07 The Return_ Midnight - L. J. Smith

definitely don’t like it. And that weapon—it makes a stake look like a plastic picnic knife. Still, she
sent to Stefan, who was following the sheriffs downstairs: Meredith is going to donate as much
blood as you need to Influence them. There’s no time to argue. Come here fast and for God’s sake
look cheerful and reassuring.
Stefan didn’t sound cooperative. I can’t take enough from her for our minds to touch. It
might—
Elena lost her temper. She was frightened; she was suspicious of one of her two best
friends—a horrible feeling—and she was desperate. She needed Stefan to do just as she said. Get
here fast! was all she projected, but she had the feeling that she’d hit him with all of the feelings full
force, because he suddenly turned concerned and gentle. I will, love, he said simply.
While the female police officer was searching the kitchen and the male the living room, Stefan
stepped into the small first-floor guest room, with its single rumpled bed. The lamps were turned off
but with his night vision he could see Elena and Meredith perfectly well by the curtains. Meredith
was holding herself as stiffly as an acrophobic bungee jumper.
Take all you need without permanently harming her—and try to put her to sleep, too.
And don’t invade her mind too deeply—
I’ll take care of it. You’d better get out in the hallway, let them see at least one of us,
love, Stefan replied soundlessly. Elena was obviously simultaneously frightened for and defensive
about her friend and had sped right into micromanagement mode. While this was usually a good thing,
if there was one thing Stefan knew about—even if it was the only thing he knew—it was taking blood.
“I want to ask for peace between our families,” he said, reaching one hand toward
Meredith. She hesitated and Stefan, even trying his hardest, could not help but hearing her thoughts,
like small, scuttling creatures at the base of her mind. What was she committing herself to? In what
sense did he mean family?
It’s really just a formality, he told her, trying to gain ground on another front: her
acceptance of the touch of his thoughts to hers. Never mind it.
“No,” Meredith said. “It’s important. I want to trust you, Stefan. Only you, but…I didn’t
get the stave until after Klaus was dead.”
He thought swiftly. “Then you didn’t know what you were—”
“No. I knew. But my parents were never active. It was Grandpa who told me about the
stave.”
Stefan felt a surge of unexpected pleasure. “So your grandfather’s better now?”
“No…sort of.” Meredith’s thoughts were confusing. His voice changed, she was
thinking. Stefan was truly happy that Grandpa’s better. Even most humans wouldn’t care—not
really.
“Of course I care,” Stefan said. “For one thing, he helped save all our lives—and the
town. For another, he’s a very brave man—he must have been—to survive an attack by an Old One.”
Suddenly, Meredith’s cold hand was around his wrist and words were tumbling from her
lips in a rush that Stefan could barely understand. But her thoughts stood bright and clear under those
words, and through them he got the meaning.
“All I can know about what happened when I was very young is what I’ve been told. My
parents told me things. My parents changed my birthday—they actually changed the day we celebrate