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Around the corner, it was darker. The flames hadn’t reached here yet. A fire exit gaped open, and Elena braced herself and stepped through.
The heat hit her like a wave. A haze of smoke hung in the air, and Elena pressed the wet silk over her nose and mouth to block it out. Her eyes began to water and ache.
Where would Damon have taken Stefan? Nowhere where the fire was burning yet, Elena thought. He would want Stefan’s suffering more drawn out than that, would want him to hear the crackle of the flames, smell the smoke, and know that the deadly fire—one of the few things that could kill Stefan—was getting closer and closer, and that he had no hope of escape. Damon had said he wanted Stefan to suffer.
Of course. She cocked her head to look up the staircase ahead of her. It still looked stable enough. He’d be somewhere high enough that the smoke and heat would rise around him, where he’d feel the flames rising to lick against the floor beneath him. Damon would have put Stefan in the bell tower.
Elena climbed. The silk at her mouth filtered out the worst of the smoke, but she still choked and gasped, each breath coming with more difficulty than the last. Heavy boots clumped through the halls on the other side of the building. Fire fighters, she supposed, but she saw no one, just the heavy haze of smoke.
From somewhere below came the crash of a falling support beam, and the floor underfoot shook. Elena grabbed at the banister to steady h
erself, then sped up. She wobbled, and her feet ached as she ran. High heels were no good for this, but bare feet would be worse, so she had to keep going.
On the third floor, the staircase ended. She peered around, trying to spot the entrance to the bell tower through the worsening smoke. Her eyes burned, and she coughed—the wet silk was drying, it wasn’t protecting her enough now.
There it was. She crossed the hall and laid her hand against the wood of the small door to the bell tower. It was cool still, no fire behind it. But the knob wouldn’t turn.
It was locked; of course it was locked. The school didn’t want the students messing around up here. Elena squeezed her eyes shut against the smoke. What was she going to do?
She tugged at the door again, and then began to throw herself against it. She had to get through. “Stefan!” she called. “Stefan! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
The door wasn’t made to withstand a continuous assault. Elena threw all her weight against it over and over, ignoring the bruises she could feel blossoming on her shoulder and side. At last, the flimsy lock broke, and the door burst open. She tumbled through and fell to her knees, gasping and coughing.
Elena scrambled back to her feet and up the narrow rickety staircase to the top of the tower. Beneath the heavy bronze bell, archways opened on all four sides, and at last she could breathe. She staggered to one of the arches and took a few deep breaths, looking out over the parking lot below. Police cars were pulling in now, their red and blue lights flashing.
Her head was spinning less now that she had taken a few gulps of air, and Elena turned back around to look at the inside of the bell tower.
There was a weak motion, down in the darkest corner of the cupola. A small sound, barely more than a whimper. Elena crossed toward it and fell to her knees. There was a huddled dark shape there, and he shifted to stare up at her. Stefan mumbled something, his voice thick and choked.
“It’s all right,” she said automatically, running her fingers soothingly through his hair. He was tied up, and there was a band of fabric across his mouth, pulled viciously tight.
He flinched under her hand, scrabbling back toward the wall. He didn’t seem to recognize her. She worked her hands beneath the gag, trying to untie its tight knot with her fingers. She couldn’t loosen it.
She fumbled around on the floor, feeling around in the dark for something sharp. The floor was hot beneath her hands and knees—the fire must be rising below them.
Her fingers closed around a sharp-edged stone, and she worked it against the gag, feeling the cloth’s fibers rip. Finally, it came loose and she pulled it away from Stefan’s mouth.
As she removed the gag, something else spilled over his lips. Elena leaned closer, bracing herself with one hand on the rough brickwork above Stefan’s head, squinting to see what was there.
Thin stalks of vervain sputtered out of Stefan’s mouth. He gagged and choked as he spit them out. Anger rushed through Elena, as hot and sudden as a bolt of lightning.
“How dare he?” she muttered. “How dare he?” Damon had stuffed his brother’s mouth with vervain, muting his powers and muddling his mind. And then he had left him to die, alone, confused, and in pain.
Heedless of Stefan’s sharp canines this time, she used two fingers to scoop out more of the vervain clogging his mouth. One tooth scraped her finger stingingly, but she barely noticed.
As his mouth emptied, she could hear Stefan breathing, long, ragged hoarse breaths. She pushed her forefinger in again, checking that she had gotten every piece.
Stefan’s tongue dragged slowly against her finger. Elena hesitated, and he latched on, sucking desperately at the cut on her finger.
After a moment, Stefan’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes slowly opened. He stared at Elena for a second before recognition filtered into his gaze. Abruptly, he pulled away.
“Elena,” he said roughly, and panic flashed across his pale face. “I … don’t know how to explain this.”
The bricks beneath Elena’s knees were getting uncomfortably hot now. The fire must be climbing. “We have to get out of here,” she said, her pulse pounding.
Stefan’s eyes widened, and he strained visibly. The ropes around his wrists snapped first, and then the ones around his ankles. Without the vervain, they couldn’t hold him. He began, slowly, to climb to his feet. “Is the door blocked?” he asked.
