Idiosyncrasies of Death

by AndrianaWarrior7

Kol Mikaelson/SI-OC "Death favors us." Guidelines on how to deal with life, death, life after death and all the general stupidity that, undoubtedly, follows...In hindsight, she realized that she should've just stayed dead. But, let it be known; Zatanna Elvira Bennett-Asturias never does things half-arsed. Full Teen-Version summary inside.

10. Chapter VIII:

Warnings: Language, PTSD, Death, Violence, Morbid jokes and Dark humor that might offend others e.g. jokes on contemplation of suicide, these are just used to describe the rather morbid sense of humor the character/s may have and are in no means used to offend anyone or make light of the serious topics that may be mentioned. For any sensitive topic used in a joke, I apologize in advance and hope you keep in mind I meant no offense.

Note: The dialogues in Italic show that the speakers are either a form of flashbacks or communicating in a different language, in this case spanish.

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Vision: Definition: (Noun) 1. The ability to think about or plan the future with imagination or wisdom. 2. An experience of seeing someone or something in a dream or trance, or as a supernatural apparition.

'I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.'

-William Shakespeare-

'~Had to have high, high hopes for a living, Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing, Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision, Always had high, high hopes.~'

-High Hopes; Panic! at the Disco-

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Chapter VIII:

23rd May, 2009; Gilbert Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Elena Gilbert was not pouting.

Zee's amused expression, however, begged to differ.

"I hate you." The doppelgänger made a great display of showing her displeasure. Bottom lip jut outwards, eyes widened in an exaggerated manner and head tilted to the side.

Zee grinned cheerfully and absolutely unaffected, "Good for you. Now you know how we all feel when you start telling those horrible jokes of yours."

Elena squawked, "They're not horrible."

"Right." Zee looked nothing short of unimpressed, her voice distorted with slight static.

Elena rolled her eyes, before eyeing the image of her friend through her Laptop's screen with no short amount of nervousness. The Asturias witch was ambling around her room (it was larger than Elena's living room, what even-?) in her Spanish family manor (or was it a castle? Elena couldn't really remember) and she stopped every now and then to stare through the computer screen with those flat yet amused expressions of hers.

"What are you even doing?" Elena frowned watching as Zee walked out of the screen again (God bless whoever created Skype).

"Preparing." Came Zee's ominous yet sarcastic reply from wherever she was in the room.

Elena swore she rolled her eyes so hard that the muscles behind said eyes strained. Because ouch, damn it.

"No, but seriously, are you going somewhere?" Elena asked curiously, barely blinking when her room door opened and Jeremy poked his head inside.

Her brother (because he was her brother, adoption be damned) grinned when he noticed she was video chatting with Zee and took three long steps through her stylishly (no matter what her friends said; Bugs Bunny bedspreads, and Daffy Duck rugs were so in fashion) decorated room and plopped down on her bed, shoving her away and hogging the screen all to himself.

Bitch.

"Hey, Zee, what's up?" Jeremy grinned widely, lying upon the bed on his front with his long legs kicked up in the air.

Zee poked her head back in the screen and Elena smothered a laugh at the comical sight it presented.

"Hola, Jeremy," She grinned at him, before disappearing from the screen again, "And nothing much, I intend to fly over to Cádiz; officially to attend a noble wedding next week and unofficially to meet a few contacts."

"Oi," Elena scowled, jumping on her brother's back making him wheeze at the added weight. "Why does he get a straight answer yet I don't?"

"Easy," Came the usual laid-back drawl, "I like him better."

Jeremy smirked smugly.

Elena responded ever so maturely and shoved him off her bed.

"What of you? Do you have any plans of interest for today?" Zee asked curiously and both siblings watched (amused) as a clothing article flew through the air plopping somewhere on the floor.

"Probably," Jeremy heaved himself over the side of her bed and, in retaliation to her previous actions, plopped himself over his sister making the doppelgänger gasp, "Aunt Jenna's visiting, and if all goes to plan, Mom might convince her to move in with us."

Elena shoved her elbow in her brother's stomach making him groan and then proceeded to kick him off her, "Yeah," She continued, scowling at Jeremy, "We might have a family night but there's also a bonfire party tonight…Sooo, we might go there too."

There was a sudden silence and the siblings heard no sound of Zee's previous movements.

The noble Spaniard walked back into sight and seated herself in front of the computer screen, looking suddenly serious and thoughtful.

"I did not think it would be today…" She muttered to herself before pinning them with a severe look.

"What's wrong?" Jeremy asked, frowning deeply.

Zee's stare suddenly turned calculative, and she was obviously thinking very hard. Elena took this time to cast an appreciative glance over her best friend.

Zatanna Bennett-Asturias had always been a striking beauty, in her opinion that is (barring those years during their puberty where the witch had been plagued with constant pimples, those had been downright hilarious).

Zee was tall, standing at 5'8, but not exceptionally so. However, she was the tallest in the females of their band of friends. It was also tall enough, that it brought immediate emphasis to her long legs. She also had a toned body structure which brought prominence to Zee's athletic and elegantly slender form.

Zee's face was beautifully carved, Elena thought as her eyes lingered on the high sculpted cheekbones, the curved lips that always twisted in a secret smirk, the softly arched brows, and the slight slant of her captivating eyes.

Her hair was currently twisted in an effortless braid with wisps of dark honey brown strands escaping its confines and framing her face. The color of her hair suited her soft olive skin, and Elena thought that the only identifiable difference between Zee, Mister A and Ace (apart from the variances in height) was that Mister A had a certain maturity to his face and both he and Ace had slightly stronger facial planes than Zee; who possessed a softer outlook.

Elena found herself rather jealous of their beauty.

"I need you to do something." Zee's serious voice snapped the doppelgänger out of her musings.

Jeremy exchanged a glance with her before repeating his previous question, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong, per se," Zee mused, "We all know that Damon Salvatore will likely arrive in Mystic Falls this summer, yes?"

"Duh," Elena rolled her eyes, and repressed the agitation filtering through her with practiced ease; it was a habit she had long mastered, "Because of the comet that's gonna pass and it charging up Emily's talisman locket to unlock the tomb yada yada yada…"

"Eloquently put," Zee spoke with dry sarcasm, "Anyways, Stefan Salvatore is also due for a visit, in fact he'll first arrive here today."

Jeremy frowned, "How do you know?"

Zee tilted her head to the side before she sighed deeply and said, "Do you want a convenient lie? Because I'm afraid the truth is something I cannot tell you."

In that one moment, strange as it was, Elena appreciated the honesty shown towards them. Fact remained, Zee and her family had never outright lied to them. Omitted the truth, yes, but they always made sure to say as such.

They were intelligent and cunning, but they were also trustworthy.

Elena knew that once you had their loyalty (rare as it was), the Asturias would do anything for you and hadn't they already? They had been preparing them all with plans and strategies and contingencies upon contingencies for years now. Equipped them with all the knowledge and weapons they could possibly need.

If there was one thing Elena (and the rest of their gang) knew, it was that they could always trust their Spanish friends.

They had never given them a reason otherwise.

Perhaps Jeremy had the same train of thought, because he rolled his eyes fondly and offered his friend a half-smile, "Sure, its fine Zee, I'm curious, but its fine."

Zee looked mildly grateful at their understanding and Elena almost scoffed out loud. As if they could show anything less for one of the people who had done everything to ensure their safeties.

"As I was saying," Zee continued, "Damon, I suspect, will also arrive today, although both siblings will remain sparse the entire summer."

Elena and Jeremy now listened intently, a sudden ball of anxiety opening up in the female Gilbert's chest; it seemed that it had begun.

"I know that Damon has an incentive to stay in Mystic Falls, so he's not the worry," Zee spoke, her brows furrowed downwards, "The problem is Stefan, he's probably visiting his nephew; Zachary Salvatore, but I want to make sure he stays."

Elena could feel her heart beating faster, it was happening, oh god, it was happening.

She had always known that Damon Salvatore would arrive some time in this year, because Zee and Ace had informed them that he was desperate to get Katerina –whom he thought was trapped in the tomb, out.

And for that, he needed to charge up Emily's crystal pendent with the help of the comet that would pass over Mystic Falls for the first time in over a hundred and sixty years; a moment he had been waiting for the same amount of time (poor guy, because, damn, her ancestor was a bitch).

But the fact remained that his arrival had started the chain reaction.

That is, if Klaus wasn't already aware of her presence, he would be soon since there was going to be a definite increase in supernatural activities in Mystic Falls (which was conveniently also the Originals birthplace…joy).

Elena closed her eyes and breathed deeply, it would be fine, she remembered Mister A's promise. She knew they would ensure she lived but…

…She would have to die first.

The doppelgänger tried hard to stifle the sudden panic rising.

"Elena," Zee's sharp voice had Elena opening her eyes and staring at the laptop screen, and even through the screen, she could see the calm assurance lining the Spaniard's eyes. "I swear to you," She repeated the words she had spoken long ago, words her father and brother had reiterated. "You will be fine."

The panic slowly calmed because when Zee said it, Elena believed her.

Jeremy wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed tightly, "Okay, but we know that the traveler spell Markos did, ensures that Stefan, being the doppelgänger of Silas, would most probably already be somehow attracted to return to Mystic Falls, because of Elena's presence here. So why do we need to draw him out, when that might be inevitable as it is?"

Zee looked so proud of Jeremy that Elena felt both jealous and pleased for her brother; Jeremy had always been a smart one.

"Two things, Seňor," Zee held up two fingers, "First, the spell is probably not all that reliable. After all, we know that there is another living human doppelgänger of Silas; Seňor Thomas Avery. His current location is in Atlanta, Georgia; and while he's close, he has felt no need to come to Mystic Falls; I know because we have him under observation. And he's also under the protection of witches so as to prevent him from falling into the hands of the Travelers."

"Second, the spell Markos casted has indeed ensured that both doppelgänger lineages are relatively close to each other; Atlanta, and therefore Seňor Avery is three or four hours away from Mystic Falls. But I don't want Stefan to be relatively close. I want him here, in Mystic Falls, with his brother."

Zee's lips curling upwards was more a feral, feline baring of teeth rather than a grin.

"After all," She purred, "Keep your friends close but-"

"-Your enemies closer." Jeremy completed, understanding flashing over his face. "This town is going to be a supernatural shit storm for the next few years and it would better to have everyone within sights then remain unaware."

"Exactly." Zee grinned.

"Okay, so what do you need us to do for tonight?" Elena asked seriously.

"I want you to have Enzo take you to the bonfire for an hour. I'll tell him to keep out of sights but do remind him of that too, Elena. If he catches glimpse of Damon, I worry it might trigger some response."

Elena nodded knowingly, Enzo had told them that he had been captured and tortured by some group of self-righteous lunatics and that when an opportunity of escape had arisen, Damon Salvatore had betrayed him and left him to die.

It angered her, because Enzo was the best person ever. Mischievous yet gentlemanly, dangerous and in a contradicting manner, he was kind as well. He carried himself with a certain feral likeliness and was rather detached as well, but Elena had always seen him come alive when he was surrounded by the Asturias. He was charismatic and unbelievably optimistic and while his loyalty was hard earned, it was well worth the effort.

But the one thing –the one lesson, Enzo had often murmured about during the group therapy sessions with a faraway look in his eyes, a wisdom he imparted that Elena had made her life's defining purpose was to always hope.

"When you have nothing at all, and find yourself helpless and surrounded in pain, misery and darkness; you will discover that you're only source of comfort is knowing that even when trapped in that fathomless tunnel of loneliness and helplessness, there is always light at the end of it. There is always hope," Enzo had once said a few years back, his eyes distant as if lost in a far off memory, "Because if you let go of that, you will find yourself lost forever. A simple shell that no longer has a purpose."

Those words had hit Elena through her heart, and she was determined, no matter what would happen in her life –with her life, she would always be happy and cheerful and hopeful.

Enzo had survived approximately sixty years of torture with only optimistic hope as his defining characteristic. If he could –had– done that, then Elena could damn well live her own crazy and awesome as hell life with grateful happiness at being blessed with that.

"Elena, you need to be in plain sight, I just want to make sure, that if Stefan is indeed anywhere near the vicinity, he sees you." Zee's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, "Be honest with Seňora Miranda about your whereabouts and reasoning. But make sure to tell her not to come pick you up, Enzo will do the courtesy of dropping you back home."

Those were specific instructions, but Elena had long learned not to question it.

Sending a sudden mischievous glance at Zee and her, Jeremy curved around Elena and bellowed loudly, "MOM! Come quick, we have something to tell you!"

A sudden silence throughout the entire house before they heard hurried, thumping steps climbing the stairs and the door to Elena's room slammed open. Their mother stood in the doorway with wide alert eyes scanning the room and her children with rather precise and frightening precision.

God, Elena loved her mother.

"What happened?" She sounded a little out of breath and Elena could see, her mother was visibly trying to calm herself.

"Hola, Seňora Miranda." Zee greeted through the screen, her static filled voice filtering through the air.

Their mother's eyes –beautiful moss green- sharpened and focused on the laptop, she walked forward so that she stand by her children, and peered at the screen with a welcoming smile.

"Hi, Zatanna, how are you sweetie?" She spoke softly.

"Quite well, thank you for your concern," Zee grinned, "And you?"

"I'm great," The woman responded before looking worried as she turned to glance at her children, "Is everything all right?"

"Elena and Jeremy shall give you all the necessary details, Seňora," Zee said, glancing at her wrist watch, "I do need to leave, I have multiple engagements to see to, but before I go; you all are ingesting and wearing vervain, are you not?"

"A strict rule, I've enforced," Their mother responded, smiling at the Asturias witch fondly.

Having her mother knowing about everything brought great relief to Elena.

It was also a source of amusement between Jeremy and her, because according to the Donovan siblings, who had been present when Mister A had sprung the news upon her mother (it was the day their own mother, Kelly Donovan, had walked out on them); the Asturias patriarch had bluntly stated, 'Your daughter is a doppelgänger and will likely have to die in a magical ritual.'

When Vicki had first recounted this, a small, borderline sadistic smile on her face, she had also claimed that Miranda Gilbert had blinked then gaped like a fish before going deathly white and simply stared at the cheerfully smiling aristocrat.

Elena had snorted at that because she knew exactly how dangerous those supposed cheerful grins looked.

Matt then ruefully stated that Mister A had excused them and while Vicki and he had tried to listen in (Zee and Ace had looked so gleeful at that), they suspected the man had put a silencing spell in the room (which sucked).

And Elena was so curious about what had happened because according to her friends, her mother and the Asturias patriarch were in the room for an exact three hours before Miranda Gilbert had stepped out of the room with bloodshot eyes, pursed lips and an entirely determined expression.

She had then turned to Ignacio Asturias, who himself regarded the woman with vaguely apparent respect and reassurance, and thanked him in an even tone of voice before smiling tightly at Vicki and Matt, and the dark-haired woman left the house, her gait resolute and unwavering.

Elena could fill the blanks as to what happened next, because she remembered her mother coming home and gathering both her children in her arms as she spoke softly in their ears.

Elena remembered the private words that were meant for their ears only, she remembered the strange suffocating burden lifting from her shoulders and she remembered collapsing against her mother and brother in boneless relief.

Privately, she was also grateful Mister A had told her mother, because she didn't know what he said but her mother looked like a fierce mother bear who would do absolutely anything for her children; strong, stubborn and accepting.

After her subsequent revelation to the truth of the supernatural nature of her daughter and more knowledge then she had been previously aware of about the mystical communities of the world, Elena vaguely recalled her mother leaving a message for her uncle (biological father but as far as Elena cared, he could go throw himself of a cliff).

And when Uncle John arrived, looking panicked and ruffled at Miranda's vague and worrying message; he found himself sprawled on the floor with a broken nose and dislocated jaw –because damn, apparently having a frying pan slammed to your face hurt like a bitch- with his sister-in-law standing over him like some female spirit of vengeance and his biological daughter and nephew collapsing against each other in laughter.

Miranda had then calmly lifted her foot and slammed it down upon his private parts, and as John lay down on the floor groaning and curling in on himself, Miranda had smiled serenely and informed him he was no longer welcome in their house and he was one selfish son of a bitch.

Because all that ran through her beautiful mother's mind was that John Gilbert had known and had said nothing and only had his own dubious schemes to protect Elena (or so he thought).

As far as the widow was concerned, he had foolishly put her children and friends in danger.

Elena loved her mom.

"Speaking of vervain,' Jeremy lit up, "I had an idea about that, and I've been talking to Bonnie about it, too."

Elena turned to her brother affronted that he wouldn't share his idea with her first. It's not like she was his sister.

Zee looked curious as she gave Jeremy her full attention.

The young Gilbert sent a brief, nervous glance in his mother's direction, before saying;

"Well we were thinking about the unreliability of wearing vervain, even if we have it stitched into our clothes, a vampire could discover it by scent; if they have particularly good and attuned senses; which I'm sure the Originals do. And we could always be drained of the vervain that's in our systems. So, we thought of a way around that."

"Do share," Zee looked intrigued.

"Vervain-laced ink tattoos. Something we all have, besides, those tattoos are permanent and it doesn't matter if we need to wear vervain or ingest it…and…well, Bonnie told just in case something happens to anyone of us," And here the young teenager's voice sounded tight, and Elena knew he was talking about in case anyone of them might be turned into Vampires or in Tyler's case werewolves, "She could lace the vervain out of the tattoos, so we have no issue there."

Zee stared at Jeremy through genuinely admiring and impressed eyes and Elena noticed her brother flush in embarrassment at the sudden attention he received.

"That is absolutely brilliant," Zee sounded astounded, "The fact that both of you gave such deep thought to it and-" Zee's eyes turned sharp, "You also took time to critically think about any consequences and how to move around them, that is truly admiring."

"Taught by the best, Zee," Jeremy gave a half-smile, "Besides we can't afford not to think about the consequences."

Zee inspected Jeremy's face before returning his smile with a playful one of her own, "No we cannot." She agreed.

Daring a glance towards their mother, Elena found her staring at Jeremy with a half-sad and partly proud smile. She could easily here the thoughts going through her mother's mind.

No doubt pertaining to how they were too young to be so pragmatic in their thinking, to be burdened with the responsibilities about the shit-storm that was about to hit Mystic Falls.

But Elena knew that the Spaniards were right as well; they couldn't afford not being realistic or ignorant. Not when most of them were connected to the supernatural world in one way or another.

Miranda sighed deeply, reaching out to smooth back her son's hair, and where usually Jeremy would shy away while playfully scowling at their mother, this time he stayed still; perhaps, it was because he could read the melancholic sentiments dancing across their mother's features.

Zee was staring at their mother with insightful eyes and spoke solemnly, "I swore to them, and I swear to you as well, Seňora Miranda, I will do everything I can to make sure your children survive this. But I cannot guarantee they will come out unscathed." She informed honestly.

"I know," The widow closed her eyes, breathed deeply, before opening them and smiling at Zee, "I wish this didn't have to happen to them, but I know. And I know that their best chance of survival is to have you and your family by their sides."

"They don't only need us," Zee corrected gently, "They need you as well, to know that you will be present, a constant, Seňora, you are their mother, and they need you more than they could need anyone else."

Elena's heart hitched at the breathtaking smile their mother gave Zee.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I need to leave," Zee grinned, pushing dark honey brown strands behind her ear, "Remember what I told you, be cautious, and use your minds. If you find any trouble, know Enzo is there."

"Bye Zee," Elena and Jeremy chorused together before the Skype call ended.

"Alright, run me through what's happening." Their mother took a seat opposite of them, and looked attentive with deep moss-greens focused entirely on them.

Elena squashed the sudden hysterical urge to laugh and nudged Jeremy to repeat their (read: Zee's) awesome, diabolical (Elena sounded sarcastic even in her head) scheme to get Stefan to stay in Mystic Falls.

(Although, she kind of wanted to whine at the implication that the martyr-complexed vampire would stay only because he saw her face. What a creep.)

---

10th June, 2009; City of Cádiz, Province of Cádiz; Autonomous Community of Andalusia, Spain.

Zatanna was being followed.

It was a pathetic attempt at that, and the witch fought not to make it apparent that she was well-aware of the woman who seemed to walk with a heavy, almost drunken gait behind her.

Hearing a muttered curse, the Asturias witch finally stopped; and closing her eyes behind her sunglasses momentarily, she exhaled deeply through her nose.

Zatanna then pivoted on her heel and stared utterly unimpressed at the woman who was attempting to hide behind a fucking lamp post.

It was also kind of hilarious.

"Seňora, May I ask why you insist upon following me?" Zatanna raised an eyebrow, and spoke in her mother tongue.

"What?" The woman, probably in her early thirties, looked falsely surprised and spoke much too loudly, in what Zatanna recognized as the Basque dialect of their language.

Which, for a moment, made Zatanna blink; because as south as they were, it was rare to hear anyone speaking Euskarian i.e Basque. A language that was predominantly spoken in the Basque country of Spain.

Zatanna and her family primarily conversed in Castilian (or commonly referred to as Spanish by the rest of the world), but were also fluent in all other dialects spoken in their country; Catalan (because, obviously, they lived in Barcelona, the capital of Catalonia), Galician, Basque and even the Aranese dialect.

This was mainly for the reason that they were noble Spaniards, who held great pride in their heritage, and also because their father encouraged the cultural unity of their country and made sure his children were well versed in communicating in all the vernaculars of their country.

"What are you talking about, Seňorita? I ain't following no one." She scoffed dramatically.

Zatanna stared.

Who the hell was this unfortunate soul?

The woman fidgeted under her indifferent gaze and Zatanna could literally see her crack before the woman burst forth,

"I'm sorry! I was just…are you, by any chance, Vira Annett?" The woman wringed her hands together, before wincing and clutching her head, all while muttering something about her hangover.

Zatanna tilted her head to the side and inspected the woman with realization before she let an easy-going and amused smile twist upon her lips.

"Sí," She spoke smoothly, reverting effortlessly to Basque, and walked forward to offer the raven-haired woman her hand, "You must be Seňora Paula Blanco, yes?"

The woman looked relieved that she was not mistaken and grasped Zatanna's offered hand in a clumsy grip, "Sí, that is my name. I was not sure I had identified the right person, but Seňor Juan assured me the woman I was looking for had idiota stitched into their jacket."

Zatanna blinked, and then in appalled irritation craned her head backwards to glance at the embroidered design taking its place on the back of her sleeveless denim jacket.

And would you look at that? Stitched vertically within the embroidered ensemble of deep red roses were discreet letters spelling the exact word Seňora Paula had been told to look for.

Enraged, Zatanna thought this perfectly explained why Enzo had been distracting her via Skype video call just an hour earlier. While she was getting ready to meet their contact, Enzo had been giving her a rundown of important details about the witch coven inhabiting the port city of Cádiz.

He had just been telling her (in a worryingly detached manner, at that) about he had Zachary Salvatore under compulsion and spying on Stefan Salvatore (who had, after having taken the bait that was Elena on the night of the bonfire, decided to stay in Mystic Falls to sate his curiosity) and also about how he had one of his homeless contacts keeping an eye on Damon Salvatore's movements.

Enzo had suddenly commented that she wear the jacket he had mailed her as a gift (which, by the way, was suspicious in itself, because why?) and after narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously she pulled said jacket (which was a lovely faded blue in color) out of its packing and before she could inspect it properly, her adopted vampire brother had the audacity to guilt trip her.

And this was done all while actively knowing that she, herself, knew that he was, in fact, attempting to emotionally blackmail her.

"You would hurt my feelings? Especially with the sheer betrayal, sorrow, and anger I feel with Damon's presence in Mystic Falls? Knowing that I have to wait to have my justice? Would you be so cruel as to further throw my thoroughly stunted emotions into the wind? As if they do not matter?" He had said, barely veiled sarcasm coating his tone, as he gasped in an exaggerated manner.

"You are such a manipulative mierda." She had responded with a thunderous scowl.

"Thank you, love," Enzo gave a shit-eating grin, "And aren't you getting late?"

With a curse she had glanced at the clock and slipped on the jacket all while sending a dark glare in the vampire's direction.

"And remember, just walk around the general vicinity of the Plaza de San Antonio, the contact will find you herself." He informed her again.

"Sí, sí, I heard you the first time," Zatanna nodded before smiling in farewell and cutting off the call.

And now staring at the back of her jacket with rising bemused outrage, Zatanna accepted the challenge Enzo had presented. The prank war had most definitely commenced.

"Bastardo," She muttered aloud, before glancing back at her amused audience.

"Forgive me, my brother has a pathetic sense of humor," She smiled thinly at the woman, "But let us leave that be. As I understand it, you have the information I require?"

Unease flashed over Seňora Paula's face, "Sí, Seňorita," She glanced around their surrounding with growing paranoia, "Follow me, please."

Zatanna fell into step with Seňora Paula and both strolled casually through the streets and took in the aesthetically pleasing sights.

"I can arrange a meeting of sorts between you and the Rubio family, who lead the witch coven of Cádiz," She admitted, her bloodshot dark eyes darting from one direction to the other nervously, Zatanna pretended not to notice the smell of alcohol emanating from the woman's breath, "That is, I can tell you where they usually meet and the head of the coven; Valentina Rubio, is surely to be present."

"Good," Zatanna nodded, feeling intrigued, she had heard much about the coven of Cádiz, "Tell me everything you know."

"Are…are you certain you wish to meet them, Seňorita Annett?" Seňora Paula looked concerned, "They are a dangerous coven, and they meet, often, beneath La Casa de los Espejos."

Zatanna tilted her head in interest.

La Casa de los Espejos.

The House of Mirrors.

The resident haunted house of Cádiz.

Fitting it would be the meeting place for a witch coven.

"Seňorita Annett?" Seňora Paula's inquiring and wary voice pulled Zatanna from her musings.

Momentarily distracted, her lips tugged into an amused smirk at the sound of her false name. Enzo had come up with a fabricated name for each of them (that is herself, Enzo and Atticus) when needed while meeting their contacts; it was easy to remember and also served as an inside joke.

To their contacts, Enzo and the Asturias siblings were known as; Juan Annett and his little siblings, Tom and Vira Annett.

Juan had been taken from Enzo's last name St. John, Tom and Vira were derived from both Atticus and Zatanna's middle names –Tomás and Elvira, and Annett had been a fusion of Asturias and Bennett.

It had been simple and ridiculously hilarious for some reason.

"Just thinking, Seňora Paula, worry not," Zatanna offered with a quick smile, her thoughts shifting through the information given to her, "Do they meet elsewhere?"

"Sí," Seňora Paula frowned, "There is a large abandoned building in the Plaza de San Agustín near where the Hotel Senator is located, there are many strange happenings said to occur there. I've discovered it is more often than not a meeting place for the coven as well."

Zatanna nodded thoughtfully and sent an appreciative smile in the older woman's direction, "I appreciate the lengths you have gone to gather the information I needed. I would like to inquire one last thing before we conclude our meeting. Do you know when they will next meet, Seňora?"

Seňora Paula nodded, unease flashing through her face again, "They will met during the next full moon, which is –"

"In two days…" Zatanna completed, her eyes straying to the two children running and playing in front of them, "I see," She stopped walking and turned towards the woman who had done the same, "You have my thanks, Seňora."

Seňora Paula bowed her head in acceptance before looking up abashed, "Eh, Seňorita, I was…well, I was wondering…" She looked uncomfortable as she trailed off.

"Fret not," Zatanna gave her an amused smile, "You want your payment? No need to be embarrassed, Seňora."

The Asturias witch dug through her ruck sack and pulled out a small pouch; opening it she brought out the small, spelled piece of lapis lazuli jewelry.

Seňora Paula eyed the locket with blatant sadness crossing over her face and smiled gratefully at the noble witch.

Zatanna knew Seňora Paula was no vampire, she was not even a werewolf or witch.

Enzo had informed her that she had been the wife of a hunter; a year back she had lost said husband after he had presumed to attempt to hunt a group of vampires on his own. The vampires, after turning their only daughter (an aspiring eighteen year old) into a vampire, ruthlessly slaughtered the man and left his remains and the daughter at Seňora Paula's doorstep.

She was doing everything she could for her daughter, and Zatanna respected that more than anything.

"Gracías, Seňorita Annett." She spoke tiredly, and grabbed the locket almost reverently.

"Think nothing of it," Zatanna waved a hand, "You have given me valuable information, and fear not, my brothers and I always hold our end of the bargain."

Seňora Paula gave her a wobbly smile in return before she finally excused herself, walking away with what Zatanna recognized as an image of beaten down woman doing her best to hold it together.

The noble-born witch was suddenly reminded of the cruel, cruel world they lived in.

And the grim realization, that her own actions were and would be morally ambiguous and forbidding still.

Accompanying this fact was the thought that she simply didn't care.

How utterly sad.

---

Zatanna had scouted both La Casa de los Espejos and the abandoned building near Hotel Senator in Plaza de San Agustín before she discovered the coven's meeting would take place in the former location at midnight when the full moon was at its apex.

She was seated in an inconspicuous car she had rented, especially, for its usage that night, and observed the three storey abandoned building. It looked bland and unimpressive during the day but at night it had a certain haunting air about it.

Perhaps that was attributed to the silence of the night and the bare streets, but La Casa de los Espejos seemed to live up to its legendary history of being a place of common supernatural hauntings.

Leaning back against the seat of the rental car (nose wrinkling minutely at the pungent smell emanating from the car's interior), she watched with sudden interest when a woman, obviously having blanketed herself in a cloaking spell (Not that it did her any good, especially not with the subtle revealing runes Zatanna had carved with her magic around the general vicinity of the structured house), approached the building and disappeared through the front door.

"Show time," She muttered before slipping out of the car (locking it behind her) and approached the building before her.

Privately, and Zatanna would sooner pull out her own tongue than admit, she felt that bout of slight initial apprehension.

Ironic when she was a witch herself. But being there, alone, in the dead of the night and walking into a haunted house with a bloody history…

Well…

She had an addicting habit of marveling at the stupidity of horror movie protagonists who simply strolled casually into haunted houses (barring the Winchester brothers, because when they did it they looked damned good) as if it was an everyday amusement hotspot. The fact she was doing the same also irked her.

But, she was also a soldier. This –this virtual reconnaissance mission of sorts- was something she had done countless of times, and even now, she felt a certain ease at scouting the house (whether it was haunted or not, it mattered not). She was in her element here.

This was her playground.

So, with a mental rebuke to herself (because come on! Death bloody well favored her and she was an Asturias (and also a grown woman who did not so much as flinch at ghastly and disgusting dead bodies and injuries) and she really had no basis to be spooked), Zatanna walked through the front door.

She could instantly feel violent magic flowing through the house, her earlier reservations forgotten, Zatanna walked curiously through the dusty and abandoned hallways.

She remembered Seňora Paula telling her the meeting took place beneath the house and so curiously searched for a wine cellar that would be typically located in the basement. Ideally, the entrance to said cellar would be placed in the kitchen of the house.

The witch recalled the map of the house she had obtained earlier in the evening and made her way to the room till she reached what she identified as the kitchen, there was no apparent entryway that led to any cellar of sorts, but Zatanna remembered there being a cellar in the original map of the house and so she waved her hand, her magic recognizing her intentions of casting a simple but undetected revealing spell.

The illusion that hid the cellar doors disappeared and said doors came into view. With a private smirk playing on her lips, Zatanna waved a finger, willing a soft gust of wind to gently pull the doors back silently.

The scent premating from the underground room was distinctly of stale wine, rotting wood, and metallic in nature. The Asturias witch walked down the stairs and into the darkness of the underground cellar, the wood of the stairs groaned beneath her feet and Zatanna made sure to close the doors behind her.

She stopped for a moment on a stair step, in the middle of the staircase, and simply observed her surroundings.

She could not see anything, as the entire length of the room was covered in darkness and shadows, she could however hear a constant dropping of liquid; she would have initially assumed it was water, but the thick scent of metallic blood proved her initial hypothesis wrong.

Zatanna felt immediate magic floating through the air; it was not dark magic, she did not believe in magic ever being dark (that was a backward, Wiccan school of thought), but this particular brand of magic was addicting if not balanced correctly. She felt the intentions of the user behind this magic lacing through the magical aura; it was greedily ambitious and with a subtle mixture of sadism and masochism.

The noble-born witch grinned in anticipation; she had the unexplainable urge to throw whoever the Wiccan was off their high horse of misguided superiority.

(Never let it be said she was not petty. Because she was, and shamelessly so at that.)

Closing her eyes, the witch channeled the magic pulsing beneath her skin and through her veins up towards her eyes, her non-verbal intentions realized, the barest of slivers of the constant thrum of live magic pulsed behind her eyelids.

She felt a slight painless burn upon her eyelids and when she opened her eyes, the Spaniard found herself possessing sudden sharpened vision; the sudden thrill of attuned senses hit her once more, and Zatanna glanced around the entirety of the room with renewed interest.

She observed the large mirrors hanging upon the walls with vague curiosity, and wondered if anyone –apart from the witches who had adopted this house as a meeting place- had ever been inside this cellar.

Half the mirrors were cracked, others dusty and some were in disturbingly excellent condition, a flash of glow had her inspecting one of the well-maintained mirrors and she felt simple amusement flowing through her when she caught sight of her glowing eyes, the pupil of her eyes had elongated so they were slit-like and presented an apparent feline outlook.

As she finally walked down the staircase, she swept her eyes across the mirrors and came to a stop at a particular one; it was a long, pristine piece of accessory that reached the floor in length. By far, the mirror was in the dirtiest condition and would not have garnered a second glance had she been someone else.

Hidden in simple, plain sight. Ingenious, if not overused, Her thoughts crooned mockingly.

She sensed the plethora of magic hidden behind and within the mirror, and correctly assumed it being the door way to the coven's meeting place.

Every doorway had a guardian, Her magic seemed to whisper, cautious and amused.

Zatanna walked towards the mirror, her footfalls silent, and when she finally found herself facing the mirror, a distance of mere inches between the object and her, Zatanna did not even flinch when a horrifying, mutilated girl lunged from within the mirror, seeming to bang at the glass; looking as if she wanted to rush herself out through the other side.

The Asturias witch narrowed her eyes, and inspected the deranged and silently screaming young girl; her eyes were hollow, blood seeping from the empty eye sockets, her mouth opened in a silent scream, revealing bloodied, rotten teeth. Her skin was deathly white and her hair limp and dark.

Zatanna supposed that perhaps in one lifetime the girl had been beautiful; her now pale skin and limped locks would have once been envied for pearly white skin with dark, luscious strands forming a halo around her head.

"I have no interest in witnessing your pathetic attempts to intimidate me," She drawled, this time in Castilian, "You are welcome to continue if you wish, it might prove to be an amusing display for myself."

The girl stopped suddenly and stood up straight, and tilted her head to the side menacingly, before her lips stretched into a disturbingly wide grin and she reached her hand out…

…and seemed to stare at the glass mirror in outraged confusion; the girl had pressed her hand flat against the glass that seemed to separate her from the Asturias witch and her entire body shuddered as she brought her other hand to the glass. Upon still finding herself blocked from leaving the mirror, she began banging against the glass in silent, manic movements.

Zatanna's lips twisted into a small mocking small, "Are you confused, querida?" She crooned, enjoying the imprudent superiority that was steadily draining from the girl's form as she threw her entire body against the magical glass, "I told you I had no interest in what you have to show me. Now then, seeing as I am running on a time-constraint, it would be very much appreciated if you let me pass through the entryway you guard."

The girl did not seem to register her words as she clawed at the glass; it served as a doorway for the violent spirit to leave and enter through said glass at whim, and the entranceway was consequently blocked by Zatanna's own magic.

The noble-born witch observed the mirror, ignoring the frantic movements inside said piece of antiquity. It was an ancient spelled artifact; not quite a recognized magical relic but a close imitation.

Zatanna let her magic probe at the mirror, there was blood infused within that particular mirror; the mirror itself was spelled magically to be a sort of pseudo-prison, and the blood was laced intricately through the magical workings of said mirror.

She suspected the blood belonged to the violent spirit of the girl who resided within the magical antiquity. The witch let her eyes drift from the large, filthy, spiritual vessel and inspected the rest of the mirrors with interest. She felt a conduit of magical aura between the mirrors, connecting them together; the central piece of this connection being the filthy vessel before her.

Zatanna theorized that this connection allowed the spirit to travel through the mirrors, but she was ultimately tied to the main vessel mirror; the Asturias witch also felt the complex necromancy spell lining the vessel mirror.

Curious, she let her magic expand and muttered a Latin incantation for an affective diagnostic spell of sorts. What she learned was interesting; the spell itself was regularly strengthened by sacrificial magic and it allowed the spirit to leave the mirror (as she had anticipated) but said spirit could only become a proper corporeal form within that very cellar.

Finding the elaborate intentions behind the spell, Zatanna discovered that the spell also allowed the spirit to travel between all the mirrors in the house. Seeing as most of these vanity objects had been removed from the entirety of the house save the cellar itself, it was clear the spirit could now only travel within the mirrors of the underground room.

Zatanna, satisfied with her analysis, turned her head so as to face the spirit again, and smirked when she found the girl staring at her with fury.

Infuriating violent entities, she mused, all in a day's work.

"You amuse me." She spoke out loud, ignoring the rude hiss that interrupted her, "But I'm running short on time, let me pass, spirit."

The spirit cackled soundlessly at that statement; and Zatanna quite literally meant it, because the girl threw her head back with her mouth wide open in a grotesque fashion, and her entire form shook as no sound escaped her.

Zatanna humored her for about another ten seconds, before she grinned savagely, and her magic reacted to her purpose and lashed out.

The slivers of her magic tore through the mirror and the girl stopped laughing as she went rigid, as if a puppet suddenly pulled taut; and the Asturias witch did exactly as her great grand-father (because listing exactly how many times 'great' a grand-father Seňor Henry actually was to them would take too long) had taught.

Zatanna opened a minute pathway –so that only the barest of hints would be accessed- to her magic and let the violent spirit feel her power.

The reaction was instantaneous, the girl's mouth fell open in a soundless wail, her form combusted in splats of black blood and the vessel-mirror shattered. The rest of the centuries-old spelled mirrors lost their connection and each were nothing more than regular, plain pieces of decorations.

Tilting her heads to the side, she wondered what the spirit had felt.

Her great grand-father had given them an exceptional piece of information regarding their magic. He had stated that their magic could generally not be felt by anyone other than Nature or other members of their family. Nature, because Mother Nature knew not to dare touch those touched by Death, to respect and fear those whom Death loved (and Death loved the Asturias more than anything at all, they belonged and remained singular to the entity). And members of the Asturias for obvious reasons; they were a family, and hence connected.

Seňor Henry had also told Atticus, Bonnie, and herself that it was because should anyone feel their magic, they would not remain sane. As it was, their magic could not be sensed by others and had no specific trace (unlike the earthen feel Wiccan's gave off). He had taught them how to open their magical pathways for attention if required.

Zatanna wondered if the merest feel of Death's presence lacing her magical core and aura left the spirit overwhelmed, to the point where she exploded from existence.

No matter.

Zatanna had a job to do.

(Besides, who knew how many people the spirit had hunted and terrified).

The noble-born witch stepped over the shattered glass shards and inclined two fingers sideways, making the frame of the mirror move to reveal a warded doorway.

She allowed her magic to inspect the inner-workings of the ward and was mildly impressed with the careful precision spell-work taken. Impressive for a Wiccan.

Whomever had casted the ward, made sure to leave false openings which only led to gruesome traps, for example one of the openings, if provoked incorrectly, would result in a person's hand being chopped off, followed by the blood from their wounds leeched away to strengthen the ward itself while also giving the provoker a painful death.

Of course, the caster of the wards would never have anticipated facing an Asturias, which inevitably led to their failure.

Her magic curled around her and Zatanna let it recede from its lazy inspection of the ward. The ward was brilliant, yes, but not indestructible. So, finding the weak holds of said ward, she allowed her magic to first disable all the warning systems laced within the ward, to make sure no one became aware of her presence, and then allowed her magic to tear through the magical shields as if they were made of paper.

It was satisfying to watch the presumptively strong ward give away so easily, and she would admit, it stroked at her ego (putting arrogant Wiccans into their places amused her to no end).

Walking through the damp and rocky passageway, she concentrated on the reverent, almost manic chants echoing from the end of the hallway. She kept her footfalls measured and light, her posture loose yet alert, and her entire demeanor relaxed.

She had done this a million times before. It felt, strangely, good to do it again, to fall back into that routine of scouting.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts when she reached the arch at the end of the rocky hallway, Zatanna made sure to stay shrouded in the cover the shadows provided her, and surveyed the room itself with growing curiosity and detached eyes (she had seen too much violence to react outwardly).

A stoned staircase circled around the curving walls, and led into a circular chamber below the hallway arch itself. The room was lit by fire burning within oil-functioned lanterns littered across the walls. The entire chamber was fairly large with a blood-stained altar situated right in the middle of room.

There were exactly thirteen witches, dressed in sheer-red robes, forming a circle around the altar. One of these witches stood on a raised dais at the head of the altar and had her arms spread theatrically. Outside this inner circle of female witches, thirteen male warlocks, dressed in similar robes, formed an outer circle and chanted just as manically as the witches.

On the large marble altar lay a pale body of a young woman with a hole in her chest, and the wound, from what Zatanna could see despite the dim lighting of the room, was not crudely torn inwards. In fact, whomever had done it, had done so with great precision. Almost medical-like. The Asturias witch suspected it was done by magic.

She felt the saturated magic flowing through the spilled blood upon the altar, there was a gold bowl placed by the head of the dead woman; it more likely than not held her heart within its confines.

Finally, regaining her focus, Zatanna decided she really wanted to move this along and so with a wave of her hand and her magic gleefully bending to her will, she subtly attacked all the witches and warlocks with her magic, and as a result caused them to lose consciousness.

As one, they all, except the witch on the raised dais at the head of the altar, slumped and fell limply to the floor. Zatanna could feel the magical flow of the room falter and die away as most of the power being channeled was cut off.

She watched with further amusement as the lone witch looked around the room frantically, rage clouding her aura. And when Zatanna finally stepped out of the archway and into plain sight, on top of the staircase, she felt her amusement evolve into unrestrained glee as her magic purred around and within her.

For she found herself staring straight into the face of Seňora Valentina Rubio, head of the largest, most influential and feared magical coven of the Province of Cádiz, or otherwise more commonly known as the coven who practiced 'Blood magic'.

And the Wiccan looked as if she was going to do something Zatanna had labelled as estúpido in her mind.

Perfect.

.

.

.

"Tell me, Seňora," Zatanna began mockingly, absentmindedly also enjoying the symbolism her current position at the top of the staircase, and well above the Wiccan witch portrayed, "What did we learn from this incident?"

Seňora Valentina stared at her through furious but striking mocha-brown eyes. She was slumped against the altar and seemed unconcerned with the blood that now stained her bare arms, as she leaned against the dead body.

She had, pitifully, attempted to attack Zatanna with her magic, only to find herself shocked beyond measure when her magic rebounded and she was hit by the same pain-inducing spell she had attempted to hit the Asturias witch with.

It was hilarious actually, Zatanna mused as she sauntered down the steps (she knew how much it aggravated the Wiccan when she displayed complete ease in her surroundings and moved as if she bloody well owned them).

"You dare?" The Rubio witch began, "You dare to interrupt, to presume to challenge me? Do you know who I am?"

Zatanna levelled the woman with an unimpressed stare. The witch before her could not be older than thirty, and was what the commonwealth would interpret as attractive. She was of average height but had a curvaceous form. The Wiccan possessed a heart-shaped face and large, captivating eyes, her lips were plump, and her hair; silky, voluminous dark strands, were the same color as her eyes.

Apart from her apparent good-looks, Zatanna knew, Seňora Valentina was especially gifted in the magical arts her coven specialized in; Traditional Blood and Sacrificial magic, and thought herself a perfect ruler for her coven, unparalleled and unchallenged (which was kind of true, but only because she had not faced any Asturias as of yet, and hence had developed misguided arrogance).

But Zatanna also knew, the true brains behind the entire coven was Seňora Valentina's grandmother; Seňora Genoveva Rubio, a cunning woman who was currently observing her grand-daughter and the stranger witch through one of the warded, glamoured alcoves within the stone walls of the chamber.

No matter.

Let her watch if she wished to. It would not change the fact that Zatanna would be getting what she wanted by morning come. In one way or another.

"Sí, sí, Seňora Valentina Rubio, head of the Cádiz blood coven, so on, so forth," Zatanna waved a hand dismissively, internally relishing at the indignant outrage the Wiccan displayed.

"Who do think you are?" Seňora Valentina hissed as she pushed herself to her feet, the fury emanating through her rhetorical question was palpable. She then stuck her hand inside the hollow chest of the dead woman and Zatanna could feel her gathering enough potent blood magic for an offensive spell.

Watching the Wiccan smirk at her made it apparent that she wished to intimidate Zatanna. Sadly for her, the Asturias witch watched her with a similar blasé expression as before.

Instead, the noble witch decided to answer the Wiccan's recently asked question, the question she was most concerned with. Willing her magic to let the slight shroud of magical aura over her eyes fall (a trick she had learned from her great-grandfather; it was useful in hiding her eye-color and confusing onlookers), Zatanna pinned the woman with a penetrating stare.

The reaction was instantaneous; Seňora Valentina blanched when she caught a good look at Zatanna's eyes; her face paled, her eyes widened, almost comically, her mouth fell open in shock, and the gathering magic around her hand faltered before sputtering away pitifully.

"Y-you…you're an…" Seňora Valentina stuttered, legible words hard to come for her.

Zatanna nodded along mockingly, "Sí, what do you know?" She mock-gasped, "I'm an Asturias! What an entirely shocking experience for you."

Seňora Valentina looked too stunned to even reply, her previous arrogance replaced with uneasy horror.

"It is a pity, I was hoping for a much warmer welcome," The Asturias witch continued, walking closer to the speechless coven leader, her eyes –eyes that defined her position in the supernatural world- swept across the room in bored contemplation. Zatanna let her eyes linger in the spot where she knew Seňora Genoveva resided within the cloaked alcove, before she glanced back at the shorter woman in front of her.

"Well?" Zatanna raised a single brow, and her expression remained playful, not a drop of unpleasant feelings or anything apart from teasing was painted on her face.

She knew Seňora Valentina found it unnerving.

"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" The noble-born witch continued.

Seňora Valentina seemed to regain a semblance of her ability to process her thoughts and immediately fell to her knees, her head bowed in respect.

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship, Doña de Asturias, I was not aware I would host a member of the unparalleled, ancient, and most esteemed House de Asturias; the royal family of magic. May I have permission to rectify my initial greeting to you? Furthermore, I hope you will not take any slight to my own foolish actions and hold them against my coven. I am but a simple woman with…with a false sense of arrogance." The Wiccan witch recited almost automatically, stumbling in the end, as if admitting her faults was not something she was used to.

Zatanna was pleased however; Spanish magical families were all, each and every single one of them, aware of the Asturias family, and they were rightfully respectful and fearful of said family. They were taught at an early age how to behave and act if they were (miraculously) in the presence of the noble Asturias.

It seemed even Seňora Valentina was aware of the noble protocol.

In response to the coven leader's sudden humility and fearful words, Zatanna let herself stay silent as if she was truly thinking about it, and she let her eyes sweep over the older woman's form contemplatively (ignoring the slight quivering form of said Wiccan witch), and let her face harden.

"Look at me," Her voice was now hard and unforgiving, and Seňora Valentina flinched in response before snapping her head up to look at her, fear lacing her aura.

Zatanna stared into Seňora Valentina's eyes.

Her blank face and coldly amused eyes easily served to make the coven leader approach a simple realization; The Asturias lived up to their reputation effortlessly. And that Seňora Valentina had no control over the current situation, all command lied with the female noble Asturias before her.

"I will let it pass in this instance," Zatanna chose her words with a degree of calculated precision she was well-versed in, she made sure the arrogant coven leader before her knew she was at the Asturias witch's mercy, "I trust you will care not to let such an occurrence happen another time."

Seňora Valentina shook her head almost manically, and Zatanna let a pleased and dark smirk twist at her lips.

"Good, then you have my consent to re-introduce yourself, choose your words wisely."

Recognizing that while Zatanna had permitted her to correct her mishap of an introduction, she was still not allowed to get on her feet. And so, Seňora Valentina remained on her knees and after swallowing hard she opened her mouth,

"I ask to present myself before Her Ladyship, Doña de Asturias," The Wiccan spoke much more assured.

"So granted." Came the soft careless response.

Tentatively, with her eyes focused upon Zatanna, Seňora Valentina lifted herself to her feet. After which she straightened her back and met the Asturias' eyes, her hands folded demurely in front of her and her back erect.

"I stand here, Valentina Claudia Rubio-Delgado, daughter of Eduardo Miguel Rubio and Margarita Carmen Delgado, in the presence of Her Ladyship, Doña de Asturias. I stand eternally at the service of House de Asturias as the leader of the Cádiz blood coven and a simple Wiccan who might be of little use."

And she then lowered her head in complete submission, her feet crossing and knees bending so that she was in a curtsy.

Zatanna tilted her head to the side, vaguely approving of the minimum flattering in the introduction; after all she had no use for such false or misguided sentiments, and Zatanna was prideful not arrogant or egotistical. There was a large difference among them in her mind.

"I acknowledge your presence by Death's decree," She drawled lazily, disinterest lacing her tone, and her attention shifted from the woman before her and towards the magical cloak that lowered to reveal the hidden alcove within. "But only because I have little concern with wasting any more time with you. I do not find you to be impressive, rest assured, do well not to trifle with my patience. I may not be so forgiving a second time."

"My granddaughter will make sure her foolishness does not aggravate you any longer, Your Ladyship, I assure you," A silky, and old voice, with most of its harshness aimed towards the Wiccan in front of Zatanna, interjected.

An old woman, with wrinkled skin, sly eyes and a proud posture stepped out of the alcove. She was not very tall, but in her youth she had most likely been a woman of great beauty; although her hair were strands of grey and white, her eyes –the same color as her granddaughter's- held a certain allure to them; they glinted with intelligence, cleverness, and sultry promises.

The Matriarch of the Rubio coven made an easy and favorable impression.

"May I present myself before Your Ladyship?" She questioned briskly, yet respectfully, her eyes looking to Zatanna both admiringly and reverently.

"No need, I am well aware of your identity," Zatanna grinned sharply, "You have made a favorable impression, Seňora Genoveva, Be calm."

The older woman visibly lit up before curtsying in respect, "In all my life, I did not think I would stand in a presence of a member of the House de Asturias, much less the current generation Lady. I am honored, Doña."

"I implore you to rise. Your sentiments are humbling." She nodded back in acknowledgement, blatantly ignoring her gaping granddaughter.

"Tell me, Your Ladyship, what is it you need?" The old woman asked, lifting her head.

Zatanna's lips curved up into a wicked smirk.

---

Valentina Rubio was torn between letting the sheer terror she felt encompass her being, and letting that inferiority complex of hers rise.

She watched the noble-born witch walk across the dark, wet sand of the La Caleta beach. The surroundings were illuminated by the glow of tall street lights, yet there was not a soul present.

Valentina supposed that had anyone else walked upon this scene; they would have seen the odd sight of three females walking upon the darker and more isolated part of the beach.

One old, one grown, the third young.

The thirty-two year old woman watched the youngest female of the trio carefully.

She had grown up upon the stories, the calculated might of the Asturias. For as far as she could remember, Valentina knew her abuela to be a strictly proud woman; bordering almost on arrogance. And why shouldn't she? Yes, they might have dabbled in the darker part of Nature's magic, but as opposed to most Wiccan covens, they could control that magic; that made them feared.

But as prideful as her abuela was, Valentina could never quite forget or digest the memory of her abuela's expression whenever she told her of the unrivaled royals of magic. That respectful, almost obsessive expression, with fear intermingled had initially left a bitter taste in Valentina's mouth.

How could there be someone who was stronger than the Rubio coven? How could there be anyone who was infinitely more superior to any Wiccan?

But then her abuela had punished her, when she had dared to voice her thoughts and say so.

"Estúpida," Abuela Genoveva had snapped, "Of course they would be superior, and how can they not when they have claimed Death, and Death has claimed them in turn? Even Nature fears them!"

And now, watching the tall and beautiful young witch, Valentina would grudgingly agree with the stories she had been told throughout her entire childhood.

Everything the Asturias stood for had not been exaggerated; it seemed to the Wiccan, as she watched the prowling stance of the noble witch before her and the carefully coiled power exuding through every movement, that the Asturias were more than the stories told.

Her aura was something that could not be felt precisely, but there was a sort of heaviness to her presence. Something that announced her as an immediate dominating personality.

What a fearsome thought. And to know that a member of this most noble house had chosen to show herself to the Rubio coven; to Valentina and her abuela. Well… Valentina was both apprehensive and in awe.

She thought back to what Doña Asturias had demanded of them,

"I'm interested in blood sacrifices, and not the simple common ones you perform," Doña Asturias had admitted with a playful shrug, her eyes –and by the spirits and heavens above, those were a pair of eyes that would haunt her for the rest of her days; they were unnatural and enthralling and entirely too knowing– were sharp in contrast, "Specifically blood sacrifices in magical rituals. I have done my research; I know a large ritual took place within the city some centuries ago. The magical trace is still saturated within the very air. I want you to take me to the ritual site."

"May I ask the reason for your interest, Doña mía?" Her abuela had questioned boldly.

Mild approval flashed through the noble witch's eyes, "You may say that I am researching," She had drawled in response, "I will perform such a ritual in the near future; and as it is a Wiccan originated one, I wish to know all I can rather than walking in blindly."

"You are one the Asturias, is your power not enough?" Valentina had blurted, feeling both fright and mortification when soulful eyes pinned her in place.

"This is not a matter of power, Seňora," Doña Asturias looked nothing more than unfazed and expressionless, but somehow, Valentina knew her answer was met with disapproval and certain form of scorn only exhibited by aristocratic families. "It is a matter of knowledge."

Pulling herself out of her recent memories, Valentina eyed the Asturias witch, as she pulled a black pouch from her pocket and after upturning its contents upon her hand (a heap of gold dust), Valentina watched with further interest as she blew the dust from her hand.

Immediately the surroundings melted away.

And Valentina could only do what she had been doing all night long.

She helplessly watched.

---

Zatanna observed the new scene in front of her with morbid interest.

What had previously been on a clean beach, littered with modern technological streetlights and sightseeing and other tourist attractions, had now reverted to a form it must have held centuries ago.

The beach, instead of inviting, seemed only eerie now.

The tide was high, and the moon was full in the dark night sky. The beach itself was well-lit by a large bonfire and surrounding the bonfires were large, long wooden stakes.

Tied at the stakes –a total of seven- were seven individuals; three women and four men. Each had their mouths opened in horrible silent screams; they had their wrists slit and pushed cavities in their chests. Blood leaked out of their wounds and into the depressions made in the sand below.

The depressions were not very deep but deep enough, and they were long paths that led to the bonfire itself.

Witches and warlocks; no doubt members of the blood coven itself, chanted around the fire, they looked sadistically pleased as along with their chants, they carved a blend of ancient runes and shaman influenced carvings within the sand; after which they poured thick blood into them.

Zatanna was impressed at the details of the memory apparition. Her great-grandfather had given her that gold dust. He had said that it revealed past occurrences or memory's; all it needed was a strong enough magical residue or something that had a strong connection to the memory in question, it was usually a person with the memory, an object or a place where the event occurred.

As Zatanna had been the one to infuse her magic within the dust and blow it, she held primary control over the situational magical manipulations.

It was when Zatanna paused the moving scene (as if it was a common virtual movie) that Seňora Genoveva spoke up,

"This ritual, Doña Asturias; it was the largest magical ritual our coven has ever performed. My ancestors, the twins; María and Héctor Rubio, executed the ceremony themselves." The older Rubio witch sounded proud of her history.

Zatanna let her eyes roam towards where the two main perpetrators of the ritual stood side by side, their dark eyes; almost as dark as the midnight canvas that was the night sky, glinted with maniacal pleasure as they watched the dead sacrifices.

"I see them." Zatanna acknowledged, before she walked to the carvings before the tall wooden posts. She recognized the symbols representing a split of consciousness. Seeing as the ritual was primarily shaman based; Zatanna reckoned it had something to do with altered states of consciousness or perhaps even the spirit worlds; in this case, maybe the other side? "Tell me, what was this ritual for?"

"The details have been lost over time Doña mía," Seňora Genoveva frowned, her salt and pepper locks gleaming in the suspended light of the bonfire, "But we have been told it was to separate a conscious of an immortal individual. In a manner of speaking; it was to develop a strong pocket dimension only that individual had access to. I'm not quite certain of the other details."

Zatanna nodded along thoughtfully, she wagered that the sacrifices were a form of blood magic; as frowned upon as it was, blood magic, apart from expression, was the most powerful form of Wiccan magic;. Ironically, both Expression and Blood Magic were heavily scorned in the Wicca world (Surprise, surprise).

Blood magic was not easily broken, in fact, whomever the immortal was; he or she would also have been a part of the ceremony. The sacrifices were to build up the premises of the spell and the immortal's own blood would have to be used to bind it to his or her self.

"Who was the immortal?" Zatanna questioned curiously as she stepped closer to inspect the dead sacrifice.

"An Original vampire," Seňora Valentina, who had remained silent up till now, finally spoke, "The one known as Kol Mikaelson."

The Asturias witch glanced at the two women curiously before she let her eyes wander away from the main ritual sight; and just there, a little ways past the Rubio twins, stood a tall shadowed figure.

Zatanna took one good look at him and-

-her breath hitched.

Now, Zatanna would admit that she fancied quite a lot of people; actors, celebrities etc. But it was just that, simple admiring fanciful feelings.

So, as such, there had been only one man before, who had ever truly affected her to this caliber; and that had been her husband in her previous life.

(Unbidden, she recalled eyes as blue as the deep ocean; dark, raging, constantly shifting in their shades and light ash brown curls. A charming grin, a tall broad-shouldered form, and an attractive Scottish accent. Her heart ached at the memory).

He had been the only man whose appearance had left her reeling with both fierce attraction and some form of unexplainable overtaking emotion. That is, he had been the only one until now.

Kol Mikaelson was striking.

He was a tall young man; much taller than her, but perhaps an inch shorter than her own brother. His entire form was lean, but the quiet yet blatant strength he possessed was made obvious by the muscles that rippled along his limbs; a sight that was only accentuated by the well-tailored clothes he wore (centuries old though they were).

His hair gleamed as the bright glow of the bonfire washed over them; providing a certain amber shade to them, but it did nothing to hide the true blend of the dark golden brown and coffee brown strands. Each strand tumbled over the other luxuriously, and although the locks hung just below his well-defined, strong jawline, they were arranged in an impeccable manner still.

His facial features were all patrician and refined; chiseled cheekbones, a straight, sharp nose, and inviting lips curved into a disinterested smirk. He had a slight cleft at his chin that only added to his appeal, and his eyes were at once captivating in their color; a pair of sinful molten chocolates that gleamed almost like rich honey in the light of the fire.

And while, he was no doubt handsome beyond measure that was not what had immediately drew Zatanna in.

It was the way he carried himself.

Long legs spaced apart evenly –with all the skill of a seasoned warrior- and arms crossed casually, emphasizing the strength in his upper arms and flexed the muscled of his forearms. His spine was erect but twisted slightly in a self-assured manner. Everything about him was arranged in controlled, coiled strength, and yet he exuded relaxed disinterest.

A man who was held complete precision over himself…

He effortlessly represented himself as one of the greatest nocturnal predators that he truly was. His eyes gleamed with acute intelligence and cold amusement; but presented themselves with a wildness, a certain form of organized madness, that was downright predatory.

For the love of all that was holy, Zatanna could not stop staring.

And more curious was that her magic rose just below the surface of her skin in consideration but remained fluttering there, not reacting further but also curious.

Absentmindedly, she allowed the scene to play itself once more, and found her eyes inspecting every movement the Original made.

What was he doing exactly? Why would he need to build himself a pocket-dimension?

Intrigued, she let her eyes carefully inspect all the variables involved in this particular ritual. The Rubio witches were all but forgotten as they remained standing behind her silently.

What had begun as an educational trip where Zatanna was researching all she could about large-scale sacrificial or blood rituals, for the sole purpose of equipping herself and Atticus with enough knowledge to perform the ritual to break Klaus' curse, had now dissolved into insatiable curiosity over the ritual Klaus' own brother was having preformed for himself.

She attributed this to one simple fact, as her eyes strayed back towards the Original.

Kol Mikaelson had managed to capture her interest.

---

22nd August, 2009; Emerald Coast; Florida, United States of America.

Enzo scowled at his phone.

The text ringtone –a horrific sound truly, one of a baby wailing incessantly- cut through the silence of the night, signifying an arrival of a text (no doubt, another one to add to the constant spam of messages both Zatanna and Atticus were sending him, just for the heck of it).

Annoying as it was, Enzo, for the life of him, couldn't quite grasp how to get rid of the despicable tone. It had been a little over two months since he had declared the prank war on his two little siblings.

And while, it had initially been hilarious (oh it was hysterically amazing, to be honest) it was also getting quite annoying. Their wars, were proper actual wars and each of them would employ carefully thought out tactics and strategies to catch the other two off guard.

But there would come moments where they were downright petty. He was not even joking, and it seemed this was one such moment. He was quite sure Atticus and Zatanna must be privately laughing when they felt the annoyance on the vampire's end of the bond.

And although, they would typically declare a truce, Enzo knew Atticus and Zatanna had left that option for him to decide in this particular war. It was their form of giving him control in this instance, to take his mind away from more…stressing topics.

Namely, Damon Salvatore.

By God, that lousy traitorous arsehole was in Mystic Falls.

He was so close.

And Enzo could do nothing about it.

He had spied on the dark-haired vampire, he had watched as the man, in his arrogance, displayed complete comfort within his skin. As if there was nothing that could trouble him, nothing that could worry him.

Enzo wanted to rip his chest open, cut of his limbs and leave him in absolute agony.

Of course, knowing his anger was steadily going out of control, he had decided to leave Mystic Falls for a few months. Better to involve himself in the pseudo spy-network of his (and his self-proclaimed siblings) than stew over how Damon Salvatore had left him to a fate worse than death (and how much Enzo would enjoy getting his, admittedly, colorful and creative ideas for revenge).

Before leaving, Caroline had made him promise to call every day, Bonnie had given him a protective charm, Tyler, Matt, and Jeremy had delicately reaffirmed the idea that no one in their group cared he was a vampire, and that a man's intentions, thought-patterns and choices defined who he was. Vicki had in that same instance stated bluntly that Damon was a 'piece-of-shit' and she would personally make his life a living hell, and Elena texted him those ridiculous jokes of hers every day.

He adored these children, and would very well raze the earth if it meant they would get the best in their lives.

His adopted siblings on the other hand, were both annoying twats. But he wouldn't trade them for anything. After all, hadn't it been for them, he would still be trapped in the clutches of the Augustine society.

Cold lead pinned his arms and legs, surgical lights glowing above him, and a clinical scent, only tinged with the sharp smell of heavily potent vervain premating through the air, scalpels carving through his skin and-

Enzo closed his eyes, banishing those thoughts.

The Asturias had made this sudden freedom he had, this liberty to plot against the society and Damon, possible. They had brought new joy into his life; the children he so adored, the genuine happiness, comfort. Even their own ever supporting support and understanding.

Lorenzo St. John had a family.

One he would do anything for. Just as he knew they would do anything for him.

And so, feeling sudden calm wash over him, he opened his eyes, leaned back against the brick wall he stood by, and watched the small and comfortable bar situated across the road (as he had been for the past two hours).

He found the information his contact –a homeless un-triggered werewolf, who relied on pickpocketing and funds from Enzo to live by- to be correct when he saw a certain doppelgänger vampire snatch a man who was on his way inside the bar and watched as she pulled said man into the dark abandoned alleyway by said bar.

With a private smirk, Enzo casually walked inside the bar and after casting a cursory glance across the dingy space, his eyes rested upon the tall male relaxing upon a barstool, while nursing a drink in his hand.

Enzo kept half his attention on listening to the happenings in the alleyway (well, there was no doubt about it…Katerina Petrova was very skilled in seduction) and the other half at Mason Lockwood; the unfortunate wolf caught unaware by a five-century old vampire whose main prerogative was simply to survive.

Enzo plastered a pleasant smile upon his face (it was a smug smirk, really) and sauntered his way to the un-triggered (for now) werewolf.

"Hello, mate, mind if I join you?" He greeted, all while smiling at the young, female bartender in a charming manner.

Her flushing cheeks served as a boost to his own ego.

Mason Lockwood stared up at him warily through soft-blue eyes and his entire form tensed up.

"Sure." He replied tensely.

Enzo would have taken the seat by him, but the events in the alleyway were speeding up, so internally shrugging at the quick turn of proceedings, Enzo proceeded to wink at the bartender who smiled back invitingly before she ducked away into a side-room he supposed was for employees only. And then the vampire wrapped a hand around the Lockwood's forearm and hauled him up with little to no effort.

Tyler's uncle was startled for all but three seconds before he began struggling in his grip. It was all for naught of course, as Enzo's strength far exceeded the un-triggered werewolf's.

As he dragged the cursing and stumbling man behind him, Enzo smiled at everyone who stared at them until they looked away unnerved or unaffected. It was a bar after all.

"What the fuck?" The Lockwood growled, his teeth bared in a manner resembling that of the animal he was genetically coded to turn into.

Not wanting Katerina to hear any of this unnecessary drama (not that it mattered, Enzo had been provided with a sage necklace by Bonnie; her own brand of silencer, as long as he wore it, he and any other person he had physical contact with could not be heard), he pulled the man down into a headlock and slapped his hand over the struggling man's mouth.

(This reminded him of wrestling with Tyler).

He pulled Mason Lockwood into the alleyway and both stayed shrouded in the shadows so as to observe the two other individuals.

"-You know, Jimmy?" Hearing Katerina's voice seemed to stop the Lockwood from struggling, his confusion apparent even to Enzo. "I really need you to do me a favor."

Enzo found himself staring at the doppelgänger long and hard. He had heard many things about her; as such, his opinion was rather mixed. He admired her for her tenacity to seek her freedom, but pitied her for being constantly on the run. He then abhorred her manipulations (and somewhere deep inside he was torn between feeling vindictive pleasure at knowing she had played Damon or pity for the Salvatore himself) and how she was working to offer Elena to Klaus on a silver platter.

He stared at the half-hooded eyes and the arrogant curl of her lips, and honestly, even though she shared the same face as Elena, he truly did not see any resemblance between them.

"Uh," The man identified as Jimmy looked nervous but also anticipating as Katerina plastered herself to his front, "Listen, Kathy, y-you're Mason's girl and…I can't do…," He looked indecisive before saying, "I mean…as long as he doesn't know…"

Katerina pouted in an exaggerated manner, "Oh, I just knew you'd be fun," She simpered before grinning sharply and wrapping her hand around his neck, and she then pinned him against the brick wall, "But no…," She seemed to thrive at the fear taking its place in Jimmy's eyes as he thrashed and choked.

The doppelgänger vampire pulled the man closer to her and looked straight into his eyes, her own pupils dilating, "I want you go in that bar, and I want you to pick a fight with Mason. Keep starting a fight with him, and don't you dare stop until he doesn't kill you. Do you understand?"

The man looked dazed and nodded, his eyes glazed over.

Katerina dropped him with a pleased smirk and flashed away, leaving the man to stumble to his feet before he staggered to the entrance of the bar.

Enzo dropped the silent and slacked form of Mason Lockwood.

The un-triggered werewolf looked lost and betrayed, his eyes flashing deeply with heartbreak and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

Enzo pitied him.

"I figured you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Enzo began pleasantly, fixing the sleeves of his leather jacket, "So I trust showing you was a better option."

There was no reply, not that he expected any.

"Of course, whatever Katherine has planned is not going to happen tonight. Instead you're going to sit back and I, of course, shall kill your treacherous friend –I always did hate disloyal friends- and we're going to let Katerina, pardon me, Kathy think that you have killed him and activated your curse…for now, at least-"

"Why?" Mason interrupted and he looked up Enzo with despair, his voice throaty in nature.

Enzo smirked.

---

1st September, 2009; Asturias household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Bonnie stifled a snort as she watched her cousin look near-reverent while giving her great-grandfather a report of the previous three months proceedings.

(Not to mention said grandfather was entirely too distracting with his killer good-looks. Damn it, Bonnie was trying to get over her crush. Not encourage it.)

Anyways, the three of them were lounging on the (surprisingly) comfortable wicker chairs in the front yard, Mister Henry, himself, listened to his descendant with a half-knowing smile on his face (it was a pretty face, she noted, an almost dreamy look entering her eyes).

"-as it was, Enzo's brought in Seňor Mason within our ranks; tentative as it is." Zatanna was saying, an accomplished gleam in her eyes.

Mister Henry tilted his head to the side, "Oh? And do tell, what convinced the werewolf?"

"Betrayal," Zatanna shrugged, "Revenge, even heart break –as deplorable as that sounds. Enzo simply manipulated Seňor Mason at his weakest."

"I'm still wondering about that," Bonnie added her input into the conversation, her brows furrowing in thought, "Why do it?"

Mister Henry glanced at his great-granddaughter through the corner of her eyes, and Zatanna seemed to be carefully sorting her thoughts before she opened her mouth.

"Seňor Mason is a werewolf, Bonita," Zatanna said carefully, "And an un-triggered one. He doesn't have the luxury Tyler does. He's over emotional and Katerina has very easily manipulated those emotions, so that he has become little more than a love-sick obedient little puppy for her. A sacrificial piece."

Bonnie nodded along. She understood all that, the fact he was a Lockwood was also convenient; since Katherine would not only use him as the werewolf bait for Klaus but also as a link to get the moonstone.

Perhaps, Mister Henry could see the shrewd understanding in her eyes, because his eyes gleamed with regal pride when he looked at her.

(GAH! Why was he so damn attractive? Bad Bonnie).

"It was essential to have Seňor Mason within our folds. Not only can he now draw Katerina to Mystic Falls whenever we want, but it would also keep him safe," Her cousin explained seriously, "Personally, I don't hold any connection to him, but he is Tyler's uncle. And had he followed Katerina's whims, he would have died. I wish to avoid that, and only for the sole reason because I promised you all that I would do my utmost to protect you…and that does include your families."

The entire statement was delivered with clinical interest, and somehow it still managed to warm Bonnie to the core. Her cousins had never lied to her, or any of their friends. Not once.

If anyone had their trust and more, it was her Spanish family members.

"Besides," Bonnie ended for her cousin, with a teasing smile on her face, "Mason's our inside man. He'll spy on Katerina for us."

Zatanna and Mister Henry gave her similar sharp grins of approval.

"Well done, Seňorita Bonita," Mister Henry spoke in his articulate speech, "Thou art improving."

Bonnie pinked in pleasure.

"Now, child, tell me what results thy visit to the Rubio coven yielded?" Mister Henry tilted his head to the side, much reminiscent to the way Zatanna, Atticus, and even Uncle Ignacio did.

Zatanna paused thoughtfully, and Bonnie stared in utter astonishment at the almost manic and intrigued gleam that took its place in her eyes. It appeared Mister Henry seemed to sharpen in on the slight change of expression too, as his own eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"It was…interesting to say the least." Zatanna spoke, and she seemed to think for a moment, before diving straight into what was bothering her, "Bisabuelo, the ritual itself while informative…it was its origin that interested me the most."

"Oh?"

"Sí, the ritual was shaman-based, it was to develop a kind of pocket dimension, and from what I could gather; it was only for a single sub-consciousness to access." She explained, and Bonnie listened attentively, filing away the information for later contemplation.

"Continue, child." Mister Henry prompted.

"The ritual was conducted at the behest of an Original." Zatanna revealed, "Kol Mikaelson to be precise and-" Zatanna cut herself off, something inquisitive flashing over her face as she frowned. It was as if Zatanna was confused about something and it was entirely maddening because she couldn't understand what.

As if she was infinitely curious about something, and that curiosity had done something quite shocking. It had captured all of her interest.

Mister Henry suddenly looked knowing, as a playful smirk played on his lips, "Is that so? Thou art curious about this Original, aye?"

Zatanna looked partially disgruntled as she nodded. "I admit to such…why would an Original need a pocket dimension?"

Mister Henry's lips stretched wider into an uncharacteristic (but nevertheless handsome) grin, "I suppose. After all, why and when would an Original access it?" It was a rhetorical question, but there was a certain specificity with which it was spoken that made both Bonnie and Zatanna stare at him with suspicion.

He ignored them.

(Of course he did).

Knowing both of them would get nothing more out of him, Bonnie turned to her cousin and questioned, "What will you do about it?"

Honey brown strands slipped over one shoulder and Zatanna tilted her head thoughtfully, "To be honest, I really want access it…"

By it, Bonnie assumed she meant the pocket dimension. The Bennett witch frowned as the mention of it reminded her of a magical article she read in Uncle Ignacio's study. Something about-

"-Hey," Bonnie shifted upon the garden wicker chair, her brows furrowed in concentration, "This is kinda like that case about…what's it called," Bonnie snapped her fingers trying desperately to remember the name that was on the tip of her tongue, " Right! The Gemini Coven! They had a-a prison world made for that guy who killed his siblings, right? Something Peters?"

Mister Henry smirked and Zatanna froze.

"Malachai Parker," Her Asturias cousin corrected absent-mindedly as she suddenly sat up, her eyes widening with realization, "How could I forget?" She muttered to herself before snapping her head towards Bonnie, "Homework time, Bonita," Zatanna's eyes gleamed as she looked immensely pleased, "We need to research everything we can about the Gemini coven, gather any knowledge you can about the prison world, Bonita…in fact, if I'm correct then Tia abuela was the one who made that purgatory," Zatanna spoke out loud, "I'll be conducting the research regarding the dimension Kol Mikaelson had commissioned."

"Why?" Bonnie hesitated in questioning.

Zatanna smirked and replied honestly, "Because I need to know. I'm curious."

Mister Henry clapped his hands together and he looked entirely too amused with the entire situation. The light of the bright sun flashed across the platinum wedding band he wore. And Bonnie found herself overcome with a sudden curiosity that had plagued her for quite some time now.

"Hey, Mister Henry?" She glanced away from his wedding band, "Who's your wife?"

Mister Henry blinked at the sudden change of topic but took it in a stride, his lips quirked up and his eyes flashed with sudden, intense affection.

Bonnie had to physically cover her face to hide her blush (dimly, she was aware of the bemused expression Zatanna aimed at her).

"Constanza," Mister Henry spoke the name with such transparent fondness, that Bonnie found herself shaken at the depth of quiet yet strong emotion behind it, "She is…the most annoying woman I have ever had the misfortune to encounter." He then scowled slightly, exasperation and amusement filling his tone, as his lips twitched upwards into an irritated smirk.

.

.

.

What?

Bonnie gaped at the King, unable to form any coherent sentence.

Zatanna cackled, "Now, I simply cannot wait to meet bisabuela." Her Spanish cousin looked downright gleeful.

Mister Henry stared at his great-granddaughter unimpressed, "Unfortunately, I know she will be as eager as to meet thee."

"Wait, wait, she's alive too?" Bonnie asked curiously.

"Sadly," The King drawled, and Bonnie was beginning to see what Zatanna found so amusing. The fact that the usually unruffled monarch looked as fondly annoyed as any man who had been married as long as he had (which was a long time –centuries-, to be honest) was awesome.

She was about to jokingly comment about how rude he was being, but the King spoke before she could, a sharp grin twisting upon his lips, "I suppose such is our bond, though," He tilted his head, watching Zatanna in a manner Bonnie could not recognize.

She was however, concentrating on a particular word he said; 'Bond'.

Now Bonnie knew all about bond magic, Uncle Ignacio had given quite a detailed lesson upon that, but he had vaguely touched upon 'soul bonds' and Bonnie found herself really curious about it.

"Hey, Mister Henry, could you…could you tell me more about 'soul bonds'?" She asked slightly hesitant.

He blinked at her once before he looked pleased at her question (lord knows why), "Of course, Bonita," God damn it, the way his accent shifted from smooth, cultured British to seductive, refined Spanish when he spoke her name made butterflies flutter in her stomach, "Thy question holds much merit. I find myself much glad thee asked."

"Where to begin?" He mused, "The magic of an Asturias is different from common Wiccan as thee know. Our very core is magical and that core resides intertwined within our souls."

Bonnie nodded fervently, "Yeah, and because Death favors you, your magic has Death's presence and trace within it. And your magic is alive, too. Unlike mine…" The Bennett witch muttered the last part petulantly.

Mister Henry's eyes filled with amusement, "Forsooth, because our magic is alive, Bond magic is something we art particularly sensitive too. Did thee know that our magic analyses every single thing; object, person, environment, creature, anything we ever interact with? It is a constant source of intuition and analysis for us."

"You trust your magic." Bonnie realized, "Because it's alive and a part of you and with Death's trace within it."

"Sí," Zatanna interjected. "Basically, the magic peers into other individual souls, and then evaluates others intentions and personality and character for us. If our magic recognizes any person will be important to us, it forms a bond between specific tendrils of our souls. Those connected strands may represent any sort of bond, as you well know, and any one type may be countless in number but there is only one 'soul bond'."

Mister Henry nodded at the explanation before continuing, "The bond recognizes an individual who completely compliments their specific Asturias, an individual whom even Death's presence in our magic approves of and chooses for us." The King looked more intense than usual, his eyes blazing like an inferno, "T'is not a forceful bond, not at all, and the Asturias always retains their ability to choose. The 'soul bond' is a much deeper concept than the trivial romanticized notions that are quite popular in current times."

It sounded too good to be true, Bonnie thought privately, and so she asked, "That can't be it…right?"

Mister Henry gave a small, sly smirk, slanting another look towards his great-granddaughter, "There is one drawback," Even Zatanna looked surprised at that, "For the 'soul bond' to be formed, the magic of the Asturias must come into contact with the physical body of the other individual, else the bond will not form."

"What a drawback," Bonnie couldn't help but drawl sarcastically.

Zatanna and Mister Henry gave simultaneous and similar huffs of laughter.

"Now then," The former King of England clapped his hands together, a sudden devious gleam taking over his eyes, "Tell me, dear children, you have been practicing the formation of spells I told you to prepare, aye?"

Bonnie winced guiltily.

Yeah, she was pretty sure she would be left magically exhausted in punishment for her procrastination.

Joy.

---

6th September, 2009; Gilbert Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Darren Malloy and Brooke Fenton were found dead by the road side, with matching gaping wounds upon their throats.

Elena swallowed thickly as she watched the newsreel, she was dimly aware of her mother's soothing presence by her side and her brother's hand on her shoulder.

This was it.

There were only two vampires apart from Enzo in Mystic Falls right now. And knowing the younger one's diet pattern, Elena assumed it was the older Salvatore who had so cruelly announced his presence in town.

Oh god, it had begun.

---

7th September, 2009; Mystic Falls High school, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Tyler was pretty sure his face looked downright terrifying at the moment. This assumption was further cemented by the fact that most of the school population who took one good look at his face immediately made themselves scarce.

Except Caroline and Matt, of course, in fact they walked by his side.

Those two had rather impressive resting bitch faces; they might have even rivaled his own.

(It would have been hilarious if he wasn't so wrung up, and his supernatural senses and instincts weren't on high alert).

He stalked down the hall, intent on reaching Elena's locker, or perhaps running into the doppelgänger herself; just to find Elena. NOW!

The un-triggered werewolf came to an abrupt stop when he saw Elena and Jeremy right outside the male restrooms-

-And what made the hair at the neck of his head rise in ire; a certain animalistic urge to crush someone's head rush to the surface, was the uncomfortable expression painted across Elena's face, the palpable protective anger on Jeremy's expression, and finally the tall, definitely new and unrecognizable male who stood in front of Elena watching her with all too probing eyes; self-righteous eyes.

Tyler growled, his pack disposition blaring red lights within him, his fury only rose when he saw all three look at him in surprise and the new guy dared to move slowly in front of Elena as if to protect her from him.

To protect Elena from Tyler.

He was barely aware of the derogatory scoff Caroline gave at witnessing the action, and the offended scowl Jeremy threw at the new guy's back.

All Tyler could focus on was Elena's relieved look and the bright grin that immediately twisted at her lips when she saw them (read: him). She shoved past the new guy, not at all caring about the overly-worried look passing over his face and launched herself at Tyler.

Tyler for a mild moment let the smugness take over him, stroking his male ego which resulted in a smirk twisting at his lips, before he wrapped his arms around Elena and holding her close in an attempt to comfort her and to share his warmth, to let her know that it was okay and he was here now.

She let out a shuddering breath against his ear, and somehow that spoke more in volume than anything she could have verbally spoken.

That new asshole had made her feel this uncomfortable, and Tyler felt that consuming anger, one he hadn't felt for so long, threatening to take over him. The only reason it didn't was because his friends surrounded him, and Elena was in his arms.

He would never allow himself to lose control. He would never allow himself to become his father. Mister A had taught him that much, at least.

And so, seething, Tyler turned away from the new guy (the Lockwood knew his name but in that moment of petty anger did not even want to acknowledge it).

Elena pulled her head away from where she had buried it in his shoulder, and was looking up at him with trusting doe-brown eyes; eyes filled with fond affection, and the usual mirth.

She was beautiful, he dimly registered the fact to himself once more. Sure, he knew she shared a face with three other known females, but Tyler just knew, that none of those females could replicate or even possess what made Elena so uniquely…Elena.

They would never have the all-present mirth and hope that shone through her eyes, they would never know what it was to love ridiculous jokes, and they would never know the specific brand of strength Elena displayed when she trusted, when she handed over the fate of her life to another.

Because, let's face it, that took great trust and great strength. To hand over control over your own life, that was something not easily achieved. And acknowledging your own shortcomings was even harder still. Elena had done all that, and scared as she was, she trusted Zee and Ace and Mister A and Enzo.

And Tyler was so, so fond of this girl in his arms.

"Sorry," Caroline blatantly lied through her teeth, giving the new guy a fake smile, "We were looking for Elena and Jeremy all over! I mean they've been in a depressive mood lately; remembering their dad –he's dead, by the way- and they weren't picking up their phones either so we were really worried." Caroline finished her fake rambling, falling into the ditzy blonde role she had perfected over the years.

(Her reasoning was simple; "People underestimate you if they think you're stupid," Caroline had announced once after a therapy session with Mister A, "They don't think you're worth their time so they let their guard down. I happen to have unknowingly already perfected that art." Her grin at the end was suddenly devious, the new revelations casting a new light into her eyes).

"Hey, it's fine," The new guy waved a hand dismissively, although his eyes flashed with disdain at Caroline's tirade (how fucking dare he? Tyler personally felt offended for Caroline), and he attempted to slant supposed understanding eyes towards Elena (Tyler wanted to rip those eyes out), "I bumped into her accidentally, I'm Stefan Salvatore, by the way."

Matt jumped in the conversation then, he aligned himself subtly in front of Caroline (good, he noticed the righteous distaste in the asshole's eyes, too), "Oh yeah, the new kid, I heard about you. I'm Matt Donovan, welcome to Mystic Falls," Then the quarterback gave his easy-going smile, "Although, I suppose you must already be familiar, what with you being related to one of the founding families."

Jeremy snorted at that which he disguised as a cough, but Stefan wasn't too bothered.

He nodded and then smiled in that weird tragic way, and ugh. Tyler really wanted to punch his teeth in. Preferably the fangs.

"Yeah, I just moved back in with my Uncle." He nodded, trying in vain to catch Elena's eye, but she was staring up at Tyler, not daring to look away in fear of doing something she might regret.

Jeremy cleared his throat, interrupting the awkward stare-off that had begun between Tyler (he was fucking glaring at the bitch) and Stefan (who was looking back with unconscious judgment in his eyes).

"Right, so," The younger Gilbert said, "We should go; class will probably start soon."

Caroline nodded immediately, looping her arm through Elena's and she pulled her away. Both prancing down the hall in a flurry of blonde bouncy curls and brown lazy waves. And with a quick nod to Matt and another wary glance at Stefan, Jeremy left to reach his own class.

Tyler watched bemused but also grateful. Both Caroline and Elena were away from the Salvatore. They were away from what some instinct within Tyler had named the vampire in front of him a threat.

Matt said something else to Stefan, before clapping a hand on the Salvatore's shoulder and gesturing for him to join them on their way to Homeroom and then their first class; History. Which ironically were both with Tanner (and further still, Stefan had the same class as they had, or even more coincidentally Elena had. Tyler would bet his father's car that the vampire had compelled his way into having the same class schedule as Elena).

His absolutely horrific mood came to a speeding halt when he was entering the classroom, Matt had stopped abruptly next to him and both ogled at Bonnie and Zee.

"What the fuck?" Tyler so eloquently said.

"Zee," Matt said more clearly, "What're you doing here?"

"I'm bored," She deadpanned, yet the amusement was clear in her eyes, "Figured I might terrorize you at school." She said the word as if it let a bad taste in her mouth, "You find yourselves privileged," She grinned wider, "You're looking at the Teacher's assistant for both the subjects of History and Spanish."

Tyler ignored the scheming grins Zee and Bonnie shared, instead simply focused on the relief taking over him, he saw from the corner of his eyes how Elena and Caroline shared the same sentiments if the gratitude on their faces as they stared at Zee was anything to go by.

He trusted Zee, no doubt, but this, actions like this; where the Asturias family and Enzo proved that the trust they had was well earned… God, Tyler loved those moments. It simply cemented the fact, that they would be fine by the end of this all.

Matt grinned, "Right, I'm sure," He rolled his eyes, "I'm betting Vicki and Bonnie helped you get this done?"

"Of course not, Seňor," Zee gasped mockingly, "I shamelessly used my own influence."

Bonnie sniggered.

"Now," Zee's grin turned sharp, "I've heard a lot about this Seňor Tanner. I suppose I shall have fun assisting him."

And as he watched as Zee's eyes flickered over to the confused vampire standing behind him, her eyes gleaming with calculative, rancorous intentions, the un-triggered werewolf grinned in anticipation.

Having Tanner and the Salvatore, both of them, roasted (or something similar) in the same day, and that too by one of his most favorite people to exist.

Well…

Tyler's day suddenly turned a whole lot brighter.

---

Atticus Bennett-Asturias stared bemused at the screen of his laptop, where his sister had sent him an email with a picture attached to it.

The picture being of a classroom, most of their friends (barring Vicki, who was most probably in a different class; she was a Senior student after all, and Enzo who of course had better things to do).

Each and every one of them stared at the camera with gleeful expressions, and Atticus spotted an entirely bewildered Stefan Salvatore.

Narrowing his eyes, Atticus examined the Baby-Scooby gang in a single cursory movement of his eyes. His eyes trailed over the tattoos visible on Tyler's wrist and Matt's bicep, all while knowing that Elena and Caroline had theirs around their left ankles, while Vicki had boldly had hers inked around her neck so it resembled a choker, Jeremy had chosen to have his encircling the base of his left forefinger which he usually covered with a silver ring.

He recalled designing the tattoo with his cousin and sister; they had worked to incorporate protective runes within the tattoo and develop tattoo ink that was specifically infused with magic and vervain. The tattoos were drawn as such that they all resemble vines circling around the respective appendages chosen by the teenagers.

And only they knew that each and every stroke had protective runes scrawled together to resemble that vine-like pattern.

Bonnie, Zatanna, and he, himself, had not needed the tattoos, seeing as they were witches and a warlock, hence immune to compulsion.

Atticus approved of this subtle method of protection, and was further pleased to know that his sister had taken steps to watching their gang at the school.

With that, the Asturias heir snapped his laptop shut, swiftly rose to his feet, and after dropping the necessary money bills required to pay for the cup of tea he had, he stepped out of the coffee shop and onto the busy streets of London.

After all, he had an Uncle to meet.

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Additional Information: thou - singular informal, subject (Thou art here. = You are here.)
thee - singular informal, object (He gave it to thee.)
ye - plural or formal, subject
you - plural or formal, object

Forsooth: This means 'Indeed' in medieval English.

Furthermore; 'Thou' is historically perceived in Yorkshire (England) as being disrespectful, or over-familiar in a formal context, e.g; if used to address a teacher, or upon greeting a stranger. However, 'thee' is perceived to be more respectful. 'Art' and 'mine own' is translated as 'are' and 'my' respectively and used according to context.

All usage of historical accounts and the changes made to them are purely for the usage of this story. Also, the information about the TVD world, including the timeline (most of it), explained in this chapter is taken from Wikia.

'Bonita' is basically the Spanish, Portuguese variant of the Scottish name 'Bonnie'. Both names have the same meaning; 'Pretty, cute, attractive.'

Regarding, the noble title given to Ignacio Asturias; the title itself is real i.e 'Seňor of Lazcano; Lord of Lazcano' is a real title but it's usage in this story is entirely fictional. As far as I'm aware, in real life this title belongs to the Ducal House of el Infantado.

Edit: Credits to the guest reviewer for clarifying who the title of Lazcano belongs to in real life.

Date of Births:

Ignacio Asturias: 12th May, 1968.

Pauline Bennett: 1st January, 1969.

Atticus Bennett-Asturias: 7th August, 1990.

Zatanna Bennett-Asturias: 31st October, 1992.

All other birthdays of canon characters are as have been listed according to Wikia, with the only exception being those who's birthdays have not been given, of which I shall take liberty of giving them specific dates of birth myself.

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A/N: Okay, so first of all I would like to give you all my sincerest apologies.

I know, it's been too long since I last updated; a little over three months now. But I have an explanation for that, my first semester of University began in September, and the entire reason I haven't updated is because I've been busy with that. Since it's the initial semester, I really wanted to do well; hence, my main priority becoming university.

Again, I do apologize, because you are my readers and I adore the attention and interest you show in this story. And even the enthusiasm and generally kind words you have to say to me. I am so grateful and humbled.

Now, onwards, you may have noticed I changed the rating of the story. That is mainly because of the violence and gore. And I wanted to be safe just in case.

Again, I'd also like to inform you all that my semester final exams will begin on the Seventh of January i.e. this coming Monday, and will go till Fifteenth. After which I will have Semester break. So please, continue showing the patience you have shown me with.

This is unedited, so please keep that in mind. But, it's also long, to make up for the lack of updates, it's around 47 Microsoft pages.

Now acknowledgements: Thank you everyone who viewed, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story.

Thank you: marlastiano, Adhara Snow, Kristina'sMyName, Weinberg, daria081, Believer91, crazed828, Rose1414, La'Rae and Ninjas Incorporated, AlianaGabriellaWinchester17, Dezzi95, Queen of Darkness Oo, saky hyuuga, Dancing to your Heartbeat, Akatsuki Wolf Rider, RedAro, Shadowing, Twister60, hexandvex, PolxenaLovegood, RebeliousOne, ArchangelKoriel, TheShortMuffin07, LPWomer, TB Viking Addict, slyKat28, IAMLORDTHORNE, YourSavingGrace, Phoenix Labonair, beamerwitte, keikei313, kitsunez00, Jkmoon, Sadia140230, PrincessMagic, KaterinaStark, Guest#1, QueenRose142, kittylover-003, FallenSlayer17, Guest#2, Innieminnie, gghyatt176, ForeverTwistedLove8814, xXAnonymous01Xx, TheFanFicDevourer, ALLLORD, Crystal Blue Butterfly, THE VOLTURI RULE2, QueenOfCloud, BlueMoonAce, Guest#3, MirrorShard, Rianna1969254, LucyHeartFeelMeUp, , Neiviv Enomis, queen angelica, Guest#4 for reviewing this chapter, I absolutely adored reading each and every one of them.

Fun fact: I got 65 reviews for the previous chapter, which is flattering and absolutely awesome ;).

As an endnote, I'd like to wish you all a very Happy New Year!

Like/Favorite and Review/Comment, please. I respond to all reviews via PM.

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Translations:

Hola: Hello.

Sí: Yes.

Seňor: Mister or Sir or Lord.

Seňor Thomas Avery: Mister Thomas Avery.

Seňora Miranda: Madam Miranda.

Seňora: Madam.

Seňorita: Miss.

Seňora Paula Blanco: Madam Paula Blanco.

Seňor Juan: Mister Juan.

Idiota: Idiot.

Mierda: Shit.

Bastardo: Bastard.

Seňorita Annett: Miss Annett.

Querida: Dearest or Dear.

Seňor Henry: Mister/Lord Henry.

Seňora Valentina Rubio: Madam Valentina Rubio.

Estúpido: Stupid.

Seňora Genoveva Rubio: Madam Genoveva Rubio.

Doña de Asturias: Lady of Asturias.

House de Asturias: House of Asturias.

Doña: Lady.

Abuela: Grandmother.

Doña Asturias: Lady Asturias.

Doña mía: My Lady.

Seňor Mason: Mister Mason.

Seňorita Bonita: Miss Bonita.

Bisabuelo: Great grandfather.

Tia abuela: Grand-Aunt.

Bisabuela: Great grandmother.

Note: All translations were taken with the help of Google. If there are any mistakes, I would like to apologize as I do not know how to speak the language.

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"Mors nobis favet; Death favors us."

-The Asturias Family Motto-

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; I do not claim any ownership over any characters, situations or anything of relation from the TVD world. I do, however, own the Asturias Family, anything related to them, any other Original-Character introduced and the plot of this particular story.