I racked my brain, pulling memories from Mystic Falls and New Orleans as if turning back the pages of a book. I knew every painful detail of my first kill—my father. I remembered the sweet, smoky blood of Clementine Haverford, the fresh, lilac-scented blood of my victim on the train to New Orleans, as well as all the faceless humans who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time…
“Can’t even remember, can you?” Jemima asked in disgust. “See, their destruction has no boundaries.”
“I have killed, it’s true. More than I wish I had. But I haven’t in a long time, and I don’t feed on humans,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
Jemima’s flinty gray eyes softened slightly, “That, at least, is the truth.”
“It’s all I have,” I said. “I can’t change the past. But I want to change the future. And I don’t want Samuel to kill my brother.”
“So is that how you see it?” Jemima asked, turning to the witches as if she were a lawyer speaking to a jury. “Because you saved Mary Jane’s life, we owe it to you to save your brother’s life?”
“If that’s how you want to see it, yes.”
I expected Jemima to argue. But instead, she merely laughed, a sharp snort that punctuated the tense silence that had fallen in the room.
“You’re smart, vampire. You know better than to lie your way into my good graces. I think we might be able to work something out. Besides, I don’t like vampires, so I’m all for getting rid of one who’s been causing trouble.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully.
Jemima held up her hand. “Don’t thank me till I’ve done something. Of course, the fact that you don’t feed on human blood comes with complications, doesn’t it? Vivian, we’re going to need some eleuthro. Actually, better find enough for the lot of us,” she said. Instantly, Vivian scrambled to her feet and raced down the stairs. Jemima leaned toward me. I flinched, sure she was about to touch me and set off the same burning sensation she had a moment ago. But she didn’t. Instead, she yanked a single hair from my head.
“What’s eleuthro?” I asked, my tongue tripping over the unfamiliar word.
“A potion,” Jemima said briefly. “But don’t you worry about that. First things first, let’s find where Samuel’s keeping your brother.” She dropped the strand of hair into the fire. “What’s his name?”
“Damon. Damon Salvatore,” I said, picturing the classic half-smirk my brother wore when he introduced himself to beautiful women. But my thoughts were interrupted by Jemima’s chants.
Two blood brothers, separated by land or sea
With this lock bring him to thee.
Show us Damon, not for game, or sport, or play
But so from evil we can lift him away.
“Now let’s hope it works,” she muttered as she stepped back, allowing Billy to stoke the fire. He circled the blaze in a counterclockwise motion, causing the room to fill with smoke. The grayish-white billows began to fan out. I blinked as a purple cloud formed directly above the flames. In its center was a hazy image of Damon. He was tied to a column, his eyes drooping, and his body trembling. He was clearly starving and wracked with pain. Ropes bound him to the scaffolding, and I knew from the enormous welts apparent in the vision that they must have been soaked with vervain.
I squinted, trying to pick out some sort of clue in the background. In the distance, far beyond Damon’s shoulder, was a hulking edifice. But was that still part of the vision, or was it a trick of the light? I felt a painful pounding in my temple.
“It looks like the Tower Bridge,” I murmured, walking closer and closer to the image. I could make out the foundation and the deck, with Damon’s body affixed to one of the girders. All of a sudden, I heard a loud sizzle. The image disappeared and I realized Jemima had poured a large bucket of water onto the fire. Sparks jumped around me.
“Why did you do that?” I’d only begun to pick apart the vision for clues. Yes, it was the Bridge, but why? Where was Samuel? How long had Damon been there? And how long would he survive?
“Saving you from yourself, vampire,” Jemima said, grimacing. “You were so close to the fire you were about to fall in. And then where would we be?”
I took a few steps back, seating myself in a chair in the far corner of the room, trying to figure out how I could use what I had seen in the fire to rescue Damon.
The door opened, and Vivian entered the room holding a tarnished silver pitcher. “I made the potion. I had plenty of the herb, but I had to guess the amounts of mugwort and dragonroot,” she fretted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jemima said, but I saw her gaze nervously cut to Mary Jane. So far, all their spells seemed to have worked. But what happened when one didn’t?
Vivian took a small sip, wiped her Cupid’s-bow mouth with the back of her hand, and passed the pitcher to Mary Jane, who followed suit.
“Makes you stronger,” Mary Jane explained as she passed the pitcher to me.
“Really?” I asked, looking dubiously at the liquid sloshing inside the container. The greenish color reminded me of sludge culled from the bottom of a pond. I sniffed it. It smelled like burning leaves.
“You have nothing to lose, vampire,” Jemima said sharply.