Potential (Book Four, The Vampire Diaries)

Chapter 8__We'll Always Have Bourbon Street

Jeremy had tried to kill Elena at the pagaent, making her move in with us and making Stefan move in with Caroline. 

The more a Hunter killed, the more he wanted to kill.

That was Reason Number Two why I didn't want to "awaken" as a Hunter.

The next morning, I was in the library pouring three drinks because Stefan had came home to tell Damon something, and he had said that it would be better dealt with if we had drinks aleady on stand by.

Stefan told us everything that he and Caroline were thinking that was happening to Elena.

Elena was sired to Damon.

"Sired?" Damon repeated. "Really, Stefan? That is the most pathetic nonsense I've ever heard come out of your mouth, and you've said some crap in your day." 

"It was your blood that turned her, right?" Stefan asked. "I mean, she's been different from Day One because of you. You can't deny that." 

"Sure I can," Damon told him. "I finally got Elena to a good place about being a vampire. You two idiot can't stand that she's happy because of me." 

"All right, you know what?" I asked. "I've got an idea to put the flames of this fight out real quick." 

"And how's that?" Damon asked.

"Just prove him wrong," I told him. "Tell her it's okay to drink from a blood bag." 

"She can't," Damon told me. "Her weird Doppelganger body rejected the blood from the bag." 

"Right, because you told her to," Stefan told him. "You said she had to drink warm human blood straight from the vein. She almost died to make you happy."

Damon was still skeptic. 

"Look, just ask her to drink from a blood bag," I told him. "Make sure you'll tell her how happy you'll be if it works. If Stefan's wrong, I'll make sure that he's the first to apologize." 

Stefan looked at me. "You will?" 

"Yes, I will," I answered.

Damon looked at Stefan. "When her body rejects this blood, which it will, your apology better be epic." 

Damon stood, walking away, leaving. 

~~~~

I walked into the library to see Damon rummaging through old papers. "What are you doing?" 

"Elena is sired," Damon answered. The next time he spoke, his voice was louder. "You were right, I was wrong. Happy?" 

I turned my head to see Stefan standing in the doorway. 

"No, I'm not happy," Stefan told him. "But what are we gonna do about it?" 

"Well, I'm working on it," Damon told him. "Here." He held a picture up for Stefan to see. "Remember that?" 

Stefan took the picture from Damon, looking at it. "New Orleans." 

"1942, to be exact," Damon told us. 

I sat down. "What was in New Orleans in 1942?" 

"Other than bourbon and beads . . ." Damon trailed off, looking toward Stefan. "Me and Stefan." 

"Oh, yeah," Stefan said. I looked at a hat from the '40s meant for a woman, taking it out of the box and setting it on my head, the ends long enough to cover my eyeline of the ceiling.  "What was the name of that girl you used to hang out with?"