The city of New Orleans was full of life even in the darkest hour of night. The supernatural beings that ruled this city had chosen well; it was indeed beautiful. Yet it still reeked of heartache and despair, lost hope and memories better left buried. Like all cities, this one had seen the worst of what the human race could offer. But what the supernatural had done was far worse.
Far inland, where the city was simply a speck to those without supernatural eyesight, a traveller stood, staring at the city. A young girl, seventeen at the most, with a cruel smirk plastered across her face in anticipation. She had waited a long, long time to come back to this proud city.
It was time for the devil herself to come to New Orleans.
The old bookshop was huge, with shelves upon shelves of various novels, articles and papers packed tightly for maximum storage. The collected works spanned centuries of writing, which was evident from the worn bindings and yellowed pages. From the outside, this humble little shop seemed harmless enough; a Starbucks coffee shop was advertised on the second floor, and the latest books with their shiny covers were displayed proudly in the front window. Once you delved deeper, however, the bookshop became considerably more interesting.
On the top floor, an old vampire browsed the shelves impatiently. He wasn't exactly a 'book person' in many regards, parties were more his forte.
But now he needed a book. A very specific book, actually. Though he was no longer a witch, the spells called to him like sirens, promising knowledge, adventure, power. His immortality prevented him from being able to call back, to manipulate the words to form something magical, but his interest never wavered, his desire to know more never faded. Although those spells were forevermore out of his reach, the words could easily be placed in another's mouth, and the magic cast for him. Even without the spells, the book was useful in its rarity. The secrets it held were unmatched, and once he knew them all the book would make a very persuasive bargaining chip.
The spellbook he was looking for was old, that much he knew. He also knew that it would reject his presence, sensing his lack of magic. How exactly it would reject him, he wasn't sure. Its appearance was also a mystery. He had assumed that it would look old and worn, possibly bound in leather or something similar. Maybe it would be covered in symbols, or runes, perhaps even pictures or something. The book was definitely old, and definitely magic.
And it was definitely hiding.
He had searched every shelf in this god- forsaken cave of shop. Every paperback had been rifled through, every hardback examined with surgeon-level precision. He had even examined the newly minted books downstairs, suffering through the identical blurbs of YA novels.
Yet still, nothing. The rumours must have been just that, rumours. And now he had wasted half a day that could have been better spent doing pretty much anything else. Not that it mattered, of course. He had many days to live, enough to read every book that was ever printed. He wouldn't, of course.
The vampire sighed dramatically, and thrust the edition of Hamlet back to the shelf it had come from. Pointless. It was all bloody pointless. The book wasn't here, and its secrets would remain so. What a colossal waste of time that could have been better spent doing... well, anything. Hiding from his siblings, maybe? Drinking, gambling, killing some worthless human, maybe even saving one, anything would have been better than useless searching.
It was then that he heard the soft creak of footsteps on the staircase. The vampire smiled. This human had made a terrible mistake, for if the monster couldn't have his book, then a meal would do.
As the human reached the top of the stairs, the vampire rounded the corner of the shelves, making sure to avoid the creaks. Humans were stupid anyway, they wouldn't be listening for a predator. They always assumed that they were at the top of the food chain. So arrogant, so foolish.
He prowled menacingly through the shelves, listening for the sounds of air moving in and out of lungs, and the steady beat of a human heart. To his surprise, he heard neither. Instead, he heard a voice, as sharp and as clear as a winter's morning.
'You'll find that it's rather hard to sneak up on me, sweetie.'
Well, if a winter's morning could kill you.
The old vampire froze. He knew that voice. It came from the section nearest the window: Legends and Mythology. How ironic. The vampire would likely find himself in a large number of them, if he bothered to read them.
'I know that you're here now, you might as well come on out. '
There she was again. Definitely female, definitely young. So familiar... but it couldn't be. That voice belonged to someone who was banished from this place long ago. And the monsters who banished her are not forgiving.
It was then he saw her; browsing the shelves with a grace that only comes from immortality, her fingers trailing over the spines. Her hair was brighter than he remembered, the red strands almost glowing in the dark of the bookshop. She hadn't changed at all in the time of her absence. So relaxed, so comfortable in her surroundings, even in the face of danger. Always the predator and never the prey.
'Rowena?' A question, not a request. The vampire couldn't quite believe it was her, not here, not now. She was supposed to be dead, after all.
The girl paused her elegant search and tapped her finger slowly on the tome she had landed on.
Tap.
Tap.
Waiting, assessing the situation. Remembering.
Tap.
Escape routes. Diversions. Anything to get her away.
Tap.
Was her name called in surprise, anger, fear? Hatred?
Tap.
Tap.
Finally, the girl turned around, slowly, deliberately, her face set in a harsh, unforgiving stare of pure malice. Upon finding the speaker, however, her eyes softened and the cruel smirk dissipated.
'Deary me, brother, you look quite awful. It must be all the body switching.'
Kol grinned. They were going to be in a whole load of trouble once the others found out.