfaction shot through him as he twisted the key in the lock. They’d only exchanged keys last week, and it felt really important, another sign that they were
all in
, really and truly committed to being part of each other’s lives. Jasmine had kissed him hard, her lips firm and sure against his, after she pressed her keys into his palm, and it had been the best moment of a very tough week.

Jasmine had been stressing out. She’d run every test she could think of on Meredith’s blood but was still coming up empty.

He clumped up the stairs, swinging the bags and thinking about how a nice dinner might help Jasmine feel better.
Stuffing the chicken with thyme, lemon, and garlic,
he thought,
would give it a nice flavor.
And wine might help her relax. Matt was humming as he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward Jasmine’s apartment.

The door was hanging wide open.

Matt dropped his bags, hearing the wine bottle inside one of the bags smash, and ran toward it, his heart pounding. He barreled through the front door and stopped dead, horrified.

Jasmine’s living room had been trashed. The velvety-soft sofa was flipped over and disemboweled. The weavings she’d put on the walls were ripped down, her tables knocked over and broken.

“Jasmine?” Matt called, breaking out of his shock. He raced down the hall, checking the other rooms.

The kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom were more of the same, everything smashed and broken. The closet door had been ripped off, clothes trailing out as if someone had tried to hold onto them while being yanked out of the closet. “
Jasmine!
”

His phone rang.
JASMINE
, the display read.
Thank God.
She was okay. She would have some explanation. Tension flowed out of him, his shoulders relaxing.

“Where are you?” Matt answered the phone. “Are you okay?”

A low, warm, familiar chuckle. Not Jasmine’s. Everything went fuzzy around the edges, and Matt swayed on his feet, lightheaded.
Jack.

“I’m fine,” Jack said. “Your girlfriend seems a little nervous, though.”

“You—” Matt clenched his teeth, snapping things back into focus. “I’ll kill you if you hurt her,” he spat.

Jack laughed again. “You can’t, can you?” he asked. “You know, I didn’t really get to know Jasmine back when you and I were hanging around together. I can see why you like her. She’s pretty tasty, isn’t she?” He moved the phone, and Matt heard a soft whimper.

“Jasmine?” he said, straining to hear. “Honey, be strong. It’ll be all right.” His pulse was pounding, his hands sweating. He couldn’t
think.

“She’s fine,” Jack said. “For now.”

“Please don’t hurt her,” Matt said. “I’ll do anything you want.” He felt sick and dizzy. Not Jasmine, he prayed, not good, strong Jasmine, who’d been outside all of this, safe—until Matt brought her in.

“I want Damon,” Jack said, his voice suddenly cold and tight. “Bring me Damon, and I’ll let your girlfriend go.”

#TVD12SaveJasmine

“S
he’s got to be somewhere. Siobhan can’t have gotten away from us.” Elena had her hands balled into fists, pressed against her temples. She was concentrating hard, her pretty face twisted. “If I could just find her…”

“Calm down,” Damon told her as he steered the car down the highway, still heading north. It seemed as good a direction as any, although Elena had lost Siobhan’s trail earlier that day. “We’ll pull into the next motel we see. You need a good night’s rest. It’ll come back to you.”

The sun was setting, throwing long shadows across the road. If Elena ate and rested, maybe she’d be able to find her Power again.

He was having trouble, too. Anxiety radiated through their bond, making him jittery. Elena was in pain, her
head aching, her muscles tense, and that made Damon hurt, too. He longed to pull her against him and stroke her soft golden hair, to press her face against his shoulder and hold her until she calmed.

“We can’t stop,” Elena said firmly. “There’s no time.” She leaned back against the window and shut her eyes, making little huffing noises as she drew in breaths through her nose, then let them out through her mouth.

Damon knew she was trying to force her Guardian Powers to the surface. They were strong, but fickle, these Powers. Even when she was working on a Guardian task, like now, she couldn’t always rely on them.

Ridiculous Celestial Guardians. They wielded huge Powers themselves, more than any vampire or witch, but they meted out tiny bits of Power to the Earthly Guardians like drips from a faucet. Damon had to wonder: Did the Celestial Guardians want to keep Earthly Guardians like Elena weak and dependent on them? Or were their own Powers on Earth limited?