The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it.
Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert.
Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus
Rating: M
Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death.
Author's Note: I know there are a ton of these fics out there. Still I recently got into the show, and I can't get enough of these types of stories. The urge to write my own wouldn't leave me alone so here it is. Hopefully someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Chapter One

The color of my arm as I slapped the top of the alarm clock was the first clue something was wrong. Confused by the sudden shift in skin tone, I stilled. Stared down my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. Sitting up, I stretched out my other arm. A quick flip revealed that they were the same shade. Perfect mirrors of each other.

It wasn't until my sights drifted from my mysterious overnight tanning that I realized I wasn't in my room, either. From the steep slanted ceiling to the built-in bookshelf, nothing was familiar except the white walls. The bed wasn't my bed. The cream bedspread and wooden headboard were a different style from my purple comforter and modern piping headboard. Now that I was paying attention, I realized the mattress felt firmer, too.

Where was I? How did I get here? My memory came up blank.

I shuddered and closed my eyes. But no matter how many times I squeezed them shut and reopened them, the room was the same. Wondering if I were trapped in a freakishly realistic dream, I tried to pinch my arm. The sharp pain pulled in an equally sharp a breath, but it didn't jolt me back into my own bed. Not that I'd had much hope it would. I wasn't a lucid dreamer, but I knew when I was awake. And I was awake.

I rubbed my arm, encouraging the pale patch of skin to fade back into the darker golden olive I was now sporting. Waiting for the bruising pulse to fade, a few strands of hair fell across my face. I pinched the lock and brought it up to eye level. It was straight, not the crinkled mess I usually woke with. The shade was a darker brown, too. Nearly black out of the sunlight.

I caught sight of a full-length mirror. If my arms and hair were different… But the angle made it impossible to see myself from the bed. Swallowing, I swung my legs out from beneath the blanket and was both surprised and not to find the same golden coloring so different from my typical pale. My thighs were softer, lacking the sharp definition of muscle. Another twist from my stomach warned me I was starting to freak out again, but I couldn't help it. I took in the hips that flared, and then a chest more generous than mine.

I rose up onto quivering legs, dread deepening with every careful step towards the mirror. When I stepped in front of it, lips parted but with nothing to say. A hand flew over the mouth that wasn't mine. Wide open eyes a deeper shade of brown stared back at me in horror. The head shook side to side, denial in the steep pinch of sculpted brows.

Nina Dobrev's horrified reflection stared back at me.

The face finally lost a shade, and if it went any lighter, it might end up closer to my own. Her hands curled into the straight strands of shining hair, ran across the crown of the skull, tightening into a grip that pulled. I sucked down each breath, watching as the actress in the mirror mimicked every move. The reflection blurred, colors smearing. I shut my eyes before the burn in my eyes manifested into tears.

This was insane. It couldn't be real. I had to be dreaming.

Eyes open again, I looked around. Like a shift in perspective had shown me the full picture, this new understanding painted my surroundings in a very different light. I'd seen this room before. On a television show. Elena's room. The bed where Damon would lounge and wave at Elena with her teddy bear—that was on the floor next to her bed. The window seat Elijah would lean against as he bargained for Elena's friends and family's lives at the price of her own life.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, as if I could physically hold back the wave of nausea threatening to spill over, I gazed around and shivered. I tentatively moved back to the mirror and pressed the tip of a finger against it. Cold. Smooth and solid. Real. I pressed against the wooden frame. Slightly less cold, but still chilled. Slightly less hard but still solid, small imperfections beneath my skin from the grain, even smoothed with varnish. Real.

I moved faster, as if trying to outrace the truth to the other side of the room, to a desk pressed against the wall. There were candles that gave under my fingertips when pressed hard enough. Real. Notebooks that my fingers slid across until my nails caught the metal spiral. Real. My toes curled into the cold hardwood floor smoothed with a coat or two of lacquer. Real. I picked up a framed picture of Elena smooshed between two adults I'd never seen before. My finger squeaked across the glass as I slid my thumb over their smiles. Real. Brought it up to stare at a younger Elena. This wasn't some prop for a television show, with carefully set lighting and a professional eye. It was the naturally lit and awkwardly shot photograph of an amateur. The faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air. Real.

The picture clattered back onto the desktop. My free hand curled back into a fist that pressed into my stomach. I turned and stared at the frightened girl in the mirror.

Shuffling back to the bed, I settled onto a bottom corner. I stared at the alarm clock. Six thirty in the morning. Early? Or was Elena Gilbert a pre-dawn riser? An insomniac?

Like a song set to repeat, my mind circled back around to the unbelievable situation I was in. Wondering, over and over, how this was possible. What had happened after I'd gone to bed? How did I wake up as a character in a television show? Was this some kind of nervous break? Had I gone mad? Was I dead? In a coma? How real was real? Really real? What'd happen to me if something happened to her?

Rubbing a hand down my face, I struggled with all the questions I couldn't answer. What I did know was that I liked the show well enough to watch it, but I'd never want to live it. Let alone as Elena. Not that I had an issue with her, she served the purpose she was written for. She just wasn't my favorite. Not like Caroline, who'd shown amazing growth. She didn't have any powers like Bonnie. Unless you counted attracting danger.

Since I wasn't craving blood—at least, I didn't think I was—I guessed she was still human. Realizing vampirism was a possibility I had to seriously consider, a snort of laughter bubbled up and escaped before I could stop it. As if a dam broke, I let loose more laughter, this time sounding frantic and half-crazed. What absurd turn into insanity had my life taken?

A door opened somewhere beyond the closed one separating Elena's room from the rest of the house. The sound choked my laughter abruptly short as my heart shot up and got stuck in my throat. The floor creaked outside. Footsteps grew closer. Came all the way up to the room's door. The rap of knuckles set my heart pounding. "Elena?" I knew that voice. Jenna, Elena's aunt. "Better get in the shower if you don't want to be late."

I swallowed back a scream. "Okay." Oh god. I even sounded like Nina Dobrev. Elena. Whoever.

I took a steadying breath before adding a tentative, "Thanks."

"Sure." The footsteps moved back and away as she walked down what I was guessing was a hallway.

Well. Still somewhat dazed, but a little steadier after my bout of mad laughter, I found clothes laid out on a dresser after a moment of unfocused gazing while my brain rebooted. Getting up and going over, I picked them up and turned towards the built-in bookshelf, beside which was another door. One Jenna hadn't knocked on. I had vague memories of a bathroom—one the ghost of Bonnie's ancestor trapped her inside.

Sidling up to it, I hesitated for a second before pushing it open. A connecting bathroom, and not just to Elena's bedroom. The opposite door must've led to Jeremy's. It wasn't large, but it had enough room for two sinks, a toilet, and a shower tucked behind the inward swinging door.

Discomfort had my hands gripping the clothes tighter at thought of washing somebody else. Did she have a bathing suit? No, I'd still have to undress. But that was better than scrubbing.

I chewed on my inner cheek before sighing. This whole situation was a can of worms. What were the ethics of a fictional character's bodily autonomy, if they weren't so fictional anymore? At first it seemed cut and dry—treat it with the respect you'd give any other body—except for the fact I was the one currently occupying it. Which made me wonder what had happened to the real Elena. Or was she real? Had someone's consciousness been in this body before? Was she still in here, somewhere? What about Jenna? Was she real? She'd sounded real. Would she parrot lines from the show, like some sort of scripted character? Was I? Had I already been doing that all my life? Was I doing it now?

Already overwhelmed, I wasn't up to parsing through all the metaphysical questions that went along with finding myself in a fictional universe populated by fictional characters. Nevermind all the implications and ramifications. Knowing jack shit about what had happened to me, I couldn't even venture towards any sort of guess, educated or otherwise.

I turned to the more concrete and immediate issue instead. Could I get away with not washing? I raised my arm and sniffed. Nothing funky but—ugh. Going a day without showering had my nose wrinkling as if I'd caught a whiff of body odor. Besides, at some point, I was going to have to use the toilet.

I compromised with myself by making it quick and not looking at anything.

I kept hurrying as I wrapped myself up in towel before daring to go in front of the mirror. Elena, hair plastered against her head and neck, looked freaked out. I frowned. So did she. Eager to banish the surreal sight away, my gaze dropped like a stone to the sinks. A separate toothbrush holder for both, one tube of toothpaste between them. I took hold of the purple toothbrush, hoping I'd picked the right one. I concentrated on finishing up the morning's ablutions.

Back in the bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I was about to unwind the towel and dry off before wrapping up Elena's longer hair when a sound broke the morning quiet and sent a chill through my blood.

"Caw!"

My arms and neck prickled from all the hairs now standing straight. My head turned, slow and reluctant. A light cotton curtain shifted in a breeze from an open window. A window I knew had been shut earlier when I'd examined the bedroom. On the thick boughs of an old tree standing beyond perched a great black crow, watching.

Head tilting, its small black eye remained fixed. On me. After a minute where we stared at one another and it—he?—stayed still, I took a few careful steps to the window. Its head straightened and a wing shook. I paused, but it didn't hop away or take off, so I finished crossing the final bit of space between me and the window. I ignored the curtain as its edge brushed along my bare arm. I stared into that black gaze, searching for something more than animal in its eye. Something intelligent. The very idea was crazy, but at this point, it was a drop in an ocean of madness.

"Caw!"

Sucking down a breath, I gripped the windowpane and pushed it shut. The crow stretched its neck and dipped its head. Standing back up, it launched itself into the sky with a powerful flapping of its shining black wings.

The air rushed out of me, taking the worst of my anxiety with it. "Perv." Forehead falling to the glass, I shut my eyes to shut out this fake world and let my skin soak up the cold. The sun's light glowed red behind my eyelids. I stared into it for as long as I could stand before opening them back up and shutting the curtains. Not that they'd do much good, white and thin as they were.

Hurrying to dress, my sights darted around to all the windows. On the plus side, I was so preoccupied with avoiding any peeping crows I didn't have time to worry out about dressing a body that wasn't mine. Since I hadn't wrapped my hair, the back of Elena's red shirt dampened. Swearing, I snatched the towel I'd discarded from the bed. I tried massaging the worst of the wetness out of it before wrapping it up.

With Jenna still alive, Elena was a seventeen-year-old Junior. She had to have a hair dryer somewhere.

Not hearing anyone or anything stirring out of the bathroom, I went back in. I found one in cupboards beneath the sink, along with a set of curling irons and various other beauty paraphernalia. A power strip laid nearby for the plug. Rummaging through the rest of the drawers, I found Elena's makeup.

With an unfamiliar face, it took me longer than normal to apply it.

As soon as I was ready, I ventured beyond the bedroom door and into the hallway. It looked fairly normal. A generic pastoral painting hung on the wall above a low side table. More doors, one that must have led to the bathroom. Jeremy's had to be beyond it. I supposed that meant Elena's parents had the room across. Jenna must be sleeping there now.

The stairs were at the end of the hall. I paused at the top, listening for any sounds of life down below. Sure enough there was a slight clatter and the running of a faucet. Kitchen?

Only one way to find out.

The stairs were well made. They didn't creak as I descended. Pictures were arranged on the wall. Family portraits. The two adults from the framed photograph in my room featured in these, too. Elena's parents, maybe. I don't remember the series ever featuring either of them.

The faucet was shut off before I reached the landing. Drawers were rolling open and closed, though, punctuated by the creak of a cabinet door. The controlled orchestra of domesticity led me to the right and down a narrow hall that led into a wide-open archway. The smell of freshly brewed coffee grew stronger with each step. Beyond the arch sat a full-size dining table. Scooting around, I approach an island counter separating the kitchen proper from the dining area.

Jenna was moving back and forth between the cabinets and island, various breakfast paraphernalia spread out on the other counter lining the wall. Boxes of cereal and pop tarts, bowels of fruit, a loaf of bread beside a plate of butter. She was muttering, but it was too low to make out.

I stopped at the outside of the island, next to the stools, and leaned on its marble top. "Jenna?"

If she noticed my hesitation she didn't seem to think it was a big deal. "Elena! Morning." Her smile was almost manic, stretched way too wide and revealing way too many teeth. "I made breakfast!" She paused before adding, "Well, I pulled it out of the fridge and cabinets. But. Breakfast!"

I swept my sights along the strange horde of food.

Jenna followed my lead, twisting at the waist to take in her work. "Too much?"

"Little bit." I squeezed my hands together. Somewhere up above, a toilet flushed. Surprised, I looked up. That's something I never heard on the show.

"Oh, good. Jeremy's up." Jenna shook her head. "Was not looking forward to dragging him out of bed."

It was a guess, but, "First day of school."

Jenna looked over and must have seen the trepidation in my face and interpreted it as nerves. "You'll do great, Elena. No one expected you to keep up your grades last year after—" she trailed off into an awkward silence before shrugging. "Anyway. It'll be better. You'll do better." Before I could think of a reply, that slightly panicked glaze came back over her eyes. She held up her hands, "Not to place undue expectations on you. Fine is good. You'll do fine."

Wow. The woman was a bigger wreck than I was. And I was an unwitting body snatcher plopped into the start of the Vampire Diaries' pilot episode. I managed a careful smile. "Right."

Jenna brightened. "Right!" She turned and thrust a hand towards a box of frozen Eggos. "Waffles?"

The thought of food threatened to churn my still sour stomach. "Oh. I'm… not really hungry this morning."

Jenna looked as if I'd shot a dog. "Nerves. Should've thought of that," she fretted. Before I could assure her it was a nice gesture, she burst into motion. Sweeping the food back into her arms before carrying it back towards the fridge. "How about coffee?" she asked over the tower of boxes and plastic containers. "Just brewed a pot."

I wasn't really feeling up to that, either, but didn't want to make things any worse. I wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't disassemble the keurig. "Sure." The shiny coffeemaker sat beside a sterling silver sink. I pushed myself off the counter and carefully sidestepped Jenna to the percolating pot.

Then I realized I had no idea where the mugs were.

Casting an eye to Jenna, who kept shoving the food back into the fridge, I wondered if she'd notice me searching the cabinets when a loud stomping moving swiftly down the stairs signaled Jeremy's impending arrival. The boy himself appeared a moment later, bangs swept across his drooping eyes. He slouched past the table and the island, coming to a stand beside me. The smell of teenage boy was very strong—the hoodie must have come off the floor, and I hadn't heard the shower—when he reached over my head to the end cabinet.

"Breakfast?" Jenna asked, voice hopeful as she half-straightened from the fridge.

"Coffee," Jeremy grunted, plucking a mug from the cabinet.

Jenna sighed and went back to putting away the food.

Jeremy took a glance at the remaining debris from Jenna's impromptu buffet and arched a brow before dismissing it with a shrug. Apparently, the coffee pot was more interesting.

I took a moment to soak in the presence of two fictional characters. From Jenna's frenetic movements to the languid shuffling of Jeremy Gilbert as he moved back towards the island and one of the stools.

Surreal didn't begin to cover it.

I reached up into the same cabinet I'd seen Jeremy take a mug from to get my own. The coffee smelled good as it flowed into the cup, releasing an especially strong aroma. I took a moment to just let the scent wash over me, ground me. How could this be a dream? How could it be real?

Noticing my hands were beginning to shake again, I forced the questions back and wondered which one of the ceramic chicken-shaped jars standing alongside the backsplash were filled with sugar. Tentatively I checked the rooster. The contents were white and powdery but looked too fine. Probably flour. I checked the next, a brown hen. Bingo.

Shit. Where were the spoons?

"You both have rides?" Jenna asked as I surreptitiously tried to pull open a drawer to peek for silverware.

"Yep." Slurping resumed from Jeremy's place at the counter.

"Bonnie's picking me up?" I didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but it's not like I knew what Elena's plans had been prior to possessing her body. I had no idea how close to the show things were. If I was even in the 'show' or some alternative universe. Or if I was going insane. Maybe I was trapped in a hallucination. Maybe it was about to go bad, and killer clowns were going to jump out of the next drawer.

I opened it very carefully. Turned out it was where the big utensils like the bar-b-que fork went.

Where the hell did these people put their spoons?

"Okay. What else? Lunch money?"

I had given up the search for the spoon and decided to drink the coffee black when Jeremy's free hand lifted.

Jenna grabbed a purse off the end of the counter and fished inside until she emerged with a few bills. Jeremy plucked them from her hand and had them shoved into his pocket before Jenna had the chance to hand them over. Swiveling around in the chair, he got up and wandered back out of the kitchen, mug traveling with him.

Did he actually have a ride?

Trying to remember, I started to take a sip. Soon as the edge of the mug touched my lip, it became clear it was too hot to drink. How'd Jeremy manage? Hoping to cool it some, I blew out a breath.

"Elena?"

I froze, eyes wide as I looked over.

Jenna had another ten in her hand.

"Oh, I'm… I'm good." I had no idea if that was true, but I wasn't about to emulate Jeremy's grabby hands. That was just rude.

"Okay." Jenna folded the cash back into her wallet before plopping it back into her handbag. The purse-o-phile in me admired the supple white leather in a quilted pattern. "That's it? Don't need anything else?" She ran her eyes over me. "Backpack?"

"Upstairs?" Probably.

"Don't forget it." Jenna squinted. "What am I missing?"

I stared back, face blank, heart racing.

Her eyes widened. "Crap! My thesis adviser." She snatched the handbag off the counter and hurried out another door that must've led outside. "Good luck!"

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed on top of the counter. The mug clattered against the marble top, and a splash of coffee hit my hand. I hissed, snatching it away and lifting it to my face for inspection. Well, no third-degree burns. Just stung like a bitch. I blew on it, stomach again dropping like a stone as I realized there was no way I'd sleep through a burn, even a minor one.

With the rest of the house's occupants elsewhere, I conducted a proper search of the kitchen. Having no idea how long I'd be stuck in this… situation… I tried to remember where everything was. Or, at least, the important stuff.

Turned out the spoons were in a drawer on the other side of the island.

The coffee had cooled by the time I got sugar into it. A digital clock on the fridge read the time as twenty minutes after seven. If Bonnie was picking Elena up, it probably wouldn't be much longer before she was here. I was pretty sure most schools started at eight. Give the girls fifteen to twenty to get there and find their home rooms—Bonnie was probably on her way right now.

High school. Again.

I grimaced into the mug before taking a longer drink. Did I have to go? I could claim I'd gotten sick. Then I remembered Jenna's frantic need to be helpful, to get her two charges sent off fed and ready for the day. Even if she wasn't real, she'd seemed real enough. I didn't like disappointing people in general. I really hated the idea of disappointing someone working so hard to make sure things went well for—well, Elena, technically. Which was me. For now.

Besides, this might not last. Elena would have an easier time adjusting if her attendance didn't take a nosedive.

Or maybe this was a lucid hallucination and I was wasting my time.

I set the mug down and rubbed a hand down my face. Well, what else would I do? Watch television? Play games? Might as well play along. I didn't know what was happening. Seemed safest to go along with what I knew. Disrupt as little as possible.

But man. High school.

With as much excitement as a sewage treatment tech headed off to work, I trumped up the stairs and back towards Elena's room. I remembered which one it was. Granted, mostly because I'd left the door open and rock music was emanating from the other closed door. Yeah. That was definitely Jeremy's room.

Back in Elena's domain, I hunted around for a backpack. If the girl had her outfit laid out, I was willing to bet she'd had her school supplies ready to go to.

Sure enough, I found it leaning against the chair tucked under the desk. It was one of those bags that looked like a giant purse or laptop case, but in leather. Really nice. I swung it onto my shoulder and squeezed the straps. They gave a comforting little creak.

I paused to look around for anything else I might need. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I paused to stare. God. This was Elena Gilbert. I mean, I was Elena Gilbert. Headed off to her first day of Junior year.

She'd meet Stefan Salvatore today.

I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, I thought Stefan—or Paul Wesley—was ridiculously handsome. On the other, he was a vampire. He was a vampire that tore off people's heads when he got in a feeding frenzy.

It was a great relationship to stream from the comfort of my couch. But living it? Um, no. I didn't like the idea of being the doppelgänger with the magical blood that every male vampire seemed to want for one reason or another.

I was still staring at Elena in the mirror when a chime went off downstairs. Doorbell. Probably Bonnie.

I squeezed the handles of Elena's bag again and just stuffed all the questions and worries back down. I mean, vampires? Doppelgängers? Witches? Werewolves? Curses? I couldn't function if I thought about all this craziness. Who could? What I needed to do was take my dad's most often given advice: Go with the flow.

I retraced my steps back downstairs, but this time didn't turn back towards the kitchen but hurried for the door. A glance through the peephole showed Bonnie freaking Bennett waiting patiently on the other side of the door. A weird sensation of being slightly out of it came over me as I pulled the door open and was greeted with a bright smile.

"Hey!"

"Hi." I tried to return her blinding smile with one of my own.

It must not have gone very well. Bonnie's immediately slipped into a slight frown and furrowed brows of concern. "Nervous?"

I laughed. To my credit, I sounded only a little crazy. "You have no idea." Bonnie Bennett. I was talking to Bonnie Freaking Bennett!

Bonnie fixed another smile on her face, this one far more empathetic. "Ready or not, we'd better get going."

"Okay." My stomach was still flipping. Good thing I hadn't taken Jenna up on her offer of food. I wondered if I should let Jeremy know I was leaving, then figured he wouldn't hear over the music. He probably wouldn't care even if he could.

Stepping out, I shut the door behind me. Jeremy would lock up, wouldn't he? When Bonnie didn't say anything about walking away without locking up myself, I felt my shoulders loosen slightly. I followed dutifully behind her.

The Gilbert's maintained a nice front lawn, and I didn't doubt that the back was as meticulously well kept. The bushes were all evenly trimmed, and the grass had been cut recently. I wondered if it was all Jeremy, or if I shared in the outdoor chores.

We followed the sidewalk to the driveway where Bonnie had parked her blue Prius. We settled in, buckled our belts, and were off with a turn of the engine. Imogen Heap's electronically altered voice filled the car with the chorus of Watcha Say.

Bonnie leaned over and turned down the stereo before straightening back up and shifting the car into drive. I turned my sights to the front windshield, watching as she turned left and headed down the street. I tried to make note of every sign we passed and subsequent turn she made. But I started losing track before we hit what I guessed was Mystic Fall's main street.

The two-story homes turned into brick buildings sporting various signs proclaiming one type of business after another. The street itself was lined with old fashioned black streetlamps rather than the newer curved sort that had dotted the neighborhood. I didn't doubt they were electric, but it was a nice touch. Hanging from the occasional stop light were banners announcing an upcoming festival.

"Night of the Comet," I muttered as we passed beneath another gently rippling advertisement.

"This Thursday. Can you believe it's already here?" Bonnie kept her eyes on the road.

"Nope," I answered in complete honesty. "I cannot."

"Grams says it's a bad omen." Bonnie huffed a scoffing laugh. "She says a lot of things nowadays."

Giving up on following the route to the high school, I turned to look at Bonnie instead. A distinct sensation of déjà vu washed over me. I swallowed before trying for a casual, "Like what?"

I must have succeeded, because Bonnie launched into the topic with gusto. Clearly she'd been waiting to get this off her chest. "All sorts of crazy stuff. Like, apparently, I can see into the future." Her mocking tone left no doubt as to what she thought of that. "Woman's finally lost it, Elena."

"Can you?"

"What?"

I tugged at the seat belt. "See into the future?"

Bonnie glanced at me, brow raised. "If I could, don't you think I'd have a winning lottery ticket in my hand right now?"

"Maybe it doesn't work that way."

"Right." Skepticism dripped off the word. "Not very useful then, is it?"

"I don't know about that."

Bonnie shrugged. "Well, I did predict Heath Ledger. And Obama."

Oh, god. I remembered that line from the show. My mouth went dry and I wiped my hands down my jeans. I cast about for something to say. "How about Trump?"

"Huh?" Bonnie asked, glancing my way before the traffic light turned green.

"Never mind," I muttered before sinking further into the seat. Something about this… why did I remember this so well?

"O-kay." Bonnie shrugged the comment off. "Anyway, Grams says were descended from the Salem witches."

"There weren't any witches in Salem," I muttered.

"Right? That's what I told her. She just gave me this look and says, 'Not that they caught.'" Bonnie huffed. "Convenient, huh?"

"I guess." I glanced at her. "If there were really witches there, though, they probably would've used magic to escape."

"I guess." Bonnie frowned. "Don't tell me you believe Grams' cra—"

A black shape flew straight at the glass, thumping into the windshield. Bonnie and I let out startled shrieks as the thing suddenly disappeared over the roof of the car. Bonnie gave the wheel a sharp turn and slammed on the breaks. We hit our belts as the car came to an abrupt stop.

I didn't realize I was breathing so hard and fast until Bonnie's hand on my shoulder startled the ringing from my ears. "Elena? Oh my god. Are you alright?"

I took a slower, deeper breath. Ignoring the sudden sweat that had broken out over my forehead, I turned with a forced grin. "Yeah," I breathed. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yeah." My voice was stronger that time. "Just startled."

Bonnie collapsed into her seat. "I know!" She leaned forward and looked up at the windshield where a slight smear was the only evidence something had hit the glass. "I swear, it was a huge bird or something." She turned to me, eyes big and pleading. "I didn't see it."

I managed another shaky smile, rubbing a hand across my clavicle, where the belt had caught me. "It's fine. We're fine."

Bonnie frowned. "I know. I just—I figured—" She waved a hand, as if to encompass the whole of the car.

Right. The accident that killed Elena's parents. What had she said? "I, uh. I can't be afraid of cars forever."

I must have gotten it right, because Bonnie's answering grin was far more relaxed. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. "I predict that this year is going to kick ass. And I predict that all the sad and dark times are over and you are going to be beyond happy."

I remembered that line. It was—so wrong it wasn't even funny. I summoned a smile for her anyway. It was a nice gesture, after all. "I hope so."

But a shiver traveled down my spine. It was real. Somehow, impossibly, it was real.

All of it.

I turned my head towards the passenger window and looked up to one of the signs lining the street.

A black crow looked back and cawed.