Three candles left, Meredith thought, looking at the last steady flames. Stefan's dark green, Damon's red, and her own brown. Was the phantom any weaker? From its invisible cage, the Phantom growled. If anything, it seemed to have made the space around itself bigger again, and it was once again pushing at it, seemingly feeling for a weak spot.
Meredith knew she had to keep the confessions going.
"I've fed the phantom of jealousy," she said in a strong, clear voice. "I was jealous of Dr. Celia Connor. I love Alaric, but I know I'm much younger than he is, not even in col ege yet, and I've never real y been anywhere or seen anything of the world - the human world, at least - outside of where I grew up. Celia shares so much with him - experiences, education, interests - and I knew he liked her a lot. And she's beautiful and real y smart and poised. I was jealous because I was afraid she would take him from me. But if she had been able to take him, that would mean he wasn't mine to keep. You can't steal a person." She smiled hesitantly at Celia, and after a moment, Celia smiled slightly in return. "I cast - "
"Watch out!" Alaric shouted. "Damon! Stefan! Stop!"
Meredith looked up. Damon and Stefan were staggering across the floor of the garage, past the line of candles, past Alaric, who grabbed at them. They broke out of his hold effortlessly without seeming to even notice his touch, shoving against each other desperately, struggling fiercely. Oblivious to anything but their battle, they were getting closer and closer to the phantom.
"No!" shouted Elena.
Damon shoved Stefan backward, and the heel of Stefan's boot scraped across the chalk outlining the smal circle that contained the phantom - scraped across the chalk line and smudged it, and the circle was no longer complete.
With a howl of triumph, the phantom was free.
Chapter 34
We didn't weaken it, not enough!" Meredith shouted to her friends over Jealousy's shouts. The phantom, if anything, appeared stronger as it crossed the garage in one great leap and backhanded Meredith across the face. Meredith felt a searing pain, saw a bright flash of light, and felt herself slam against the wal . Dazed, she staggered back onto her feet.
The phantom was coming toward her again. More slowly this time, with a smile of anticipation.
The spell must be doing something then, Meredith thought groggily, or it wouldn't care if I finished my part or not.
Meredith gripped her fighting stave. She wasn't going down easily, not if she could prevent it. Alaric had cal ed her a superhero. Superheroes kept fighting, even when the odds were stacked against them.
She sliced out viciously, expertly, with the end of the fighting stave. Al those hours of practice paid off, because the phantom didn't seem to expect the blow, and rather than the stave passing harmlessly through mist, Meredith caught the phantom in its solid form, just above the rose in its chest. The blade at the end opened a deep wound in the phantom's chest, and when Meredith pul ed it back for a second blow, viscous green fluid dripped from the end of her weapon.
As she swung again, Meredith's luck ran out. The phantom reached out toward her, its hand moving so fast that Meredith didn't see it until the phantom was holding the other end of the stave. Sharp as the stave was, poisonous as the coating of al those bits of silver and wood and iron were, the phantom held it lightly and easily, and pulled. Meredith went skidding across the garage floor toward the phantom, fast and helpless, and the phantom reached out lazily with its other hand to catch her, a sneer of contempt and anger on its glassy face. Oh no, Meredith's internal voice babbled, not like this. It can't end like this. Just before it touched Meredith, though, the phantom's face changed, suddenly blossoming into an expression of confusion. It let go of the stave, and Meredith yanked herself back and caught her balance, wobbling furiously, gasping for breath.
The phantom stared past her, Meredith forgotten, at least for the moment. The phantom's glassy teeth were bared, and there was an expression of terrible rage on its greentinted face. As Meredith watched, the muscles in its icysolid arms seemed to strain, then dissolve to swirls of armshaped mist, then solidify again, stil in the same tense stil ness. She can't move, Meredith realized. She turned to look behind her.
Mrs. Flowers stood straight and tal , her blazing blue eyes fixed on the phantom. She held out her hands in front of her, her face set in strong, determined lines. Several strands of her gray hair had escaped from her bun, standing out in al directions as if caught by static electricity. Mrs. Flowers's lips moved soundlessly, and, as the phantom strained to move, Mrs. Flowers strained, too, looking as if she was struggling to support something cripplingly heavy. Their eyes, cool intent blue and glacierclear green, were locked together in silent battle. Mrs. Flowers's eyes were steady, but her arms were shaking violently, and Elena didn't know how much longer the older woman would be able to hang on and keep the phantom under control. Not long, she suspected. The battle with the kitsune had taken a lot out of Mrs. Flowers, and she hadn't recovered ful y yet. She wasn't ready for a new fight. Elena's heart was thumping like crazy, and she couldn't stand to look at the bloody figures of Damon and Stefan on the other side of the garage, because the one thing she knew she couldn't do right now was panic. She needed to be able to think.
"Meredith," Elena said crisply, with such a tone of authority that her friends al turned away from watching the struggle between Mrs. Flowers and the phantom to look at her. "Finish your part of the ceremony."
Meredith looked at Elena blankly for a moment and then snapped into gear. That was one of the many wonderful things about Meredith: She could always be relied upon, no matter what, to pul herself together and get on with the job.
"I have fed the phantom of jealousy," Meredith said, looking down at the floor where her brown candle stil burned, "but now I cast my jealousy away."
Meredith's words rang with truth, and the candle went out. The phantom flinched and grimaced, flexing its fingers angrily. The deep red of the rose in its chest dul ed to a dark pink for a moment before flushing back to crimson. But... it didn't seem like it was defeated; it seemed merely irritated. Its eyes never left Mrs. Flowers's, and its ice-sculpted muscles stil were straining forward. Almost al the candles were out. Only two flames were flickering, from the blue and red candles, only two victims feeding the phantom with their jealousy.
So, with almost al its victims torn away from it, shouldn't the phantom be weaker? Shouldn't it be sick and struggling?