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  Evensong

  Part Two:

  The War of Roses

  by L. J. Smith

  Dedicated to my readers, worldwide. Thank you, friends,

  for your many messages of kindness and appreciation.

  Please let me know what you think of this fanfic!

  @drujienna, [email protected], http://www.ljanesmith.net

  https://www.facebook.com/ljsmithauthorofvampirediaries

  Foreword by L. J. Smith

  Once again, for anyone who may have missed it: this is an episodic adventure fanfiction story. It is not one of the official books in The Vampire Diaries series, nor is it meant to replace these books. This fanfic takes place in an alternate world from the official books that follow Midnight.

  Normally, I would not release the beginning of Part Two along with the entirety of Part One, but I do have my reasons. For one thing, it didn’t seem quite fair to Bonnie fans to only release the Elena scenes in Part One: Paradise Lost, and not do this.

  Again, I’m not certain how many different parts there will be to this work, but I do plan to spend the time that I can afford to take off from my professional writing, until this complicated love story/episodic adventure is finished. And, yes, that means until The End.

  As for who gets married just after midnight amidst a constellation of rose-shaped candles and tapers in a half-ruined chapel in Dyer Wood (and yes, with the bride wearing black, while the bridesmaids wear red and all carry black or red roses) . . . I’m still not going to identify the bride or groom. You’ll have to wait until I post that section in order to find out.

  As always, I would like to give my thanks to my agent, John Silbersack of Trident Media. You are reading this story because of his efforts, and if it is any good, he made it better.

  My most sincere gratitude as well to Amazon and Kindle Worlds for giving me a place to house this fanfic and for welcoming me so warmly.

  I would also like to thank (as ever!) Julie, Christina, Toni, Frini, Jesa, Jan, and Usok of Usok Choe Designs. Without their help, encouragement, brainstorming, kibitzing, last-minute coding and consideration for my welfare, I would never have been able to write a page of Evensong.

  I do actually mean it when I say write to me to give your opinion of this episodic literary adventure. Please email me at [email protected]. I may even write back to you! Or else visit me at http://www.ljanesmith.net, like me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ljsmithauthorofvampirediaries or follow me on Twitter @drujienna.

  Cheers,

  Lisa

  Evensong

  Part Two:

  The War of Roses

  by L. J. Smith

  “A flower unplucked is but left to the falling,

  And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.”

  ― Robert Frost

  Bonnie was headed for Biology 101, her first class of the day. She had given up trying to convince Meredith to stop following her, even though she knew that Meredith was going to miss her own classes. Bonnie’s pride was injured—as if she couldn’t take care of herself in the sunlight, with ordinary students streaming all around her!

  She walked as fast as she could, but the tac-tac of Meredith’s shoes still kept up by her side. Of course, Meredith had longer legs, which was another injustice.

  It was insanely cold for the end of September and the watery sun in the sky did nothing at all to warm the morning air. Bonnie shivered inside her thick wool sweater.

  The good thing about Dalcrest College was that it was quite small, which made it easy to walk from one place to another on campus. Bonnie reached Lerner Hall before her nose was completely frozen, and she turned for the first time to look at Meredith.

  “Are you really going to follow me in?” she asked piteously.

  “Of course,” Meredith said, with grim determination in her dark gray eyes. “I’m going to sit in Biology with you, too.”

  “Dr. Reichard is going to be mad at you,” Bonnie said feebly.

  “Let her. I’m auditing the class—just because I’m dying to learn about the insides of a fetal pig.”

  Bonnie turned back in frustration. She knew that under that determination Meredith was no happier about shadowing her than she was about being shadowed. It was ridiculous, but Damon really wanted it, and neither of them was good at refusing Damon. He was always so thoughtful and reasonable—and really, really good looking. Bonnie wished she’d had a chance to speak to Elena this morning, but somehow . . . things had been too rushed.

  Elena should be all right now, though, she told herself. Damon won’t let anything bad happen to her.

  Meredith made a sound of impatience. A dozen students had just walked into the building in front of them.

  “Are we going inside or not?”

  “We are,” Bonnie said resignedly. She hurried up the steps and into the open double doors—

  Ouch!

  She’d bumped into solid wood. Bonnie blinked and blinked again.

  The doors were closed.

  But that was impossible.

  It had to be—was she so late that they had closed the whole building? And how had they done it while she was climbing the steps?

  Bonnie rattled the doors once more to find that they were definitely locked, and turned around to ask Meredith what was going on.

  Meredith had vanished. Bonnie shivered violently. She opened her mouth to call, but no sound came out. Worst of all, something had dimmed the sun. She could hardly see.

  I must be having one of those trance-things, Bonnie thought desperately. But why am I so cold? And what’s going on in the real world? And why—why can’t I remember having breakfast or choosing my clothes this morning?

  Bonnie shivered again violently . . . and woke up.

  It was the middle of the night. She’d been dreaming—but, oh, God, there was Lerner Hall, all right! The big double doors were closed and locked. The sky was dark with no moon and about a billion stars and Bonnie was in her calf-length white cotton nightgown. Her bare feet were freezing.

  Meredith wasn’t in sight.

  In her place, there was a large and beautiful white dog standing on the steps.

  Bonnie automatically put a hand on its head. “Good boy, good boy,” she murmured vaguely.

  Oh, my God, oh, my God! she was thinking. I sleepwalked! I really did it! In my nightgown! I’ve got to get back to my room.

  Meredith is going to be furious.

  Bonnie was still looking at herself in bewilderment. It was so cold. The wind made it even colder, slicing through her thin nightgown as if it wasn’t there. How could she not have felt that? How could she have walked barefoot all this way and never felt the concrete?

  But there was no point in standing here any longer and wondering. Other people were bound to be up and around campus. They might see her at any minute. In her nightgown!

  This horrific thought was enough to get her moving, her face hot with embarrassment. Slowly, wincing as she placed each foot on the ground, Bonnie went down the steps. The dog followed her, and she felt subtly comforted by its presence.

  No wonder I dreamed you were Meredith, she thought, examining the dog while walking. It was a gorgeous animal, with pure white f
ur and golden eyes. It had a lot of fur around its face and neck and very long legs with enormous feet. Its tail jutted out like a horizontal brushstroke. It didn’t wag, even when Bonnie petted it, but it did hold still and look vaguely pleased, tongue lolling.

  It looked like an Alaskan Husky. A cousin of hers had owned an Alaskan Husky, and it had been as thickly furred as this dog, although it hadn’t been as beautifully big and white.

  “Who do you belong to?” Bonnie asked conversationally as she hurried along, uncrossing her arm from her chest to pet it again. “You don’t have a collar.”

  The dog glanced up at her, as if listening for a word like “walkies” or “dinner.” Bonnie suddenly found herself intensely and specifically glad to have him as a companion. She was terrified of meeting someone who would laugh at her, or worse. What if it was a guy? There was no way to hide; she didn’t dare leave the concrete pathway with its really-quite-distantly-spaced lampposts for the shelter of trees where she might be less conspicuous.

  A wicked draft blew straight up her nightgown and she realized that she was shivering uncontrollably. The white dog with the golden eyes looked at her, tongue still lolling.

  Please, God, Bonnie thought, resisting an impulse to clasp her hands together because she was already hugging herself, trying to keep warm. Please don’t let Meredith wake up and find that I’m gone from my bed. Please don’t let Meredith ever find out that I’ve been parading around campus in the middle of the night, with a strange dog as my only hope of protection!

  “But I did it in my sleep,” she said out loud. At that, the big dog looked up as if sympathetically. “And how I am supposed to watch out for myself when I’m not even awake? It isn’t my fault.”

  She was talking, she realized, to keep her spirits up. This sudden understanding brought tears to her eyes and a piteous little whimpering sound to her throat.

  The white dog, still looking up at her, echoed her whimper with a tiny whine.

  “Oh, you good boy,” Bonnie said again. Suddenly curious, she bent to check whether her choice of words was correct and saw that the dog was, indeed, a male. “You make me feel better. What a good boy!”

  Still, she felt badly enough as she followed the path, which seemed to have gotten ten times longer at night than it had ever been in the daytime.

  If only she could call . . . call someone for help . . . somehow. Bonnie shook her head, frustrated. She wasn’t even sure what she meant but there was something in her mind that believed she could just yell and . . . someone . . . would find her. No cell phone needed.

  But that was insanity. It was the same kind of thinking as whatever had caused her to say terrible things to Elena earlier and then faint and hit her head and not even remember what she’d said. If anyone needed more evidence that she was having a break with reality, this little night’s excursion should convince them.

  Suddenly the unpleasant and somehow cobwebby thoughts she was struggling with were brushed away by a frightening conviction. She felt as if someone was looking at her. Not merely looking at her, but staring at the back of her neck with malicious intent.

  Slowly, Bonnie turned her head to look behind her.

  With a shock, she realized that she had been correct. There were two large dogs—very large dogs—padding along the concrete pathway, coming straight toward her. Bonnie felt her eyes go wide at the sight. The animals were Alaskan Huskies, too, but their coloring was different from her companion’s. They were sort of brindled on top and white on their stomachs.

  They were the biggest dogs she’d ever seen in her life, except for . . . darn it! She’d had a flash of an image of a black dog the size of a small pony. But of course she didn’t know any dog like that!

  Definitely I’m going crazy.

  There was a truly pathetic whimper and for a moment Bonnie thought it came from her own throat. Then she realized it was the white dog. His tail was no longer horizontal; it had curled completely down and under his belly. His head was down, his body was held low to the ground, and his ears were so flattened that it almost looked as if he had none.

  “Some help you are!” Bonnie gasped involuntarily. For a moment she wished she had Yangtze, her mother’s spoiled, fat Pekinese who had died last year. He would be no good in a fight, but at least he would put up a shrill yapping that sounded vicious. The white dog was whimpering and, she realized, actually trying to hide behind her.

  “Good boy, you’re a great big coward!” Bonnie muttered. But she couldn’t pay attention to him now.

  The other dogs were approaching fast. Their eyes seemed to reflect yellow light at Bonnie. Their tails were held erect and their muzzles were shut—no lazy tongue lolling. Their paws made only the faintest of sounds as they loped in for . . .

  For the kill, some faraway part of Bonnie’s mind said matter-of-factly. These weren’t domestic dogs at all. They were feral. They were hunting her and they were going to attack her when they reached her.

  But she couldn’t run. She couldn’t. Her legs were paralyzed beneath her, and besides her brain was telling her that running was a really stupid thing to do. The wild dogs’ legs were so long that they would catch up in seconds.

  Desperately, Bonnie looked around her for some kind of aid. Even a rock . . . no! There! A big stick was lying just a few feet off the concrete pathway. It must have broken off from a tree and been carried here by the wind.

  Before she even finished recognizing what the stick was, Bonnie had it in her hand. She had jumped back in front of the trembling white dog and brandished the stick like a baseball bat, not even caring how silly she must look.

  The dogs were so close that she could see their yellow eyes clearly, and see the feral coldness in their expression. Neither of them were snarling or even baring teeth. Was that how wild dogs hunted? In silence, ready to jump without warning?

  The branch was heavy in her hand and she planned on aiming at sensitive ears and noses.

  Some part of Bonnie understood that she was so deeply in shock that every thought was abnormal. But she couldn’t feel that in her gut. There she was, grimly hefting her bit of splintered wood, where a wiser head would have simply realized that she was going to be severely mauled and probably die even if she got in one or two blows.

  The white dog whimpered again, a pleading, puppy-like sound. And suddenly, astonishingly, Bonnie felt a flame of outrage sear through her. These animals were undoubtedly cruel enough to kill a smaller animal who was terrified. They were hateful and wrong, and bad, bad dogs! She was going to hit them hard before they dragged her down.

  As the two animals reached her Bonnie gritted her teeth and braced for the attack. She felt the white dog’s hot breath on her calves; she sensed the bad dogs poising themselves to leap, and—

  “DOWN!”

  The shout came from behind her. Bonnie choked. She froze with wide-stretched eyes, afraid to glance over her shoulder; afraid to turn her back on the wild dogs.

  She watched what happened, half-wondering if it was somehow another dream. The brindled dogs, who had already started to leap, acted as if they had run into something solid in the night air. Their long legs folded beneath them as they appeared to bounce off an invisible barrier, and they landed on the pathway more or less in a “down” position.

  Should I smack them? I think maybe they need to be smacked, Bonnie thought. She could see the frustrated yellow gleam of their wicked eyes.

  But their ears were flat now, and their tails were tucked under. They looked angry, but they also looked beaten. They almost seemed to be afraid to move, as well, and Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to hit animals that seemed glued in place.

  Slowly, she lowered her arms, and at the same time realized that they were quivering with unreleased tension. She watched as her trembling hands let go of the branch and it hit the concrete.

  “And just what were you going to do with that, redbird?”

  It was Damon’s voice. Bonnie turned around without a thought for the bad d
ogs. Damon himself was standing on the pathway. He was smiling at her.

  “I don’t know exactly what I was going to do,” Bonnie said, feeling self-conscious, but unable to help smiling shakily back. “I guess—whatever I could.”

  “But weren’t you scared?”

  “I was scared to death—too scared not to do something. The big white dog was even more scared than I was and I had to try to use that stick. I guess I was going to jam the splintery end into the bad dogs’ noses.”

  “The bad—? Ah. Hm,” Damon said, taking a moment to look over the feral dogs sprawled and cowering on the concrete.

  Bonnie looked, too. The animals’ eyes were fairly glowing with fire, and their hair was bristled up all over their backs. But even as Bonnie stared, they seemed to cower away from her, almost as if they heard some angry voice that she couldn’t make out.

  Damon turned back to her. “You know what, redbird? I think that you’ve been very brave tonight. You were going to try to fight those . . . bad dogs . . . with only a pointed stick. And you didn’t even scream out loud.”

  “Well, I was screaming inloud plenty,” Bonnie confided, pleased with the new word she had discovered. “And I never was so glad to see—or hear—anyone as when you came!” Suddenly and quite spontaneously, she threw her arms around him.

  Damon squeezed her tightly for a moment and then quickly rubbed her back, as if trying to warm her. “You’re all frozen, little redbird,” he said, his voice worried. “You can’t fly like this; you’ll ice up your feathers.”

  Bonnie giggled because he sounded so serious. She looked up at him—meaning to make some silly comment about needing a swig of antifreeze; she remembered that hipflask of his from the hospital—when suddenly everything in the world stopped.

  Damon was looking down at her with an expression she had never seen before. At least, she’d never seen it directed toward her before. His dark eyes seemed to be filled with stars, just like the brilliant stars that blazed overhead in the moonless sky.