Stefan pulled the tendrils of Influence tighter, reflecting that it was harder to get some people to be helpful than others.
“Well—I know that Bonnie keeps some photos on her laptop that are supposed to be secret from Damon,” Caroline admitted. “You might be in some of those—but only by accident. Everybody but Matt knows where little Bonnie’s heart is.”
“Don’t try to play them off against each other,” Stefan said in neutral tones
and without bothering to explain. “Are there any other places where pictures of me might be? Or anything written about me—besides diaries?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Caroline said. She was regarding him with an odd expression. “Hey—just before you came in, Bonnie called. She said Elena was doing fine, but that the reason she was so sick was that she’d lost a lot of blood. And she kept talking about how worried Damon was. She never even mentioned you. So . . .”
Her green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Stefan said “So . . . what?” He had some odd idea that he had to listen to her before he Influenced her to forget that there were such things as vampires. He waited, absently tinkering with the neuro-virus, already altered specifically for her to allow belief in werewolves.
“So . . . Damon did it, didn’t he? He finally lost control and drank so much blood while they were messing around behind your back that she ended up in the hospital. And now nobody’s talking to him—except Bonnie, of course. And you . . . you’re going to dump her, aren’t you? Elena, I mean.” Caroline’s face was set in lines of shock, but there was an unmistakable gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
Shock swept like the chill of a morgue over Stefan. It was as if he’d asked a student how to get from Dyer to Fell’s Church and been told to start digging. What seemed like an easy question if you had half an hour and a car—and the sense to know that the shortest distance between two points on a relatively flat surface was, for all practical purposes a straight line—became in Caroline’s mind a labyrinth of dark fantasy and scandal.
And you really believe anyone thinks in nice clean lines? a Damon-like little voice in his mind asked him. Because—
news flash!—Damon and Elena did exactly what Caroline just suggested and Elena ended up spending a week or so in bed while you were locked up in prison in the Dark Dimension.
Right—while they were desperately trying to get me out of prison, Stefan’s own mind answered back. But in any case, it wasn’t Elena’s fault. Caroline could just guess that Damon forced Elena, but she’d rather have it be Elena’s fault. Why? Why do some girls gloat over the disgrace of their sisters; why do they want to tear down instead of build up?
Guess what? You can’t afford the luxury of brooding over feminine behavior right now, the little voice in his head said distinctly. Only Shakespearean actors get away with soliloquizing when their ass is on the line.
“Caroline.” He was suddenly, excruciatingly aware of the complexities of the job he was going to have to do inside her mind to pare away everything else supernatural and leave werewolf intact. At the same time, he became conscious of the smell of her blood, which was sweeter and far more tantalizing than the musky perfume she was wearing.
Mrs. Flowers said it was going to happen, he thought, forcing himself to ignore the fact that Damon had also said so. And: yes, this girl is pregnant, but I don’t intend to do anything that might affect her offspring. I won’t be giving anything to her, only taking.
Only taking, he thought again sadly, and realized that he was somehow holding and stroking Caroline’s hand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “On the rebound? I know all about that, sweetie.”
“I suppose you do, and I’m sorry, Caroline. But—I don’t suppose you can tell me why you hate Bonnie and Meredith and Elena so much?” There, he thought. No soliloquy, just a quick question.
Except that Caroline’s eyes were mocking. “Can I answer in essay format?”
“There’s not enough time. Matt and I helped them get this room together for you. I mean, your parents bought most of the actual stuff, but we all worked on making it as nice—as homelike—as we could. They enjoyed doing it for you.” He glanced around the room, which was bright and warm and softly cheerful; where he thought he could see signs of Elena’s good taste, and Bonnie’s tenderness, and Meredith’s sensible use of every inch of available space. All Elena had done so far in her own room was place a couple of lamps.
“Well, that’s why people do the charity thing, isn’t it? So that they’ll feel better inside. ‘Oh, poor Caroline: got herself in trouble; she shouldn’t even stand on a chair at this point; we’d better do something for her.’ But you know what, Stefan? One on one, I’m dead certain that I could take any of them down, right now. So much for standing on chairs.”
You know what, Caroline? Stefan thought. I’m dead certain that you could, too, especially since Meredith has forgotten her martial arts skills. He felt a sinking in his stomach. Had he left Elena and her human friends vulnerable at just the wrong time?
“There’s just one problem,” he said aloud. “You should know that Damon had to take all three of the girls under his protection.” Stefan went on silently: And Damon’s word on subjects of that nature means something to him.
“Then count me as number one in his fan club,” Caroline said, not surprised by the telepathy. “A guy whose word actually means something to him—fancy that!”
“And one more thing. I’m taking those three—yes, and Matt as well—under my protection, too. And, Caroline?” Stefan gently pulled on the hand he held.
She herself put her other arm around him, embracing him. “What?”
“When I say that, I mean more by it than I ever have before. I’m afraid that Saint Stefan had to go away on a vacation, and he left a monster behind to clean up his messes.” He bit her before she could say another word and in a moment was fiddling with her mind.
It wasn’t a pleasant experience. Caroline’s mind was a labyrinth that led to a fortress. Normally, Stefan would have worried about breaching the fortress but today he simply slipped in through a small crack he noticed in an unexpected dimension.
Inside the fortress was another intricate maze, full of ambushes and dead ends and dark crannies. Once again Stefan managed to slide into a locked citadel at the far end without doing much damage—and he found himself in the first labyrinth once more.
Stefan paused, aware that he was still drinking. He was thirsty, but there was no other reason he needed to be drawing her blood. He made himself stop.
I would have sworn, he thought, aware of every second that was passing, that Elena’s mind would be the most complex.