There are three rules in the city of New Orleans.
1. Eat as many beignets as you want, calories don't count for beignets.
2. Enjoy the music and the lifestyle. No use in fighting what can't be changed.
3. Avoid the crazy women always going in and out of The Raven's Quill.
Ember somehow forgot the third. She didn't mean to find herself inside the infamous little magic shop, but Jacob ticked her off so much she couldn't stop herself. One little voodoo doll that probably wouldn't even do anything shouldn't mean the end of the world. It would make her feel better to stab the cheating jerk in the chest, even if it was just in doll form.
"Oh, cher, a broken heart?" A tall, spindly woman appeared behind the counter and clucked her tongue.
Ember crossed her arms skeptically. "I've always been easy to read."
"Yes, you wear your aura like a cloak." The woman sighed and swept a hand over the display case in front of her. "What's your weapon of choice? Love potion? Voodoo doll?"
"Voodoo doll, definitely." Ember shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I need to stab him somehow, even if it won't work."
"A broken-hearted skeptic." The woman chuckled and held up a finger. She spun to reach into a basket by the back door. "Here, smell this." She uncapped a vial of liquid and held it out.
"Why?" Ember wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the pungent aroma. "I'm just here for the stupid doll. How much do I owe you?"
"I'm afraid you won't be leaving the shop." She shrugged.
Ember felt her limbs grow heavy and blinked as her vision blurred. "What did you do to me?" She reached out to catch herself against the counter. Her feeble arm missed. She went down hard against the cobbled floor.
The proprietress came around the counter and bent down beside Ember. "I'm sorry, cher, but you're the perfect candidate."
Ember tried to shoot a mean retort to the woman, but her lips and throat wouldn't move. Nothing would move.
She watched in abject horror as the first woman pulled aside the curtain to the back room and ushered a myriad of other, similar women into the room.
Her vision frayed and blurred, making the next minutes fly by in a kaleidoscope of images and sounds.
The rustling of plastic and light through a barrier.
The roar of an engine and darkness around her.
Women fussing over her and a pure white dress.
When Ember came back to her senses, it was too late. She moved to sit up from the hard stone beneath her, but a biting, burning sensation on her bare wrists and ankles pulled her back down.
Ember frantically craned her neck to find the source of her inability to escape. Ropes scraped her skin and held her fast to four pillars around the stone... altar? What was going on?
For the first time, a loud chanting reached her ears. Was that Latin? The dread in her chest felt like New Orleans itself came to snuff her out. But that was ridiculous. The city, though mysterious, wasn't a living entity.
Get a hold of yourself, Ember. She took a deep breath and lifted her head far enough to see the willowy woman as she made her way through a tunnel of white-clad women.
Why did everything smell like smoke and dirt and... what was the metallic smell? Something red caught her attention. Her eyes went wide as she recognized the upside-down pentagram painted in blood over her abdomen.
"Oh, dear God!" Ember cried out as she tugged at her wrists. She had to get free. "I'm sorry I never believed witches were real or that magic existed. I'll do anything, I'll say anything, just let me go!"
Yet, despite her pleading, the willowy woman advanced to the altar and cried out some sort of spell.
Something akin to wet cement fell heavy against Ember's chest. She sucked in a wet breath and prayed to God she would be able to breathe. She was too young to die.
The woman made her way around the stone altar, stopping at each corner to chant another spell. That's not what concerned Ember. What concerned her the most was the long dagger the woman raised above her head as she reached Ember's head.
"We commit this sacrifice to you, our ancestors. May you find her blood and her soul acceptable and bless us with your power." The knife lifted higher in Ember's vision.
Ember screamed.
A rush of wind blew her loose hair into her face.
The chanting scattered and stopped.
"Ladies!" A chiding British voice addressed the assembly before a sickening thud spoke of a body hitting the ground. "I have no desire to break up your little soire, but I really must insist you release the innocent young woman on your altar. Posthaste."
Ember held her breath. It wouldn't be so easy, she could feel it as surely as the weight on her chest.
"The dagger, Elijah." The woman's palm came into view above Ember's head.
"Oh, you mean this?" Another rush of wind whipped like a tornado around Ember. Suddenly, her wrists fell free from their bindings.
She gasped and pushed halfway up before the witch's hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"I'm unamused, Elijah." The witch gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Women flew into action. Some muttering spells with their hands extended, others pulled out other daggers to engage the man in a hand-to-hand battle.
Ember could barely make him out in the dim torchlight. The fact he moved faster than she could follow also had something to do with it.
The witch at her head raced from the altar to retrieve the dagger that lay forgotten nearby.
Ember sat up and began to work the ties around her ankles. Nothing moved. Not a single thread on the ropes, despite the fact she tugged and tore with her sharp nails and all her might.
One by one, the witches fell. Bones cracked and women screamed as their daggers flew back to embed in their own bodies. Whoever the man was, he held the upper hand. Until the first witch sneaked up behind him. The knife plunged through his back and toward his heart.
Elijah cried out and fell to one knee as he tried to regain his footing.
The first witch pulled the blade out of his back and sailed one foot at a time toward Ember. "You try to interrupt a sacred ritual. You try to save the oh-so-innocent little girl who was stupid enough to venture into my shop for a voodoo doll, of all things."
"Astrid!" Elijah struggled to his feet and took a step forward.
She turned to look over her shoulder. "You deserve all I put you through, Elijah Mikaelson."
Elijah stumbled sideways and blinked as his vision blurred and wavered before him.
Ember let out an annoyed, panicked little sound as she scraped her fingers raw tugging at the ropes around her feet. She didn't have time to look up and see Elijah snatch a dagger from a witch's back.
Astrid raised the dagger above Ember's chest and muttered something in Latin again.
Ember cried out as the heavy, crushing weight against her chest grew again and threatened to overtake her.
She shrieked as she suddenly found herself standing on her feet. The altar and torches and strange witches were nowhere to be found. Shaky, heavy breaths left her lungs in confused and panicked bursts.
A groan behind her brought her back around to her senses.
Ember spun and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.
Elijah held up a bloodied hand to her. "Calm down. It's alright. We're far away from the witches and the spells." He tugged a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and rolled it through his hand until it was clean.
"You're bleeding." Ember stumbled around the hem of the white dress until she finally yanked it up and marched his way.
"Stop!" Elijah groaned again and tilted his head back. "Stop. I'm in no condition to control my baser urges."
"And I'm in no condition to watch you bleed to death." Ember rolled her eyes and maneuvered to her knees beside him. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"It won't help." Elijah shook his head and laid back against the dark, hard road. "I know that dagger. He and I aren't friends. I'll bleed until I feed again."
"Oh." Strange form of poison, but Ember wasn't arguing with the easy solution. "Well, what do you want to eat. I make a mean potato and egg scramble. Oh! Or cookies. Chocolate chip are my favorite, but then who doesn't love a good, classic chocolate chip cookie?"
Elijah huffed a laugh. "Oh... Only I could get into a situation like this. Darling girl..." he looked up at her. "I don't eat that kind of food."
He opened his mouth and pulled back his lips, exposing a pair of dangerous fangs. Ember looked over his face, wondering if this was some epic prank Jacob cooked up to get her all flustered. She yelped and caught herself on her palms as she lost her balance and fell flat on her butt. Elijah's eyes had changed, glowing a dull red instead of their usual brown.
Elijah closed his mouth and sighed at her fear. "So you see... I don't think you can help me much tonight."
Maybe she should have paid attention to her grandmother's stories more often. Vampires and werewolves and witches. Seemed it was all true. That was a heavy thing to process this late at night.
"So..." Ember wrung her hands in her lap. "If you drink my blood, you'll heal?"
"Yes." Elijah answered succinctly.
Ember nodded and blew out a breath. She reached up and cupped her long red hair in both hands, then pulled it over one shoulder. "So... how are we doing this? Neck? That's... that's classic Stoker. Right?"
Elijah huffed another laugh. "Give me your wrist."
Well, she was all in now. Might as well go all the way. Ember blew out a breath and held her arm out to him.
Elijah frowned and played his fingers over the raised red marks marring her creamy porcelain skin. "Astrid tied the ropes tightly. Do they hurt?"
Ember shrugged. To be fair, he hadn't really given the adrenaline time to wear off yet. She couldn't believe she was jumping into this feet-first and weighing the consequences later. This was a terrible idea. Why was she so impulsive about everyth—
Her brain stopped working momentarily as Elijah pressed a gently kiss to her wrist. She was about to open her mouth to ask God-knew-what when he bit down.
Ember winced and tried not to pull away as the soft tug of someone sucking began on her skin. She shouldn't find it so... intriguing. No, that was too tame a word. She shouldn't find it so incredibly sexy for him to drink her blood. But, then, that was the way of vampires, wasn't it?
She watched the wound in his chest as it slowly knit itself together. So interested was she that she didn't realize she'd leaned in to see it better until Elijah had released her wrist.
She sat up abruptly and blushed. She didn't mean to be so flighty. She couldn't help it. It was a genetic thing. Or something.
Elijah pricked his thumb and ran his own blood over the puncture wounds in her wrist.
Ember instantly pulled her wrist closer and watched the wounds close up and disappear. "Cool..." She grinned.
"You're not safe in the city anymore. Not with Astrid after you." Elijah sighed. He stood to his feet and brushed his blood-stained suit off gingerly. "You'll be coming to the compound with me."
Alright. Awesome. Going to the compound with... "Wait, what?" Ember didn't receive an answer. Elijah merely swept her up into his arms and dashed off into the night.