If only | Damon Salvatore

008. ALL FOR A LITTLE CRYSTAL

Chapter eight

"All for a little crystal."

Footsteps echoed sharply through the dark forest as a girl in black boots led the charge. Mud kicked up behind her, but she didn't slow her pace, leaping effortlessly over a massive log. Right behind her, a second girl wearing light brown boots cleared the obstacle, followed instantly by a third in striking red boots.

They stuck the landing together, pushing forward into a clearing. Suddenly, flames erupted from the forest floor, roaring to life to trace the outline of a glowing pentagram. Beatrix stood firmly at the top point of the star. Her grandmother flanked her on the right, and her mother took the left. At the exact center of the burning seal lay the amber crystal.

The three witches reached out to join hands, but before their fingers could touch, a violent blast of fire tore through the center of the ring. The concussive explosion sent all three of them flying backward into the dirt.

As the thick smoke began to clear, a new woman materialized inside the flames.

"Emily!" Winnifred hissed, her eyes narrowing in pure hatred.

Beatrix furrowed her brows, scrambling back. "As in... Emily Bennett?"

"Yes! And you cannot let her take that necklace!" Winnifred ordered frantically, turning to her granddaughter. "The power belongs to us! She stole it from me all those years ago, but the day everything went wrong in 1864, I stole it back. That is exactly why it chose you!"

"Beatrix, you have to destroy it!" Cassandra screamed through the roaring fire.

Beatrix looked between them, her mind racing. "Why don't all three of us destroy it? We're stronger in numbers, right? Right!"

Before she could get an answer, her eyes snapped open. This time, she wasn't in the graveyard or the woods—she was lying flat on her back in her own bed, her chest heaving. Falling back against her pillows with a heavy huff, she stared at the ceiling, trying to separate the visions from reality.

Beatrix walked into history class late, keeping her head down. She didn't spare a single glance at Elena or Bonnie as she slipped into her usual seat.

Just then, the heavy classroom door swung open, and a new man stepped inside. He walked straight to the front of the room and began writing his name across the chalkboard in large, clean letters. Turning around to face the quiet room, he dusted the chalk from his hands.

"Alrighty. Let's see," he began, scanning the faces in the crowd. "Alaric Saltzman. It's a mouthful, I know. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Saltzman is of German origin—my family immigrated to Texas in 1755. I, however, was born and raised in Boston. Now, the name Alaric belongs to a very dead great-grandfather whom I'll never be able to thank enough. You'll probably want to pronounce it Alar-ric, but it's Al-uh-rick, okay? So you can just call me Ric. I'm your new history teacher."

Beatrix leaned her elbow on her desk, letting out a heavy yawn as she stared at the chalkboard. Between the real-life vampire drama and the magical nightmares, a normal high school history lesson was the last thing she cared about.

During lunch, Bonnie and Elena sat together on a courtyard bench, away from the rest of the students.

"And then I ended up at the remains of Old Fell's Church before I finally woke up back in the woods," Bonnie shared, her voice trembling. "Although today, unlike every other day, Beatrix wasn't there."

Elena leaned in closer. "And you always see your ancestor, Emily?"

"Yes. But now, more than usual, I see these three teenage girls in hooded cloaks. Emily is actively warning me about them," Bonnie explained, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Elena, do you believe in ghosts?"