The Salvatore family plot sat at the back of the old cemetery, separated from newer graves by a wrought-iron fence that had rusted through in several places.
Bonnie kept watch from behind a mausoleum while I worked, her dark eyes scanning for any movement in the January darkness. The moon was bright enough to see by—a mixed blessing that helped me dig but made us more visible to anyone passing.
The ground was frozen solid.
My shovel bounced off the surface like I was hitting concrete. Three attempts, three failures, my arms already aching from the impact. Traditional digging wasn't going to work.
Time to improvise.
I pulled the knife from my belt and opened a cut on my palm. Blood welled up, warm against the frigid air, and I let my power flow into it. The blood moved at my command, seeping into the frozen earth, working its way between ice crystals and compacted soil.
Tendrils of crimson burrowed downward, softening the ground from within. Where my blood touched, the frost released its grip. Dirt that had been stone-hard became workable, yielding to my shovel like normal soil.
The work was still brutal. Two hours of digging, bleeding, pushing my power further than I'd pushed it in weeks. My blood supply drained steadily as I used myself as a tool—a human warming system for frozen earth. By the time my shovel hit wood, I was swaying on my feet.
"Got it," I called softly.
Bonnie rushed over, her breath fogging in the cold air. Together, we cleared the last of the dirt from the coffin lid. Giuseppe Salvatore had been buried in style—oak casket, brass fittings, the kind of funeral that wealthy founding families could afford.
I pried the lid open with a crowbar and nearly gagged at what I found inside.
Giuseppe's corpse had mummified in the sealed coffin—leathered skin stretched over bones, hollow eye sockets, a rictus grin that looked accusatory even a century and a half after death. And there, clutched in his skeletal hands like a final possession, was a leather-bound book.
Emily's grimoire.
I reached for it—
My blood sense screamed.
Cold. Dead. Fast.
Two vampires, approaching at speed, maybe thirty seconds out.
"They're coming," I said, grabbing the grimoire and scrambling out of the grave. "Two of them. Stefan and Damon."
Bonnie's hands sparked with uncontrolled magic—fear triggering her still-developing powers. "What do we do?"
"Stand behind me and be ready to run."
The Salvatore brothers emerged from the darkness like they'd stepped out of a nightmare. Stefan's face was conflicted, apologetic even. Damon's was pure predatory satisfaction.
"Thanks for the hard work," Damon said, eyeing the open grave and the dirt on my clothes. "Digging through frozen ground must have been exhausting. I'll take that grimoire now."
"No."
"That wasn't a request." He blurred forward—vampire speed closing the distance in a heartbeat—and stopped three feet away when I raised my bloody hand.
The blood from my digging wound shot outward, hardening into a spike aimed at his chest. Not enough to kill a vampire, but enough to slow him down.
"I've gotten better since the cemetery," I said, referencing our standoff over Vicki's coffin all those months ago. "You want to test how much?"
Damon's eyes flickered between me and the weapon. "You're bluffing."
"Try me."
Stefan positioned himself between Damon and Bonnie, his protective instincts overriding his brother's agenda. "No one needs to get hurt here. Let's talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about." Damon's voice dripped with centuries of impatience. "That grimoire opens the tomb. The tomb has Katherine. I'm not leaving without it."
"If I burn this," I said, holding the grimoire over the grave like I might drop it, "no one opens the tomb. Your precious Katherine stays sealed forever."
Red veins crawled under Damon's eyes. The vampire was close to losing control, close to attacking regardless of consequences. "And before you finish the thought, I snap your girlfriend's neck. Caroline Forbes, isn't it? Pretty blonde, vervain bracelet? I know where she lives. I know where her mother works. Burn that grimoire, and everyone you love dies screaming."
The threat landed like a punch to the stomach. He wasn't bluffing—I could see it in his eyes. Damon would burn Mystic Falls to ash for Katherine.
Stalemate.
Snow began to fall, gentle flakes drifting down to land on the grimoire's ancient cover. None of us moved. Four people around an open grave, the weight of twenty-six imprisoned vampires hanging between us.
"What if we negotiate?" Stefan's voice broke the silence. "Matt, what do you actually want?"
Damon laughed. "Negotiate? With the busboy?"
"Shut up, Damon." Stefan didn't take his eyes off me. "Matt. You're not unreasonable. Neither am I. What would it take for this to end without violence?"
The question opened a door I hadn't expected. I'd been so focused on preventing the tomb from opening that I hadn't considered alternatives. But Stefan was right—there might be middle ground.
"I want to keep people safe," I said slowly. "If that tomb opens completely, twenty-six starving vampires flood this town. Hundreds die. I can't let that happen."
"Agreed. I don't want that either."
"Then we control the opening. Partial, contained. Get whoever Damon wants and immediately reseal."
"Katherine," Damon interrupted. "I want Katherine."
"Fine. You search for Katherine. But we control the process. The grimoire stays with Stefan. The spell is performed by Bennett witches with our conditions. Any vampire who tries to escape besides your target gets staked."
Damon's jaw clenched. "Those are a lot of conditions."
"Those are my conditions. Take them or watch me burn this book."
The snow fell heavier. The silence stretched.
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