𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐧

...🌺...

𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑀𝑌𝑆𝑇𝐼𝐶 𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿𝑆

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧.

The house was quiet, too quiet for how many people were under one roof. Morning light filtered through the hall window, painting soft stripes across the floorboards. I tugged at the edge of my off-the-shoulder crewneck, still warm from sleep, and padded forward toward the faint sound of a door creaking open.

Vicki stood frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to her cheeks, mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

"I—I'm sorry, I'm almost done," she said, voice small and shaky, like a kid caught sneaking out.

Elena stood just a few feet from her, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"It's...it's okay," she said after a beat, the stiffness in her voice doing a poor job of selling it. "Take your time."

Vicki ducked her head and disappeared back into the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind her.

I raised a brow. Elena didn't move.

"Elena."

She blinked like she'd forgotten I was even there.

I grabbed her arm and tugged her down the hall before she could say anything.

"What—where are we going?"

"Kitchen. You need caffeine and maybe something stronger," I muttered, guiding her down the stairs two at a time.

We rounded the corner, and there she was—Jenna, hunched over the kitchen counter with her hair tied up, sipping coffee like this was just another normal morning.

"Jenna!" Elena hissed, half whisper, half shout.

Jenna didn't even flinch. She flipped a page in the newspaper without looking up. "Morning."

Elena stormed into the kitchen, tossing her jacket onto the nearest chair. "Are you aware of what's going on upstairs?"

Jenna nodded, unconcerned. "Uh-huh."

"And you have no objection?"

Jenna finally looked up. Her smirk was dry. "He could be a little craftier about it. At least make an effort to sneak her in and out. Oh, and just so you know, I won't be home for dinner. "

I sat down across from her, grabbing the chipped mug next to the coffeepot and pouring myself a half cup. "You're going out with Logan," I guessed.

"I'm going to show up and torture him, yes," she said, grinning over her mug.

"Can't wait to hear how that goes."

She turned her attention back to Elena. "And have you heard from Stefan?"

Elena huffed, sinking into the chair beside me. "Not since he left that very vague message three days ago. 'Hi, um, Elena, I, uh, have something I have to do. I'll, uh, explain in a few days.'"

I lowered my gaze to my coffee, swirling it slowly. I had a sinking suspicion he was busy cleaning up his mess. Or more accurately—Damon's.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. "And you haven't called him?"

"Nope," Elena said, stabbing a spoon into a cereal bowl like it had personally wronged her. "Not going to, either."

I glanced up from my mug. "And you're okay with that?"

Elena slammed the cereal box down on the counter. "No. I'm not okay with any of it. But I'm not gonna cry about it, either. You know, I was going to write in my diary this morning and then I thought, what am I going to write? Honestly, I'm not gonna be one of those pathetic girls whose world stops spinning because of some guy."

I watched her shove a spoonful of cereal into her mouth like it owed her rent.

"Right," I said, nodding slowly, biting back a smile.

"Okay then," Jenna said as she stood up, grabbing her mug and heading toward the hall.

"I'll be fine," Elena added, her mouth still half-full of cereal, as she followed Jenna out with her bowl clutched to her chest like a shield.

The silence that settled afterward felt louder than the conversation. I stayed seated, tracing the rim of the coffee mug with my thumb until Jenna reappeared in the doorway.

She leaned against the frame, arms crossed loosely. "So...how long's your mom going to be gone this time?"

I exhaled, sinking a little deeper into the chair. "Two months."

She nodded slowly, like she was filing that away with everything else. "You know we will always have a place for you here. Most days, you practically live here."

I stood and gave her a quick side hug. "Thanks, Jenna. Really."

...🌺...

Sunlight shimmered off the wet pavement, the scent of soap and heat rising from the parking lot. The Sexy Suds Car Wash was in full swing—loud music, too many squeaky sponges, and half the football players and cheerleaders trying to look sexy while scrubbing off dead bugs from truck windshields.

I was regretting everything.

"Uh-uh, no. None of that tortured pining stuff." Bonnie's voice cut through the noise as she elbowed Matt.

He looked up from where he was eyeing Elena and Stefan across the lot. "I'm just observing."

I tossed the damp towel over my shoulder. "Sure you were."

"Tiki, this one's yours!" Bonnie called, motioning to the dented red car that pulled up.

Tiki's nose wrinkled. "Why do I always get the homely ones?"

A scrawny guy stepped out of the rust bucket, completely unaware he was about to get emotionally body-slammed.

Tiki turned, eyes narrowed. "Just to be clear—your car's a P.O.S. We can wash it, but it's still gonna look like it belongs in a scrapyard."

"Don't be rude," I muttered.

"Rude is uglying up the road with that junk," she said, dunking a hose into a bucket of foam with dramatic flair.

I shot Bonnie a look, but paused when I noticed her staring—really staring—at Tiki. Her eyes unfocused, distant. The air shifted. Static snapped against my skin.

The hose in Tiki's hand twitched violently. Then it jerked upward and exploded—spraying her with a full blast of soapy water.

Tiki shrieked, soaked from head to toe.

"Whoa!" she yelped. "What the hell?!"

Bonnie blinked. I touched her shoulder gently. "Bon? You okay?"

She blinked again, snapping back to herself. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Matt laughed, tossing a towel toward Tiki. "Wet and wild, Tik."

Something inside me churned. I glanced around the lot, uneasy.

"Where's Caroline?" I asked.

Bonnie tilted her head. "She went to find more towels, I think."

I handed Bonnie mine. That unease? It wasn't going away. "I'll go check on her."

I cut through the crowd of half-dressed teens and cars in line, weaving past buckets and hoses, the hot asphalt burning under my feet.

Caroline's car was gone.

I stood at the edge of the lot, jaw tight. She dragged me into this mess, said it'd be "fun"—her exact words. And now she was just...gone?

I shut my eyes and pressed my fingers to the silver bracelet around my wrist. The emerald in its center throbbed faintly with warmth, catching the sunlight like it had a heartbeat of its own. Etched into the clasp were the initials—C and S, E and B—glinting gold beneath my thumb.

It wasn't just a charm. It was a conduit. A link—woven with enchantments and bound by blood, memory, and magic. Mine to theirs. All of them.

I steadied my breath and leaned into the bond.

There it was. A flicker of heat pulling at my chest—subtle, but insistent.

I poured magic into the connection, the words slipping from my lips like instinct.

Reality cracked.

And just like that, I was standing in front of the Salvatore boarding house, heart slamming against my ribs, the world still vibrating from the jump.

Without hesitation, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the air immediately colder, stiller. I followed the tether's pull—down the hallway, to the cellar door. I barely touched the knob before I heard it.

"Caroline, help me," a voice begged. 

"You bit me," Caroline's voice—low, uncertain—floated up the stairs.

"You liked it," Damon's voice slithered out behind hers. "Remember?"

My chest tightened.

"Why do I keep remembering the same things...but in different ways?" Caroline asked, her voice cracking.

"You remember what I want you to remember," Damon said. "And now that the vervain's out of your system, you won't remember what you're about to do."

Silence and worry slammed into me.

"What...what am I about to do?" she whispered.

"You're gonna open the door."

No.

I bolted down the steps and reached the bottom just as Caroline's hand reached toward the lock and I lunged, grabbing her wrist. "Don't," I breathed.

Damon's head snapped toward me just as a voice bellowed. "No!"

I didn't hesitate. I shoved Caroline behind me. "Go! Run!"

Damon surged forward, colliding with the man bursting out of the cell. They hit the ground hard, a blur of limbs. Damon's growl echoed off the stone, low and brutal. The stranger fought back—loud, desperate—but it didn't last long. A sickening crack snapped through the air as Damon killed him. 

I spun around and shoved Caroline toward the stairs again. "Now!"

She didn't look back. I followed, feet pounding the steps, but something jerked me back. Icy fingers clamped around my ankle and yanked.

I crashed forward, slamming into the wood with a choked scream. My ribs throbbed. Caroline turned, frozen in place, panic lighting up her eyes.

"Caroline, run!" I shouted.

I twisted, kicked hard—my heel connecting with Damon's chest. He grunted and recoiled, just long enough for me to rip free and scramble upward.

But he was faster.

He blurred past me, and before I could react, he slammed into me at the top of the stairs. We hit the floor hard and rolled, limbs tangled as he pinned me. His face hovered inches above mine, eyes black as void. Veins webbed beneath the surface of his skin, twitching like they were alive. Fangs glinted under the dim light.

But his expression wasn't rage. It was torment.

"Sunshine..." he choked out, voice splintering. "You have to stop me."

His hands weren't on me. They were dug into the floor beside my head, claws carving into the wood as he shook—like he was using the house itself to hold himself back.

My heart thundered. Every instinct screamed to lash out.  But something in his eyes kept me still. He wasn't attacking. He was begging.

"I can't..." he whispered, voice breaking. "I can't stop."

Without thinking, I raised my hand and pressed my palm to his cheek. Warmth erupted inside me, rushing up from somewhere deep and dangerous. It poured from my skin into his.

His breath caught.

The black drained from his eyes. The veins beneath his skin retreated like shadows shrinking from light.

And then—he collapsed. Limbs slack. Breath shallow. Still.

I pushed up to my feet, heart pounding, fingers trembling. I took a step back from his body, still dazed.

Behind me, the front door creaked open.

Stefan's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "Zach!" His eyes found mine. "What happened?"

I hesitated. Glanced toward the silent the cellar door.

"He didn't make it," I whispered.

Stefan vanished down the stairs. I didn't wait around.

I left the house, the drive stretching out ahead of me. The air felt heavier now.

But I didn't get far.

"Did you let him out?" Stefan's voice cracked through the quiet like a whip. "After everything he's done, Selene?"

I stopped. The accusation landed sharply in my spine.

"I didn't let him out," I said.

Stefan scoffed. "Zach's death is on you."

I turned, fury bubbling and wind blew in response. "He called for Caroline. She came because he compelled her. The vervain wore off, Stefan. He made her open the door."

He froze. "Selene..." He stepped forward.

"Don't," I snapped. "Just stay away from me, Stefan. And tell Damon to stay away from me, too."

"He won't," he said. "You mean something to him."

I met his gaze. And I saw it—the truth lodged deep behind his eyes.

"I can't, Stefan," I whispered. "I can't be part of this."

I turned away. And I walked—again.

But this time, I couldn't help the question that popped into my head.

Why did he stop?

...🌺...

The living room smelled like cinnamon tea and old books—comforting in a way that made my shoulders relax the longer I stayed in it. A fire cracked low in the hearth, throwing gold against the dark corners of the room. I sat curled up in Shelia Bennett's worn armchair, sketchbook balanced across my knees, pencil dragging slowly over paper.

Outside, the wind rattled the shutters.

Inside, silence stretched like holding its breath.

The door knocked once—sharp, sudden, like the house itself flinched. I looked up, unsure if I imagined it. Then came a second knock, softer this time, but hurried. I set my sketchpad down and crossed the room. When I opened the door, the chill night air hit me first—and then Bonnie, standing on the porch with tears streaking her cheeks.

"Bon?" I stepped forward, brows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, breathing hard, voice trembling. "I don't know what's happening to me."

I half-turned and pushed the door open wider.

Shelia was already stepping into the foyer like she'd been waiting. "I know, dear."

Bonnie didn't hesitate. She rushed in and wrapped her arms around her grandmother in a tight, desperate hug. "Oh, Grams..."

I stepped aside, watching as Shelia led Bonnie gently into the living room. Her movements were steady, practiced. I stayed behind them, moving back to the chair and curling up again, sketchbook in my lap. I pressed my pencil to the page, sketching without focus—just lines and shadows and the shape of something hiding behind trees.

Shelia didn't acknowledge me. She didn't need to. I knew the routine by now. She'd bring me in when it was time.

"What's wrong with me, Grams?" Bonnie asked, sitting stiffly on the couch beside her.

"You're a witch," Shelia said calmly.

Bonnie blinked. "Witches aren't real."

Shelia tilted her head. "Haven't you done things you can't explain? Things that shouldn't be possible?"

The fire cracked louder for a moment, spitting a spark. I shaded the face behind the trees darker, my brows drawing in. I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I could feel the tension coating the room like smoke.

"What do I do now?" Bonnie asked. "How do I control it?"

"That's where Selene comes in," Shelia said.

I paused, eyes still on the page.

"How?" Bonnie asked, and I felt her gaze land on me—sharp, searching.

I met her eyes. "I'm a witch too, Bon."

Her expression faltered. "But you're..."

"She's different than us," Shelia cut in gently.

Bonnie turned back to her. "Different how?"

Shelia's voice stayed calm, but I could hear the weight behind it. "We call on our ancestors to channel our power. The Bennetts have always drawn strength from those who came before us."

"And Selene doesn't?" Bonnie asked, suspicion lining her tone.

I closed my sketchbook slowly and leaned forward, arms resting on my knees.

"I like to think of them as old hags past their prime," I said dryly, "hovering in the afterlife, waiting to tell us how to live our lives. I don't know why, but me, my mom, and my sister—our coven...different. We don't channel. Our magic is ours alone."

"She and her coven are bound to a different current," Shelia said. "A deeper one. A Hastings doesn't need to borrow power. She is the power."

Bonnie's eyes widened, voice barely above a whisper. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Shelia said, glancing at me, "they have no limitations. No need for ancestral permission. A Hastings can be a force of creation—or destruction. It's her ascension that decides which."

I didn't flinch. I was used to the way Shelia could say something calm and terrifying all in the same breath.

Except I'm the outlier. I'm not a true Hastings.

Bonnie looked back at me. "So you're gonna teach me?"

I nodded. "Your Grams and I will ease you in. Basic control, small spells, how to manage your elemental affinity."

Bonnie exhaled shakily. "Okay. But...one question."

Shelia nodded for her to continue.

Bonnie turned back to me. "When's your ascension?"

I ran a hand through my curls, pushing them off my forehead.

"December twenty-second."

Bonnie's face twisted. "Isn't that..."

"The Winter Solstice," Shelia finished for her. "The most powerful day of the year for a witch."

A log in the fireplace shifted, collapsing with a dull thud. The flames hissed louder.

Bonnie looked between us, the weight of it starting to settle on her shoulders.

"And if she chooses wrong?" she asked, voice small.

No one answered right away.

I stared at the fire, at the sparks jumping in the dark.

"If I choose wrong," I mumbled. "With my magic—you'll feel it."

...🌺...

𝐀/𝐍: ANOTHER UPDATE!!!

I hope you enjoy the update!!!

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒: How are we feeling about the rewrite? How do we feel that Bonnie now knows that Selene's a witch too? What are you looking forward to in the rest of this book?

-𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘