The Vampire Diaries_THE HUNTERS VOL#2 MOONSONG

7

“It would have been difficult to find a group of settlers less suited to building a brand-new colony than the one hundred and five men who sailed up the river from the Chesapeake Bay in 1607 and founded Jamestown,” Professor Campbell lectured from the front of Elena’s class. “While there were a couple of carpenters, a mason, a blacksmith, and maybe a dozen laborers among them, they were far outnumbered by the self-proclaimed gentlemen who made up almost half the party.”

He paused and smiled sardonically. “‘Gentlemen’ in this case signifies men without a profession or trade. Many of them were lazy, idle men who had joined the London Company’s expedition in the hope of making a profit without realizing how much work founding a colony in the New World was really going to entail. The settlers landed in the spring, and by the end of September, half of them were dead. By January, when Captain Newport returned with supplies and more colonists, only thirty-eight of the original settlers remained.”

Lazy and clueless, Elena wrote neatly in her notebook. Dead in less than a year.

History of the South was her very first class, and college

was already proving to be an eye-opening experience. Her high school teachers had always stressed courage and enterprise when they talked about Virginia’s early settlers, not haplessness.

“On Thursday, we’ll talk about the legend of John Smith and Pocahontas. We’re going to discuss the facts and how they differ from Smith’s own account, as he had a tendency toward self-promotion,” Professor Campbell announced. “The reading assignment is in the syllabus, so please come prepared for a lively discussion next time.” He was a plump, energetic little man, whose small black eyes swept the class and landed unerringly on Elena as he added, “Elena Gilbert? Please stay after class for a moment. I’d like to speak with you.”

She had time to wonder, nervously, how he knew which of his students she was as the rest of the class straggled out of the room, a few stopping to ask him questions. She hadn’t spoken up during his lecture, and there were about fifty students in the class.

As the last of her classmates disappeared out the door, she approached his desk.

“Elena Gilbert,” he said avuncularly, his bright eyes searching hers. “I do apologize for taking up your time. But when I heard your name, I had to ask.”

He paused, and Elena dutifully replied, “Had to ask what, Professor?”

“I know the name Gilbert, you see,” he said, “and the more I look at you, the more you remind me of someone— two someones—who were once very dear friends of mine.

Could you possibly be the daughter of Elizabeth Morrow and Thomas Gilbert?”

“Yes, I am,” said Elena slowly. She ought to have expected that she might meet someone who knew her parents here at Dalcrest, but it felt weird to hear their names, all the same.

“Ah!” He laced his fingers across his stomach and gave her a satisfied smile. “You look so much like Elizabeth. It startled me when you came into the room. But there’s a touch of Thomas in you, too, make no mistake about that. Something about your expression, I think. Seeing you takes me right back to my own days as an undergraduate. She was a lovely girl, your mother, just lovely.”

“You went to school here with my parents?” Elena asked.

“I certainly did.” Professor Campbell’s small black eyes widened. “They were two of my best friends here. Two of the best friends I ever had. We lost track of each other over the years, I’m afraid, but I heard about the accident.” He unlaced his fingers and hesitantly touched her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Elena bit her lip. “They never talked much about their college years. Maybe as I got older, they would have…” Her voice trailed off, and she realized with dismay that her eyes had filled with tears.

“Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Professor Campbell patted his jacket pockets. “And I’ve never got a tissue when I need one. Oh, please don’t cry.”
His comical expression of distress made Elena give

him a watery-eyed smile, and he relaxed and smiled in return. “There, that’s better,” he said. “You know, if you’d like to hear more about your parents and what they were like back then, I’d be happy to tell you about them. I’ve got all kinds of stories.”

“Really?” Elena said hopefully. She felt a flicker of excitement. Aunt Judith talked with Elena about her mother sometimes, but the memories she shared were mostly from their childhood. And Elena really didn’t know much about her father’s past at all: he’d been an only child and his parents were dead.

“Certainly, certainly,” Professor Campbell said cheerfully. “Come to my office hours, and I’ll tell you all about our hijinks back in the old days. I’m there every Monday and Friday from three to five, and I’ll put out a welcome mat for you. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Serve you some of the horrible department coffee.”
“Thank you, Professor Campbell,” Elena said. “I’d love that.”

“Call me James,” he said. “It’s nothing at all. Anything I can do to make you feel at home here at Dalcrest.” He cocked his head to one side and looked at her quizzically, his eyes as bright and curious as a small animal’s. “After all, as the daughter of Elizabeth and Thomas, you must be a very special girl.”

The big black crow outside the open lecture-room window paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching its

powerful talons around the branch on which it was perched. Damon wanted to transform back into his vampire self, climb through the window, and have a quick but effective interrogation session with that professor.

But Elena wouldn’t like that.

She was so naive, dammit.

Yes, yes, she was his lovely, brilliant, clever princess, but she was ridiculously naive, too; they all were. Damon irritably preened his ruffled feathers back into iridescent sleekness. They were just so young. At this point, Damon was able to look back and say that no one learned anything in life, not for her first hundred years or so. You had to be immortal, really, to have the time to learn to look out for yourself properly.

Take Elena, gazing so trustfully at her professor. After all she’d been through, all she’d seen, she was so easy to lull into complacency—all the man had to do was dangle the promise of information about her parents in front of her, and she’d happily trot off to meet him in his office whenever he suggested. Sentimental ninny. What could the man possibly tell her that would be of any real importance? Nothing could bring her parents back.

The professor wasn’t a danger, most likely. Damon had probed him with his Power, felt nothing but the flickering of a human mind, no dark surge of answering Power coming from the little man, no swell of disturbing or violent emotion. But he couldn’t be sure, could he? Damon’s Power couldn’t detect every monster, couldn’t predict every twist of the human heart.

But the real problem here was Elena. She’d forgotten, clearly, that she’d lost all her Power, that the Guardians had stripped her back to being just a vulnerable, fragile mortal girl again. She thought, wrongly, that she could protect herself.

They were all like that. Damon had been infuriated at first to slowly realize that he was starting to feel like all of them were his humans. Not just his lovely Elena and the little redbird, but all of them, the witch Mrs. Flowers and the hunter and that meathead of a boy as well. Those last two didn’t even like him, but he felt compelled to keep an eye on them, to prevent them from damaging themselves through their innate stupidity.

Damon wasn’t the one who wanted to be here. No, the “let’s all join hands and dance off to further our educations together” idea wasn’t his, and he’d treated it with the proper scorn. He wasn’t Stefan. He wasn’t going to waste his time pretending to be one of the mortal children.

But he had found, to his dismay, that he didn’t want to lose them, either.

It was embarrassing. Vampires were not pack animals, not like humans. He wasn’t supposed to care what happened to them. These children should be prey, and nothing more.

But being dead and coming back, fighting the jealousy phantom and letting go of the sick envy and misery that had held him captive ever since he was a human, had changed Damon. With that hard ball of hate gone from the middle of his chest, where it had lived for so long, he found himself

feeling lighter. Almost as if he … cared.
Embarrassing or not, it felt surprisingly comfortable, having this connection to the little group of humans. He’d have died—again—rather than admit it aloud, though.
He clacked his beak a few times as Elena said goodbye to her professor and left the classroom. Then Damon spread his wings and flapped down to a tree next to the building’s entrance.

Nearby, a thin young man was posting a flyer with a girl’s picture on another tree, and Damon flew over to get a closer look. Missing Student, the top of the flyer said, and below the picture were details of a nighttime disappearance: no clues, no leads, no evidence, no idea where nineteen-year-old Taylor Harrison might be. Suspicion of foul play. The promise of a reward from her anxious family for information leading to her safe return.
Damon let out a rough caw. There was something wrong here. He’d known it already—had felt something a little off about this campus as soon as he’d arrived two days ago, although he hadn’t been able to quite put his finger on it. Why else would he have been so worried about his princess?

Elena came out of the building and started across the quad, tucking her long golden hair behind her ears, oblivious to the black crow that swooped from tree to tree above her. Damon was going to find out what was going on here, and he was going to do it before whatever it was touched any of his humans.

Especially Elena.