Origins

"What do you think of our new houseguest?" I said, changing the subject.

Damon smiled. "Katherine," he said, drawing the name into the full three syllables, as if he could taste it on his tongue. "Now, she’s a girl who’s difficult to figure out, don’t you agree?"

"I suppose," I said, glad that Damon didn’t "I suppose," I said, glad that Damon didn’t know that I was dreaming of Katherine at night, and by day pausing at the door to the carriage house to see if I could hear her laughing with her maid; once I even stopped by the stable to smell the broad back of her horse, Clover, just to see if her lemon and ginger scent had lingered. It hadn’t, and at that moment, in the barn surrounded by the horses, I’d realized how unbalanced I was becoming.

"They don’t make girls like her in Mystic Falls. Do you think she has a soldier somewhere?" Damon asked.

"No!" I said, annoyed once again. "She’s in mourning for her parents. I hardly think she’s looking for a beau."

"Of course." Damon knit his eyebrows together contritely. "And I wasn’t presuming anything. But if she needs a shoulder to cry on, I’d be happy to lend it to her."

I shrugged. Even though I’d brought up the subject, I was no longer sure I wanted to hear what Damon thought of her. In fact, as beautiful as she was, I almost wished that some far-flung relatives from Charleston or Richmond or Atlanta would step forward to invite her to live with them. If she were out of sight, then maybe I could somehow force myself to love Rosalyn.

Damon stared at me, and I knew in that moment how miserable I must have looked. "Cheer up, brother," he said. "The night is young, and the whiskey’s on me."

But there wasn’t enough whiskey in all of Virginia to make me love Rosalyn … or forget about Katherine.

Chapter 6

The weather didn’t break by my engagement dinner a few days later, and even at five o’clock in the afternoon the air was hot and humid. In the kitchen, I’d overheard the servants gossiping that the strange, still weather was a result of the animal-killing demons. But discussion of the demons did not stop people from all over the county coming to the Grange Hall to celebrate the Confederacy. The coaches backed up beyond the stone drive and showed no sign of slowing their onslaught toward the imposing stone structure.

"Stefan Salvatore!" I heard as I stepped out of the coach behind my father.

As my feet hit dirt, I saw Ellen Emerson and her daughter, Daisy, walking arm in arm, trailed by two maids. Hundreds of lanterns lit the stone steps leading to the white wooden doors, and carriages lined the curved walkway. I could hear strains of a waltz coming from inside the hall.

"Mrs. Emerson. Daisy." I bowed deeply. Daisy had hated me ever since we were children, when Damon had dared me to push her into Willow Creek.

"Why, if it isn’t the gorgeous Emerson ladies," Father said, also bowing. "Thank you to both of you for coming to this small supper. It’s so good to see everyone in town. We need to band together, now more than ever," Father said, catching Ellen Emerson’s eye.

"Stefan," Daisy repeated, nodding as she took my hand.

"Daisy. Y look more beautiful every day. Can

ou you please forgive a gentleman for his wicked youth?"

She glared at me. I sighed. There was no mystery or intrigue in Mystic Falls. Everyone knew everyone else. If Rosalyn and I were to get married, our children would be dancing with Daisy’s children. They would have the same conversations, the same jokes, the same fights. And the cycle would continue for eternity.

"Ellen, would you do me the honor of allowing me to show you inside?" Father asked, anxious to make sure the hall was decorated according to his exacting specifications. Daisy’s mother nodded, and Daisy and I were left under the watchful gaze of the Emersons’ maid.

"I’ve heard Damon’s back. How is he?" Daisy asked, finally deigning to talk to me.

"Miss Emerson, we best be going inside to find your mama," Daisy’s maid interrupted, tugging Daisy’s arm through the wide double doors of the Grange Hall.

"I look forward to seeing Damon. Do give him that message!" Daisy called over her shoulder.

I sighed and stepped into the hall. Located between town and the estate, the Grange had once been a meeting spot for the county’s landed gentry but had now become a makeshift armory. The walls of the hall were covered with ivy and wisteria and, farther up, Confederate flags. A band on the raised stage in the corner played a jaunty rendition of "The Bonnie Blue Flag," and at least fifty couples circled the floor with glasses of punch in their hands. Father had obviously spared no expense, and it was clear that this was more than a simple welcome dinner for the troops.

Heart-heavy, I headed over to the punch.

I hadn’t walked more than five steps when I felt a hand clap my back. I prepared myself to give a tight smile and accept the awkward congratulations that were already trickling in. What was the point of having a dinner to announce an engagement that everyone seemed to know about? I thought sourly.

I turned to find myself face-to-face with Mr. Cartwright. I instantly composed my expression into something I hoped resembled excitement.

"Stefan, boy! If it isn’t the man of the hour!" Mr. Cartwright said, offering me a glass of whiskey.

"Sir. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your daughter’s company," I said automatically, taking the smallest sip I could muster. I’d woken up with a terrible whiskey headache the morning after Damon and I spent time at the tavern. I’d stayed in bed, a cool compress on my forehead, while Damon had barely seemed affected. I’d heard him chasing Katherine through the labyrinth in the backyard. Every laugh I’d heard was like a tiny dagger in my brain.