Origins

We slowly made our way up to the mansion, finally reaching the front walk. Alfred stopped the horses and let us out. I laced my fingers with Katherine’s, and together we walked through the open doors of the mansion and headed toward the dining room.

The high-ceilinged room had been cleared of all furniture, and the candlelight lent a warm, mysterious glow to the walls. A band in the corner played Irish reels, and couples were already beginning to dance, even though the night was young. I squeezed Katherine’s hand, and she smiled up at me.

"Stefan!" I whirled around and saw Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright. I dropped Katherine’s hand immediately.

Mrs. Cartwright’s eyes were red, and she was positively gaunt compared to the last time I saw her. Meanwhile, Mr. Cartwright seemed to have aged ten years. His hair was snow-white, and he was walking with the aid of a cane. Both wore purple sprigs of vervain–a tuft stuck out of Mr. Cartwright’s breast pocket, and the flowers were woven into Mrs. Cartwright’s hat–but other than that, they were clad entirely in black, for mourning.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright," I said, my stomach clenching with guilt. In truth, I’d nearly forgotten that Rosalyn and I had been engaged. "It’s good to see you."

"Y could have seen us sooner if you’d come

ou to call on us," Mr. Cartwright said. He could barely hide the contempt in his voice when his gaze landed on Katherine. "But I understand you must have been in deep … grief as well."

"I will come now that I know you’re taking visitors," I said lamely, tugging at my collar, which suddenly felt quite tight around my neck.

"No need," Mrs. Cartwright said icily as she reached into her sleeve to pull out a handkerchief.

Katherine clasped Mrs. Cartwright’s hand. Mrs. Cartwright looked down, an expression of shock on her face. A wave of apprehension ran through me, and I fought the urge to step between them and shield Katherine from their anger.

But then Katherine smiled, and amazingly, both Cartwrights smiled back. "Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright, I am so sorry for your loss," she said warmly, holding their gazes. "I lost my parents during the Atlanta siege, and I know how hard it is. I didn’t know Rosalyn well, but I do know she will never be forgotten."

Mrs. Cartwright blew her nose noisily, her eyes watering. "Thank you, dear," she said reverentially.

Mr. Cartwright patted his wife on the back. "Y thank you." He turned to me, compassion

es, replacing the scorn that had occupied his eyes just moments earlier. "And please take care of Stefan. I know he’s suffering."

Katherine smiled as the couple rejoined the crowd.

I gaped in amazement. "Did you compel them? " I asked, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.

"No!" Katherine placed her hand over her heart. "That was good, old-fashioned kindness. Now, let’s dance," she said, tugging me toward the large ballroom. Luckily, the dance floor was a crush of bodies and the lighting was low, so it was almost impossible to make out specific people. Flower garlands hung from the ceiling, and the marble floor was waxed to a sheen. The air was hot and cloying, with the scent of hundreds of competing perfumes.

I put my hand on Katherine’s shoulders and tried to relax into the waltz. But I still felt jumpy. The conversation with the Cartwrights had stirred my conscience, making me feel vaguely disloyal to Rosalyn’s memory, and to Damon. Had I betrayed him somehow by not telling him that Katherine and I were at the ball together? Was it wrong that I’d been grateful for his prolonged absences?

The band stopped, and as women adjusted their dresses and grasped their partners’ hands again, I headed toward the refreshment table in the corner.

"Are you all right, Stefan?" Katherine asked, gliding up beside me, worry lines creasing her lovely forehead.

I nodded, but I didn’t break my stride. "Just thirsty," I lied.

"Me too." Katherine stood expectantly as I ladled the dark-red punch into a crystal tumbler. I passed the glass to her and watched as she drank deeply, wondering if that was what she looked like when she drank blood. When she placed the glass on the table, she had the slightest trace of red liquid around her mouth. I couldn’t help it. With my index finger I wiped the drop off the side of her bow-shaped mouth. Then I put my finger in my own mouth. It tasted sweet and tangy.

"Are you sure you’re all right?" Katherine asked.

"I’m worried about Damon," I confessed as I poured myself a glass of punch.

"But why?" Katherine asked, genuine confusion registering on her face.

"Because of you," I said simply.

Katherine took the tumbler from me and led me away from the refreshment table. "He’s like a brother to me," she said, touching my brow with her icy fingers. "I’m like his little sister. Y know

ou this."

"But all those times when I was sick? When you and he were together? It seemed like …"

"It seemed like I needed a friend," Katherine said firmly. "Damon’s a flirt. He doesn’t want to be tied down, nor would I want to be tied to him. Y ou are my love, and Damon is my brother."

All around us, couples swirled in the semi- darkness, dipping in time to the music and laughing gaily at private jokes, seemingly without a care in the world. They, too, had to worry about attacks and the war and heartbreak, but they still laughed and danced. Why couldn’t I as well? Why did I always have to doubt myself? I glanced at Katherine. A dark curl had come loose from her updo. I tucked it behind her ear, relishing the silky feel of the strands between my fingers. Longing coursed through me, and as I stared into her deep brown eyes, all feelings of guilt and unease vanished.