Paradise Lost (The Vampire Diaries 20)

“I am happy,” Elena said carefully and precisely, “because you love me and I love you more than anything in all the worlds. And, yes, I helped to get Damon back, and, yes, I care for him. But it’s always been us, Stefan. You and I. It always will be us.”

She held out her arms to him, with a look of such sweet yearning on her face that it was all Stefan could do not to enfold her immediately. But his hand was touching a box on the dresser and he knew that in a few minutes there would be no more talking. If he was going to say anything about objects in the world, it would have to be now.

“I wish I had gotten the black rose with the spell of humanity on it,” he whispered. “But you are a sort of rose to me. The bedspread is for you—I’ll bring it to your room whenever you like. And . . . I had this made, too.”

He put the black velvet jewel box in her hand. It had arrived just a little while ago—not by mail, but by an obsequious and ceremoniously formal gentleman, a vice-president of the jewelers who had custom-crafted the item inside for him.

Elena’s eyes widened at the sight of the box, which was too big to contain a ring. She didn’t pretend she wasn’t curious about it. She opened it immediately, and then drew in her breath.

“It’s not quite what Lucen could have made of it,” Stefan said, remembering the soft-spoken master jewel

er of the Dark Dimension. “But it means that you’re my rose in darkness. You’re my memory—the one memory I want to keep.”

Slowly, Elena drew the necklace out of the box. The pendant’s front was covered with literally hundreds of black diamonds and rubies, which formed the image of a red rose, full blown, against a background of midnight. Different colors in the rubies, which ranged from deep burgundy to crimson to damask, gave the rose an almost three-dimensional quality.

“Stefan . . .”—very low.

“It’s a locket,” Stefan said, feeling ridiculously shy. Elena’s lips parted as she opened the tiny catch. Inside was a picture of Elena that Meredith had provided him. Her lapis lazuli eyes looked frankly into the camera, and her lips were laughing.

On the other side was a picture that Stefan had had taken in a little shop back in Fell's Church. He had felt just as shy having it taken as he did now, knowing Elena was gazing at it.

“It’s wonderful,” Elena said softly. “It’s a perfect present. I love it, and I love you.” She closed the locket, turning so that he could fasten the chain around her neck. “And now we’re kissing—our pictures, inside.”

When she turned back, the rose shimmering in darkness hanging around her neck, Stefan took her in his arms.

* * *

Mrs. Theophilia Flowers swirled her teacup three times widdershins—counterclockwise—while holding it in her left hand. Carefully she poured the small amount of tea left in the cup into its saucer.

With the handle of the cup pointing toward herself, the questioner, she examined the bits of tea leaves that remained on the white bottom.

Her white brows drew together and her lips pursed very slightly. Untidy. Untidiness in the leaves meant untoward matters in life.

Worse, there were bits of leaf on the very bottom of the cup, and that foreshadowed misfortunes. They were predominantly to right of the handle, meaning that the problems were coming in the future. Worse, there were distinct drops of tea left despite the emptying of the cup, which represented tears.

Many tears in the future. But not the far future; the leaves were so close to the handle that the trouble was coming very soon. Perhaps even tonight.

A short stalk was crossed by a longer one overlying it. It was a woman or girl in danger, from a man or boy. Yet the detritus at the bottom of the cup resembled nothing so much as an eight-pointed star, which indicated an accident—or possibly a reversal of fortune.

Mrs. Flowers studied the color of the short stems in the cup industriously. No question about it; most had been lightened to a rich gold. The trouble was coming to the only girl Mrs. Flowers knew with hair that shade: Elena. Yet there were other short stems, randomly scattered, that were dark brown or reddish. Meredith and Bonnie were both going to experience great hardship as well.

The long stem that crossed the golden one had somehow darkened until it was pure black. The boy causing the misfortune had hair that color.

But which one? Mrs. Flowers wondered. Was it Stefan or Damon who posed such a dire threat to Elena? She wished that the leaves would indicate hair contour as well as color, since Stefan’s hair was wavy while Damon’s was quite straight.

At first blush, it would seem that there was no question about which young man might do Elena harm. Mrs. Flowers missed Stefan deeply. He was the one who had brought her out of the unsociable bitterness that had brought her to the brink of abusing the craft and hating all of humankind. Now that he was gone, her house seemed far too quiet and empty, and she was left to remember the days when it had been full of young people and laughter and excitement.

And sorrow, too. Much as she loved Stefan, the old woman could not help but recognize that the very intensity of the love between him and Elena might lead to darkness and folly. It had already done so in the past.

Of course, so had the passion of the chemistry between Elena and Damon, she thought. Damon’s obsession with his younger brother’s beloved and Elena’s unthinking response had led directly to disaster. But that seemed far more deliberate on Damon’s part, and Mrs. Flowers was looking for an accident.

Young men, she thought, with an involuntary sigh. It was quite true, what dear Mama had always said: they seemed to have been born under a different sun from the bright Sol that nurtured female creatures. And as for young men who avoided the sun whenever possible and drank blood instead of eating good hearty meat . . . well! Not even dear Grandmama, who had been a witch of great renown, always knew how to deal with them.

However, it never hurt to ask her advice, as well as that of dearest Mama. Mrs. Flowers put her teacup down with an air of finality. She settled back in her chair and shut her eyes, willing herself to relax until the doors of the spiritual realm opened for her.

* * *

Damon and his new best friend sat in the dim booth until the wee hours, Kenzy drinking rum and Cokes and nibbling on peanuts, and Damon drinking Black Magic with the occasional nibble on Kenzy.