Chapter 29 : The Devil's Smile
The Grill was half-empty when Damon Salvatore walked in.
I recognized him immediately—the swagger, the leather jacket, the smile that promised nothing good. He moved through the restaurant like he owned it, like everyone else was furniture arranged for his convenience.
My hands tightened on the tray I was carrying. Three months of preparation, and my first instinct was still to run.
Don't. You're just a busboy. You're nobody.
I set down the tray and moved behind the bar, putting solid wood between me and the predator settling onto a barstool.
"Bourbon." Damon's voice was smooth, confident. "Top shelf. None of that well swill."
I poured his drink without meeting his eyes. The bottle shook slightly in my hand.
"You're Vicki's brother, right?" He took a sip, watching me over the rim. "Terrible thing that happened. Animal attacks... so tragic."
He's testing you. He wants to see how you react.
"She's recovering." I kept my voice flat. "Thanks for asking."
"Such a resilient girl." His smile widened. "I heard she healed remarkably fast. Almost supernaturally fast."
My heart stuttered. Did he know? Had he seen me at the bonfire, pressing my bloody palm against Vicki's wound?
No. If he knew, he wouldn't be fishing. He'd be acting.
"Doctors called it a miracle," I said. "Small town, small miracles."
Damon laughed—a genuine sound, which somehow made it worse. "I like you, Matt. You've got that 'trying really hard to seem normal' energy. Very relatable."
He leaned forward, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical pressure. His pupils dilated, something shifting behind his eyes.
"You should forget we talked." His voice dropped, becoming something else—layered, compelling, impossible to ignore. "Go about your evening. This conversation never happened."
The compulsion hit me like a wave. I felt it push against my thoughts, trying to reshape them, to erase the last few minutes from my memory.
The vervain in my blood pushed back.
I let my expression go slack for a moment, the way I imagined a compelled person would. Then I shook my head slightly, as if coming out of a daze.
"Sorry, what were you saying? I spaced out for a second."
Damon's eyebrows rose. The friendly predator mask cracked, revealing something sharper underneath.
"Interesting tolerance for a small-town kid."
"My mom used to make herbal tea with weird stuff." The lie came easily—I'd practiced it. "Grandma's recipe. Supposed to be good for the immune system."
Vervain tea. Please buy it. Please don't push.
For a long moment, Damon studied me with the kind of attention that made prey animals freeze. Then his smile returned, slightly different than before. Amused, but calculating.
"Herbal tea. How folksy." He finished his bourbon in one swallow. "Tell your sister I hope she recovers fully. Mystic Falls needs all its... local color."
He left a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and walked out without looking back.
My hands were shaking as I picked up the money. A hundred dollars from the monster who'd torn out my sister's throat. Blood money in the most literal sense.
Marco appeared at my elbow. "Big tipper. Friend of yours?"
"Never seen him before."
"Huh." Marco shrugged and went back to the kitchen.
I stood there, clutching the hundred, and tried to slow my breathing. The compulsion had failed. My cover had held. Damon thought I was just a local kid with a grandmother who believed in folk medicine.
But he noticed. He'll remember. And vampires have very long memories.
The rest of my shift passed in a blur. I served tables, cleared dishes, made Marco's vervain-laced special sauce. The routine helped steady my nerves.
When I clocked out at ten, I sat in my truck and stared at Damon's hundred-dollar bill.
Use it to buy more stakes.
The thought made me laugh—a slightly hysterical sound that I cut off quickly. Taking a vampire's money to buy weapons against vampires had a certain poetry to it.
I drove home through quiet streets, the weight of Damon's attention still pressing against my thoughts. He knew something was different about me. He just didn't know what.
How long until curiosity becomes investigation?
The trailer was dark when I arrived. Vicki was sleeping, her door closed, soft music playing from her room. I checked on her through the crack—breathing steady, no signs of distress—and retreated to my own space.
The stakes under my bed glinted in the moonlight. Twelve of them, sharpened and ready. Not enough against Damon Salvatore, but better than nothing.
I lay awake for a long time, replaying the conversation.
He tried to compel me. He failed. He's curious now.
Curious vampires were dangerous vampires. And I'd just made myself interesting to the most dangerous vampire in Mystic Falls.
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