Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'PREFACE'

'JAHEIRA'

“I pray to the Christian God, so that he may bestow upon us all his peace and faithful prosperity, to all factions of the Quarter.” The calm and delicate echo of Sister Jaheira’s prayers sounded subtly throughout the dark and barren reception of St. Anne’s Church. In the darkness of the hall, the young woman had knelt down behind the podium, before a table covered in white candles and religious cloth.

As she knelt, her pale blue eyes remained open, admiring all the candles which had melted themselves within every nook and cranny of the old table after years of use. It was an old tradition of Jaheira’s to use these candles. Discreetly, once every week and always late in the night, Jaheira used a simple wood lighting stick to set the cold wicks of her candles aflame with every whispered prayer to the ones who’ve passed. There was nothing religious about it by human standards. But it had been a respectable ancient tradition of the coven she had been born into for centuries. An old custom she had still kept with her even after all these years.

She lit another. “I pray to the Mother Gaia, so that she may bestow upon us all her wisdom and her mercy –” another candle was lit “– and finally, to Death, in hopes that he may faithfully guide the spirits who have passed over, to aid them on their journey to eternal light…”

Jaheira left the three candles in the centre of the table, before lighting a fourth closer to her, finally beginning her weekly ritual.

“For the nine seminary students.”

For months, the thoughts of the recent tragedy had been troubling her. A heavy weight that has never lifted since those poor boys’ deaths in this very building. Jaheira couldn’t help but embrace the wave of anxiety that came with its burden, nor could she stop the prickling sensation that rose along her arms at its haunting memories. The strong, metallic smell of all that blood. The soundless echoes of their pain-filled screams… and for what? It was only right she were to honour their souls in her prayers.

Her hands shook slightly as Jaheira moved the newly lit candle onto a small shelf at the other end of the table, and she could feel the quiet thrum of her magic resonating around her, comforting her like huge wings with its gentle, warm embrace as she began lighting a fifth candle. “Sean O’Connell.”

His name was bittersweet on her tongue. Sean had been such a sweet boy in life. He had been nearly her age, just having only two months until he reached the prime age of 24, when he died. Always, Sean was kind and generous to everyone around him, and when his uncle, the Head Priest of St. Anne’s, had taken her in many years ago, Sean was one of the first to welcome Jaheira to their home with open arms.

It had all been so sudden. It was a total shock to everyone when Sean just snapped one day and killed his fellow seminary students and then himself in this very hall during a service. Jaheira and many others had been there and watched helplessly. She didn’t even have time to interfere with her magic before the panicked crowd had pushed her out of the church’s doors. Everyone had been riddled with horror and grief since that day. The city’s newest tragedy, and it had been the talk of the Quarter for a whole year after. Sean would have been 25 now, if he had lived, but he had no celebratory gifts other than the cold bones in his tomb and the hateful spray-paint on his gravestone. Sometimes, she’d spend hours to clean it away, if Father Kieran hadn’t already.

Jaheira wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes and lit her sixth flame, swallowing back the sadness that built within her throat.

“Alyrie Parker,” she whispered next, the face of her dead mother flashing through her mind like it was photographic memory. Her mother, in a way, was. A constant memory. A constant love. The last time Jaheira had seen her mother, it had been so long ago during a time when the world was still bright and safe. Before Jaheira had been exposed to its horrors and its tragedies. Before everything that had happened that dreadful night that changed everything forever. It only felt right to pray to her mother’s name.

Then, Jaheira’s pale blue eyes trailed off slowly to another barren candle in the corner end of the table. It was as if it had been calling out to her like an old ghost. Perhaps it was, in a way. For she stared long and hard at the plain, unlit candle, a huge lump forming in the back of her throat. Her skin began to prickle once again with goosebumps and her eyes involuntarily watered.

Finally, though, after a long, considerate pause in the silence of the church, Jaheira took a deep, shaky breath and reached over to light her seventh and final candle, her heart pounding.

“Malakai Parker.”

Suddenly, the great double doors at the other end of the church burst open at a strong gust of wind, causing them to clang loudly against the wall and for Jaheira to sharply turn her head towards them, her blue eyes wide and frightened. She could hear her own heart beating in her ears and heavily in her chest.

A warm hand on her shoulder caused her to jolt and gasp loudly in fright, but she immediately relaxed at the familiar sight of Father Kieran staring down at her with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

The rattling of the doors caught both of their attention this time, and Kieran frowned, puzzled. “The storm seems to be strong tonight. I’ll have to lock them up to keep the weather out.”

Jaheira let herself relax fully before blowing out the flame on the lighting stick she was using, then stood up. “Kieran,” she greeted with a small smile of relief, placing down the stick on the table before clasping her hands low in front of her. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“The hour is late,” he told her, meeting her eyes. “With everything that’s going on in the Quarter at the moment, I’d be an idiot to let you be alone at this time of night. It was not long ago we had agreed with Marcel to welcome that girl to our church’s attic.”

The nun looked down at her small, clasped hands. “Davina is a good girl,” she defended, fighting the urge to pick at her nails. A nasty habit she sometimes couldn’t help. “She wouldn’t hurt me.” It just wasn’t her to do something like that. Why would she? They were friends, even if it had only been a few weeks since she had arrived at St. Anne’s in search of seclusion.

When Marcel had barged through the church doors in the dead of night while Jaheira was in the middle of her weekly custom, a lot of things had changed for her. In fact, a lot of things had changed for them all, including the young witch who now remained hidden in the attic. At first, the nun hadn’t noticed Marcel Gerard’s dishevelled, blood covered appearance, and her only focus was on the poor girl in his arms. Davina Claire, one of the promised sacrifices in the witches ‘Harvest Ritual’, had been unconscious when she arrived, dressed in a thin white gown and noticeable tear streaks dried on her rosy cheeks. It was when Jaheira was taking care of the girl and setting her up in the attic that Marcel and Kieran had made a deal – in exchange for keeping Davina hidden from her coven, Marcel will ensure the humans safety from his vampires.

Kieran sighed. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” he reasoned. “Marcel is a dangerous man, Jaheira. You ought to be wary to be alone here, especially at a time his kind like to lurk the most.”

With a sigh, Jaheira moved past Kieran to watch the candles. “I thought you liked Marcel.”

“The words ‘like’ and ‘tolerate’ are very different from each other,” he retorted, though his eyes looked at her softly, and Jaheira could just see the shadows under them. He looked so tired, and she couldn’t blame him. Kieran had been working tirelessly to keep the peace between the humans and other supernatural factions.

The vampire community was only growing with new, restless vamps every night, and their newly found iron fist over the witches only made their side of things even more chaotic. In the day of light, everything was tense like a calm before the storm; and when night followed, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet for the vampires, and the witches were not allowed to use magic to defend themselves or they’d find themselves looking Death in the eyes. Kieran couldn’t protect them without endangering himself and his people, and Jaheira understood that he had made the difficult decision to only defend his own. The witches could only fight or suffer for themselves. Marcel held all the power now, and that was the order of things. Kieran could only do so much to keep his people safe.

The nun let out a long, tired sigh, and Kieran moved to watch the flickering flames of the candles beside her.

“I…” he began, uncertain. “I heard you praying for Sean.”

Jaheira swallowed, not looking away from the little flames that danced on the tiny wicks. “It was only right. He had been so welcoming when I arrived six years ago…” she took a deep breath, then she added. “He was my friend, and… I miss his smile.”

Kieran’s lips twitched. “He had a way to brighten up a room, didn’t he?” he asked, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

She didn’t say anything about that. In fact, Jaheira didn’t feel like talking about Sean much at all. Her peace had already been made tonight until the next week when she was to honour him again. Kieran seemed to understand, because he changed the subject.

“I just want you to be more careful, Jaheira,” he sighed, staring down at the candles. “Especially since Jane Anne’s passing from the night before, I can feel something horrible brewing in the Quarter. I need you to be safe.”

‘I can’t lose anyone else’ is what Jaheira knew he wanted to say. But Kieran was never good with words of affection. To be fair, neither was she. But she understood him, like he did her. Kieran was the father she never was blessed to have, and it only further surprised her that he never had any children. She supposed that was why he had been such a close guide to Sean and his twin, Camille, all this time; and, after taking her under his wing, Kieran had treated Jaheira as a daughter. Even if he was human and she a runaway witch from a faraway coven. It only made sense he was so worried for Jaheira, especially now.

The witches of the Quarter were being controlled and, as of recent, hunted by Marcel and his vampires if they used any magic. Kieran worried that even if Jaheira was good friends with Davina, the girl would still rat her out to Marcel the moment the nun casted a spell and Jaheira would end up like Jane Anne. Dead in a gutter with a broken neck and drained of her blood.

So, in attempts to protect her, Kieran temporarily banned Jaheira from even the simplest of spellcasting’s until everything had calmed down and the deadline to the Harvest Ritual had passed. Davina had told Jaheira, Marcel and Kieran that after the deadline and the ritual still wasn’t complete, all the witches of the French Quarter Coven would lose their magic and be normal, Davina could walk free, and Jaheira could finally use her magic freely again.

“Jaheira.”

She turned to look at Kieran, meeting his green eyes, full of concern and deeply rooted fear. Fear for her.

“Don’t worry about me too much,” she told him, reaching out and grasping one of his hands with both of hers in a ways to comfort him. “I’m smart enough to not use magic, and I’m smart enough to know that while Davina wouldn’t hurt me, she could possibly still put me in harm’s way with Marcel.” She gave Kieran a pained smile. “I can endure a while not using my magic.”

Kieran moved to put his other hand over both of hers. “For both our sakes,” he told her with a nod before releasing her hold and stepping back. Then, without another word, he only spared a single glance back to her before heading down the aisle to close and lock the open, flailing doors of the church.

A cold gust of wind bellowed a final time as Kieran pushed the doors shut and Jaheira shivered. However, something told her that she didn’t get that feeling from the cold wind outside. A war was brewing, and all Jaheira knew was that she wanted no part of it.

Ignoring the creeping goosebumps rising once again along the skin of her arms, Jaheira bent down as best she could in her simple, black, layered nun’s uniform, and, with a deep breath, she blew out the candles she had vigilantly lit for the dead.

Chapter Text

'HELPLESS'

'JAHEIRA'

“Did you study it?”

“Of course, I studied!”

Jaheira gave her friend a deadpanned expression, then with a knowing tilt of her lips, she then looked down at the sheet in her hands and read aloud one of the many questions: “In the topic of America’s Civil War, what was the significance of the Battle of Gettysburg?”

“A battle well won,” Davina replied to the question, sounding almost bored as she continued her delicate strokes on her latest painting. Both she and Jaheira were relaxing about in the young witch’s makeshift bedroom in the church’s attic, and the nun was determined to at least have Davina caught up with her online schooling while being hidden away.

The older witch rolled her pale blue eyes. “Yes, but why was it so important that it had to be won?”

Davina gave her a look from where she was painting her canvas. “Isn’t it important that all battles in wars are won?”

She had a point, but still, Jaheira was beginning to grow tired of her friend’s carelessness with her education. If anything, it felt as if it were Jaheira’s duty to help in any way she could with those in need. With Davina? Jaheira couldn’t do so much as anything but guide her in her studies and to be good company at her side. Davina had to be interested in doing well in school or she could find herself becoming lost in her future.

The nun looked up from her sheet of questions with one raised eyebrow. “You know if you answer it like that on your upcoming test, your teachers will be furious.”

Davina’s lips twitched upward. “Its funny when they’re furious.”

Finally having enough, Jaheira sighed and stood up, placing the sheet down on the bed and approaching the young witch with clasped hands. “You’re always like this when you’re worried.”

Her friend turned her attention back onto the painting. “Like what?” she asked, though her tone had now gone from mischievous to meek. Jaheira knew instantly that her intuition was right, and something was definitely on the young witch’s mind.

“Disagreeable. You’re worried that Marcel may be getting too deep in with the witches?” she asked, tilting her head to the side as she watched her friend stop painting and instead begin to fiddle with her brush.

“I only worry for Marcel.” Davina confirmed, frowning. “I hope for him that he completely takes over the witches. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t matter to me anymore. They’re monsters. Once the deadline to the ritual has passed, I can move on.”

“But?”

Davina swallowed and then met her gaze. “But the witches have been using magic a bit boldly recently. That’s how Marcel knew about Jane Anne. I felt her do a spell and then I told him when he came to see me the other day,” she then added. “They were punished severely for it, but I’m worried that the witches may be planning something. Something big. That Jane Anne’s death was not in vain and that they’ll find me somehow and force me to do the Harvest.”

Jaheira decided then to approach the young witch and place a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you know that Marcel and I would never allow them to take you, even if they did find you,” she said, smiling down at the young witch whose eyes began to water. Jaheira used her other hand to tilt Davina’s chin up so that their eyes met again. “What your old coven has done was murderous and cruel, and they should have not thrown away your trust the way they did. But you have Marcel… and me. We love you, Vina. We’ll protect you.”

Davina reached up and grabbed her hands in one of hers. “I know,” she told Jaheira with a reassuring smile. “I love you and Marcel, too. And I’d also do anything to keep you safe. I condemned Jane Anne to die, despite her being my dead best friend’s mom, to protect you both.”

With a sudden frown of her own, Jaheira stepped back from her friend. “I don’t wish for this to be a life for yourself, even if its only for only a few months longer. Condemning people, no matter who they are, to death is a heavy burden to carry, Vina.”

“I only want to live in peace with you as roommates, maybe travel around the world seeing all its wonders, and eating only sweets.”

Jaheira frowned. “I’m being serious.”

“I never joke about sweets.”

The nun looked down at her with a deep frown. “You’ll need good grades to achieve easy success, Davina. You aren’t worried about your current position?”

Davina turned back to work on her painting again. “I like this position, actually. It’s comfy.”

Pursing her lips, Jaheira spun around and began to gather her history books and printed sheets from Davina’s neatly made bed. She couldn’t help the frustration that began to fester within her at her friends imprudence on her future. Letting Marcel kill people? Telling him whenever a witch used magic in the Quarter? It only brought Jaheira dreadful thoughts on what might happen to her if she used magic and Davina sensed it. Would Davina know it was her or would she find out after Jaheira was put to death? Would Davina even regret her choices once Marcel had struck Jaheira down?

“Where are you going?” Davina asked, standing now at Jaheira’s abrupt reaction.

“Home,” Jaheira hissed out, facing her again, with all of her things gathered back into her arms. “The morning is turning into noon, and I still have a few things I must do before nightfall.”

Jaheira turned around again to open the attic door, but Davina’s voice stopped her.

“The Battle of Gettysburg was a turning point for the American Civil War. The South lost many of its men, and General Robert Lee lost all hope of invading the North,” Davina recited as she approached Jaheira with confidence, as the nun filtered through her many pages to find the question and its answer again. “He fought the rest of the war on the defensive.”

Finding the page again, Jaheira’s brows raised in surprise as she read the real answer. It was accurate. “So you play dumb just to torment your teachers?”

Davina smiled sheepishly and nudged her with a wink. “I told you already. You’re funny when you’re furious.”

Jaheira suddenly caught on and let out a shocked laugh. “Vina!”

When Jaheira opened her eyes, it was dark, but not dark enough so that she couldn’t see anything. She sat up from where she lay atop a stone bench and looked around, and as quick as lightning, a painful headache collided resonated in her skull harshly, and she let out a pained hiss.

Things were quite fuzzy, and it was almost nauseating. Jaheira had no memory of what happened to her. All she could remember was that it was late at night, and she had been out delivering last-minute religious pamphlets around the suburbs for Kieran in hopes that it would bring people back to the church. Then there was a loud screech that made her ears ring, a flash of blinding light from a car, and something had hit in her hard in the back of her head. It probably caused the headache.

Jaheira pushed herself off from the cold stone and peered around. She needed to figure out what exactly happened, where she was, and why.

She was in some sort of cave system, judging by the multiple tunnels in the circular, stone room, but nothing about the cave looked like it had been naturally formed. It more looked like it had been carved out long ago by ancient hands. The jagged stone walls were decorated with hanging herbs, animal bones, and the scratches and paintings embedded in the rock told stories. But Jaheira had no time nor the patience to decipher them.

It was when she reached up to caress her throbbing wound that she noticed that her headdress was missing, and her hair had fallen around her in a mass of tangled, blonde strands. Whoever took her must have hit her pretty hard, and then took off her headpiece to tend to her injury. She let out another hiss of pain when she dabbed it with her finger.

The nun then went to call out for someone, anyone, but she was consumed with a fit of coughs instead, and she bent forward to swiftly get past it. She needed a drink of water.

When it was over minutes later, Jaheira slowly lifted herself from the stone bench, holding one hand to her chest. Her feet hit the ground and immediately, a dizzy spell wracked through her like a ringing bell, and black dots decorated her vision, which made her heart pound with unexpected fear. Jaheira stumbled backward against the stone bench, panting heavily as an instinctive part of her yearned for some water.

Taking some shaky steps forward, Jaheira had to hold onto a nearby wall to steady herself, and guided herself alongside it until she was nearly at the first tunnel, but when she tried to cross the threshold, an invisible barrier of magic prevented her from taking a step further.

Her breathing began to grow panicked when she couldn’t find a way out of this.

Jaheira leaned heavily against the rough, stone wall, and held her head in her hands, helplessly letting all of the dark possibilities to flood into her brain.

“No,” she whispered to herself, almost voiceless. “No. It’s not them.”

It was impossible. She would have sensed them coming for her. This wasn’t the Gemini. They’ve never found her before, and for good reason. No tracking spell has ever been efficient enough, and she and Leon had made sure of that before they were forced to split ways. This was not them. No way.

Jaheira lifted her head when she saw a peak of light suddenly appear at the edge of the tunnel entrance, and she immediately stood up when the magical barrier that kept her inside shifted. But before she could attempt to leave again a group of four women walked into the room.

She recognised them instantly.

“Agnes,” Jaheira breathed out, confused. “What is this? Why am I here in this place…”

She barely had time to look about the room again when the elder of the French-Quarter coven ignored her questions and grabbed her wrist so harshly with one cold hand that Jaheira let out a grunt of pain at the elder’s nails digging into her skin.

“You have a visitor,” Agnes said plainly and tugged her toward the tunnel she and the other women emerged from.

Jaheira pulled back from the elder’s rough hand, rubbing the indents left behind in her skin, but then was pushed forward by two of Agnes’ fellow witches, who both flanked either side of Jaheira. The last witch trailed behind them to ensure she couldn’t escape.

At first, Jaheira protested and tried to tug herself from out of their grasp, but it was all for nought. They remained firm and stoic as they shoved her along the passage. There was nothing Jaheira could do. If she used magic, not only would she condemn this entire coven, but also herself. Davina, no matter how powerful her detection spell was, had no idea who actually casts the spells. She could only sense the rippling power of the magic in the air and where it came from, but never the caster themselves. Davina would have no idea it was her and she would tell Marcel. Jaheira would be sending everyone, including herself, to their graves if she attempted even a simple knockback spell. So she didn’t.

When they exit the tunnels, Jaheira recognises the dreary layout and headstones of the French-Quarter covens cemetery. The heart of their home here in New Orleans.

But then she saw two people at the other end of the grounds, standing by the gates. One she recognised quickly as Sophie Devereaux, the younger sister of the recently passed Jane-Anne, who Jaheira had heard used magic in the Quarter and was killed for it in the streets.

But the man beside her? Jaheira immediately could sense he was a vampire.

He was tall and quite handsome, and his dark hair was neatly cut and combed back. He was light-skinned, and his black stubble made him even more attractive along with the fact he wore a dark suit. Even from the distance she was standing, she could see his lips were lovely and sharply sculpted, he had high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a straight nose. And when their eyes met, Jaheira noted how they were a mesmerizing hazel-brown, even from far away it made her cheeks slightly burn.

Despite it all, Jaheira was still scared, and her fear quickly overtook her captivation. She had no idea who this man was and why he was here. Why she was here.

With a heavy breath, she spoke aloud, “Who are you?”

“It can’t be…” The man stared at her for a moment longer, like he was analysing her, then he turned to Sophie. “Give us a moment, please.”

The witches had allowed them both their privacy back inside the tunnels, in another cold, stoney room that was this time lit with hundreds of candles. The familiar sensation of them gave Jaheira a sense of peace, but it wasn’t enough to warrant for her unease.

The man, who introduced himself as Elijah the moment Sophie had allowed him to approach her at the tunnels entryway, paced around Jaheira as she sat, head bowed, on a small, this time, wooden bench. Anxiety had once again pushed her to pick at her cuticles again, though the pain of her nasty habit was almost non-existent after doing it for so many years.

“So have they been holding you here against your will?”

Jaheira took a moment to answer, her heart racing. “I.. I suppose so,” she stuttered out shyly. “All I remember is walking around the suburbs to deliver pamphlets, then blinding light…” she took a breath. “Then there was a heavy impact on the back of my head before I passed out…”

Suddenly, Elijah sat beside her on the bench with a surprising speed of light, and Jaheira flinched at how close he was beside her. He grasped one of her hands and held it gently in his as if he was apologising. Jaheira noticed how warm it was. She always imagined vampires felt cold.

Elijah moved his other hand to hover near her head but didn’t move any further to touch her or inspect her.

“They harmed you?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Jaheira said nothing and only kept her eyes onto their adjoined hands.

He also looked down and frowned at the state of her fingers. He held their hands up closer to their faces and observed the tiny scabs, shallow cuts, and old scarring around Jaheira’s nails and the rough state of her torn cuticles.

“Why do you savage yourself like this?” he asked softly, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand.

Jaheira pulled her hand away and avoided his gaze, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

Elijah seemed to understand now. “I see…” he pulled his own hand back as well. “I assure you; you have nothing to fear from me. You could not fathom how important you are.”

Jaheira stood up abruptly and created a small distance from the bench before she turned to Elijah, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s what I don’t understand,” she told him, her blue eyes pooling with tears. “No one has told me anything. I don’t know who you are, why I was kidnapped, or why we are talking.”

He stood up and cautiously stepped forward, and when Jaheira showed no signs of discomfort, Elijah moved to stand close before her. “Forgive me,” he told her. “I wasn’t made aware you knew nothing at all.”

When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Are you aware of the Mikaelson family?”

Jaheira knew of the Mikaelsons. Who didn’t? They were infamous in the supernatural world. The Original vampires who were the reason other, more minor vampires walked the earth today. All kinds of legends surrounded them, and growing up in the Gemini coven, Jaheira was accustomed to knowing some of the histories. In fact, Jaheira wasn’t sure there was a witch, werewolf or vampire out there that didn’t know about the Mikaelsons. They were practically royalty.

“Are you saying…” Jaheira began. “That you…?”

“I am.” Elijah’s lips twitched slightly upward.

Jaheira let out a shaky breath, unsure of what to think of all this. “Then… what has that got to do with me?” she asked him, her voice meek. She was speaking to an ancient, Original vampire. How did one even speak to one of his kind?

The Original once again grabbed one of her hands gently and met her eyes. “The witches who took you, they want something from my family. It’s clear they want something from us in exchange for you.”

Jaheira furrowed her eyebrows together. What made her so important to absolute strangers? “Why me?”

Elijah seemed to hesitate, which surprised her since so far he seemed to be the kind of man who always knew what to say. The entirety of their conversation, he had bestowed himself a sense of confidence, which now unexpectedly wavered at her question. Jaheira wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“For centuries, I and my siblings have roamed the globe,” he said, tearing away from her gaze and eyeing a particular candle amongst the hundreds, watching its flame like he was seeing an old memory in its dance. “There have been rumours of vampires in our bloodline coming across people who’ve they had a very special connection with. A kind of bond which cannot be broken, no matter how much magic or how much strain a person inflicted upon it. At first, I myself had been sceptical about the notions of… this bond – but I have had come across vampires in the past who have found this connection with others, and I have witnessed their bonds flourish…”

His eyes met hers as he now continued, “…I’ve also seen few become torn apart and end in tragedy. Do you understand where I am going with this?”

Jaheira began to catch on now, and she suddenly felt hot under her skin, and her throat felt tight as she debated on what to say next. But finally, after a long moment of being under Elijah’s expectant and hopeful gaze, she drew one of her hands to fiddle with the collar of her nun’s uniform.

“Are you saying that I… I am some sort of soulmate?”

There were many legends that focused on vampires, but Jaheira had never heard of such a thing before.

Elijah lifted his chin, meeting her eyes again. “Not just I.”

Jaheira’s shoulders tensed. “Who else?”

“These witches suspect you are deeply connected to my brother, Niklaus, as well,” he claimed, though he looked like he didn’t very much like the idea. “He is also here in New Orleans, since we had both been summoned via their now dead coven member’s magic. I’m sure right now he is causing havoc somewhere in the Quarter…” Elijah trailed off when he saw Jaheira had begun to shake slightly.

The young witch clasped her hands together and held them up to her mouth as she stared distantly at the ground underneath her. This was ridiculous! He and these witches claimed that she, Jaheira, a runaway witch from the Gemini coven, was the soulmate of not one but two Original vampires? How could she even believe soulmates were real when Elijah had already stated he himself didn’t believe such a thing half of his immortal life?

“I know what you are thinking.” Elijah’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “But you are wrong. Soulmates are, indeed, real. I felt it the moment I saw you emerge from these tunnels and into the cemetery. I never felt such a rush of emotions. It was like I could walk on water in that moment, and it never felt more real.”

Jaheira looked up at him defiantly. “Then why didn’t I feel anything like that?” she questioned him, boldly narrowing her eyes. “How do I know this isn’t some twisted trick in a more intricate scheme?”

Elijah’s lips twitched upward like he was going to smile. “You sound like my brother,” he mused, and then moved on to explain. “From what I’ve seen with others in the past, there have been vampires discovering vampire soulmates, and both parties had reciprocated the same strong… let’s call it… a rush. However, I’ve also met vampires who have come across human soulmates, and what you may share with them is a more… delayed reaction.”

“So…” Jaheira hesitated to say. “I am going to just… unexpectedly feel the rush?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But it will form overtime. Whilst I feel…” he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “… extremely protective of you, and like my heart will beat out of my chest, you will not feel this exact feeling until…”

“Until we’ve spent more time together,” Jaheira concluded, understanding this now.

Elijah appraised her with a look.

“I felt… attracted to you somewhat in the cemetery,” she admitted to him, relaxing her shoulders a little. “I’ve seen people out there who have caught my eye before, but I’ve never felt the need to act out on my… my urges before.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow and Jaheira flushed bright red. “I don’t mean it in that way!”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I understand, I was only teasing.” Once again, he grasped one of her hands in his own again and caressed it with his thumb again, but she didn’t mind it. Jaheira, oddly, enjoyed the feeling.

She moved her eyes away from their adjoined hands a second time and gave him a small smile. “I’m Jaheira,” she told him, her voice quiet in the echo of the room. “I suppose it’s only fitting to know your soulmate’s name.”

“Jaheira,” Elijah echoed, and his hazel-brown eyes reflected a sense of bliss. “You have a lovely name.”

Despite still being a hostage held under threat by the French-Quarter coven, and an unexpected and involuntary soulmate to one of the world’s deadliest predators on the planet, Jaheira couldn’t help but experience a giddy feeling erupt in her chest at the compliment. She was sure a blush was once again dusting her pale cheeks. Then she remembered something.

“So,” Jaheira said with a breath of air. “You said you weren’t my only soulmate. Your brother…?”

“Niklaus.” Elijah looked uncomfortable. “Though while I much prefer to keep you all to myself, I am afraid my soul shares yours with another.”

“I’ve heard about him in stories,” Jaheira told him, unsure on what to say in case she offended him. “They say he’s a hybrid and that he’s… he’s something.”

She subtly implied rumours surrounding Niklaus’ dangerous and horrific reputation. The Hybrid, her people called him. The most vicious and bloodthirsty of all the Mikaelson’s. Jaheira could barely stand bloodshed and always, without hesitation, desired peace over conflict. She couldn’t fathom how this man was also, apparently, her soulmate.

Elijah guided her to sit on the bench again and Jaheira couldn’t help but enjoy the warm feeling of his leg brushing against hers as they sat together.

“I cannot excuse his behaviour,” Elijah told her, gently. “But you must understand that our father hunted him – hunted us, for centuries. Every time we found a moment of happiness, we were forced to flee. Even here in New Orleans where we were happiest of all…” he looked up at the cave’s ceiling for a moment before meeting Jaheira’s eyes again. “… Not long after Niklaus broke the spell which prevented him from becoming a hybrid, he defeated our father. I thought this would make him happy, but he’s now angrier than ever.”

Jaheira sucked in a large breath of air and Elijah was quick to move a hand to the low of her back. “I don’t mean to poison your opinion of him,” he said to her. “I’d never want to ruin your and my brother’s possible happiness – I just wonder if you being our soulmate will be a way for my brother to find happiness; a way to save him from himself.”

Before Jaheira could even properly process her newly found soulmate’s explanation, Sophie had entered the room, her heels clicking on the stone floor. Elijah’s head turned around to look her way, and he pulled his hand from the low of Jaheira’s back.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Sophie said. “Because we need your help.”

Elijah stood and protectively positioned himself in front of Jaheira, who remained sitting on the bench. “What does it have to do with this girl?”

“We want to run Marcel and his vampires out of town. You and your brother are the key.”

Jaheira straightened, now fully understanding what this was all about. Elijah glanced back at her but said nothing and faced Sophie again with narrowed eyes, allowing her to continue.

“Everything Marcel knows about being a vampire, he learned from Klaus,” Sophie explained. “Marcel trusts him, looks up to him. He won’t see the betrayal coming.”

Elijah buried one of his hand in his suit jacket’s pockets. “Yes. Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, my brother Niklaus doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

“It’s why I brought you here instead,” Sophie said, lifting her chin. “And it worked out for both of us, just as I expected. If you do this for us, no one out there yet has to know about the newest member of the Mikaelson family.” She peered past Elijah to look at the witch behind him.

Jaheira frowned. No way did they already consider her a part of their family, right?

Elijah didn’t comment on that part. “Sounds remarkably like blackmail,” he stated, though his eyes flashed with hostility.

Sophie stood her ground. “Like I said, I’m desperate.”

Jaheira stood up to address them, but Elijah lifted an arm to stop her, and without tearing his eyes away from Sophie, he said, “Well, it seems I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?” It was obvious he had then made his decision.

He turned to face Jaheira. “I’ll come back for you.”

A cold draft of air made her wrap her arms around herself and Elijah slipped off his jacket and placed it upon her shoulders. It was warm from use and Jaheira’s senses were clouded with the scent of pine and a nice, heady musk.

Jaheira reached forward and grabbed his sleeve when he turned to leave, and he stopped to look at her again and waited for what she needed to say next.

It took the witch a second to think of what to say, but she figured it out quickly. “Be careful.”

Elijah nodded. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

With one last hard look to Sophie, he disappeared in a blink of an eye, leaving Jaheira and Sophie alone in a silent room of candles.

Jaheira stared at the jacket of Elijah’s suit which now she held in her hands. Since he had left her there with the French-Quarter coven hours ago, vowing that he would return to retrieve her, Jaheira had kept to herself in a corner, alone and clutching the jacket tightly in her hands. A few minutes after Elijah left, Jaheira allowed herself to cry. She refused to speak to anyone and take any more refreshments. There is no trust to place among these people.

Her thumb slowly caressed the rich fabric back-and-forth.

The idea of being Elijah’s mate, his brother’s mate, made her frightened. In fact, everything about this entire ordeal made her absolutely terrified. Jaheira had no idea vampires could even have mates, much less one like a witch such as herself. As much as a small, treacherous part of her liked the idea of being something to someone, Jaheira still had her doubts about it all. Was she truly mated to Elijah and his brother, Klaus? Nonetheless, because of this belief Sophie has taken her. Jaheira had been kidnapped, forcibly kept a hostage, and now her life was at risk because this coven was so desperate to be free of Marcel to the point they’d possibly hurt others to get what they wanted – and those kinds of people were dangerous.

Footsteps approached from behind her, and she felt her shoulders tense up.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Sophie’s voice behind her made Jaheira flinch. “But I do ask for you to continue to be a part of this peacefully. For all of our sakes.”

Jaheira’s response came out with a tired croak, and it hurt to speak from crying so much. “What if I don’t want to be a part of this?”

“You don’t have a choice, and… and neither do I,” Sophie admitted sorrowfully, and strode forward so that she was only a few steps behind her. “Trust me when I say that I don’t want to do this. But when things like this happen, a blow to our coven is a blow to our very lives. My sister sacrificed herself to find you. Now that we have you, the Originals share our grief and will draw closer to us. Marcel will soon be kicked off of his high horse and everything will go back to normal.”

Scoffing, Jaheira spun around to face Sophie. The tear streaks which were half-dried on her cheeks glinted slightly in the candles’ dull light. “I don’t want them closer,” she spat out desperately. “I don’t know them. I don’t know you.”

Even if Marcel did bow his head to the Mikaelson brothers, there was no telling if that meant that Davina’s location would be given up. The witches would still potentially be under his or even perhaps the Mikaelson’s thumbs. But despite her own condition here with these witches, Jaheira refused to tell them about Davina, for her sake. She refused to give her best friend’s life up for her own freedom.

Sophie bit her lip, shaking her head, and met Jaheira’s eyes again. “Sometimes we have to pretend.”

The nun stared at her, utterly stunned, and she just couldn’t fathom any reason to pretend anything in this situation. “Why?”

“As witches, we have a duty…”

Jaheira took a deep breath and shook her head, turning away from the other witch. Of course. Duty. It was always duty. Whether it was to nature, to covens, or to themselves.

Sensing her detachment, Sophie stepped forward. “Jaheira, what I’ve done… what I’ve unnaturally forced you to face…”

The nun shoved Elijah’s jacket into the witch’s arms as if it now burned her. “Just leave me be!”

Sophie rested a hand atop the jacket with a shaky breath and watched on as Jaheira moved to a table nearby, picking up an unlit candle and observing it in her hands, her lips puckering like she was about to burst into tears again.

Then, knowing there wasn’t anything else that could be said, Sophie left the lone witch to her own lonely company.

Chapter Text

'SACRILEGE'

'JAHEIRA'

The second time Jaheira is practically dragged to a meet-and-greet, she barely resisted. There wasn’t a point. Sophie and the other witches had made it clear that she wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, and Jaheira couldn’t use magic to escape. Not to mention if an Original hadn’t already taken her away to safety, then this was more complicated than she thought.

This time, they came to the entry room of the French-Quarter-Coven’s lair, which Elijah was already waiting amongst the other members of the coven. He lightened up when he caught sight of Jaheira entering the room, flanked by Sophie and Agnes, both of whom hadn’t spoken a word to Jaheira since she had told Sophie to leave her alone in a moment of utter misery.

“Jaheira,” Elijah said, stepping forward, but two other witches moved in front of him to stop him from going any further.

Elijah bristled. “You dare?”

“It’s alright,” Sophie said to her fellow witches, and the two women stepped back to let Elijah pass, and the Original immediately loomed over Jaheira, grasping her arms gently and inspecting her for any injuries or signs of struggle that could have been inflicted in his absence. When he found nothing was amiss, he let out a sigh of relief.

Jaheira tilted her head to look up at him. “You’re back,” she rasped, her voice still scratchy from exhaustion.

He frowned, reaching up to wipe Jaheira’s damp cheek. “You’ve been crying.”

She didn’t respond to that, and only looked past him to meet the unexpected gaze of another, and it surprised her, to say the least.

This man was one she’s never seen before. His eyes were an enrapturing dark blue-green that contrasted against his pearl-white skin, and he possessed a head of curled, dirty-blonde hair.

From where he stood at the entrance of the coven’s lair, Jaheira could tell he was well-built –  although he was slightly smaller in stock than Elijah. He had a delicate, yet masculine face and his clothing style was much more casual than the man who held her.

The moment their eyes met, the man had flashed before her in the speed of light, gently pushing his brother aside, and she realised too late that this man was a vampire too. This must have been Niklaus, Elijah’s brother.

Without a word of even a ‘hello’, the vampire in question reached out his hand to caress Jaheira’s face, but he quickly stopped himself and stepped back, a bitter scowl suddenly cast over his face. “What is this? What the fuck have you done to her?” he spat, glaring about the room.

“We didn’t do anything to her,” Agnes responded for her coven, crossing her arms.

“Niklaus,” Elijah scolded his brother. “You’re scaring her.”

Jaheira was tense as a board and her shoulders were beginning to hurt from the strain of how stressed she had become tonight, but it wasn’t like she could help it. This man, both of these men, in fact, made her so uneasy, yet, feel so right all at once. It terrified her. They were unpredictable, they were vampires, and this new man who had such a fierce outburst reminded her much of a coiling serpent, ready to strike at anyone who dared cross him. She hadn’t ever met someone so angry before. So full of rage. Was this truly her other soulmate?

The man, Niklaus, now suddenly taken aback by his own feelings, glanced Jaheira’s way. “This is impossible…”

“I was sceptical at first, also,” Elijah began, but Klaus pointed an accusing finger at him.

“This is a lie,” Klaus interrupted, and sent all the coven witches a condemning look. One that promised retribution. “You’re all lying. I have no mate!”

His words felt like a sharp blade to the heart, and it made Jaheira violently flinch, and it felt like she was bleeding her sorrow from the inside. Elijah, who extended his arm around her waist to pull her into his side, sent his brother a heated, cautioning glare. “Watch what you say, brother. You know as well as I that what you feel is no deception.”

Sophie decided to speak up before Klaus could respond. “My sister gave her life to perform the spell she needed to find the Originals soulmate, one of whom both you and your brother now share. Because of Jane-Anne’s sacrifice, the life of this girl is now controlled by us.” She gestured to herself and the members of her coven.

Jaheira didn’t like the sound of that, and her eyes darted around the room for any ways of escape, but deep down Jaheira knew there was no way out of this without doing what the witches wanted.

“We can keep her safe,” Sophie reassured the two men before her expression hardened again. “Or we can kill her.”

Beside her, Elijah tensed, and a few steps away from them both, Klaus’ fists clenched, his knuckles turning white.

Sophie then added, “If you don’t help us take down Marcel, so help me, Jaheira won’t live long enough to experience her next prayer.”

Jaheira let out a gasp and clutched Elijah’s sleeve instinctively. “What?”

Elijah let out a low sound, like a growl. “Enough of this,” he said, shaking his head. “If you want Marcel dead, he’s dead. I’ll do it myself.”

“No,” Sophie said quickly. “We can’t. Not yet. We have a clear plan that we need to follow.” She gestured to her fellow coven members again. “And there are rules.”

Klaus, who had been pacing about the room like a restless animal, slowly turned around to glare daggers at Sophie. Jaheira swallowed at the venom of his stare. Even Elijah, stoic as he was, now looked to his brother nervously, like what Sophie had just dared to say truly made the older Original lose any hope that Klaus was going to submit and accept the fact Jaheira was his mate. No one controlled the hybrid.

“How dare you command me,” Klaus hissed, his voice frighteningly calm. “THREATEN ME!” he suddenly bellowed out.

Jaheira raised her hands to cover her ears and turned away with a frightened yelp.

Elijah immediately drew her closer into his side and leaned down to press his nose into her hair in an attempt to bring her an ounce of comfort as his brother raged on.

Klaus barely spared Jaheira a glance as he continued to roar, “With what you wrongfully perceive to be my weakness? This…” he gestured to the terrified, shaking form of the nun, apathetically, “… is a pathetic deception.”

He turned to exit the cave. “I refuse to hear any more of your lies!” he hissed to Elijah as he passed by him.

Elijah rubbed Jaheira’s upper arms comfortingly a final time, making sure she was more settled before pulling away and facing his brother, taking a confident step forward.

“Niklaus!” He shouted, sternly.

Klaus paused and looked at Elijah, his shoulders still tense but his expression now considerate, like he was silently agreeing to hear his older brother out.

Elijah grabbed his brothers shoulder and gestured to Jaheira.

“Look at her,” he urged him. “Really look at her. She’s ours, brother. Our mate.”

Klaus stared at Elijah a little while longer, contemplative, before he slowly moved his gaze to the scared witch before him, who slowly removed her hands from her ears. Their eyes met again and through her fear, Jaheira wasn’t sure how to truly feel about this man who had done nothing but rage on and shout.

Of course, like Elijah had told her, she didn’t feel any sort of rush, not in the least, but the strange, yet, familiar intricate feeling of attraction was still there, like there was a creature inside her who shifted in its deep, arcane slumber.

Klaus stared down at her, his expression hard, but his mesmerizing eyes now shining with an unfamiliar emotion the longer he looked at her. Jaheira wondered if he was experiencing the rush, or if Elijah and the witches were actually wrong, and she wasn’t this other man’s soulmate after all, and that the hybrid was just entertaining their fantasies.

For a moment, Klaus looked like he was going to finally submit and accept her, and Jaheira saw his arm and shoulder twitch like he was going to reach out for her again, but then he tore his gaze away to face his brother, becoming unfeeling as he painfully closed himself off from her once more.

“Kill her,” he hissed, his tone cold and hollow. “See if I care.”

Tears she didn’t know were gathering slipped down Jaheira’s face as the words left his mouth, somewhat breaking her heart a little. She let out the heavy, shaky breath she had been holding in the entire time and shook her head.

“No,” she said to herself when all the other witches looked her way, like they were preparing to kill her because of Klaus’ rejection. “No, please…” She looked to Sophie. “I beg you, let me leave! Let me go home!”

She moved to follow Klaus’ example, and exit the cave, but a group of witches blocked the exit to prevent her from going anywhere.

Magic itched at her fingertips as she considered actually using it and just abandoning New Orleans altogether afterward, Marcel and his rules be damned. But the more responsible part of Jaheira made her turn back to look towards Elijah, pleadingly. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want to abandon her home either.

Elijah faced Sophie, lip curling. “No one touches Jaheira. I will fix this,” he vows.

Sophie nodded to the witches at the entrance, and they moved out of the way.

Elijah rested a hand on Jaheira’s shoulder, sending her a final, reassuring look before moving past the witches and leaving her behind a second time.

Jaheira couldn’t help but let out a small sob at the utter rejection, fear and helplessness she felt all at once, and she fell to her knees.

Not one of the witches moved to comfort her, which was no surprise. With her experience with covens, Jaheira already knew they were all cold and cruel to everyone, including witches of their own blood. It has always been their way.

Whilst the witches of the French Quarter Coven spent the next few hours arguing on what to do next, Jaheira kept to herself in the centre of the room, silent and utterly exhausted, on her knees. Already, she was feeling the unease of Elijah’s, and surprisingly, Klaus’ absence. This vampire soulmate bond was incredibly strong despite Jaheira having only interacting with both men for a total of a couple minutes. She wondered if it had anything to do with them being Originals?

Jaheira looked up at Sophie, who was trying to reason with her coven. To hold their faith in her.

“Marcel and his vampires are out of control,” she said, and gestured to Jaheira on the ground. “Something had to be done.”

“And the solution is to bring in more vampires?” Agnes scowled. “Despicable!”

“These aren’t just any vampires, Agnes,” Sophie countered, her expression hard. “They’re the Originals.”

Agnes huffed. “What makes you think we can control The Hybrid?”

“She can’t.” A voice at the entryway caught everyone’s attention.

Jaheira’s head whipped around to the exit where Elijah stood, engulfed by the curved shadow of the cave’s entrance. He hadn’t been gone as long as she thought he would be. Before he had left her for what seemed to be forever, it had only been a couple of hours. Had he already figured out a solution in such a short amount of time?

The nun stood up from where she was grounded to the floor, and Elijah met her gaze, satisfied that she remained unharmed.

His eyes moved to Sophie, and his expression settled into a more unreadable one. “I’m not entirely certain that I can, either,” he admitted. “But now that your coven has drawn his ire, and of course, my own, I have a question.” His eyes darkened considerably. “What prevents both I and my brother from murdering you instead of cooperating?”

Jaheira shivered at his threat, and looked back at Sophie, who, without a word, moved to the side of the room and grabbed an object from the shelf. Looking closer, it looked like some sort of makeshift blade made of dried weeds and sticks.

Sophie used one of its sharp thorns to prick the palm of her hand.

Jaheira let out a gasp of pain and looked down at her hand, which was now dripping with blood in the same exact place Sophie had hurt herself.

Elijah stiffened, looking completely taken off-guard.

“The spell my sister performed, the one that got her killed? It didn’t just confirm who your mate was,” Sophie explained to the Original. “It linked me to Jaheira. So anything that happens to me, happens to her, which means her life is in my hands.”

A linking spell, of course. Jane-Anne wouldn’t have just wasted her life on an intricate tracking spell alone, she would have been smarter with the value of her life and would have taken advantage of the short amount of time she had left to cast other meddlesome incantations like this before she died.

Jaheira wiped the seeping blood from her hand and onto the hem of her nun dress, ignoring it’s sting.  

“Klaus may not care for his own mate,” Sophie continued. “But as her other mate, it’s very clear what she already means to you.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes at her.

“If I have to hurt Jaheira or worse to ensure that I have your attention, I will.” Sophie sent the witch in question an apologetic glance, but Jaheira refused to acknowledge it, and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt like was going to be sick.

Elijah moved closer to Jaheira so that their shoulders were brushing, his face one of disbelief.

“You dare threaten an Original?” he asked Sophie, who lifted her chin confidently.

“I have nothing to lose,” she told him. “You have until midnight to get Klaus to change his mind, or… Jaheira dies.”

Jaheira’s eyes met Elijah’s, and for the first time since she’s met him, she saw his own reflect pure, unadulterated anger.

'MARCEL'

“You find him, and then you call me,” Marcel said into the phone, trying his best to remain patient.

On the other end of the line, one of his loyal day walkers rambled anxiously in reply, words tumbling right after the other.

Marcel shifted in his seat at one of the small bar’s booth’s, his phone pressed to his ear, and with a roll of his eyes he sighed. “Don’t worry, I know how to deal with Klaus.”

Years had passed since, Klaus Mikaelson, terrified and fleeing his own father, had left Marcel to perish in the flames of the burning theatre in 1919. Now, Marcel’s maker had returned to town, lurking in the shadows, and as Marcel observed so far, it was clear that Klaus was undermining the way he managed things in the Quarter.

When Marcel had first seen Klaus again after so long, he had experienced a familiar bitterness that twisted in his gut – an old wound reopening. It wasn’t just betrayal that Marcel felt; it was a deep, gnawing sense of abandonment that clawed at him like a rabid beast. How could the man who had once been his greatest father figure come back and threaten everything he built?

The simmering fury mingled severely with his lingering hurt, reminding Marcel of how Klaus’ choices had shaped not only his past, but also the fragile balance of power he fought decades to rebuild and maintain in his own image.

A new voice fractured the silence of the room, interrupting his phone call.

“Is that so? Please elaborate.”

Marcel’s eyes snapped up to the entryway beside his booth, and there, in all of his suited glory, stood another man he hadn’t seen in decades. The sight alone sent a jolt of unresolved emotions to race through him – equal parts rage and boyish yearning.

He hated it.

“Elijah Mikaelson.” That was all Marcel had to say for his nightwalker vampires in the bar to stand up, alert and ready for a fight.

He raised a hand. “No, I got it. It’s all good.”

The others didn’t move to attack, but they didn’t sit back down either, their eyes fixed on the ancient vampire who hadn’t hesitated to sit down in Marcel’s booth, right across from him.

Marcel silently hung up the phone.

Seeing Elijah after all of these years stirred something complex within Marcel, in a similar way it did with Klaus. At first, there was the shock of recognition, a sudden rush of nostalgia that pulled him back to his early years as a human child. Memories flooded in – laughing together, Elijah teaching him the art of piano, and the bond they had forged in a time when Marcel felt like he had belonged to the Mikaelson family. Elijah had been more than just his maker’s older brother, he had been a confidant, a protector, and a figure of stability in such a gruesome time of Marcel’s life. He was the serenity that balanced Klaus’ chaos.

But the warmth of those memories quickly gave way to resentment. Some time during his childhood, Elijah had distanced himself and grew cold towards Marcel. It was like one day a switch had flipped, and instead of the vampire treating Marcel has a little brother, he treated him like vermin. The unanswered questions as to why Elijah had changed gnawed at Marcel, turning those old feelings of affection he once felt into a painful ache. There was anger, too – a simmering rage at the betrayal he felt from both him and Klaus combined. Elijah had abandoned him emotionally, and Klaus had abandoned him altogether – leaving Marcel to navigate a treacherous world alone.

Elijah eyed the half-drunken bottle of bourbon on the table, and Marcel caught the way Elijah’s lips twitched in what could only be sick amusement.

The older vampire avoided touching the table like it disgusted him.

Marcel boldly sipped from his glass of bourbon.

“I think…” Elijah began, meeting Marcel’s eyes. “It’s time we had a little chat.”

Even though Marcel was too stubborn to admit it, a part of him longed for the connection they had once shared, for the brotherhood that had once seemed unbreakable to his innocent, youthful self. Yet, looking into Elijah’s unfeeling and cold eyes now, Marcel could also feel a deep-seated urgency, a need to guard himself against this man. It was clear in his gaze that he felt nothing for Marcel anymore. The tension between longing and wariness danced in his chest, and he found himself torn between wanting to talk and fearing the hurt that might come from possibly reopening old wounds.

In that moment, as Elijah practically stared into his very soul, Marcel couldn’t shake off the unease that itched at him. What could he possibly want to say after all this time?

“Well, if you want to talk, then talk,” Marcel said bitterly, forcing himself to maintain a façade of indifference. He had no interest to play any games. “I got things to do.”

“My, my,” Elijah mused, though his expression betrayed only impatience. “You’ve certainly grown more confident over the last century haven’t you?”

Confident? Marcel felt a flash of pride mixed with undermined irritation. “Me?” Marcel shot back, his voice a low hiss as his gaze met Elijah’s. “I’d say it’s you and your brother got cocky, waltzing into my town like you own the place.”

“Well, we did own the place once.”

Once. The word hung in the air like a ghost, dragging Marcel once again back to a time when he was still a part of the family. He could almost taste the sourness of that history. Silence filled the booth for a moment, thick and tense, and Marcel couldn’t help but wonder just how much Elijah remembered from that time.

“But we could never control those pesky witches at the French Quarter. How do you do it?”

So that’s why he’s here. It’s about the witches Marcel has deftly managed, wrapped around his finger and signed with an elegant ‘D’. The sudden thought of Davina ignited a defensive fire within him, and his shoulders tensed. He’s probing too uncomfortably close into Marcel’s territory.

“Your brother asked me the same question,” Marcel replied, maintaining his composure, although his heart raced. “I gave him the same answer. It’s my business. Everything in the Quarter is my business. Klaus comes into town all nice and friendly, then he starts looking down his nose at what I’d done like its some cheap knockoff of one of his dumb paintings…”

Elijah appeared unimpressed, boredom etched across his features, and it only fuelled Marcel’s anger.

“… Then he gets pissed off like a little bitch and bites one of my guys.”

The ancient vampire across from him remained unmoving. “Well, I do apologise for Klaus’ poor behaviour,” he said sarcastically. “But I assume you know that, that bite will kill your friend within a matter of days.”

Damn it. Marcel looked away, pouring the last of the bourbon into his nearly empty glass, his heart hammering in his chest.  

“Of course,” Elijah continued, as if the thought just struck him. “Niklaus’ blood would cure him.”

Marcel’s eyes snapped back up to meet Elijah’s, alarm coursing through him. “What?”

“Yes, apparently the blood of the hybrid will cure a werewolf bite, quite a handy, little thing when one needs leverage a negotiation.” Elijah leaned forward, and Marcel felt a pit form in his stomach.

“What kind of negotiations are we talking about?”

“Return the body of the witch Jane-Anne, allow her people to put her to rest.”

Confusion prickled at Marcel’s brain. This was all too convenient. Is he playing me?

“What do you care about the witches?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Elijah offered him a sly smile, though it faded almost immediately. “Well, that’s my business, now, isn’t it?”

Marcel felt the weight of their decades long history pressing down against him, including the betrayal of Elijah’s involvement to his abandonment alongside the longing for connection that swirled like a silent storm around this unexpected confrontation.

Anger and confusion wrestled inside Marcel’s head, mixing into utter confliction, and he couldn’t help but consider Elijah’s proposal. Aligning with him could possibly provide the leverage he needed. Klaus and the looming threat of his return made the stakes all too clear.

Can I even trust Elijah after all this time? That question lingered, heavy and unresolved, but as the wispy fog of the past crept in on him, Marcel found himself weighing his options. This negotiation was not just about Jane-Anne’s body, that was certain. Perhaps this was a ways chance for Elijah to re-establish some semblance of control in town? What else could he gain from this?

The thought irked Marcel. But… one of his closest friends and most loyal companions would die if he said no.

A reluctant resolve grew within him. He’d play this game for now. If it meant saving one of his friends and continuing to safeguard Davina’s location, maybe aligning with Elijah was the only way forward for Marcel to even have a chance to figure out what to do about Klaus. The fragile balance of power and relationships he fought to hard to secure could hinge on this very moment.

With a forced smile, Marcel shook Elijah’s hand.

Chapter Text

'SICKENING'

'JAHEIRA'

The bells of the clocktower in the French Quarter could be heard even from the tombs of the graveyard, and the foreboding echoes of it ringing throughout the night made the skin on Jaheira’s arms crawl. Her heart fluttered anxiously, and she picked and tore at her nails.

Elijah hadn’t returned with Klaus, and it had already reached midnight. Jaheira was going to die.

Sitting silently on a rocky surface nearby, Sophie was fiddling with a strange woven doll, a deep frown on her face, which only grew deeper the moment the bell tolled. With it, the signal they all had been anxiously waiting for, the elders of the French Quarter Coven entered the room. They barely sent Jaheira a glance, all of them simply looking to Sophie for an answer.

“His time is up,” Sabine, the youngest of the elders, spoke first. “What are you going to do now, Sophie?”

The answer was obvious, but perhaps they were waiting to see if Sophie would back out on her word. That she wouldn’t kill herself, thus bringing Jaheira down with her, as she had promised.

Sophie only sighed. “I’m gonna do what I said I was gonna do,” she said, her sad eyes meeting Jaheira’s, who gripped the hem of her uniform’s dress.

“Please, you can’t!” Jaheira begged, like she had been for hours since she’d been taken. “There must be another way, surely!” 

Sophie held back a cringe of guilt. “I’m sorry, but it’s clear that Klaus doesn’t care about the mate bond you both share, I have no choice…”

“I do.”

Jaheira’s head turned towards the entryway of the tomb, and her heart leaped when she saw Elijah ducking inside. Though her heart dropped when she saw a figure wrapped in a sheet in his arms. Whoever was inside had clearly passed, and Jaheira’s heart mourned for the loss. But those feelings of grief were overshadowed by relief at his return. He kept his promise.

“Elijah,” she whispered, her heart beating out of her chest.

Elijah’s eyes meet Jaheira’s briefly before they move back to Sophie’s. “And I bring proof of my intent to help you - the body of your fallen friend which I procured from Marcel himself.”

He bent his knees and gently lowered the body onto the ground.

Sophie bent down to lovingly caress the sheet. “Oh, Jane-Anne,” she mourned aloud, her eyes brimming with tears.

“May she be granted peace,” Elijah said, pleased that the witch had accepted his peace offering. Then he quickly moved around the other women to reach Jaheira, who had been waiting behind them all, her arms wrapped around herself.

He gently grasped her by her shoulders and stared into the eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft. 

“I’m frightened,” she admitted, her eyes darting to the witches behind him. “I want to get out of here - I thought it was too late, I thought-”

He brought her close to his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to Jaheira’s brow. His sudden touch caused Jaheira to flinch and Elijah looked down at her, concerned. When his eyes found her hands, with their fingers bloody and chewed, his breath hitched.

Elijah grabbed one of Jaheira’s wrists and examined the wounds she had inflicted upon herself. 

“I couldn’t help it.” Jaheira tried to explain, but she knew there wasn’t really a good excuse for the habit she always had. “I…”

The Original let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against hers, saying nothing. He understood, and that’s what Jaheira could see. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, letting the cool breeze from outside waft through the caves and touch their bodies. 

Eventually, he pulled away from her, planting a final kiss on Jaheira’s hairline. One of his hands stayed on her shoulder, providing one last fleeting comfort, before turning to the witches. 

“Klaus will agree to your terms.” Elijah’s tone was taut and formal. “I just need a little more time.”

“You had your time, it’s passed!” Agnes, the eldest of the Coven, hissed.

Sabine snapped at her, “Shut up, Agnes.”

Sophie stood up from her brief mourning over her sister’s body, and regained her poker face, meeting Elijah’s eyes once again to hear him out. 

“For now, accept the deal,” he offered, fairly. “The girl remains unharmed, or Klaus will kill you all.” 

He turned around and took Jaheira’s hand in his own, and the witch didn’t hesitate to hold it tight. 

Together, they began to walk back out the entryway of the tomb, but Elijah turned around again, having one final thing to say. 

“And I will help him.”

The witches watched them go, silent and simmering. 

“Have I not made clear my desire to be left alone?”

The hostility in Klaus’ voice made Jaheira shiver, unease sinking into her bones. 

After leaving the graveyard, Elijah had insisted that they find Klaus before night’s end and convince him to accept the bond. At first, Jaheira was weary, and she even asked if she could just go home or return back to St. Marie’s, but Elijah had been silent to her requests. 

Instead, he had taken her deeper into the city until they reached an empty street, the only light coming from the first floor of a barren carpark. 

Elijah told her that he could hear Klaus inside and he insisted again that Jaheira should be the one to see him. He attempted to quench her fears of his retaliation by saying that his brother may be a rageful man, but not even he would bring harm to his soulmate - but it did nothing to make Jaheira feel better.

“I don’t want to do this,” she had told him. “What if he hurts me?”

Elijah only looked down at her softly, a gentle smile twitching from the corners of his lips. “He won’t hurt you, not if I’m near.”

She understood nothing about vampires and their fated mates. Jaheira could admit she felt a lot for Elijah, but nothing close to actual love. At least not yet. A big part of her fought hard to see reason and to just submit to her fate, but another, even bigger, part of her wanted to refuse and just hide away back home. But she had no choice. 

With a promise to remain nearby, Elijah escorted Jaheira to the open gates of the car park before disappearing. Obviously, he decided to keep watch from a distance, knowing that his presence may deter his brother.

Now, Jaheira stood alone, her hands fiddling with each other, as she stared at the back of Klaus’ head with unease.

“It’s me,” she said, though her words were weak and shaky. 

Without warning, the bottle of alcohol that Klaus had been holding was flung at a nearby pillar, smashing into a billion pieces. It caused Jaheira to flinch violently and hold her hands to her ears. She hates loud noises, and she despised the harshness that this man constantly displayed. How could she be fated to be with such a person?

Klaus then spun around, his hot glare landing on her cowering form. “Why must Elijah keep harping about you?” He growled, angrily. “This so-called bond is a lie. In fact, I’m surprised Elijah hadn’t figured out the twisted scheme of those witches by now.”

Jaheira lowered her hands from her ears and swallowed thickly. “I’m not sure how to feel about… about this either, but I don’t think I would be alive right now if it wasn’t for Elijah.” 

Klaus scoffed. “Oh, yes, the valiant hero he is.”

Her lips parted, but Jaheira was unsure of what to say. 

He stalked closer. 

“You are beyond pathetic.” His words hit her unexpectedly like a knife to the chest.

She recoiled, unexpectedly hurt.

Then, with a random burst of confidence, no matter how sudden and small it came, Jaheira used it to take a brave step forward, refusing to back down. She knew Elijah was watching, and if something happened to her, she had faith he would interfere. 

“Your brother, when we met only hours ago,” She began, her voice still shaken and wary. “He was one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen… I never thought I’d say it out loud so soon.” Klaus watched her as she went on, his expression cold, but he didn’t interrupt as she continued, “When we talked, he explained how the… bond… felt for him compared how it feels for me. He told me he felt a rush like nothing he’s felt before, and I… No matter how skeptical I am even now, a strange part of me knows this bond is real.”

She inched closer until they were only an arm’s length apart, and when she was certain Klaus wasn’t going to oppose, she continued, “Then I met you in the graveyard, and the same feeling I had for him returned with you.”

Klaus shook his head and Jaheira, without thinking, grasped his arm. “I know you felt something for me, too. I saw it. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

His gaze trailed down to her hand on his arm. 

Jaheira watched on silently as his other hand reached up to hover over the scabbing cuts on her mutilated and scarred cuticles, his brow furrowing deeply.

Insecurity poked at her. “Do I shame you?”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “I haven’t cared about anything for centuries,” His voice was low and monotonous. “Why should I now?”

Jaheira didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t possibly. “That’s up for you to decide.” 

Far away, the hum of the city carried on - uncaring and unaware. But down here, in this empty car park with its flickering lamp light and decorated in the glass shards of Klaus’ turmoil, something ancient had stirred.

After a long moment of silence, Jaheira watched as Klaus’ brow finally softened and something flickered behind his hard gaze - not warmth, not quite. But it was something less cruel. 

Something… lonely.

“You’re a curious little witch,” he murmured, his lip twitching slightly. 

Jaheira couldn’t explain the rare self-pride she felt in her heart.