07 The Return_ Midnight - L. J. Smith

escape. But she eventually was completely restrained, pinned to the floor. She could hear Sage’s deep
voice raging and Stefan, in between desperate telepathic bursts to her, pleading and explaining,
“She’s still not in reality! She doesn’t even know what she’s doing!”
But louder, she could hear the voices of the Guardians. “She would have killed us all!”
“Those Wings—I’ve never seen anything so deadly!” “A human! And with just three words, she could
have wiped us out!” “If Lenea hadn’t tackled her—” “Or if she had been another few feet away—”
“She destroyed a moon, you know! No life on it at all now, and ashes still falling from the sky!” “That
isn’t the point. The point is that she shouldn’t have Wings powers at all. She’s got to be clipped of
them.” “That’s right—clip her Wings! Do it!”
Elena recognized Ryannen’s and Idola’s voices at the end there. She was still trying to
fight, but they held her so tightly and piled on her so ruthlessly that it had become a fight simply to get
air and all she did was exhaust herself.
And then they clipped her Wings. It was quick, at least, and Elena felt very little. What
hurt most was her heart. Some proud, stubborn streak had been brought out with the fighting, and now
she was ashamed to feel each pair cut off. First went Wings of Redemption, those great rainbow-hued
arches. Then Wings of Purification, white and iridescent as frosted cobwebs. Wings of the Wind, like
honey-colored thistledown. Wings of Remembrance, soft violet and midnight blue. And then Wings of
Protection—emerald green and gold, the Wings that had saved her friends from Bloddeuwedd’s
frenzied attack on them the first time they had entered the Dark Dimensions.
And, finally, Wings of Destruction—high, ebony arches with edges as delicate as black
lace.
Elena tried to keep silent as each power was taken. But after the first one or two had
fallen at her sides, in shadows that perhaps only she could see, she heard a small gasp, and realized
that it was her own voice. And with the next cut, an involuntary little cry.
For a moment there was silence. And then suddenly there was overwhelming noise.
Elena could hear Bonnie keening and Sage roaring, and Stefan, gentle Stefan, shouting blasphemies
and curses at the Guardians. Elena guessed from the stifled sound of his voice that he was fighting
them, fighting to get to her.
He reached her, somehow, just as the deadly, delicate Wings of Destruction were
sheared from her shoulders and mind, and fell like tall shadows to the ground. It was good that he did
reach her then, because at last, when Elena was the least dangerous she had been since the Powers of
Wings had begun awakening in her, suddenly the Guardians seemed afraid. They stepped back from
her, these strong and dangerous women, and only Stefan was there to catch her and hold her in his
arms.
Stunned, dazed, she was an eighteen-year-old girl who was ordinary. Except for her
blood. They wanted to rob her of her blood as well…to “purify” it. The three rulers and their
attendants had already gathered in a determined, multihued triangle around her and were working
their magic when Sage bellowed, “Stop!”
Elena, drooping over Stefan’s shoulder, could see him vaguely, his velvety black wings
still spread from wall to wall, still touching the golden ceiling. Bonnie clung to him like a bit of stray
dandelion fluff. “You have already diminished her aura to almost nothing,” he growled. “If you
‘purify’ the blood of this pauvre petite completely, she will die—and then she will awaken. You will
have created un vampire, Mesdames. Is that what you wish?”
Susurre reeled back. For the ruler of such a harsh and unyielding realm, she seemed
almost too gentle—but not too soft to shear off my Wings, Elena thought, wriggling her shoulders to