Episode Two: I Can Feel My Instincts Here for You

The moon beams brightly into the bedroom, casting a bluish glow on the sleeping couple. The comforter abandoned at the foot of the bed, they're a mess of limbs and sheets, breath coming slow in the swamp air of New Orleans. The woman, body laid awkwardly over the man's arm, begins to twitch in her sleep, a jolting, restless motion that becomes harsher and harsher as minutes pass. Then, as the bells of a nearby church toll the first of twelve rings, she jerks awake, gasping for breath.

This, finally, wakes the man, who, once he's gathered his wits, holds onto her shoulders to steady her. "Theo, Theo, hey. What's happenin', what's goin' on?"

Theo presses a hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. "I saw her."

Confused, the man asks, "Saw who?"

"Hope Mikaelson." Theo turns to face the man. "Marcel, Hope Mikaelson is returning to New Orleans. Tonight."

Hayley grips her cell phone tightly and takes a deep breath. After a moment, she slips it into her pocket and steps back into the house, where River, still shaking, is waiting on the couch. "Hey," Hayley says softly. "So…Hope…Hope's not going to be able to come home tonight."

River looks up, wide-eyed. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine." Truth is, Hayley has no idea if Hope's fine, but she figures her daughter has earned her trust at this point. She settles on the edge of the coffee table, right in front of River. "I'm sorry she can't be here for you, but I want you to know that I am. Okay? I can tell something happened to you tonight, and I want you to know that whatever it is, you can tell me."

River curls in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest. Her eyes are puffy and red. "I can't. I can't. I can't."

Slowly, Hayley reaches a hand out to rest atop one of River's knees. The girl twitches, but doesn't reject the touch. "River…did someone hurt you?"

Shaking her head, River whispers, "It's not that someone hurt me." She takes a long, shuddering breath. "It's that I hurt him."

"What do you mean?"

After a long pause, River looks up from her knees. Hayley sees for the first time the deadened look in her eyes. "I killed someone tonight."

They're about ten minutes outside of Diamondhead, Mississippi, when Hope asks, "So…what exactly went down in New Orleans fifteen years ago?"

Vincent's eyes never leave the trees lining the interstate. "Don't know what to tell you."

Hope grips the wheel tightly. "My mom never really told me why we had to run, and I didn't push it, because I knew it was hard for her to talk about. But I'm not really that concerned about your feelings on the subject, so…"

Vincent chuckles dryly. "You know, for someone who never knew the man, you sure sound like your uncle Elijah."

Something hot prickles in Hope's throat. "Um. Thanks, I guess. Look, could you just explain the circumstances that led to my father being held prisoner and the rest of my family being trapped in boxes in my attic?"

Shrugging, Vincent says, "What do you want me to say, kid? Your family spent a thousand years amassing an endless list of enemies, people who would stop at nothing to see their end. The people around them, including their friends and allies, got real tired of always being at a disadvantage against a family of unkillable monsters. So someone stood up, made himself into something bigger and badder than anything the world had ever seen. Singlehandedly took down your uncles Elijah and Kol. Your aunt Rebekah got dropped by a massive organization of vampires known as the Strix, your aunt Freya got herself poisoned, and your daddy…well, as far as I'm concerned, your daddy got what was comin' to him."

"See, that's what I don't get." She flicks on her blinker to move around a semi. "You clearly hate my dad, which, you know, I guess I can't blame you, considering I don't really know anything about him, but then why are you so eager to free him? Why not leave him where he can't hurt anyone?"

"I told you—"

"Yeah, I know, all these vampires come from all over to celebrate and wreck shop in the city. I get that. But is stopping that really worth saving him? A man you hate?"

Vincent gives her a strange look. "Are you trying to convince me not to help you get him out?"

"No, not at all. I guess…it's just weird. Don't think I'm not grateful. I just don't get it."

"Well…" Vincent looks back out the window. "There's a lot more to the story."

"Well then you better talk fast."

"What do you mean?"

Hope points out the windshield. A blue sign bearing a gold fleur de lis is rapidly approaching in the early dawn light. "We're in Louisiana."

When River's done describing the scene in the alley, Hayley's heart hangs heavy for the girl. She knows all too well the trauma of taking someone's life, has done it so many times at this point she's numbed herself to the feeling. But she remembers being a teenager, a kid, really, and knowing that you've done the one thing you can never take back. "River…" Hayley moves from the coffee table to the couch beside her daughter's girlfriend. "I am so sorry that that happened to you. I…I'm not going to tell you that it's not your fault, because even though that's true, I don't think it's going to be very helpful right now. But what I will tell you is that what you're feeling right now, the guilt and the sadness and—and the pain, it'll get better."

"You don't know that!" River says, her voice cracking. "You don't know what this is like."

With a sigh, Hayley replies, "Actually…I do." River looks at her in confusion. "I was…thirteen, when it happened. A friend of mine, his parents had this boat at their lake house. A group of us went up that summer, and we raided their liquor cabinet. We all took turns behind the wheel. I was the one driving the boat when we ran into a sandbar. Someone fell out, hit his head on a rock." She stops talking for a moment, closes her eyes. "He drowned. And it was my fault."

They don't say anything for a while. They sit together, listening as the clock on the wall ticks the minutes by. Eventually, River's voice breaks the silence. "Did you feel it too?"

"Feel what?"

"Right after it happened. There was this…pain. All over my body. It was like anger and fire and electricity, all at once, all over the place. But it only lasted a couple of seconds. Scared the hell out of me."

As River speaks, Hayley's eyes grow wider and wider. The reality of the situation hits her like a punch to the stomach, and she has to stand to relieve the pressure. "Oh no."

"What?" River says, terrified. "What is it? What did I say?"

Hayley paces a little circle by the entrance to the living room. "Oh River…"

"Ms. Marshall—Hayley—please, I'm freaking out over here!"

"I'm sorry." Hayley shakes her head a bit to clear it. "I'm sorry." She sits back down on the coffee table and looks River right in the eye. "Listen, River, I'm going to tell you something, and you may not believe me, but I promise you I am telling the truth."

With fear in her eyes, River whispers, "Tell me."

"River…I'm pretty sure you're a werewolf."

Hope and Vincent get to the French Quarter just in time for morning traffic, so Hope pulls into the first parking garage she can find and turns the car off. "Alright, sensei. Where to?"

"We're only a couple of blocks from your family's home. That's where Marcel's been keepin' him. He used to have him in the cemetery, but the witches didn't like having an Original around, so he moved him."

As they exit the garage on foot, Hope says, "Marcel. That's a name I've heard my mom mention once or twice. I remember once, when I was little, she told me that Marcel was like a son to my dad." She shrugs. "Guess things changed."

Vincent laughs humorlessly. "That's an understatement."

It's still early in the morning, but already there are musicians in the street, trumpeters and guitarists and saxophonists weaving a soundtrack for the city of New Orleans. Hope can't stop the smile spreading across her face; live music has always been a great source of joy for her, and here in these streets, among these people, she feels more alive than she has in ages. "Is it like this all the time?"

"Music is the heartbeat of New Orleans. Keeps us alive, keeps us goin'. Sure, things get real crazy 'round Mardi Gras, but, yeah, you can hear music in these streets just 'bout every day."

They stop at a crosswalk, and Hope becomes enamored with a young man improvising on his trumpet. The sound is warm and bright and oddly comforting. As they cross the street, Hope says, "This is strange."

"What is?"

"I've been here for, what, five minutes? But I can't explain it. I feel like I'm…"

Vincent eyes her. "Feel like you're…?"

"Home," she settles on. "I feel like I'm home."

"What?"

"I know this sounds crazy—"

River pushes herself off the couch and starts to pace the room. "I can't believe—I came here for help and this is what you say to me?"

Hayley speaks as calmly as she can. "I know that this is hard and confusing and scary, but I need you to trust me right now."

"Trust you?" River's voice is squeaky through her tears. "I killed someone tonight, I can't trust—" She cuts herself off, claps a hand over her mouth. Her body jerks with the force of her sob.

Hayley takes a few steps over to her and wraps her in a hug. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm so sorry." She lets River shake for a minute, and when the girl starts to calm down, Hayley holds her at arm's length. "Look, I'm going to show you something, and I need you to just take it all in, okay?" River nods. "Okay." Hayley holds one hand in between their bodies and focuses on bringing her claws out.

River's eyes blow wide. "How…?"

The claws disappear. "Because I'm like you, River. Well, sort of. And there are a million things I need to tell you, a million things for you to learn about this new part of your life, but it is really late, and you've had a rough night. So I'm going to drive you home. Tell your parents…tell them you and Hope got into a little fight, and you don't want to talk about it. Get some sleep. I'll come check on you tomorrow. Okay?"

River nods, and then says quietly, "What's going to happen to me?"

Hayley hugs River again, and says into her hair, "That's something for us to worry about tomorrow. Tonight, rest."

The Abattoir towers above Hope's head, a beauty of brick and wrought iron that tugs at the edges of Hope's memory. The street around her is bustling, full of chatter and music, but Hope can't hear any of it, can't hear anything besides the relentless pounding of her own heart. Her hand starts to move of her own accord; her fingers graze the intricate gate, sealed tight and locked with a sign that warns Condemned, and she's jolted with the force of a vision. She sees herself, barely a foot tall, in her mother's arms. Her laughter is sharp and high, and it brings a smile to her mother's face. Bouncing her daughter on her hip, Hayley walks over to a man in a suit, who kisses both of their foreheads.

She gasps as she snaps back to the present. Vincent puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

Hope nods, eyes wide. "Yeah. Just a memory." She grips the lock on the gate, and it bursts open in her hands. She pushes inside the Abattoir, Vincent close behind. As they disappear from view, neither of them notice the figure watching them, just across the street.

As soon as the sun is fully over the horizon, Theo makes her way to the City of the Dead, where a witch or two from all nine covens are waiting for her. Annelise, from the Gentilly coven, speaks as soon as she sees Theo approach. "Is it true, Theodora?"

Theo stops before her fellow witches. "It's true. Hope Mikaelson is on her way here, if she's not here already."

Dominic, a Versailles witch, says, "Five years of planning down the drain."

"Don't be such a catastrophist, Dom," Theo says with an eye roll. "I've got Marcel on it."

Annelise's eyes go wide. "You told Marcel?"

"Of course I did!" Murmurs of dissatisfaction ripple through the gathering. "Look, if anyone's invested in keeping all Mikaelsons out of New Orleans, it's Marcel Gerard."

"And what if we have to kill her?"

Theo looks sharply at Leanne, one of the French Quarter witches. "What if we do?"

Scoffing, Leanne says, "Theo, you're sleeping with him. You think he's not going to know if you break his only rule and kill a teenage girl?"

"I've ingratiated myself into Marcel's circle of trust, if that's what you're trying to say, and let's not go leaping off of bridges before we come to them."

"Can we get back to the fact that her being here seriously throws a wrench in our plan?" Dominic interjects. "How are we supposed to enact our vision for this city if our biggest threat is just walking around?"

"Which threat is that," Annelise asks, "the girl or her father?"

The group is silent for a moment. Then Theo says, "No. The witches have no quarrel with Klaus Mikaelson. His downfall and that of his siblings are the fault of Marcel and the vampires. If anyone is to fear him, it's them. Our problem is Hope. She's powerful."

"So what do we do?" Leanne steps forward. "Obviously Hope is here to free her father. Do we wait? Hope they leave?"

With that question, a plan starts to form in Theo's mind. "No. I have a better idea."

The courtyard of the Mikaelson compound is trashed, littered with the debris of broken furniture and the ashes of burned things. In fifteen years, vines have grown wild over the exposed brick, turning the once-grand home into a twisted haunted house. Hope steps forward into the little patch of sunlight that still streams through; it hits her skin like a blanket, and she is drawn under by another flash of memory. This time, she's toddling around, not quite knee-high, when she's scooped up by a woman with long blonde hair. She hears angry voices behind her, but the woman says in her ear, "Come with me, my love. Let your silly father and uncle quarrel elsewhere."

When she snaps to, she murmurs to Vincent, "Wow. I just saw…I'm so used to seeing Rebekah in a box. I've never seen her smile before."

Before Vincent can answer, a voice sounds from the shadows. "You know, Rebekah loved you a lot." Both Vincent and Hope spin around, searching for the source of the voice. "In fact, your whole family loved you, before I ran them outta here. Which begs the question…" Marcel Gerard steps into view from the balcony above. "…what the hell are you doing in my city?"

Theo knocks on the door of a suite in the Hotel Royale. After a few moments, it opens to reveal a redheaded man with a beard, who looks at her inquisitively. "What do you want?"

With a tight smile, Theo answers, "I was hoping we could have a word. May I come in?"

"A witch like you doesn't need to be invited in."

"I was being polite." Theo pushes her way into the suite. It's lavish, with a four-poster bed covered in thick white sheets currently occupied by a naked, passed-out tourist. "I didn't realize you had a guest."

The man shrugs. "Don't worry about what you say in front of her. She'll be properly compelled before she leaves."

"Right then, let's get to the point. Mr. Duquesne, you've been coming to New Orleans every year for a decade and a half to celebrate the fall of the head of your sire line." Alistair throws himself into a plush chair, then motions for her to carry on. "I also know you've been…discussing with Marcel Gerard your continued desire to see Klaus Mikaelson not merely subdued, but dead. Permanently."

"The bastard's not known for staying down long," Alistair insists. "One of these days he's going to be free, and I will not let that happen."

"I share the sentiment. Which is why I'm here." Theo takes a deep breath. "What if I told you that Klaus's only child, Hope Mikaelson, is back in this city, almost certainly with the goal of releasing her father from Marcel's imprisonment?"

Alistair leaps to his feet. "Is this true, witch?"

"It's true she's here, and while I can't be certain of her motives for returning, what other reason would she have except to rescue her father?"

Pacing the length of the room, Alistair begins to muse, "I told Marcel years ago to just bite that scum and be done with it. Sure, I like seeing Klaus Mikaelson suffer just as much as the next bloke, but this is exactly what I've always feared. The Mikaelson family has many reputations, not the least of which being their fierce desire to protect one another. Well, I guess it's up to me to fix this." He stops in his tracks, narrows his eyes at Theo. "Why are you telling me this?"

With a noncommittal shrug, Theo explains, "You have a vested interest in seeing Klaus Mikaelson dead. The witches have a vested interest in seeing Hope Mikaelson dead. I don't see a reason why we both can't get what we want."

Alistair moves closer. "Why don't the witches just kill her then? Why ask us?"

Because Marcel will destroy us, she doesn't say. Instead, "We have our own reasons for wanting this handled outside of the covens, but suffice to say that a horde of vampires from outside this city stands a better chance at defeating Marcel and his crew than we do." She turns to make for the door. "But if you'd rather not risk it…"

She hears a heavy sigh behind her, and then, "Wait." She turns back with a knowing smile and sees Alistair jerk his head toward the girl in his bed. "Let me finish breakfast first."

"Marcel—" Vincent begins, but he's cut off by Marcel whooshing from his perch above to the courtyard in front of them.

"Are you absolutely out of your mind, Vincent?" Marcel snaps. "Bringing her here? Now? When this city is crawling with twice the usual vampires?"

Vincent explodes, his voice echoing in the empty building. "Why do you think I brought her here, Marcel? Huh? Of course it's a risk, of course I'd rather her stay far away from this place, but since you decided you were gonna sit back and do nothing about the slaughter of innocents that happens every year when these vampires come to town, I decided to do something about it. So yeah, me and her gonna break Klaus Mikaelson free and end this, once and for all."

Marcel's eyes go wide. "You think you're gonna—" He runs a hand over his face in frustration. "You're damn crazy if you think I'm going to let you do this."

"You're talkin' to the regent of nine covens and probably the most powerful witch in the world, even if she is just a kid. I don't care what kind of juiced vampire you are, man, we can take you down, at least long enough to do what we came here to do."

Marcel jabs a hand toward Hope, who's watching the volatile exchange in silence. "She's, what, seventeen? She has no idea what she's getting into, no idea what kind of danger she's in!"

"Yeah, she's seventeen. Wasn't that roughly how old Davina was when you decided to drag her into all this mess?"

Stepping forward threateningly, Marcel spits in Vincent's face, "I was protecting Davina!"

"An' I'm tryin' to protect a whole city full of Davinas! Can't you see that? If we get Klaus Mikaelson out of this city, we'll also get every vampire who likes to come and party over his body out, too."

"If we get Klaus Mikaelson out of this city, how long before he comes back and seeks his vengeance?"

Vincent throws up his hands. "That sounds like your problem, Marcel, considering you're the one who went and made himself the biggest threat to that family yet."

Shaking his head, Marcel says, "No. Absolutely not. It's not happening. Look, I'm sorry kid—" He turns to talk to Hope, but falls silent when he sees that she's gone. "Where the hell is she?"

She feels him, feels his heartbeat like a drum, slow and lethargic, signaling his presence in the dark. She abandons the arguing men, walking softly through the corridors of the compound. There's a door, splattered with old blood, and Hope tries the knob. It's locked, but after a moment of concentration, she feels the lock release, and turns the knob with ease. She makes her way into the darkness of the tunnels below the Abattoir, letting herself be guided by the sense of his heartbeat. She doesn't know why she can feel it, doesn't understand the magic that's at play, but knows that if she keeps walking, she'll find him.

It's a maze underground, tunnels and offshoots and caverns of various shapes and sizes. There are unlit torches spaced periodically along the walls, and with a wave of her hand, their flames come to life, casting dancing glows all around them. Hope follows her feet wherever they take her, surprised when she comes to a stop in front of a stretch of brick wall. This space looks fresher than the rest, not as dingy or worn. She stands back a bit, focuses on the wall. The feeling of his heartbeat is almost too much to bear at this point. Hope raises a hand out, takes a deep breath, and blasts a hole in the wall.

As chunks of brick and mortar go flying, Marcel appears, Vincent hot on his heels. They find Hope staring, unable to look away from what she sees. "Look, Hope, listen to me—"

"It's strange." Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper. Marcel falls silent. "You spend your whole life looking in the mirror, wondering parts of yourself are him. His hair has red in it. I don't know why that's so surprising. Mine had to come from somewhere. And his eyes…" Hope finally tears her gaze away from her father's unblinking eyes. Her own are ringed heavily in red. She takes a shaky breath. "They look like mine, too." Silence reigns as Hope looks back her father, tears streaming down her face.

I have decided that, while the main venue for this story will be the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm, I will be making it available on and AO3 as well. Episodes will be posted one week after they are posted to Tumblr, so if you want to stay up-to-date, Tumblr will still be the best place to do that. The third episode, "Wonder Where Your Heart Came From," is already available at peopleandrhythm at this time.