Elena turned to Alaric. "Alaric," she whispered. "What did the book say? Shouldn't the spel be starting to kil the phantom by now?"
Alaric was watching the silent showdown between Mrs. Flowers and the phantom again, his own fists clenched and his body straining as if he could somehow lend Mrs. Flowers his strength, and it took a little time - time we don't have, thought Elena furiously - for him to drag his attention to Elena. When he did and she repeated her question, he turned a more analytical gaze on the phantom, and a new worry dawned in his eyes.
"I'm not entirely sure," he said, "but the book did suggest... the book said something like, 'Every word truly spoken by its victims, each dark emotion wil ingly rejected, wil draw back to them the life the phantom has stolen from their thoughts and deeds. The creature wil crumble with every honest word spoken against it.' It could be just rhetoric, or maybe the person who wrote down the spel had heard about the ritual without seeing it performed, but it sounds..." He hesitated.
"It sounds like the spel ought to be kil ing the phantom by now," said Elena flatly. "It sounds like this isn't working right."
"I don't know what's going wrong," said Alaric unhappily. The world shifted and everything snapped into focus.
"I do," said Elena. "It must be because this is an Original, not an ordinary phantom. We didn't create it with our emotions, so we can't destroy it just by taking them away. I think we're going to need to try something else."
Stefan and Damon were stil locked in combat. They were both bloody and battered. His hurt arm dangling at an unnatural angle, Stefan moved as though something inside him had been damaged, but they were both stil attacking each other viciously, Stefan no less than Damon. Elena reasoned that they must be fighting on their own initiative now. The phantom, absorbed in its battle with Mrs. Flowers, was no longer muttering poisonous
encouragement to them. If Damon and Stefan weren't being seduced by Jealousy's voice, maybe they could be persuaded to listen to someone else. Elena, trying not to catch the phantom's attention, eased her way toward the fighters.
Damon was bleeding from his neck and a long cut on his head, and the skin around both his eyes was bruising up. He was limping, but he was clearly gaining the upper hand. Stefan, circling warily now just out of arm's reach, was not only curled forward to protect whatever was injured inside him but had a long strip of torn skin hanging from his cheek. Damon was grinning savagely at him, moving closer with every shift of his feet. There was an alertness to Damon's eyes that spoke only of the predator within, of his joy in the hunt and in the kil . Damon must have forgotten in the pleasure of the fight who he was battling, Elena told herself. He would never forgive himself, once he was himself again, if he real y seriously hurt Stefan, or even kil ed him. Although, something inside her whispered, part of him has always wanted this.
She shoved the thought aside. Part of Damon might want to hurt Stefan, but the real, whole Damon did not. If there was anything that fighting the phantom had shown her, it was that the dark emotions everyone hid in their depths weren't al of who they real y were. They weren't their true selves.
"Damon," she shouted. "Damon, think! The phantom is influencing you! It's making you fight." She heard her voice rise pleadingly. "Don't let it beat you. Don't let it destroy you."
Damon didn't seem to hear her, though. He stil wore that feral smile, and prowled a little closer to Stefan, edging him farther and farther toward the corner of the garage. Pretty soon Stefan would be trapped, boxed in and unable to run. And, catching a glimpse of the defiant expression on Stefan's poor, battered face, Elena realized with a sinking heart that Stefan wouldn't run, even if Damon gave him the chance. The part of Stefan that hated Damon was in control of him now.
Stefan bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl. Damon pul ed back his fist to deliver a powerful blow, his canines extending in anticipation of drinking his brother's lifeblood. More quickly than she had ever moved before, at least as a human, Elena flung herself between them as Damon's fist swung forward. Eyes squeezed closed, she threw her arms wide to protect Stefan and awaited the impact. Damon was moving so fast by the time she jumped in front of him that momentum was carrying his whole body forward. With his inhuman strength, it was a punch that would break her bones and crush her face.
But Damon stopped in time, as only a vampire could. She could feel the rush of displaced air from the blow, even the brush of his knuckles against her face, but there was no pain.
Gingerly Elena opened her eyes. Damon stood poised, coiled to strike, one arm stil raised. He was breathing hard, and his eyes glittered strangely. Elena returned his gaze. Was there a tiny bit of relief shining in Damon's eyes?
Elena thought so. The question was, was it relief that he had stopped himself before he kil ed her, or that she had stopped him from kil ing Stefan? Surely Damon could have thrown her out of the way by now and attacked Stefan again, if that was what he real y wanted.
Elena took a chance and reached out toward Damon's fist, folding those battered knuckles within her own smal er hand. He didn't resist as she lowered his fist to his side, passively al owing himself to be moved.
"Damon," she said softly. "Damon, you can stop now."
His eyes narrowed and she knew he could hear her, but his mouth was tight and fierce, and he didn't answer. Without letting go of Damon's hand, Elena turned toward Stefan. He was close behind her, his eyes fixed on Damon. He was panting rapidly, and he wiped the back of his hand absently against his mouth, smearing blood across his face. Elena reached out and took his hand, sticky as it was with blood.
Damon's hand tensed in hers, and she glanced at him to see he was staring at her other hand, the one that was holding Stefan's. Stefan saw where Damon was looking, too, and the corners of his swol en mouth drew up in a bitter little smile.
Behind them, the phantom snarled as it fought Mrs. Flowers's power. It sounded louder, fiercer.
"Listen," she said urgently, looking from one brother to the other. "The phantom's not focusing on you now, so you can think for yourselves. But Mrs. Flowers won't be able to hold her for long. So you need to do it; you need to start thinking now, instead of just acting. I need to tel you... um." She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I never told you this, but when Klaus was keeping me prisoner, after Katherine's death, he used to show me... images. Memories, I guess, Katherine's memories. How you both were with her, back when you were human. When you were young and alive and loved her. How much you loved her. I hated it, seeing how real that love was. And I knew that you noticed me at first only because of the love you had for her then. It's always bothered me a little bit, even though I know your love for me now is deeper."