Tricks of the Trade

That night, Bonnie was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the weird cat-clock on the wall, waiting for Klaus to return. She had explored the house, and a strange feeling of dread had been welling in her chest the more she poked around.

It was clear that at least three girls lived there. Their clothes were still in the closets, toothbrushes still in the bathroom. Their shoes ranged around her size, and in various styles. There were favorite books, unfinished university assignments, flashcards, and all the other markings of a young woman's life. There were tampons and condoms in the bathroom. The raspberry body wash looked like it had only been used once. The more she looked, the sadder she felt.

As she made her way downstairs in her clothes – too chilled to take a shower, too respectful to borrow clothes – she noticed nicks in the railing. The living room was filled with frames – but they were all turned down. She picked one up and perused it and saw the faces of three friends and a puppy. They were young, fresh-faced and happy. In the corner, laughing, was a girl with red hair and freckles. Loving life.

Could've been Caroline, Elena and me.

She left that photo standing, the eyes of the now dead girls staring at her happily. The rest she left turned down. It was odd that someone (Klaus? Stefan?) had turned them down – a sign of guilt, perhaps? At what had happened to them?

From the corner of her eye, she saw a scratch in a wall behind one of the deep yellow curtains. Pulling it aside, she saw a short scratch in the white paint. Running her fingers alone the side, she narrowed her eyes and saw a thing, hairline difference in the surface. She tried to pry it open with her fingers to no avail. She pushed against it, hoping it might push back and open – it didn't. Running her fingers against it again, she could tell it had been jammed shut- not closed easily or locked as it normally would have been.

That meant someone didn't want her getting down there.

And if that someone was Klaus, then it meant she absolutely had to.

Narrowing her eyes, she focused her magic, and the door popped open.

It was a small opening, but big enough for Bonnie to slip through. The steps were very steep, leading to a deep basement with rough floor. Her bare feet scraped unhappily on the steps and she stumbled a bit in the increased darkness. The only light on the inside seemed to come from a few small windows at the top that let in the light of the moon.

Light, she thought and the light was magnified, illuminating the room like it was an ordinary space outside.

Bonnie's breath caught in her throat at what she saw.

There were chains and handcuffs, leg cuffs, padlocks and more chains in the corner of the room. All along one wall were cuffs – they were low, probably to accommodate the smaller form of the transformation. All along the edges of the wall grew wolf's bane. There was no doubt.

Bonnie closed her eyes and could almost hear the pain of their transformations.

Werewolves.

Undoubtedly, Klaus had tried to turn them and had failed.

She walked closer to the cuffs on the wall and saw blood on the ground. It was dry and splattered everywhere. Someone had been killed here recently.

Klaus' words echoed in her head: The Ripper.

She traced her fingers over one of the cuffs and got a sudden jolt of memory. Stefan. Trapped, pulling against the chains. Stefan, wondering how long it would take for him to chew his own hand off and gnaw his way to freedom. Stefan, chained up like the beast he was.

Bonnie was chilled to the bone. She was part scared and sorry for Stefan, part scared and sorry for the monster she had released from Klaus' grips.

Damon, she thought, remembering the phone she saw upstairs: I should check in before Klaus gets home.

She ran up the stairs out of the room, closing the door behind her. Then she turned, and cast a spell on the door.

"No one can open you but me," Bonnie said, sizing the door up. For good measure, she also reinforced its strength so no hybrid could punch his way through.

The next person to be locked up there would not be a teenaged witch.

Bonnie made her way to the phone, dialing before the receiver touched her ear. It was dead.

She made her way to the kitchen, again startled by the ordinariness of the house: cutting boards, calendars, wind chimes. There was recycling in a blue box by the counter, like it was waiting for its owners to arrive. She picked up the phone hanging on the wall, and again – nothing. No dial tone.

She could leave, she thought, trying to stem the sudden rush of fear of being cut off from the world. But he would just find her again. And she wouldn't have accomplished her goal.

No, she thought firmly. The only way to save them was to do it herself. No one could finish this but her.

So she sat at the kitchen table and waited for his return.

KBKBKBKB

Klaus came home exhausted. Not physically, of course – he was a perfect specimen. No, he was mentally tired. Bonnie was a trick, he thought all day. Damon gave her up too easily. Was there more to her than the magic of a hundred witches? More threatening him that he didn't understand? There was something there, just under the surface, that he couldn't put his finger on…

He needed to use his time wisely to properly win her to his side.

By that, he wasn't too worried – for he knew her weakness, a weakness even she had not yet realized. There was a reason she hadn't killed him the night of the sacrifice.

What did worry him was her brain.

She wasn't sweet and loyal like Rebecca with a soft heart for damaged goods. No, Bonnie was hard and unforgiving in her righteousness. She would never come to care for him. Not that he needed her to care, it just would have made things easier. Like it had with Greta. And Bonnie wasn't like Elena. She wouldn't be bent on trying to save him from himself in a way that he could twist and deceive. Bonnie wasn't even like Caroline, the blonde vampire with a penchant for kicking ass. She was less impulsive, more studious – her plans were better thought out, and her risks were calculated.

Even her magic was nothing compared to the way the wheels turned in that pretty head of hers.

So one could imagine how surprised Klaus was when he walked into the kitchen and found a scowling Bonnie waiting for him, ready to offer the perfect opening.

"You killed them," she said, her voice as flat as she could make it – but the anger and venom was still there. She glared at Klaus as he came in, an almost disinterested scowl appearing on his face – like he had forgotten she'd be there, and was annoyed that she was. "For no reason."

"It was not my intention for them to die," Klaus reminded her. He approached slowly, his hands in his pockets. Bonnie crossed her arms in front of her chest as if to protect herself.

"You tried to turn them," Bonnie spat like an accusation. "And now they're dead. This house," she muttered, shaking her head, "Is empty because of you."

"Not because of me," Klaus corrected, "Because of the original witch."

"You can't turn werewolves," Bonnie rolled her eyes, wanting to add that his futile attempts caused their death not some curse – but he interrupted.

"That, my dear," Klaus said, leaning over the table to raise her chin to face his (pretty easy, since she had already tilted it in a superior façade), "is where you come in." He tapped her chin once more before sliding into the chair beside her. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table and leaned forward as if he was telling her a secret in a crowded room.

"I don't want them to die any more than you do."

"I don't want them to be hybrids either," Bonnie spat.

"Hybrids," Klaus said, "Are no less abominations than vampires or werewolves alone."

"I don't want vampires running around either," Bonnie pointed out, "Werewolves can at least be controlled."

"Even Caroline?" Klaus said and watched Bonnie wince. Apparently that transformation, however it happened, still hit a nerve. "Isn't she better a harmless vampire than a teenage corpse?"

"Caronline," Bonnie's hands tightened against her arms. "is different."

Klaus leaned back, "Ahh, the hypocrisy. Your friends deserve to live as nonhumans, but no one else should?"

"Caroline has free will," Bonnie pointed out, "You plan on using your hybrids to do your bidding."

Klaus trained his face to remain still. "Only when necessary."

"When isn't it necessary for you?" Bonnie almost laughed. "Look at how many lives you've killed "necessarily" already."

"Again," Klaus said, leaning back as the muscle in his jaw ticked, "That is where you can come in. There's no reason they can't have long, normal immortal lives."

Bonne frowned, unimpressed, and Klaus continued. "They won't be slaves to the moon. They won't have to go through the pain of transformation. They can live more normal lives than they do now."

"They'll be dangerous to humans," Bonnie said.

"It's not humans," Klaus said, meeting her eyes with great seriousness, "That I'm after."

"Compel them," Bonnie blurted out, and Klaus raised a brow at her. "Compel them not to feed from humans, and I will help you."

He opened his mouth to reply, and she held up a hand to silence him. They were both surprised when it worked.

"I don't want any more deaths," Bonnie said calmly, except yours, "So compel them not to hurt humans and they can live their happy hybrid lives."

Klaus smiled, and it chilled Bonnie to the bone. Because it wasn't a smile of pleasure or a forced grin to conclude the deal. No, it was clearly on of admiration. Like he was impressed by her scheming.

Then he tilted his head, touched her chin, and made sure their gazes met when he replied: "Once again, my witch, I give you my word."

Now all he had to do, Klaus thought, was earn her trust.

"Okay," Bonnie nodded, "Deal."

And when their gazes locked again, the determined heat in her eyes made Klaus sure of one thing and one thing only: this game of cat and mouse was going to get a lot more interesting, and for once he wasn't quite sure which one he was – the predatory cat, or the innocent mouse.

KBKBKBKB

Days later, Bonnie's power had yet to return to full force. The spell on the trap door had taken a lot more out of her than she thought. She guarded that corner of the room relentlessly when Klaus was home. She sat in front of it when she knew he would be arriving, curled up with a spell book or watching tv or pretending to sleep on the lemon-colored couch. Anything to keep him from the door.

When he was gone, she didn't want to know what he was doing. But if he discovered what she'd done too soon – before she got her powers back – who knew how he would retaliate.

But he never approached it.

And though she braced herself for the dead bodies and rivers of blood – for the demands and anger and schemes, they never came.

Instead, Klaus returned in the evenings and didn't bat an eye at seeing her in the same corner of the living room he'd left her in. Sometimes he would go straight to his room without seeming to notice she existed. But when she finally retired to hers, she would lean her ear against the wall they shared and hear his frustrated pacing. But his most dangerous nights were not when he was trying to poison her or seemed to be plotting the destruction of humankind.

No, Klaus's most dangerous was when he caught her off guard by taking a seat in the living room. Or even worse, when he got that playful glint in his eye, extended his hand to her, and asked her to cast a seemingly innocent spell in the delicious accent.

"I'm thirsty," Klaus had said from his seat on the living room floor three days after they had struck their compulsion deal. He didn't sit on the couches or cross his legs and brood or scheme like the Salvatores did. Although he seemed to keep one eye on the door like he was expecting an intruder, he mostly was finding ways to entertain himself.

Bonnie almost hoped he'd bore himself to death when he said it. She was lying on the couch, pretending to read Wuthering Heights and hoping he didn't notice that he pages hadn't turned. It was chilly evening and the fire was burning in the corner of the room, lighting up the angles of his face in ways that made Bonnie's mouth water. His hair was ruffled and slightly out of place. And when he turned to her with a sly smile, she had to consciously stop her heart from beating.

He's evil, she reminded herself. But when he turned to look at her over his shoulders, a gorgeous grin spreading across his face, she was stunned long enough to forget it. And when he stood, extending a hand, and said, "Wine?" she watched herself put her hand in his without thinking.

Klaus pulled Bonnie to her feet and walked hurriedly to the kitchen. He stood her in front of the sink and said, "Well?"

"Well?" Bonnie repeated, blinking rapidly.

"Water into wine," Klaus said simply, "I'm sure one of your hundred witches can manage that."

She smiled, a small laugh escaping at the challenge. So you want magic tricks, huh?

He leaned forward on the counter, and met her eyes as she said the spell. She didn't close her eyes, and it didn't hurt. She felt the power rushing through her as she concentrated on the tap.

Klaus studied Bonnie as she cast her spell. He had seen her use her magic before, knew that she was getting stronger every time he saw her. But there was something more intoxicating than wine before him. She was feeding off the power in the room – from both of them. Her chin was tilted, and her lips were pulled into that adorable smirk. When she finally smiled at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning back in challenge, he couldn't help but grin in return.

"White?" she asked, turning on the cold water and watching white wine pour out, "Or red?" She flipped the cold water off and hit the hot tap and out poured red wine.

Klaus' grin spread as he came over to her side of the sink. In one smooth motion, he pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard. "Red. Always."

Then he turned to face the sink and, seeing Bonnie still standing facing it, slid a hand on either side of her. He took a step forward and she was pressed against him. He heard her heart thunder against her chest and pressed into her more, leaning them both forward as he took his time to fill the glasses.

"Klaus," Bonnie said, intending her voice to sound more threatening than it did when he rested his chin on the nape of her neck. She turned to glance at him, but his eyes seemed deliberately trained in faux-concentration on filling the glasses. Just as the second one filled, he turned his head and nuzzled her nape.

Bonnie closed her eyes, bracing herself for the impact of fangs as she felt the power rushing through her hands to defend herself, but felt the soft brush of lips instead. She heard the clink of the glasses as they were set on the counter.

"Klaus," she said again, shifting awkwardly. Even she could hear the thundering of her heart and thought how unfair that was.

"Bonnie," he replied, smiling deliciously into her skin. She turned her face away, exposing the arc of her neck to him, and she felt his hands curl into her hips in appreciation. Bonnie's breath caught as she realized he wasn't attacking her. Or tricking her.

He wants to kiss me, Bonnie realized. And that scared her most of all.

Bonnie spun around and shoved him off of her. He took two swift steps back, leaning on the counter, and holding a single glass of wine in his hand casually – like nothing at all had happened.

When she turned to face him, Bonnie was flushed. With anger or embarrassment, he wasn't sure.

"You can't keep… doing that," Bonnie said.

No aneurysms. She couldn't be that mad, Klaus thought as he raised a glass to offer her cheers. She picked up her glass and downed it in one go.

He arched a brow at her, "Careful there."

"Stop kissing me!" Bonnie blurted. "You can't just… do that whenever you want."

"I'm not the only one who wanted it," Klaus said, and Bonnie felt a small thrill at the center of her chest when his eyes met hers.

Then she felt angry. "Don't do it again."

"Alright," Klaus said with a nod, "I won't kiss you again."

"Thank you," Bonnie said in a voice that didn't read grateful at all.

"Until you ask," Klaus said, taking a step forward. He took her glass from her and then reached behind to turn on the tap, please to still find white wine coming out. She was glaring up at him as he filled the glass and he felt the annoyance pass from her to him.

Leave it to a silly human to make a big deal about a kiss.

As if kissing someone like him was a great tragedy.

Klaus frowned at the thought, standing back to practically shove the glass of wine in her hands.

"I'm not going to ask you to kiss me," Bonnie assured him as she followed him into the living room. It felt strange to argue about it but, spurred on by the wine and the indignation and – let's face it – the loneliness of being trapped in the house, she couldn't help herself.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Klaus said. He moved towards the couch, but Bonnie moved faster, making sure she sat closest to the trap door. Klaus raised an eyebrow at her, but she just sipped her wine and forced herself to continue.

"Why are you so eager to kiss me anyway?" Bonnie said, "You're not the love type."

Klaus frowned, taking another sip of his wine. "What type am I?"

"The kill 'em and leave 'em type," Bonnie said, gesturing around the room to the overturned frames.

Klaus said nothing, but tilted his head and smiled as if to say go on.

"You killed your family, who you should love above all else," Bonnie said, "And you kept Stefan from Elena. You don't care about anyone."

Klaus frowned.

"But yourself," Bonnie finished.

"Thank you for that entirely novel psychiatric assessment," Klaus said with a tight smile.

Bonnie mentally hit herself. Keep the psycho murderer happy, she thought. If she had learned anything from Damon it was that. They kill when they're pissed.

"Your turn," she said, raising her glass to him.

Klaus raised a brow, like he hadn't heard her.

"Tell me," Bonnie said, "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," Klaus said quickly, and with force that startled her.

"Nothing?" Bonnie said lightly, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head. "I know many who would disagree."

"You're perfect," Klaus said, taking a seat beside her. He didn't meet her eyes. "Why else would I come for you?" And let you live.

"Because I have the power of a hundred witches," Bonnie deadpanned, waving her wineglass in the air. Her eyes seemed unimpressed. Almost resigned. Like she was used to being used.

Klaus waited until she turned to face him before he spoke. "There's a lot more to you than magic."

Bonnie let out an unimpressed laugh, "Yeah, okay."

"I admit," Klaus shifted awkwardly, "You got my attention with that spell."

"When I tried to kill you?" Bonnie said pleasantly, a teasing smile on her lips.

"No," Klaus almost smiled at her, "When you tried to make me regret."

"It didn't work quite as I thought," she said.

"Better than you could have ever imagined," Klaus said under his breath.

"Hmmm?" Bonnie said.

"I said, it got my attention but it didn't keep it," Klaus lied. "There is something about you that is more enchanting than your magic."

"What's that?" Bonnie said, her voice teasing but her eyes seemed anxious for his answer.

"Your kindness," Klaus admitted. "You are more good than anyone I have ever known." He shook his head with a smirk, "And I have known a lot of good."

"I'm not," Bonnie said, putting her glass down.

"You call things as you see them. You think there's something precious about humanity, but you're not trying to save us twisted, evil devils. You're just trying to protect the little people," Bonnie snorted at that, "Lover of the Byronic hero you are not." He glanced the Wuthering Heights book she had abandoned, and she mentally kicked herself: he knew she wasn't interested in it.

"I admit," Bonnie said grudgingly, "I may be nicer than most of your accomplices." Then she met his eyes with a wicked glint, "But you do hang out with psychos and murderers,"

"And rippers," Klaus nodded in agreement. Their eyes met, and there was laughter sparking between them. Bonnie broke eye contact first, turning away to look at her hands in her lap. Klaus leaned closer, putting an arm over her and he felt Bonnie stiffen at the contact.

She opened her mouth as if she was going to speak but had lost her words. Thinking better of it, she licked her lips – feeling more awkward when she saw his eyes drift to her mouth with renewed purpose.

"I find myself drawn to you," Klaus said softly, his hot breath brushing her ear and making her shiver. She closed her eyes against the sensation, and felt the pad of his thumb brush against her relaxed lips. She should pull away, she thought: wine and lust and magic and power was coursing through her. Everything with Klaus was confusing: playful and dangerous, wicked and sexy, deviant and immoral all at once – she never knew which face he would show next.

"I don't know what it is," Klaus said softly again, and she was sure goose bumps were appearing on her neck. She dug her fingers into the fabric of the couch. Her lips were burning where his fingers touched, and when his breath fanned against her face, she almost turned to him with her eyes half closed and invite a kiss. Almost.

"It's the challenge," Bonnie said, reaching up to move his hands from around her. She stood up and took her wine with her. "You want to break me like you broke Stefan."

"I fixed Stefan," Klaus corrected. "That is his natural state."

"And being good and kind," Bonnie insisted, "is mine. You can't change that."

I don't want to change it, Klaus almost barked. I want it. For me. Only me.

His eyes pierced hers but he didn't say anything. It was like he was trying to tell her something from the way he looked at her – devouring her with his eyes. She turned and headed for her room.

"Tomorrow," Klaus said, "We begin practicing."

"Practicing?" Bonnie asked, forcing herself not to glance at the boarded up basement. If he tried to put werewolves in there, he would know what she had done.

"We have two weeks until the full moon," Klaus said, "Let's try to get it right before then, shall we?"

Two weeks, Bonnie thought. Two weeks to trap Klaus in his own dungeon.

"Alright." Bonnie said, infusing her voice with confidence as she glanced at him behind her shoulder. "The sooner this ends the better."

Two weeks, Klaus thought as she walked away. Once she had made his hybrids possible, he wouldn't need her company anyway. But also winning her affection was too tempting to resist.

Klaus let the last of the wine slide down his throat as he watched her hurry up the stairs.

Challenge accepted.