Vieux Carré , the French Quarter. People traveled far and wide to experience the festivities that had been brought to life by the people of New Orleans. Haunting tales of witches, vampires and werewolves keeping tourists on their toes, but also wishing to know more of the culture, wanting to hear about the things that go bump in the night, thinking they have been created as tourist traps, that the things that are in myth and legend were only that. Stories made up to keep your kids in bed at night, but only for the humans who didn't know any better.
The streets of New Orleans during the day had been laid back and relaxed, people resting up from the night before, or in preparations for their next night of partying, the sound of a saxophone lazily playing something eerie in the background around the abandoned church on Esplanade Ave, the tune traveling down the streets, into open windows of shaded balconies and into the seemingly abandoned attic of Saint Anne's Church. Of the place where worship was once taken seriously, now blood stained the walls and a curse seemed to kiss whoever had walked within the walls. A rumor of a demon wandering the pews, of Sean O'Connell having wished to take more to where he had gone when he had lost himself. When his family had lost him completely.
Demons plagued every corner of Vieux Carré, not in the shape or form of spirits but in the shape of mystical beings, a war going on when nobody was looking, humans drinking and living up the tourist life while not even the locals noticed there was something lingering in the shadows. Witches, Werewolves and vampires, and there was a time when the witches and wolves had lived accordingly, when Vivianne had wandered the streets, but with her allegiance having depleted due to her death, the wolves were banished, and the vampires were in charge, witches held hostage by their magic by the King of the Quarter, Marcel Gerard. His secret of holding the Quarter in the palm of his hand having resided in the attic of the abandoned church, his greatest strength, his greatest weakness and his most dangerous weapon.
Davina Claire
Davina Claire had been someone who was loved by the community, having shared her love for classical music, how she had played piano in lounges before, how she had so deeply believed that the magic in the city had been something to be honored. Something to be loved, it being something so pure and such a blessing to have such a beauty run through your veins. Life wasn't always easy, wasn't always something that she would wander the streets, singing of songs of how it was, but it was something that she had survived and she wasn't going to allow the secrets, the darkness to cloud it. Nineteen years old and a French Quarter witch, a beautiful blessing that had brandished her family for many generations, the Claire witches having always brought honor to the nine covens, which is why her mother had believed she had been chosen for the Harvest. for the ceremony done every three hundred years to replenish the magic that the ancestors had depleted by putting four girls to sleep, allowing their magic to soak into the ground and they would awaken not long after with magic in their veins and being crowned a hero to the witches.
But life wasn't a fairytale, and Davina Claire wasn't a hero. Now she was a victim, being hunted by her own coven after refusing the sacrificial ceremony that she had been subjected to, having been rescued in her time of need by the King of the Quarter, Marcel. Now she resides in the attic of Saint Anne's church, the magic from the other three Harvest Girls having bottled up inside of her, more magic than she could handle having been trapped under paper thin skin, but having enough magic to feel when any of it had been used within the city boundaries, making her the best weapon against the witches, the ones who had wished for her to follow in her friends steps. To be sacrificed with no guarantee or promise to be resurrected.
Many years ago the city was run by the Mikaelsons, the original vampires that had settled in the French Quarter in the 18th century, having built the city from the ground up, having created peace among the wolves, the witches and the vampires with the help of Vivianne who had once been married to Niklaus Mikaelson, the Hybrid. Their rule had been one to remember, having hosted the finest parties in the abattoir, having been the wealthy and most successful family to have walked the streets. But in 1919, with the burning of the opera house, the Mikaelsons had fled the city to never be heard of again, leaving behind Marcel Gerard, having believed he was dead.
Nobody expected them to return, having lost everything they had built they had no desire to return until the Hybrid had heard rumors that the witches were plotting against him, which had led Niklaus Mikaelson to the city, with his brother, the Noble One, Elijah Mikaelson in his trail. Rumors that the witches were going to use their own secret weapon against him had forced them out of hiding, and brought the two to the city that they had once owned, learning that not only was a crescent werewolf with Niklaus' child, but the one they had believed dead had now taken their place as the ruler of the Quarter. The 'M's that had been painted along the city having lost the meaning of Mikaelson and had earned the title of Marcel, having given life and new breath to the city.
Marcel had learned of their return to the city, having known of the death and destruction that had lay in their wake and wanted to keep what he had, wanted to keep it sacred and protected, so his first mission was Davina. Not wanting the Mikaelsons to learn of her, her power and her role with the witches, knowing that if someone they had once considered family held a witch at his fingertips, they would use her in every way possible to extort the truth. The truth that not even Davina Claire had known.
He made his way to the church, having walked the pews, the silence of the church having haunted him but never scared him from the sight for he was a monster himself, and he didn't fear much, he feared death & he feared losing, but the demons that had plagued this place were nothing to him. Determined footsteps had lead him to the top of the stairs, a soft amber glow seeping from under the door before he had pulled it open, slowly. His eyes had to adjust to the glow of the candles, the soft sound of music that had played but not loud enough for humans to hear if they had been passing by. The room was filled with paintings, drawings, of someone who had adored art and on the floor there lay a coffin, a bold M having been placed on it, having instructed Davina to learn how to kill one of the Originals.
Davina had been standing over the coffin for a few minutes, inspecting, trying to understand what it had meant to be an original vampire, having tried to get answers out of Marcel but never getting more out of him other than they were dangerous. That they were not people that you wanted to get into bad habits with, but never anything other than that, and that a normal stake to the heart didn't kill them. No, it had to be specific and it had to be quick. The dagger had settled in her hands as Marcel had walked in, a smile on her lips as she stuck the dagger back into the chest of the male who had laid in the coffin below her, a eyes fixated on the hole in his suit where the dagger had once been placed, finger brushing over the fabric before moving to stand, dress brushing over her thighs as she moved to the male in front of her.
' I haven't found anything out yet, Marcel. None of the books I have say anything about the dagger that had put him down, and they say nothing of how the Old Ones were even created. '
she spoke softly, determined and almost as if she would be heard by someone, her fear having been of anything outside that door, and she had been face to face with death itself, but she had no control over her magic, over who she is and what she could do. and the fear that she would hurt someone had coursed through her body completely, leaving her stunned, shocked at times. How she had managed to even cause the entire french quarter to shake when emotions had been too overwhelming.
' I will do what i can to get my hands on more books for you. ' he spoke reassuringly, his hand moving to her shoulder before squeezing softly, a sigh escaping parted lips as he looked down at her. ' listen, D, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. ' gaze was fixed on her as she shook her head, her own having shook with a clear indication that she wasn't going to give up on him. He saved her, now it was her turn to save him.
' I want to do this, you say they are dangerous so I want them gone. If they will not leave the French Quarter, we will have to get rid of them ourself. ' lips pulled into a devilish smile as he nodded his head, a look of relief flashing across his features as he squeezed her shoulder once more and pulled away. ' Look, be careful. I will get you whatever you need, and you keep this one safe. Don't let anyone who isn't me in here. ' With that he had left the room, leaving her to inspect the body again, to go over the dagger and to study the design but sleep had pulled at her every nerve ending, and she could tell that it was the magic that had flooded her body, but she didn't know how to stop what it was doing to her. So she slept, petite form curled up on the bed in the corner of the room and sleep was not easy to come by.
Something had pulled her awake, sweat beaded her forehead, breathing hitched as her eyes had scanned the room with the fear that someone had been watching her. That there was something that wasn't supposed to be in the room had been lurking in the shadow and her gaze had caught something. The glimmer of the dagger, having been placed on a table near the coffin and fear moved through her but also pushed her towards the box as she pulled the lid open. Her body went rigid as it had now been empty, the male who had occupied the box and had been sedated in a sense was gone. Fingers ran frustratedly through her hair as she tried to think of what to do, tears burning her eyes as she sat on the floor, other hand curled around the edge of the box, a frustrated groan slipping through parted lips.
' It seems that someone had not informed you of how the dagger worked. ' a voice had sounded from the corner of the room, cerulean moving to follow the voice, unsure of where it had come from, but the vessel coming into the light, the way his suit had hanged on him, the curve of his throat, the swell of his lips and the sharpness of his jawline. Something that had been so lifeless in the box had been put to life and she had to remind herself that he was the enemy and that no matter how beautiful, how handsome he was that he wasn't the good guy. As religion had told, Lucifer was once an angel.
' Once you removed it the first time, the effects of it had wore of. ' he spoke, his enunciation precise, perfect as if it was scripted, poised in such a way that he could say something entirely boring and it would sound elegant. A single hand had pushed back the fabric of his jacket, fingers tugging at his pants before he had sat down at a seat in front of her, next to the coffin with the dagger next to him. Her breathing was hitched, but not for a moment did her gaze falter from him, ready to defend herself in a moments notice. ' I will not hurt you . ' he spoke, an unamused laugh having filled the air between them.
' i'm Elijah Mikaelson. '
( A.N. The point of this first chapter is to be an introduction. There will be more interactions between characters in upcoming chapters. thanks for reading xoxo )