Whatever It Takes {Two | Alaric Saltzman}

The Simple Intimacy of the Near Touch

The Mystic Falls Founders' Hall had been decorated for the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant as carefully as it always had been. The pageant was a tradition, one that did not leave much room for growth, so the differences between the year Abigail competed and the year she was judging did not seem to exist at all. There was a room she ignored the last time she was there, the one she was standing in now.

Pictures of the women titled Miss Mystic Falls lined the walls in order. She walked through them slowly, picking out people she recognized along the way, but she did not stop completely until she came upon one person's photo.

It didn't do her mother justice, but it captured her beauty in its purest form. Her smile was bright, bright and wide and full of pride. But that pride was not in herself, not like so many others, it was in her town. In the things she valued. In the things she instilled in the woman looking back at her.

Ruth, a woman who was once friends with Grams, joined her. "How long have you been married?"

Abigail looked from her mother's photo to her fellow judge. "Our second wedding anniversary was last week."

"Kids?"

She showed her the lock screen of her phone; it was a recent picture, one that showed they were further from four than they were closer to two. "Lizzie and Josie."

It took her a moment to respond, but, when she did, the surprise that came from people set in their ways was not there. "Aw, they're just gorgeous. Any more on the way?"

"Oh, there won't be for a while." She smiled at the picture. "These two keep our hands pretty full."

"Enjoy it." Abigail had heard it a thousand times, "It goes by so fast."

"Tell me about it." Her laugh was as nostalgic as it was eager. "I feel like it was yesterday that they were pumpkins for Halloween and now they're starting kindergarten in the fall."

Ruth's smile did not fade. "You're a professor at Whitmore now, right?"

"Yes and no. I have adjunct status. I teach one class, offer an internship through my primary employer, and spend the rest of my time researching anthropology topics that most people see no value in." She chuckled at herself, thinking of Henry Garrison as she did. "Before I was doing what I do now, I was a curator at the Perot Museum of Nature and Science in Dallas. I miss it, but being back in this side of the field is nice."

"I've always been a banker," Ruth told her although she did not have to. "There aren't many sides to it."

Her phone rang. "Sorry, excuse me."

Out into the hall and up the stairs, she slipped into an empty room. It was small and dark, practically a closet, but it was exactly what she needed. She read the name again, answering it with the opposite of what she would have months before.

"What the hell do you want?"

"My sister's on the warpath. The artifact that she's trying to assemble has the power to kill her. That's why she's after all three pieces of the bell. Lucky for you, I already stole the biggest part." Seline's voice was not the only thing she could hear over the line, but it was the only thing she listened to. "You have something I need. I have something you need. I have the bell. You have the tuning fork. Damon has the third piece of the bell, the striker."

"What's the striker?"

"It's an iron ball. My sister had him fetch it from the Maxwells. He doesn't even know what it is." Seline took a deep breath. "Look, I am partially responsible for the damage she inflicts on the world. If I want to make good, that starts with killing Sybil."