The Compelled (The Vampire Diaries 19)

Just then I heard a light knock on the door.

“Come in!” I called, grateful for the interruption.

Cora entered the room, the train of a red silk dress trailing on the floor behind her.

“Stefan, are you feeling better?” she said.

“I’m fine, I just had a headache. I still do,” I said.

“Well, I would too if I spent all my time moping,” Damon said. “Come on! I still haven’t told you my plan. My name has been cleared, we’re not dressed like paupers, and I think the only thing we can do is go out tonight. There are dozens of balls in honor of the Lord Mayor’s Parade. Why, there’s even one at White’s that Lord Ainsley is giving. Heard about it this morning at breakfast.”

“That isn’t a plan, it’s a party. You can go if you want, but I’m going to stay here and think.”

“It’s a party with people who know Samuel. We go, we gather information, and then we plan. Who knows? Maybe we can even prevent some attacks. It’s worth a try.”

Cora nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. After all, if we’re there, maybe we can find out if Samuel’s already starting to turn people into vampires. And maybe we will find information about what he’s doing with them.”

I glanced from Cora to Damon. Both were staring at me, willing me to say yes. What did I have to lose? The childish part of me wanted to stay in, but I realized they were right. At this point, the only thing we could do was gather as much information as possible.

“All right. I’ll be down in a moment,” I said.

Ten minutes later, courtesy of a compelled coach driver, we were in front of what looked like an average residence in central London. It was a townhouse, with a lit gas lamp out front. The only sign that it was a nightclub was the stream of people constantly entering and exiting. To the left of the entrance, a man in a top hat sat on a high stool, scrutinizing a list of names.

“Welcome to White’s!” Damon said grandly, as if it were his own private establishment. I rolled my eyes as I helped Cora out of the carriage.

Upon hearing Damon’s voice, the man by the door looked up.

“Count de Sangue. Welcome back!” He bowed with a flourish and ushered us inside. We walked down a carpeted staircase and into the party.

“Just like old times.” Damon sighed happily, rubbing his hands together. The air was filled with the sound of instruments tuning up, ice cubes clinking in high-ball glasses, and chattering conversations punctuated by laughter. The crush of the crowd created an intoxicating aroma, and every thought in my brain was superseded by the sound of hundreds of heartbeats th-thumping under the din.

“Why, hello there!” A girl’s voice yanked me from my reverie. I whirled around to see a tall woman with dainty features and butterscotch-colored hair. I sniffed, taking in the burnt-coffee smell of her blood. Her slow, sleepy smile and slight waver indicated it would almost certainly be tinged with rum, and I could imagine my fangs gently sliding against her skin until…

“Charlotte!” Damon said, licking his upper lip. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Charlotte. I stepped back as though I’d been slapped. I’d been so entranced by the scent of her blood that I’d forgotten I knew her. She was the actress Damon had taken up with before the Jack the Ripper accusations. I hastily took a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray, downing it fast. Hopefully the alcohol would numb my craving for blood.

“Well, I can’t say the same of you, you brute,” Charlotte said. She pouted, but I could tell from the way her eyes danced that she was only putting on a display of anger. “Not only did you disappear, but you became a wanted criminal in the blink of an eye. Of course, I knew it wasn’t true. You only travel in the best circles, so you’d never go to that awful East End, even if you were a murderer.” She laughed. Her fingers grazed her neck. It was an unconscious gesture, but seeing it caused my pulse to pound.

“It really is rather funny, when you think about it. Me, in the East End, with prostitutes, when I could be here, with you on my arm.” Damon flashed her one of his charming half-smiles.

“It is, isn’t it?” Charlotte laughed again, but her eyes seemed hollow. Something about her was amiss, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I hadn’t known her well, but on the few

occasions our paths had crossed, she’d always seemed flirtatious. Now, her statements were half a second too slow, as if she were struggling to remember her lines. She ran her finger along Damon’s collarbone. “Well, you’ll have to tell us all about life on the lam. How delightfully slum-worthy it must have been.”

“Oh, believe me, it was,” Damon said. “But more important, tell me about you. What have I missed?”

This was Damon’s plan for the evening? To flirt his way back into society?

But Charlotte smiled, oblivious to me and my frustration as she turned all her womanly charms on Damon. “Well, I just opened a new play. It’s called The Temptress, and you can only imagine what my part is,” she said suggestively, arching a blond eyebrow.

“Perfect casting,” Damon said, smoothly taking Charlotte’s hand in his. But before he could kiss it, Charlotte snatched it away.

“You’ll have to get me a drink first,” she demanded. “You have a lot of apologizing to do for disappearing on me like that.”

“I’m at your service,” Damon said, wiggling his eyebrows.

I turned away, disgusted, even though I shouldn’t have been surprised. Damon’s reaction to death and destruction was always to dance through the ashes. Instead of dwelling on it, I took in my surroundings. In the center of the room, the band struck up one of the current music hall favorites.