Disclaimer: I wish I did, I wish I might, own the rights for which I write tonight - but I don't and Julie Plec and The CW are the lucky ones who own The Originals. Sigh.
Chapter Nine
Flames lick the air around me. Bright orange-yellow flames tipped with blue. They leap and flicker; across my skin, my hair, my clothes. Nothing is burning, but I am on fire. This is a power I have endured only a few times. Uncontrollable flames that will not hurt me, but if they escape can cause massive damage – the memory of a house blazing is seared into my mind.
I have to get out of the church. Everything in here is chaos. I have to channel this power into something good – I've managed that once before.
I run. No one tries to stop me. I make it outside. I can feel the cool air, but that isn't enough to quench these flames.
There is uncultivated grass just past the sidewalk. I collapse to my knees, fingers digging into the dirt. I breathe in, close my eyes, and breathe out. As I exhale I channel the flames into the ground.
There is grass, weeds, and a decomposing seed. My power touches all of these and feeds them. The grass and weeds grow wild and thick. When my energy reaches the seed, it focuses.
The seed is revived and grows. As with the plants, the roots dig in first, deep and strong. Then a green shoot bursts to the surface. A sapling grows in minutes and then becomes a healthy, young tree. The tree ages at least five years before its growth slows, the last of my excess power nearly used up.
As the energy diminishes the tree's branches creak slowly to a natural growth and catch my attention. Peering into the branches, all else fades around me as I am caught in a vision.
A picture forms, not on the tree but in my mind's eye. First it is blackness, and then there are splashes of color creating neon outlines. The image focuses and washes out to become a crypt. It is a gray crypt with an angel watching over it, but no name that I can see. I am filled with the knowledge that this tomb is where I was born, the place I should have been found all those years ago.
There are voices near me, a hand on my shoulder. I ignore the distractions. I know I cannot give into them just yet. I have to focus on my vision, to collect the final pieces of information it has to give. If I don't I feel certain I will not find my true home.
The image flows away from the tomb. It traces a path I cannot follow, zigzagging its way through the cemetery. Then it stops at the entrance to the graveyard and tilts up. Now I have the name:
Lafayette.
With a snap and a flash, the vision is gone. I find myself on my knees at the base of a sturdy oak tree. I am no longer on fire, but the world is still noisy.
"Maggie, Maggie," Aaron calls to me, gently shaking my shoulder.
I turn to face him, but he is blurry. I reach up to rub my eyes, only to brush away my tears instead – happy tears. I am nearly home, I'm sure of it.
Aaron is worried and so is Leo who stands several feet away. I spot Faith at the bottom of the church steps. I can sense the spell she's placed on the doors to lock the adults in.
"Maggie, are you all right?" Aaron pokes me to get my undivided attention.
"I'm fine," I stand up to prove it.
Then I feel this rush of liquid light and suddenly know where I must go – Lafayette Cemetery. Inside my head I feel this call, like a map, that will guide me to my goal, this I know without a doubt.
"I'm better than fine," I grin at Aaron.
I take several steps in the direction I need to go. But then Faith is there, blocking my way. Behind me, Aaron has grabbed a hold of my arm, trying to keep me in place.
"Let me go," I plead with them; "This is important. I have to go. I know where I can get my answers now."
I look them both in the eye and repeat myself, willing them to understand. Faith frowns and fights an internal battle. Aaron lets me go with a sad, puppy-dog expression.
"Take Aaron with you," Leo orders; "I'll calm Marcel and the other down. Meet at the safe house when you're done, my pack will help you to the end."
Aaron perks up at that and grabs my hand. I accept Leo's offer with a nod and answer the call.
"The shield will drop in a couple minutes," I hear Faith tell Leo.
Then I am lost to a feeling. I close my eyes, shut off all my other senses, and just follow. I forget I'm in a traffic heavy city with other people who might block my path or cars that might hit me. I trust this guide to keep me safe.
I am barely aware of Aaron's hand in mine. When I begin running, I have just enough sense to keep to a pace he can handle. Then I am off, knowing that at the end of this race I will have the answers I crave.
In what feels like no time at all, but is probably a good half hour, I arrive. I come to a stop, panting, and open my eyes. I release Aaron's hand, to rest both of mine on my knees as I stare at the graveyard's entrance, and catch my breath.
"Why did we come here?" Faith asks, startling me.
I whirl around to face her. She's not the least bit winded unlike Aaron and me. But she stares at the cemetery with apprehension.
"I didn't ask you to come with me."
"After the show you put on back there, there's no way I'm missing out on finding out more about you," she jokes but there is too much seriousness to her face; "Uncle Kol thinks you're dangerous, I know better. But the only way I can prove him wrong is by sticking with you and seeing this through."
"Thanks," I muster up.
"So why are we at this cemetery?" Aaron echoes.
I turn around to face the entrance again. This time Aaron and Faith are on either side of me.
"It's not the cemetery I'm here for," I explain as the feeling collects into one clear thought; "There's a crypt inside that's important to my mom and dad."
"I thought you said you don't know your parents," Faith accuses.
"I don't," I answer serenely; "It's a feeling I have, sort of like how I know Faith isn't your real name. It was a similar feeling like this one that brought me to New Orleans to search for my parents in the first place."
"I've never heard of magic like that before," Aaron comments and from the look on Faith's face, she agrees.
"I can't explain it, but the answers lie in there," I step forward, ready to complete my journey.
Aaron and I are under the gate; halfway into Lafayette Cemetery, when I notice Faith isn't with us. I pivot to find her where we'd left her, staring at the tombs pensively.
"Are you afraid of cemeteries?" I ask her, surprised.
"No," Faith snaps rather unconvincingly; "I'm not afraid. It's just this cemetery and I have a history and not a good one."
"There's nothing to fear from it tonight," I say and know I'm talking about something much bigger than a walk among the dead; "I'll protect you."
I don't know what I'm protecting her from, but I know that I can and will keep my promise.
Faith gives me a weaker version of her devilish grin. Then she joins us and united we enter the Lafayette graveyard.
The crescent moon is nearing its zenith as we walk among the dead. Every foot step echoes on unforgiving stone. Each breath we exhale sounds sharp and tense, but I am not afraid. In here, my answers await. Faith though, is skittish.
"That last test, with the elements, that really freaked everyone out," I talk to help take Faith's mind off the place; "Why?"
"Every creature that walks the earth, supernatural or human, has an element that counterbalances them in a sense," Faith runs with the lesson; "Put a person's blood up against the pure form of the balancing element and both are destroyed. It's sort of an archaic way to test what faction a person belongs to. Humans are balanced with earth, werewolves with water, witches with air, and vampires with fire. But your blood wasn't balanced out by any of the elements."
"What about the Originals? Or hybrids?" Aaron pipes up.
"The Originals are still vampires, their blood burns when balanced with fire. It isn't completely destroyed afterwards, but it isn't blood anymore either," Faith explains a bit uncomfortably; "As for hybrids, a combination of fire and water is needed – tricky to achieve, but still possible."
"What does it mean that my blood doesn't have a counterbalance?" I ask, since Faith is more telling than the adults.
"I don't know, even Uncle Kol doesn't know really. He's encountered people like you before, which is why you terrify him. That death spell he tried on your blood should've obliterated it. The spell can annihilate Original blood even if it can't kill them, but it had no lasting effect on yours and that scared everybody else."
"Then I guess it's a good thing we're going to get answers soon," Aaron says optimistically after a long stretch of silence.
We all agree to that and continue walking. The feeling guides me to the correct crypt, but I know it long before we reach it. I don't know how, but the tomb crackles with the light I see every time I close my eyes. The light I know to be my parent's love for each other.
It is an unbreakable light. It is a love of deep red splashed with orange and yellow, tempered by blue and white. Their light hums and burns, swirling in upon itself and spreading far and low at the same time. Their light consumes me, warms me, and sustains me, has sustained me in all these years I've waited.
When I reach the tomb, the light disappears inside. Eagerly, I find the door, and though she is uncomfortable, Faith helps me break the chain. The three of us enter silently, it is dark inside so I call in natural fire to the palm of my hand.
We walk further into the crypt, but it appears to be empty. Then a dozen flames shoot out of one corner and take up residence, evenly spaced, throughout the room. Brighter than any candles, the flames light up the tomb.
"Hello Little Sun," a man's voice greets.
Out of the shadows steps a golden-skinned man with long, tied back, black hair and old brown eyes. He wears a white t-shirt and black pants as if they are a suit and projects an air of command. He looks no older than twenty, but his eyes say he's much older than he appears.
In my second sight, he is awash with color, but not in the way I've ever seen before. Beneath his skin a wild light rears, all red with a touch of blue and green – I have never seen anyone with light under their skin before him. Around him the bonds of love shine as with a normal person, but there is a lot of white, longing bonds about him.
"Who are you?" Faith asks sharply.
"I am called Blane, Hope Mikaelson," the man answers unphased, his gaze never leaving mine; "It is kind of you to join us and you too Aaron, son of Jackson, though your presence is unexpected."
Faith, whose real name is apparently Hope, and Aaron are both shocked. I'm a little flabbergasted myself, but now I'm certain this Blane holds the answers I seek.
"What are you?" I enquire.
"I am like you, Little Sun," Blane smiles indulgently at me, "and we are daimons."
"You're what?" Aaron scoffs.
"We are daimons, the immortal children born of impossible love," Blane takes a seat on the ground; "Please, sit down, and I will explain from the beginning. This is a lot to take in, I know. Seeing as you all already know about the supernatural world, this should be easier to digest overall."
None of us really want to sit. However, Blane just looks at us calmly, refusing to begin until we do. I sit down quickly and eagerly, Aaron flops down, and Hope grumbles about Blane being like her uncle Elijah, but she sits too.
"Now that's better," Blane flashes very white teeth at all of us; "As I was saying, daimons are the children of love, but then most children are. What sets daimons apart is the way in which we are born. Our parents overcome great obstacles in their love for each other and most often the chances of them ever meeting are so astronomically small it is next impossible that they would fall in love as well. Yet they do. It is not simply love at first sight for them, but there is an undeniable attraction between our parents from the moment they meet. It is in part, because of that attraction that our parents are drawn together again, and again, which leads to our births."
I try not to groan, as interesting and romantic of a picture Blane is painting, I'm rather impatient for him to get to the point. As if he senses my thoughts, Blame shoots a large grin at me.
"Daimons are born to parents who love each other deeply, but we are not born in the natural way. For despite our parents' love and immediate attraction, their fate is usually one of tragedy because of their passion is forbidden. Still our parents have stolen moments together and in the first moment, when they both acknowledge the passion and attraction inside them, the power of their love brings us into being."
"Wait," I stop him for clarification; "Are you saying my mom didn't give birth to me?"
"She did not," Blane answers; "Our parents are variations of Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare's lovers had an impossible, forbidden love because they were born to warring families and they died for that passion that burned between them. Had Romeo and Juliet been real, a daimon would've been born the moment they declare their love for each other on the balcony. However, in reality daimons are not truly born. We simply come into being, as newborn babes, in a place of great significance to our parents. That is why we are called the impossible children."
"If most daimon parents are like Romeo and Juliet does that mean Maggie's parents are dead?" Aaron asks softly.
"More than likely," Blane nods with a sympathizing expression.
"But my parents are alive," I argue.
"What makes you say that?" Blane queries.
"It's something I know to be true, a truth I've always had."
I am more than ready to argue the point with him. But Blane holds up hand to silence me, understanding on his face.
"Then that is your gift," Blane explains; "Daimons are born out of the power of love; we are human, but more that human. As you have discovered for yourself, we have powerful gifts of healing and more gifts you will develops as you get older. Each daimon though is born with a unique gift and from the sounds of it this knowing-ability is yours Little Sun."
"Do you know how to find my parents?" I ask the question that matters most since Blane seems open to questions now.
"As I said, all daimons are born to those whose love is an impossible outcome and whose passion for each other is forbidden. Most of the time, one or both of the lovers die for their passion, long before their daimon child is old enough to crawl. When I came into being, a new daimon was born maybe once a century. In the past millennia, since the Original family began to sire more and more vampires, our numbers have increased at a faster rate, roughly five a century as vampires find love outside their natural lifespans. If your parents are alive, then one of them is more than likely a vampire as their existence is supernaturally impossible and loving them a forbidden passion in many ways."
"Do you have any idea how I can narrow down which vampire is my mom or dad?"
"I would say that you have better idea for how to figure that out," Blane replies thoughtfully; "But both of your parents must be special, Little Sun, for you are unique even among the daimons."
