‘Oh, Meggie, you and your interrogations,’ Winfield said. ‘It’s a miracle that Bridget is all right. Thank goodness Stefan here found her when he did.’

‘Yes. Of course. Thank goodness,’ Margaret said. ‘And what were you doing in the park last night by yourself?’ she continued smoothly.

‘Walking,’ I said, same as I had answered her father the night before.

In the bright light of morning, it struck me as odd that Winfield had asked me nothing more than my name and why I’d been in the park. In times like these, and after his daughter had just suffered a great blow, it was hardly standard to accept a stranger into one’s home. Then again, my father had offered refuge to Katherine when she’d arrived in Mystic Falls, playing the part of an orphan.

A nagging piece of me wondered if our story could have ended differently, if the entire Salvatore brood would still be alive, if only we’d pressed Katherine for answers about her past, rather than tiptoeing around the tragedy she’d claimed had taken her parents’ lives. Of course, Katherine had Damon and me so deeply in her thrall, perhaps it would have made no difference.

Margaret leaned forward, not politely giving up the way Winfield had the night before. ‘You’re not from around here, I take it?’

‘I’m from Virginia,’ I answered as she opened her mouth to form the next, obvious question. In a strange way, it made me feel better to offer this family something real. Besides, soon enough I would be out of this house, out of their lives and it wouldn’t matter what they knew about me.

‘Whereabouts?’ she pressed.

‘Mystic Falls.’

‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘It’s fairly small. Just one main street and some plantations.’

There was some shuffling movement under the table, and I could only assume that either Bridget or Lydia was trying to give Margaret a good kick. If the blow was successful, Margaret gave no sign.