The Vampire Diaries: Stefan's Diaries #6: The Compelled

1
T here was a moment after Samuel dragged

Damon away when it seemed as though my
spirit had left my body. It was how I’d felt when
a bullet from my father’s gun had pierced my chest all
those years ago in Mystic Falls: a split-second of agony, fol-
lowed by a blankness that radiated from the very core of
my being.
But I wasn’t dead. And I wouldn’t let Samuel escape
with Damon. Once I’d made sure Cora was all right, I
took a deep breath and catapulted my body out the win-
dow of the Magdalene Asylum. Glass shattered around me,
and a shard pierced my cheek. Blood ran down my skin. I
didn’t care.
“Damon!” I yelled. The Asylum was empty—no one
would hear me. All the residents, nuns, and priests were at
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The Compelled ✦ 5
a midnight church service, which had been convenient for

Damon and me when we set our trap for Samuel.
We’d had weapons. We’d had plans. We’d had the
element of surprise. And still, we’d fallen short. It was as if
Samuel had purposely allowed us to get closer and closer,
only to outwit us—just like his alter ego, Jack the Ripper,
had done to the Metropolitan Police when he sent them on
a cat-and-mouse chase through London.
I ran through the city streets at vampire speed, trying
to listen for shouts, scuffles, even labored breathing—
anything that would lead me to my brother. I knew it was
useless, but I had to do something. After all, Damon had
saved me from Samuel. He deserved the same from me.
I ran through Dutfield Park, the overgrown square
where Damon and I had first realized we were being
hunted. It would be poetic justice for Samuel to kill him
here, beneath the stone wall where he’d written a chill-
ing message in blood to let us know he would have his
revenge. But I noticed nothing amiss. The only sounds
were the scampering of squirrels in the underbrush and
the whistling of the wind through barren trees.
I ran to the highest point of the park and glanced around
in all directions: the elegant dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral,
the ominous, dark ribbon of the Thames snaking through
the city, the run-down buildings crowding the park. Damon
could be anywhere.

6 ✦ Stefan’s Diaries
He could already be dead.

I jammed my hands in my pockets and turned around,
slowly walking back to the Asylum. I needed to get Cora;
together, we’d come up with something. It was what we’d
been doing for the past several weeks: trailing Samuel,
thinking we’d captured him, and then finding ourselves in
a worse situation than ever.
Even before I reached the gates of the Asylum, I
could hear a low-pitched moan: Cora. My heart twisted
in sorrow, thinking of her. I wasn’t the only one missing
a family member. Samuel had taken Cora’s sister, Violet,
and turned her into a vampire. Violet had attacked her own
sister. Of course Cora was mourning.
I entered the Asylum through the window I’d broken.
The smell of Henry’s burning flesh still clung to the room.
There was blood pooled on the floor and spattered across
the walls, as though the subterranean office had become
an impromptu butcher shop. Which, I suppose, it had.
Standing in the corner, Cora moaned again, her hand
clasped to her mouth. Cora was an innocent girl caught
in an increasingly tangled web of evil and despair. Only
a fortnight ago, Samuel had turned Violet into a vampire.
Ever since then, Cora had been doing whatever she could
to try to save her, including infiltrating the Magdalene
Asylum, of which Samuel was a well-known benefac-
tor. As soon as she’d realized Samuel was affiliated with

The Compelled ✦ 7
the Asylum, she’d volunteered to pose as a destitute girl

seeking salvation within its doors. It was she who’d real-
ized Samuel was using the Asylum residents as his own
personal blood supply. And it was she who’d helped set
up a trap to snare Samuel. We had hoped to get closer
to Samuel, to discover his weaknesses, anything that
could help us understand his relentless vendetta against
us. Because the Ripper murders weren’t committed
for the blood. As vampires, we could kill quickly and
cleanly—but we didn’t need to murder to obtain suste-
nance. Samuel, especially, didn’t: As a benefactor to the
Magdalene Asylum, he was able to drink his fill from its
residents whenever he liked, compelling them to offer
their necks to him and then forget all about the encoun-
ter. And yet Samuel was intent on brutally slaying and
slicing open victims on the streets of Whitechapel, all
with the goal of framing Damon as a killer. His motiva-
tion could be summed up in one terrible name: Katherine.
At one point, the name had made my heart race. Now,
it made it clench in dread. Katherine meant Samuel, and
Samuel meant destruction. And the only question was,
when would he stop? When Damon was dead? When I was
dead? In the process of our investigation, we’d lost Damon
and witnessed Violet’s transformation into a soulless, cold-
blooded killer. Not only had she fought brutally against
Damon and me moments earlier, but she’d hurt—and

worse, fed on—Cora. I could only imagine the despair and

confusion Cora was feeling as she stood in the corner.
But I couldn’t dwell on what had happened. I needed
to think of the future—and I needed to save Damon.
“We can’t stay here. Let’s go home.” Our destination
was the Underground tunnel where we’d spent our nights
for the last week.
Cora nodded. A flicker of concern crossed her eyes as
she noticed the cut on my cheek.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I said roughly, wiping the blood away with
my hand. It was just like Cora to be worried about my dis-
comfort when she was struggling with so much.
“Let me help you.” Cora reached into the sleeve of her
dress and pulled out a handkerchief. She tenderly rubbed
it against my skin. “I’m worried about you, Stefan. You
have to take care of yourself, because . . .” She trailed off,
but I knew what she was thinking. Because at this point,
you’re all I have. I nodded, knowing there wasn’t much else
Cora or I could say.
I boosted Cora up so she could climb through the
Asylum window, and together, we slowly trudged west-
ward to our temporary home.
Above us, clouds and mist obscured any stars, and the
streets were practically empty. People were terrified of the
Ripper, and the eerie wind whistling through the alleys

The Compelled ✦ 9
was only adding to the evil tone of the evening. The only
heartbeat I could hear was Cora’s, but I knew from the
papers that policemen were hiding in every shadowy alley,
on the lookout for the Ripper.
Of course, the police presence was useless. While they
were shivering on the streets, on guard for the Ripper’s
next attack, the murderer was preoccupied with a prime
distraction: plotting to torture my brother.
At least, I hoped he was still plotting, not already
tormenting Damon. Was my brother even now crying out
in agony? Or had Samuel simply staked him and thrown
his lifeless body in the Thames? Tortured or killed? It was
a lose-lose situation, but I found myself wishing Samuel’s
sadistic nature had won out. While it would prolong
Damon’s pain, it gave us a chance at rescuing him, boost-
ing our slim odds.
Cora stumbled and I reached out to steady her. We were
almost home. I paused to make sure we hadn’t been fol-
lowed, but no one was chasing us. In fact, no one seemed
to be here at all, perhaps put off by the signs that sur-
rounded the work area above the tunnel, all clearly stating
that trespassing was strictly prohibited by the Metropolitan
Police.
I jumped down into the tunnel, unfazed by the drop.
That was one of the advantages of being a vampire: My
innate agility ensured I’d land on my feet.

I helped Cora down, and the two of us faced each other.

Despite the darkness, I could see everything, from the
packed dirt walls to the pebbles scattered on the ground.
Meanwhile, Cora blinked several times, her eyes adjusting
to the lack of light.
Suddenly, a creature darted past our feet. It was a rat,
almost the size of a small cat. Instead of scrambling away in
surprise, Cora grabbed a large stone from the tunnel floor
and threw it at the creature. The scuffling stopped.
“You need to eat,” she urged.
“Thank you.” I reached down, grabbed the still-warm
carcass, and placed my mouth to its fur, piercing the thin
skin with my fangs. The whole time, I was aware of Cora’s
unflinching gaze. But what did it matter? It wasn’t like
my drinking blood was a surprise to her. She’d seen me
bare my fangs to feed, and she’d seen me battle Henry
and Samuel. I felt the rat’s blood calm my body as it ran
through my veins.
Once I’d drunk all I could, I threw the carcass to the
ground, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and
smiled tersely at Cora. Our friendship was unlike any I’d
ever experienced with a human since becoming a vampire.
Even when Callie had discovered my identity back in New
Orleans, I had never fed in front of her. I had concealed my
fangs and masked my yearnings, wanting her to only see
the best in me. But Cora was different.

The Compelled ✦ 11
“Was that enough?” she asked, sliding into a seated

position and crossing her legs under her gray dress, now
spattered with dirt and blood. Dark shadows surrounded
her eyes, and the smudges of grime on her cheeks blended
with the smattering of freckles on her skin. Her teeth were
chattering. A cold snap had hit London in the past few
days, and it was especially frigid in the tunnel, where the
walls were beaded with condensation and a misty gray fog
swirled around the darkness.
“It was, thank you. How are you?” I asked, feeling
stupid as soon as the words escaped my lips. How was she?
She was in the tunnel of an all-but-abandoned construc-
tion site. She’d just killed a rat and watched it be drained
of its blood. She’d been betrayed by her vampire sister.
She’d witnessed vampires torturing one another, seen a
body burned to ashes. And although she did so willingly,
she’d been used as a pawn in our war against Samuel. But
he’d escaped, and had brutally killed two of Cora’s friends,
then left their corpses in Mitre Square. How did I expect
her to feel?
“I’m alive,” Cora said. “I believe that counts for some-
thing.” She attempted a laugh, but it came out as a
sputtering cough. I patted her on the back and was sur-
prised when she leaned in and gave me a hug.
“I’m sorry I put you in danger,” I said hollowly. “I
should have known that we couldn’t reason with Violet.

I should never have brought you to see her.” We’d gone

to see Ephraim, a witch, and had him cast a locator spell
to help us find Violet and persuade her to leave Samuel.
But when we’d found her, she hadn’t listened to any-
thing we’d said and had kidnapped Cora, which is how
she’d ended up back at the Asylum the same day Damon
and I had snuck in to ambush Samuel.
“You wouldn’t have been able to keep me away from
Violet,” Cora said firmly. “You told me she wouldn’t be the
same. But deep down, I believed she’d still be my sister.
Now I know I was wrong.” Cora shuddered. I nodded, sad
that my prediction had been true.
“I was so stupid,” Cora said, her face twisting in anger.
“I thought I could get through to her. I thought she could
change. But there was nothing of Violet left in her. She
fed on me, Stefan. Then she brought me to the Asylum
and asked that groundskeeper, Seaver, to lock me in that
room. I tried to escape, but Seaver started chanting and
all of a sudden, I was completely trapped.” Cora’s lower
lip wobbled as tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped
them away with the back of her hand and set her mouth in
a firm line.
“He must have used some sort of spell,” I said slowly.
I remembered how small and helpless Cora had looked in
that room in the Magdalene Asylum. She must have been
terrified.

“We need to see Ephraim,” I decided. The only thing I

knew for certain was that if Samuel had witches under his
control, we’d need a way to counter their spells.
“No!” Cora yelled. “Not Ephraim. I had a bad feeling
about him. His locator spell may have taken us to Violet,
but what if that was a trap he set up with Samuel? What if
he’s been working for Samuel all along? We know Ephraim
used to do jobs for the highest bidder—who’s to say he ever
stopped? We can’t trust him,” Cora said, setting her jaw.
“We need to come up with another plan.”
“Well, we need someone on our side who can perform
magic. Otherwise, Samuel will always have that advan-
tage over us,” I said. I stood up and paced back and forth,
willing my mind to come up with a clever way to ensnare
Samuel and free my brother. But I still felt weak and shaky
and utterly unable to concentrate. The rat’s blood had only
taken the edge off my hunger.
“I think you should drink real blood,” Cora said quietly,
as if she could read my mind. “Like your brother. Like
Samuel. It would make you strong enough to fight him,
right? It would make the fight even, like you said.” Her
eyes glittered like diamonds in the darkness.
“I can’t!” I exploded in frustration, unleashing all the
tension I’d been holding in. My voice echoed off the walls
of the tunnel, sending rodents skittering to unknown
hiding spots. A few nights before, I would’ve heard the

far-off moans and heartbeats of other tunnel dwellers.

Tonight, there were none, and I was glad they’d moved
on. The sound of blood rushing against veins would be
far too tempting. I took a steadying breath. “I can’t con-
trol myself,” I continued more calmly. “When Damon
feeds, he’s smarter and faster. When I feed, all I want is
more blood. I can’t think logically or rationally. All I can
think of is how I’ll hunt my next meal. I’m a beast on
blood, Cora.”
Cora opened her mouth as if to say something, then
thought the better of it. “All right. But Stefan,” she said,
grabbing my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “This is
war, and I won’t have you lose on principle.”
“What do you mean?” I tugged my wrist away gently
and peered at her. “It’s more than principle—it’s survival.
I don’t drink human blood.”
“I know you don’t. All I meant was that I’ll do what-
ever it takes to stop Samuel from killing more innocent
people. And I hope you’ll do the same. Maybe drinking
human blood would be different for you now. Maybe you
could try.”
“I can’t,” I said firmly. “You don’t know what blood
does to me. And I don’t want you to find out.”
Cora looked at me indignantly, but I didn’t want to pur-
sue the subject any further. “We should get some sleep,”
I said. I settled on the hard ground on the opposite side of

the tunnel. I heard her shaky breathing, but I couldn’t tell

if she was shivering or crying. I didn’t ask.
I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my forehead,
a gesture that did nothing to ease the relentless pounding
in my skull. Cora’s suggestion echoed in my mind: Drink
human blood.
Could I? I hadn’t in twenty years, not since I was in New
Orleans, where I’d sometimes drank the blood of four, five,
ten humans a day with little thought to the consequences.
I often dreamt of it, the moment when I was bent over a
victim, smelling the rushing, liquid iron, knowing it was
about to run down my throat. Sometimes the liquid was bit-
ter, like strong, black coffee. Sometimes it was sweet, with
traces of honey and oranges. It used to be a private, perverse
game of mine: to guess the taste before the blood touched
my tongue. But no matter what the flavor, the result was the
same: With human blood in me, I was stronger, faster.
And ruthless.
In a way, Cora was right. In the short term, blood could
be the fuel to power me to rescue Damon. But in the long
run, it would destroy me. And as much as I needed to save
Damon, I needed to save myself, too.
I reached into the darkness and allowed my hand to
graze Cora’s slim fingers. She took it and gently squeezed.
“I know you’ll find a way to save Damon,” Cora said.
“. . . with or without blood.”

It was meant to be reassuring, but I knew from the hes-

itancy in Cora’s voice that she was simply trying to make
me feel better. She didn’t really believe it—which only
made me feel worse.
I turned to face Cora.
“I promise, if I need to drink blood, I will. You have
my word.”
Relief flickered in her large eyes. “Thank you,” she
said.
I didn’t fall asleep for a long time after that. I could
sense from Cora’s slow, deep breathing that the evening
of terror had taken its toll. She was resting, exhausted, her
face in calm repose. Meanwhile, my brain was reeling.
Damon, I whispered into the darkness.
Nothing.

2
T he next day, I left the tunnel, telling Cora I

needed to do some errands. Cora didn’t offer to
join me, and I wondered if she thought I was off
to hunt human blood. If so, I let her believe it. But instead,
all I did was joylessly kill a squirrel, feeling weak even as
the blood hit my tongue. Human blood would make me
feel sharp, alive. This only made me feel more despair.
Darkness had fallen when I returned to the tunnel.
Cora climbed out to join me, and the two of us headed
toward the Asylum. We knew Samuel often stopped there
at the end of the day. If we could catch a glimpse of him
as he exited, then follow him, we hoped he’d lead us to
Damon. We were armed with stakes, but they provided
minimal comfort. My stake was jammed in the shaft of my
boot and poked my skin every few steps. It didn’t make me

feel any safer. At this point, stakes were as commonplace

to us as guns were to hunters heading into the woods. But
having a gun didn’t guarantee a hunter couldn’t be killed.
The crisp fall air smelled like burning leaves, and,
unlike the East End, this part of town was filled with well-
dressed men and women, strolling from dining clubs to
the theater to their fancy hotels. I didn’t mind the crowds.
Having to navigate through the masses and around horse-
drawn carriages took my mind off the task at hand.
Gradually, the crowds thinned out and the smell of
illicit fires made with newspaper kindling replaced the
aroma of roasted chestnuts. The streets were empty, but
the slums surrounding them were full, and I could sense
eyes watching us suspiciously behind plateglass windows
as we walked up High Street, the main thoroughfare of
Whitechapel. From there, we turned onto Crispin Street
and soon arrived at the Magdalene Asylum. The stone edi-
fice towered, churchlike, over the now-empty Spitalfields
Market. Cora’s attention was focused on the padlock on
the heavy iron gates surrounding the building. The only
sign that anyone inhabited the Asylum was a lone candle
flickering in an upper window. It was only a little past
eight o’clock, but unlike the rest of London, the street
and building were as quiet as a tomb. It was, after all,
only two blocks away from Mitre Square, the location of
Jack the Ripper’s most recent kills. Ever since then, the

Whitechapel Vigilance Committee had urged residents of

the East End to stay indoors. Clearly, they were taking the
request seriously.
“I hope they’re all right,” Cora said quietly, and I knew
she was thinking of the girls she’d met when she’d
infiltrated the Asylum. All young and down on their luck,
they’d seen the organization as a chance to get back
on their feet. When they’d entered the Asylum, how could
they possibly have known their blood would be used to
feed monsters or that their benefactor would handpick
them to be slain on the streets?
Behind us, I heard the sound of leaves crunching. I
turned, ready to face whatever new danger was headed our
way, but it was only a watchman, swinging his nightstick in
one hand and holding a lantern in the other.
Don’t come over here, I willed, focusing my Power on
him. He moved toward me, and for half a second, our eyes
locked. Turn. Go back where you came from. He paused, but
didn’t shine the light our way. Instead, he pivoted on his
heel and walked back in the opposite direction.
“Did something happen?” Cora whispered sharply as
she noticed my cocked head.
“Shh!” I motioned for her to be quiet until the footfalls
faded. Cora didn’t have the same ultra-honed senses I had
and was oblivious to our near miss.
Before I could explain what I’d seen, the front door of

the Asylum opened and Samuel strode out into the dark-
ness, an attaché case under his arm and a silk top hat on
his head. I stiffened as Cora grabbed my arm. I pulled
her up the street behind a hedgerow, but Samuel didn’t
look toward us. To anyone passing him on the street, he
was simply the future London councilor, out doing char-
ity work for the poor. They would think him admirable, I
reflected in disgust. He turned down the flint path toward
the curb and up the street, in the direction of the barren
Spitalfields Market. As soon as he did, a coach veered
toward him. Clearly, the driver was confident he could col-
lect a generous fare from this well-dressed man.
“Here, sir! Happy to take you wherever you want!” the
cab driver called across the square. Samuel nodded once,
then hopped into the cab.
“Let’s go,” I hissed to Cora, grabbing her arm and
breaking into a run. Together we sprinted behind the
coach as it clopped its way through the stalls surrounding
the seedy market, heading deeper into Whitechapel. I was
ten feet away, then five, and was about to catch up when I
realized Cora was no longer on my arm.
I turned around and saw her doubled over, her hands on
her knees, in front of the Lamb and Sickle public house.
She had attracted the attention of a few patrons lurking in
the doorway, who’d stopped their round of singing to gape
at her.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t run anymore,” Cora panted, her

face red and slicked with sweat. “You go on ahead.”
“No need to run, girl,” one man said as he lecherously
stumbled toward her. “You can relax in my arms.”
I turned to him and bared my fangs menacingly. He
let go of Cora and backed away, his face white with fright.
“All right, no need to get nasty. Just having a bit of fun,”
he said slowly, holding up his hands and walking away.
“Go on! I’ll meet you later. I know the barman here.
He’ll take care of me. I’ll be fine,” Cora urged with the
same fierceness I’d seen last night.
“Are you sure?” I didn’t want to leave Cora, but I
couldn’t lose Samuel. I glanced around. The Ten Bells was
nearby. Cora did know the area, and she had a stake hid-
den in the folds of her skirt. I knew as well as she did that
a stake would also do a perfectly fine job incapacitating a
human threat. Still . . .
“Yes!” Cora hissed. “I’ll meet you back at the tunnel.”
I nodded and surged ahead at vampire speed, but the
busy street beyond the market was crowded with coaches,
and I no longer knew which one held Samuel.
I was about to cut my losses and head back to the pub
to collect Cora when I spotted a figure stealing down a
dark alley. I narrowed my eyes. The form was moving far
more quickly than any human. Samuel. And worse, he was
carrying a girl in his arms. The girl was clawing at Samuel’s

shoulder, forcing him to stop and adjust his hold every few
feet. I couldn’t believe she was still conscious. Many of
Samuel’s victims fainted from fright, or were killed imme-
diately. But now, he seemed to be taking care not to jostle
the girl, holding her as carefully as a wolf would bring its
prey back to the pack.
My heart clenched and I broke into a run when I real-
ized he was headed for the warehouses near the Thames.
I hadn’t been there since the terrible night when Samuel
had turned Violet into a vampire. Why was he taking a
human girl there now? He had Damon; he didn’t need to
frame him for any more Jack the Ripper murders. He had
a steady supply of blood from the girls in the Asylum. So
what could he possibly want with this girl?
I followed the streak of Samuel’s shadow along the
brick buildings that led to the pier, but soon lost his trail.
Farther down the pier, I could hear the sound of bottles
breaking, but I knew that wasn’t Samuel. The piers
were lawless after dark, filled with lost souls—syphilitic
soldiers, pickpockets, and gamblers desperate to make
money by any means necessary—people who couldn’t
even scrape together the few coins required to live in a
lodging house.
I cocked my head, trying to catch the scent of blood or
the sounds of terrified, uneven breathing when I sensed
someone close by. I turned. It was a toothless drunk, his

breath sour with the stench of whiskey. A knife shone in

his hand.
“New boy,” he leered, pulling back the knife as though
ready to plunge it into my abdomen.
I lunged toward him, pushing him onto his back. His
knife clattered on the dock next to him. I set my boot
down on his chest and leaned in close.
“Don’t,” I hissed, as I felt my fangs growing from
behind my gums. This was blood for the taking. I could
drink, and be ready to face Samuel as a true vampire.
I was about to take a delicious, forbidden sip when I
heard a sound. I whirled around. But it wasn’t the girl, or
Samuel. It was only two more drunks, leaning against each
other for support.
I roughly kicked the man. “Get up and run away,” I
snarled.
He sprang to his feet and raced down the pier. I shoved
the knife in my boot and angrily kicked a spray of rocks
into the Thames. They landed with uneven splashes.
And then I heard it: a sound so faint I thought it was my
imagination. One whimper, then another, from a warehouse
several hundred yards away from where I stood. I rushed
toward the building and found Samuel crouched against the
wall, half obscured behind several discarded canvas ship
sails. I pressed my back against the weathered wooden slats
of the warehouse, priming my Power and readying myself to

pounce, when I realized that the girl wasn’t the one letting
out the strangled sobs.
It was Samuel.
His mouth hung open in an expression of agony. His
victim, meanwhile, was propped on her elbows, gaz-
ing intently into his face. Her lips were moving, but no
sound was coming out of them. The girl was no older than
eighteen or nineteen, with wild brown hair matted around
her head. Whatever incantation she was using had momen-
tarily incapacitated her assaulter, but before I could react,
Samuel regained the upper hand and lunged, his teeth
bared and glittering in the moonlight, using his brute force
to throw her against the brick wall of the warehouse. Her
head hit the wall with a sickening thud and she slumped to
the ground in a heap.
Smiling, he pulled a long silver dagger from a pocket in
his waistcoat, and I realized that he wasn’t going to drink
her blood. He was going to mutilate her the same way he’d
defiled Jack the Ripper’s other victims. He was going to
slice open her chest.
In that instant, I yanked the stake out of my boot and
shoved it between his shoulder blades as hard as I could.
Samuel fell forward onto the girl, then tumbled onto his
side on the dock. Blood soaked through his coat. The
girl sprang up and darted to the other side of the ware-
house.

My hands trembled. I’d staked Samuel. And if I staked

him through the heart, it would all be over. But it wasn’t
that easy. I needed him alive until he could take me to
Damon.
He began to struggle to his feet, the wooden stake jut-
ting unevenly from his back. I lunged forward to restrain
his hands, but he spun away from me before I could reach
him.
“These attempts are getting tiresome,” he hissed as he
yanked the stake from his flesh and threw it to the dock.
I dove for it just as a police whistle sounded. The sub-
sequent clattering of footsteps caused us both to freeze.
“Commotion at the warehouse!” cried a foghornlike
voice from the top of the pier.
Samuel stole off into the shadows as three police offi-
cers rounded the corner. Instead of following him, I calmly
walked out of the alley, humming the song I’d heard the
drunk singing outside the Lamb and Sickle as though I,
too, was just a common vagrant.
“What’s the trouble?” one red-faced officer wheezed
as he valiantly attempted to catch his breath. A taller
policeman with a mustache appraised me suspiciously. I
wondered where the girl had gone and whether she was in
danger of Samuel doubling back for her.
“There is no trouble, sir,” I said, rising to my full height.
“Just having a bit of fun.” I wavered from one foot to the

other as I said it, pretending I was a whiskey-addled fool.

I clenched my jaw, talking through my teeth to conceal my
fangs, which always emerged when I was antsy.
The policeman glanced around, and I was thankful
there were no gas lamps on the pier and he couldn’t see
the bloodstains on my clothes.
The sound of a bottle breaking farther down the pier
startled the policeman. He turned his head sharply over
his shoulder. From the shouts and glass shattering, it was
clear a true brawl was brewing.
“I ain’t got time to deal with you,” he said. “Now see
you get into a lodging house. Make any more noise tonight,
and you’ll be arrested. Are you clear?” he asked.
“Yes sir.” I nodded.
“Good.” The policeman hurried off to the scuffle
while his short, red-faced partner struggled to keep up.
As their footsteps faded, I realized I could hear the faint
ba-da-bump, ba-da-bump of the mysterious girl’s terrified
heartbeat.
The moon filtered through the mist, casting an eerie
green glow on the slippery dock, now tinged red with
Samuel’s blood. The ba-da-bump, ba-da-bump got louder
and louder as I headed toward where I’d last seen the girl.
“Don’t get any closer!” The voice sounded weak. I
remembered the terrible crack, loud as a thunderbolt,
when her skull hit the brick wall. She was crouched behind

a crate in an alley next to the warehouse.

“Are you all right?” I asked, kneeling down so I was at
eye level with her.
“I don’t know.” The girl hesitantly pushed the crate
away. Her eyes were catlike, the pupils more like keyholes
than circles. I glanced away, nervous by how entranced I
was by their unusual shape, only to see a slow but steady
trickle of blood run from her temple and into her hair. “I
think he meant to kill me,” she said shakily.
“You’re all right now,” I said in a soothing voice. “Do
you know why he was after you?”
The girl laughed, one short bark. “Well, it wasn’t
because he liked me, I can tell you that much. No. When a
vampire sets after you, you don’t ask why.”
I rocked back on my heels in surprise. “You knew he
was a vampire?”
“Yes. And so are you,” she said. “But you saved me.
Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Do you know who that man was?”
The girl shrugged. “I knew he wanted to kill me, so we
never got around to making formal introductions. I was just
minding my own business and then . . .” She shuddered.
“You’re safe now. I don’t drink human blood. I only
want to protect you.”
The girl’s eyes blazed into mine, her pupils widening
and contracting. And then, after a long moment, she nodded.

“Thank you for being honest,” she said. “I’m Mary Jane.
And I suppose you can tell that I’m more than I seem. You
saw one of my tricks. I only wish it had worked better,” she
said ruefully. She clearly knew how to control her power.
But was she a witch? Or some other creature of darkness
I’d never encountered? I leaned in, hoping to hear more
about her trick. How had she pushed Samuel back?
Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “So, who are
you, vampire?”
But before I could respond, she fainted, hitting the
dock with a muffled thud.

3
N ot knowing what else to do, I grabbed the

unconscious girl and made my way back to
the tunnel, staying in the shadows to avoid
any suspicious glances. As expected, everyone on the pier
was too involved in their own miseries to notice me, or the
girl breathing shallowly in my arms.
When I finally managed to snake my way down to our
makeshift camp, I was relieved to see Cora lying peace-
fully next to a small fire.
“Cora,” I said.
She started awake, her eyes widening as she took in the
figure in my arms.
“Is that Damon? Is he dead?” Her voice was tinged
with hysteria.
“No! No, it’s not Damon,” I said hurriedly, trying to

assuage her fears. “It’s a girl Samuel attacked. I got there

before he could kill her.” I slowly placed the girl on the
ground. Instinctively, she curled her small body toward
the fire.
“He was trying to kill her?” Cora asked, wrinkling
her nose. “But I don’t understand. He’s already framed
Damon. And he has all the blood he could want.”
“I know,” I said. Briefly, I tried to explain what I’d
seen. The odd words Mary Jane had been muttering to
keep Samuel away. The way Samuel seemed intent on kill-
ing her with a knife, rather than his fangs. The fact she’d
known we were both vampires. The fact that she’d known
I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I wouldn’t hurt her.
The fire had burned down to its last embers, casting a
flickering orange glow on Cora’s face.
“I think you were right. We need to talk to Ephraim,”
she said in resignation.
I nodded in agreement, not able to tear my eyes off
the sleeping girl. Was she a witch? An image of Margaret
Sutherland swam into my mind. Margaret, sister of
Bridget, the girl I’d married in New York, was a witch. She
had always known when someone was lying. In fact, that
trait had once saved Damon and me: When Margaret came
home to find her family brutally slaughtered, she’d been
the only person who believed we hadn’t killed them. For
my sake, I hoped this girl had the same skill.

“What can I do to help?” Cora asked, gently tucking a

frayed flannel blanket around Mary Jane’s thin shoulders.
“I don’t think anything right now,” I said. “We’ll see
Ephraim at midnight tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do
in the meantime.”
Cora nodded and settled back into her pile of blankets,
turning to face the wall. I’m not sure how long I sat, silently
keeping watch. Like Samuel would just burst in, I thought. If
he wanted to, he could. But he wouldn’t. Here, in the dank
tunnel, I felt safe. It was only out there—where Damon
was right now—that was the problem.
I contemplated building up the fire, but didn’t.
Eventually, the sound of the girls’ even inhalations and
exhalations lulled me into a daze.
But I was startled out of my stupor when I heard the
rustlings of Mary Jane coming to.
“Where am I?” she asked, in a panicked voice. The
quaver in her voice hurt my heart.
“You’re safe,” I said, trying to calm her. “You fainted. I
brought you here to protect you from Samuel. I saved you,
remember?”
The girl nodded, relaxing. “You’re the vampire.”
“And you’re a witch.”
“That I am,” the girl said softly. “I’m Mary Jane Kelly.
And you, vampire?” she asked pointedly.
“Stefan . . .” I paused. I was never sure whether to give

my full name. But it didn’t matter. She knew I was a vam-

pire. She knew when I was telling the truth. “I’m Stefan
Salvatore. And this is Cora Burns. She’s human,” I added,
gesturing to Cora, who had awoken at the noise.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Cora said. “Stefan, can you start
the fire?”
“Of course,” I said quickly, grabbing a match from the
cold, wet earth and hoping it wasn’t too damp to light.
“A fire?” Mary Jane asked. “I can do that.” She closed
her eyes. “Incendia.”
Immediately, a fire crackled in the fire pit, casting
ghostly shadows on the earthen walls. Cora’s eyes wid-
ened in surprise. Despite everything, a glimmer of a smile
crossed Mary Jane’s face. It was clear she was pleased with
her work.
“Can you tell me what you did to hold him back?”
I asked, once we were all situated around the fire. “It’s
important that we know. Because Samuel—the vampire
who tried to kill you—has captured my brother.”
“Unfortunately, I’m much better at starting fires
than staving off vampires,” Mary Jane said wryly. “And
warding off vampires isn’t exactly a skill I’d like more
practice in.”
“But you did something. He was trying to pin you
down, but it was like you were pushing him back with
your eyes. What was it?” I asked urgently, thinking back

to the scene. It was more than just pushing Samuel back.

I glanced at her peculiar pupils again. What else could
she do?
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I did to him. I just
focused all my energy into hurting him, and that’s what
happened,” Mary Jane said. “Thank goodness you found
me. I’d be dead otherwise. Why were you down at the
docks, anyway?”
“I was following Samuel, hoping he would lead me to
where he’s keeping my brother, Damon. Then I realized
he’d captured you. Do you know why?”
“I think he was trailing me. This time, he got me,”
Mary Jane said, knitting her eyebrows together. “I’ve seen
him a few times around the East End, near the lodging
house where I work as a maid. I only noticed him because
he’s not the usual type that we see in those parts. And then
when everyone was talking about how the Ripper may
have been a count or something . . . well, I paid attention.
You can’t be too careful these days.”
“Did you know the girls who were killed?”
Mary Jane shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I just keep my
head down and do my work.”
“So why did Samuel attack you?” Cora asked.
“How would I know?” Mary Jane asked in exaspera-
tion. “It wasn’t on my mind to ask him why when he was
grabbing me right off the street.”

“It’s fine, Mary Jane,” I interjected. “Just tell us what

happened.”
“I’d gotten off work early and was about to meet my
friends for a pint,” she explained. “But as I walked by an
alleyway, he came out of nowhere and snatched me up. I
tried screaming and kicking, but we were going too fast for
anyone to notice. At first, I thought I was being taken by
Jack the Ripper. But he isn’t, is he? Because why would a
vampire kill like that?”
“You just asked the million-pound question,” Cora
said, shrugging her shoulders.
Before I could further explain, a rat came out of its hid-
ing spot. I reached for a stone, ready to attack. But Mary
Jane held up a hand.
“I’ve got it,” she said, placing her fingers on the floor.
“Shh! Come here, love,” she cooed at the animal. The
rat halted and cocked its head at her. “Right here,” Mary
Jane urged. Quickly, the rat ran into her palm and stood
on its hind legs. She raised her eyebrows at us and smiled
crookedly. “See, they’re not so bad.”
“How did you learn to do that?” I asked.
Mary Jane shrugged. “I didn’t learn. I was born like
this,” she explained.
“And your parents . . . ?”
“Are dead,” she said flatly.
“I’m sorry,” Cora and I said in unison.

A flicker of a smile crossed Mary Jane’s face. “Or they

might as well be. They might be alive somewhere, but I
don’t rightly know. I don’t know anything about my parents.
I only know that I’ve always had a sense about people, and
animals, and can sometimes have them do what I want.”
“Do you think you can help us?” I asked eagerly. My
stomach rumbled, and I had to turn away to avoid automat-
ically reaching out and killing the rodent cupped in Mary
Jane’s hands.
“I could try. I’ve never really used my spells on vampires
before,” Mary Jane said uncertainly. “I’ve never used them
for anything important. Just for little things. To make the rent
collector go away, or to get a rat to do tricks like this. But I don’t
know if I’m strong enough to defeat a vampire. Unless . . . I
have friends who could help,” she finished, letting the rat free.
It squeaked, then skittered away into the shadows. “Only I’m
not sure they’ll like you. We keep to ourselves, mainly. But
I’ll tell them you saved me. I can’t say whether that’ll sway
them, seeing as you kill our kind, but I can take you to them.”
“That would be very kind,” I said. “Are your friends
like you?”
“You mean, are they witches?” Mary Jane asked matter-
of-factly. “Why, I suppose so. Although I don’t know what
makes a witch a witch. But I do know we all have magical
powers,” Mary Jane said, giving me a lopsided smile. I
smiled back encouragingly.

“How many?” Cora breathed.

“Not many. There’s just five of us. Me, Billy, Gus, and
Vivian. And Jemima of course, but she’s . . .”
“She’s what?” I asked.
“She’s the one who might not like you,” Mary Jane
said. “She doesn’t trust others. But when I tell her that you
saved my life, she might reconsider.”
“But the rest of them?” I asked.
A fond smile crossed Mary Jane’s face. “They’re lovely.
They’re my family, really. I never had a proper one. When I
was twelve, I thought I’d be adopted. I used to dream about
what it’d be like to have a mother, a home, and a bed with
a feather mattress . . .” Mary Jane shook her head and set
her mouth in a firm line. “That didn’t come true. But I got
something better. I got people who’d never let me down.”
I nodded. I had so many questions and scarcely knew
where to begin. A memory from years before flashed through
my mind. I’d been sitting on a rock in the middle of the forest
on the edge of Mystic Falls, listening to Katherine explain
how she’d turned others into vampires like her. But witches
were different. They didn’t become witches—they were born
witches. The craft was in their blood.
“How did you find the others?” Cora asked softly. Her
knees were pulled close to her chest, and she looked like a
child being told a bedtime story.
“Well, once you know what you’re looking for, you

start to notice things,” Mary Jane explained. “Jemima and

I found each other first. We were in the same orphanage
together, and as soon as she came in, I realized she was
special. She could fix things. Her chores would magically
get done while she was up in bed sleeping. Or she’d acci-
dentally spill ink on a book, and seconds later, it would
look good as new. I finally got the courage to ask her about
it, and then we started working on spells together.”
Hope flickered in me. It sounded like Mary Jane and
Jemima were both very powerful. If so, then maybe we
really did have a chance of defeating Samuel. Although he
was strong, magic overrode all other Powers. We had to do
anything we could to get Jemima to agree to help us.
“What about the others?” Cora asked.
Mary Jane wrinkled her forehead. “Well, I saw Vivian
making a concoction with some leftover whiskey at a tav-
ern where she was a scullery maid. Gus was a paperboy
who Jemima saw talking to sparrows in his spare time. And
we found Billy putting a spell on a roll he was eating out-
side a bakery. Before he took the last bite, he conjured up
four more fresh ones.” Mary Jane smiled.
“It will be a pleasure to meet them,” I said. A witch, a
human, and a vampire, teaming up to fight evil. It sounded
like the premise of a penny-paper serial. But thanks to the
monster who was plotting our deaths, this was our lives.


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1

T here was a moment after Samuel dragged

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:11 10

a midnight church service, which had been convenient for

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:11 11

He could already be dead.

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:11 12

the Asylum, she’d volunteered to pose as a destitute girl

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:11 13

worse, fed on—Cora. I could only imagine the despair and

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:11 14

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 15

I helped Cora down, and the two of us faced each other.

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 16

“Was that enough?” she asked, sliding into a seated

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I should never have brought you to see her.” We’d gone

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“We need to see Ephraim,” I decided. The only thing I

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 19

far-off moans and heartbeats of other tunnel dwellers.

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 20

the tunnel. I heard her shaky breathing, but I couldn’t tell

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It was meant to be reassuring, but I knew from the hes-

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 22

T he next day, I left the tunnel, telling Cora I

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 23

feel any safer. At this point, stakes were as commonplace

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Whitechapel Vigilance Committee had urged residents of

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VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 26

“I’m sorry. I just can’t run anymore,” Cora panted, her

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VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:12 28

breath sour with the stench of whiskey. A knife shone in

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My hands trembled. I’d staked Samuel. And if I staked

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other as I said it, pretending I was a whiskey-addled fool.

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a crate in an alley next to the warehouse.

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N ot knowing what else to do, I grabbed the

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assuage her fears. “It’s a girl Samuel attacked. I got there

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:13 36

“What can I do to help?” Cora asked, gently tucking a

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:13 37

my full name. But it didn’t matter. She knew I was a vam-

VDStefanDiaries6_txt_ed3.pdf December 22, 2011 13:01:13 38

to the scene. It was more than just pushing Samuel back.

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“It’s fine, Mary Jane,” I interjected. “Just tell us what

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A flicker of a smile crossed Mary Jane’s face. “Or they

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