AN:/ First off, I want to deeply apologize for not updating this thing sooner. A lot of things have recently happened in my life, that I'd rather not get into but just seemed to snowball, one after the other. One of those being that my computer, that had all of my saved upcoming chapters for this so loved story, went kaput! That still does not make it okay to deny everyone this spark of creativity. However, once I did have access to a computer again not only did I have to start from scratch (my memory muse isn't that kind to me) but I just didn't have the will to bring myself to write it. Once I did, I found myself conflicted several times over and backspacing and hating it all, just to go right back to the beginning again! For me, this chapter isn't my best work and, quiet honestly, it could have been lengthier but if I kept going it wouldn't flow quite so well and that's the main thing of this story and story telling in general, imo. IT. HAS. TO. FLOW! If it doesn't then what exactly are you doing with your writing?! Okay so nearly a year later we finally have more to 'Trova Trot! Please enjoy and tell me what you thought of this. Also plot bunnies are welcomed and I will use any that may help get the story along and in the direction I want it to go but probably add my own little twist to it (though you will be creddited for the inspiration)...Don't own Vampire Diaries or The Originals! Please review!
Kat kept sneaking peaks over her shoulder at their captors. "Stop it." Tatia hummed out a little tune.
Whipping her head around, Kat grumbled. "Sorry." The younger sister frowned, crossing her arms in a huff.
Tatia tsked. "Kat, apologizing for something? Whatever Mr. Handsome said to you must have really gotten under your skin for someone so brave to admit defeat."
Kat sent her sister a look; pursed lips and slits for eyes of a glare, one that normally sent others at school quaking with fear but Tatia knows a great deal about her sister's façade. There is only so much bravado one can create on an identical image. Tatia only hoped that their hostage holders weren't as familiar to Kat's insecurities. "I'm not admitting defeat!" Kat promised, eyes ablaze, and head held high. Throwing one more glance over her shoulder, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Not to him. Never to him."
This grabbed Tatia's attention. The eldest Petrova daughter had merely assumed that, before this all began, these hostage takers had the upper hand in acknowledging the girls as familiars. Even so far as to calling out Elena's name (though the Gilbert part was still a mystery)! Now, Tatia decided that a one sided familiarity may have been jumping to conclusions too hastily. After all, Kat's alter ego seemed to be just as much out for blood as the group they were running with. "Kat?" Tatia whispered cautiously. "What do you know about him?"
For a beat Kat chose not to speak, taking all the demons that haunted her dreams and reality for all her years. The sleepless nights filled with brutal images of torture, both done onto and reciprocated by her. Mirages that lurked into the form of people; that had once been but were never encountered. Emotions, that without reason, seeped into the fiber of her being, filling and consuming Kat's natural mood of a longing for nostalgia that never was. She remembered all of these things. Allowing that woman long ago to lock them in the deepest corners of her mind when she was a child, had been both the easiest and scariest thing to do. Kat's very own Pandora's Box, so to speak. Yet, of all the things trying to break out, the knight behind her was by far was the easiest to embrace with an amity of sorts. That's what scared Kat. "He's someone who loved me."
Justin was accustomed to the beating heat of the summer-fall days in his own home state. New Orleans, Louisiana was something else entirely. The muggy humidity was full of moisture and sparks of electricity but even with the difference, he did notice there was something supernatural in the air. The city itself had the undead (of the apparitional phantom kind) almost littering the streets from the moment he set foot into town, only to all but disappear the next once the parade ("a celebration for the dead" the passerby informed him. "they're off having the time of their new lives in the next place!") moved ahead of the ghost and that's what gave Justin the chills that quivered in his spine.
While he hadn't been allowed to go on any of the huntings, it did not mean that his father didn't want him close. Two states away in any direction and he was allowed to follow up in his studies at his open campus boarding school. Further than that (excluding vast land mass states like California, Texas, and Florida) and his father made up some excuse about how everyone was in need of the Gilbert art work so Justin must get the opportunities to travel. The youngest Gilbert enjoyed the drive into such places and out but once they reached their hotel, Justin was basically on lock down for the rest of the trip, while his father got to take down the real action.
Needless to say, the teen had been introduced to many cultures and practices. Plus with his own lifestyle free of human arrogance of the supernatural order his mind was constantly opened to new things and possibilities. He'd come across many religions and beliefs in the celebration of the dead… but none quite had a hold like this. Justin had heard whispers of it from his father or the people Jeremy Gilbert hunted with and it still felt so strange to think real even for the supernatural community: Ancestral Magic, specifically Voodoo.
Okay, perhaps the Ancestral Magic wasn't that hard for Justin to wrap his head around. After all if you have so many witches all congregating in one area for hundreds if not thousands of years, all practicing and performing magic to the best of their abilities there's definitely going to be some hocus pocus residue that's going to consecrate the land. Voodoo though? That was some heavy stuff!
And Justin has heard of some pretty dark magic from his father's stories/warnings. There was Natural Magic, where everything is drawn from nature, keeping with the balance, and all that Circle of Life crap that Disney almost got right. Consequentially, if a witch uses this type of magic for the wrong reasons it might just come back to bite them in the end however, in Justin's opinion it was the low-key type of magic that you read about in storybooks with fairy godmothers and miracles. The witches that use that kind of magic often have a good handle on the order of things and are constatly seen with the most self control. There was Expression, which was deep and still the type of magic that was kind of magic, kind of not. It is often practiced by reformed witches, the ones who can't tap into their power or have lost their way with the balance, so nature rejects them. In all honesty, it's not a bad type of magic per se but it is unruly. Some witches find their way back and others don't. It really all just depends on the strength of the witch and their intentions but Expression almost always has cruel conclusions. Traveler's Magic is vague. From what Justin gathered it's like the "secret society" of magic. You're not born into it like Natural Magic but families will often pass it down, never willing to leave it. Nor can you tap into it with a previous knowledge of magic or with high voltage push of will, such as Expression. It's a learned art, a valued skill, and like riding a bike one can never forget it, unless you're forced to forget. It's an inspiration of sorts but it knows no limits. Voodoo is taking dark deadly things and lacing them with sour undertones, to do the bidding of your desires. What you achieve gives you exactly what you wish and causes others havoc. The only downside to it? The person themselves weakens greater than any other use of magic. That's why it's the young energetic witches and warlocks that dabble in it. There's fine line between a regular Voodoo master and an aging shaman practicing Expression. There has yet to be any other magic in this world, though the Heretics are still most whispered about abominations of this supernatural. So as the youngest Gilbert observes the homebodies of NOLA mingling with the tourists, Justin wonders, who's the mastermind pulling the puppeteer strings on the living and the dead?
Walking further into the heart of darkness, Justin becomes too distracted by the flame juggler and bumps into one of the most beautiful girl he's ever seen in his life.
"Oomph!"
"Sorry," Justin's mouth goes almost slack by her smile but he returns it sheepishly. "Flame juggler." He explains, pointing at the man with his thumb over his shoulder, wiping the sweat from his hands on the back of his jeans after.
She holds out her own slender finger with a giggle towards Justin, making a correct assumption. "And you're from out of town."
Justin chuckled. "How'd you figure?"
Giving an indication with her eyes, back towards the man throwing fire into the air, the blond girl clarifies. "That's Harley." She grins bemusedly. "He performs on that corner every Thursday and Saturday evening, for some extra cash."
Realizing he'd lost track of time, a wash of relief overtakes Justin. "So it's Thursday."
Smiling coyly, the girl leads him on. "Or Saturday." Justin groans half playfully at his unexpected departure with sense. "Then again, maybe it is Thursday, we might never know." She jokes with him some more.
Deciding to go along with it, Justin cracks a joke too. "As long as it's not Tuesday because we all know-,"
"The world ends on a Tuesday." They finished together laughing.
Curiosity getting the best of him, Justin fishes for information. "So you live around here?"
"Yep, born and raised. I'm kind of big stuff around here." She rubbed her knuckle against her jean jacket, how she could where that in such heat Justin hadn't a clue.
Justin hummed. "Then perhaps you can help me out? I'm not from around here and I think I lost someone amongst the parade. Where would the nearest station be?"
The girl seemed to be thinking something over and having an internal debate with herself. "Well, I'm supposed to catch a train out of here to meet someone but that's not for another three hours, plus it'd be safer if you went with me."
"Safer?" Justin wondered how much this girl knew.
"The French Quarter is a place you go to get lost." She warned him. "Not seek refuge." Urging him forward, she started walking. "Come on, I'll show you all of the cool places that serve to underagers. I'm Hope by the way."
"Justin."
As Brady and Billy tightened their bow ties, Charlie blew out a huff of exasperation for the ridiculousness their life had suddenly come down to. Pulling down the short, short, short, shimmery black dress, only to glance down at it again and decide to pull it back up, so not to expose and indecent amount of cleavage, the teens were dressed for the event. Now, Charlie understood why Mr. Donovan insinuated the salad instead of the cheesy bacon fries and, for the time being, she was regretting her food choice. Especially, having passed by the beautiful blond model like girl (with her perfect handsome model date) that could give even Malibu Barbie a run for her money!
Walking through the overtly happy civilians, as they made small talk and witty repertoire at this estate, with no current host, something popped into Billy's brain as Brady handed Charlie a drink and was about to take a sip of his. Using action before words, Billy smashed the beverages to the ground causing Charlie to become stunned. Unluckily for Brady, his drink was to his lips when Billy smacked it away causing the stuff to splatter all over his upper torso.
"Dude!"
"Billy?!"
"I'm sorry!" Billy apologized hastily.
"Dude, I'm soaked!" Brady glared with his normally honey blond hair and eyebrows now tinted red.
Trying to give an explanation, Billy dropped his voice to a whisper while Charlie led them to a nearby table to pat Brady dry of the sticky substance. "Remember what Marcus and Nurse Carlotta said?" The two stopped what they were doing to listen to Billy's theory. "Most of the town claimed to have blackouts probably from the food and water."
Charlie nodded in remembrance. "Right, vervain."
"Yeah," Billy reiterated. "You know, the kind of stuff that's only known suppliers were the Salvator's and?"
"And the Lockwoods." Charlie finished off.
"Carlotta and Marcus said that it was probably in the water though." Brady pointed out.
"Sure," Billy shrugged. "But why run the odds? Besides, we have to locate this lockout spell right? We take the risk and not only are we compromised but we end up with some very huge questions and not enough answers."
"Billy's right." Charlie confirmed. "It was bad enough that we ate the food since coming to this town. Who knows how far into this we may already be involved with these drugs? Better to play it safe, rather than sorry."
Brady let out a whine. "Ugh, but I'm thirsty!"
Grabbing him by the arm, Charlie and Billy dragged the now slightly sticky Brady around, to fish for information from the other guests.
"So do you know Tyler?" Charlie asked to the random blond couple she had seen earlier.
"Do you?" The blond pretty girl raised an eyebrow at the teens, obviously gauging their age. This set Charlie into some irritation. The couple they were talking to barely looked older than them! Almost as if they were stuck in the ambiguous age range of late juniors in high school to late sophomores in college. "Tyler graduated with us and he left Mystic Falls the moment he could. Doubt he'll make it back just because of some little tradition he hated being a part of anyway." She explained with bitterness.
This caused Charlie to furrow her brows in perplexity. That couldn't be right! Matt Donovan had said that he had played football and was a friend of Tyler's. Sure, they could have been in two different grades but even then, that wouldn't come out quite right. Math had never been Charlie's strong suit but she couldn't have been that off in assuming that Tyler was around the same age as Mr. Donovan and he looked well into his middle aged years! Perhaps the couple before them seemed to think that they had never actually met Mr. Donovan before and didn't even have that little tidbit of info that they had. Either way, something was amiss but that didn't seem to surprise Charlie as she sent a quick and silent glance to the boys, to warn them of a red flag. Only Billy returned her signal however because Brady was talking football to the handsome stranger that was the girl's date.
"We were just wondering," Charlie spoke cautiously. "A friend of ours said she knew him. We're on extended vacation right now and said that we'd be stopping through this town. She mentioned we should hit up Tyler Lockwood if we need help with anything or in need of some company. We're supposed to meet back up with her, down in New Orleans."
At the mention at the city, the blond beauty cringed slightly but held her composure. "He's not here." She sighed. "Sorry. By all means though, if you see him tell him the whole town just isn't the same without him." And with that she walked over to her date and squeezed his arm.
The guy gave her a small smile, then held out his hand to Brady. "Great talking with you man."
"Yeah, you too." Brady acknowledged then clasped his hand with the guy's to shake. Except, that wasn't what happened. In an instant, smoke and the burning smell of skin was met. The blond stranger quickly brought his hand back with a gasp to cradle it. His date seemed to be shocked as well by the mere action but then narrowed her gaze at Brady. However, when Charlie tried to peer over to look at the good looking guy's hand it appeared unscathed, if almost perfect like the rest of him.
Laughing nervously, Billy spoke. "Well it was great meeting you two but uhh… we've got more sight-seeing to do!" Taking the other two by the arms, they all but ran into the mansion which was not open to guests but everyone else was outside enjoying the sun too much to either notice or care. "Okay, anyone else freaked out by that?"
"It's like his hand was scalded by the touch!" Charlie exclaimed.
Brady felt just as perplexed. "Well, I didn't feel anything, maybe…" Brady wandered off deep in thought. The other two leaned in, hoping that their friend might have some insight to what might have just occurred since it did happen to him. "Maybe he's a mutant!" the boy announced with vigor and a dopey grin on his face.
Billy looked over at Charlie, thankful that he wasn't the only one with deadpanned expression. "I take back what I said to you earlier. He is a beef. We should have brought Marcus instead."
"Nah," Charlie shook her head. "Marcus may have a few more brain cells but not by many. Brady gets hit in the head with a football, Marcus gets knocked on his ass by his skateboard. Marcus just knows how to hide it better."
"Everything's relative." Billy decided.
Choosing to ignore them, Brady saw something that fascinated him. "Woah!" crossing between his friends he got down to his knees to appreciate the center piece on the floor.
Charlie thought he might have finally lost it, as a result of the almighty stress they've been recently put under. "Uh, Brady? It's a rug what's so special about it?"
"I thank God for all those times Uncle Bryan was ordered to babysit me and let me stay up past my bedtime anyway, just to finish those sci-fi mysteries on TV." He mumbled to himself in awe and hope. "Because Miss Kimber and Mister Straeuss," He turned back around to face them, as if he discovered the next world wonder. "Behind every illusion," he flipped the rug like a grand magician revealing his secret. "Is a door!" There, located on the floor, was a heavy cellar door that would most likely not have been discovered by anyone else had they not had an inkling of what they were looking for.
"I stand by my former decision, glad to have you with us Brady." Billy recanted.
"Brady, you're a genius!" Charlie told him, while giving the guy a big hug.
"That's great." A new voice clapped, causing the group to turn and face a dark figure in the shadows. Out of them stepped one of the young men, though older, that was featured in several of the many pictures placed around the abode. This could only have been the one person their search had begun with to figuring out part of their grand anomaly: Tyler Lockwood. "So Who are you and what the hell are you doing near that door!?"
Scouring the town for anything suspicious, Colin thought it a bit odd that Juan Cuaderno didn't have some of his goons stationed around to keep the place safe.
As if reading his mind, Sophie elaborated. "Senor Cuaderno wouldn't want any of his men near a sacred- or damned might be the appropriate term, place. His fear and respect of the spiritual and supernatural was made all too clear in his efforts to try and negotiate a trade with us earlier."
"Can't say I blame him." Colin called back as he studied the interior of a stone house while still having an easy view of his girl in the center town. "This place, full of all that mumbo jumbo crap…somebody's gotta take caution." He spoke, finally taking one last look at the house around him and stepping out into the open.
"Did you find anything, Dear?" Sophie asked, feeling the cool air around her almost as disheartening as what could possibly lay ahead.
"Nothing. Hey! So if this place was home to the seven rings of hell why are there only six?" Colin observed, staring out at the city before them.
Sophie looked at him curiously. "Come again?"
"Would love to but maybe sometime later." He joked without missing a beat. Sophie refrained from rolling her eyes (not only was it not lady like but it would only egg him on). "No, I'm talking about the housing placement." Pointing out how each several housings were placed in a clusterous ring about the area. To someone else it would have been styled as if to allow street ways, a beneficial accident if any but Colin knew territorial lines when he saw them. "There are five houses clumped together with a sixth in the center, a path in between, big enough for walking, and then the same placement of houses the same way and so on and so forth. Six times to be exactly."
"The Devil's number, 666." Sophie whispered in amazement. For once, Colin was right surrounding them in a circular formation the town was spread out with each of the five cluster of houses being of different make, material, and size but seemingly being replicated six times. The sixth house, in the middle of those clusters, were by far the largest and probably made of the strongest looking material for while the city was perfectly preserved the homes did look worn and weary. All except for the center sixth houses.
"Yeah I got that. Except, if we're going off of that spiritual bs shouldn't there be a seventh level to this hell?" He mused. "What's more when I went inside the houses I didn't notice before but there's blood and nail marks suddenly appearing and disappearing on the walls."
That! That's what the offputness in the air was. The calming odor that wouldn't leave the air because it permeated it so but was so subtle that it gave a soothing feel to everything. It was blood and only a vampire would feel at ease with this smell. Recounting the little housing networks, Sophie did indeed only find six until a thought struck her. "What if…. The fountain was…?" She trailed off as she and Colin both shared a look of utter fear and took a slow turn to face the fountain head on.
"The Fountain of Youth is the seventh level of Hell."
Nadia was no damsel in distress. She never had been and didn't plan on becoming one but as time passed with no other company but the teen in front of her, Jeremiah is what he had called himself, as they sat on the ground across from one another, she grew weary of her abilities to hone in Traveler's magic. Especially, with the unknown warlock just in the other room.
"You're pretty." Jeremiah spoke after the blatant staring he was doing to the annoyed Nadia.
The brunette girl glared at him with a calculated eye. "And you're stupid to think so."
This sparked some confusion. "No, I just meant-" Cutting him off with a glare that meant 'no funny business' Jeremiah's excuses died down. "…fine. Russian?" Apparently, he wasn't getting the message.
Sighing, Nadia thought about how fools are usually the ones with the curious nature. She'd humor him then. "Bulgarian."
Jeremiah just hummed, clearly he was allowed to internally think but she couldn't get a moments peace without being interrupted. "I think what they're after is Bulgarian too." Jeremiah whispered to her unsure exactly as to what kind of beings had captured them.
Peaking Nadia's interest, she wondered how close to home this new breath of life was breathed into her. "How well do you know them?"
"…None."
Nadia sent a smirk. "You hesitated."
"…One's a werewolf, one a warlock, that last guy… I can't figure." He said staring intently at the cracked door.
Silent for just a moment, Nadia weighed her pros and cons. Pro: this new body meant new found energy and stamina that could be reached by mere hormones. Con: she was not as powerful as she had once been and thus if she were to return to her state of vampirism she'd forever be stuck in the body of a child. Pro: she could now walk about freely, without the constant looming of a target on her back. Con: the only way she was going to attempt an escape is with the help of one little werewolf in front of her.
Sighing, Nadia could imagine that if she were to have come back from her place of peace the others, the ones of the damned proportions, were not so far behind. "Do you know where we are exactly?"
Jeremiah paused, thinking back to his own observations when he'd first arrived. "An attic I think. They can enter but we can't exit. I know. I tried."
Nadia scoffed at the ignorance of some children of the moon. "Then normal warlock the man is not." Jeremiah only raised an eyebrow to her outburst. Rolling her eyes, Nadia began to explain. "I felt it from the moment I woke up. This hex, it runs deep. Deeper than any normal magic would allow, there is something in this place that cements us to this room but only tethers them." The young teen boy nodded with an understanding.
As both of them looked upon the attic, they noted that it was filled with materials of its original occupants, often coming in pairs of four. Four beds, four dressers, four different color schemes, and Nadia would place a bet that if you were to go looking into that big walk-in closet door you'd find four different sets of clothing styles. Something, or the lack thereof, caught Nadia's eye. "Where are the pictures?" Sitting on the dresser next to each one of the beds were three picture frames. All of them empty.
Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. OUT! It hurt so much! God he needed to get out! Was there an out? He couldn't remember. In fact he was struggling to remember his own name with the searing white hot pain blasting through him. "Marcus." He breathed as if it was his last prayer, though he'd forgotten that as well. How to pray that is. He used to know, once. It had been filled with being forced to attend a place filled with cool stone and bowing pews and his mother, God her face was so blurry, pinching him every time he drifted off from breathing so slowly and angling his body so stiffly. How his brothers, he's sure the bigger figures in his mind were his brothers, though they too were hard to make out, would snicker at his mother's attentiveness. And how sitting in front of him the clearest forms were also bowed in prayer. Four small girls with dark hair and pastel dresses were seated directly in his line of vision. One snuck a peak to send him a sweet smile. Her face was so clear. Bronze skin, doe eyes and sweet pink lips. She turned back around and he wanted to scream. They were the reason he wanted to get out. They were the reason he was in. But where was in?
Whimpering and whispering the memory so that he could commit it for the rest of what he had of life, the boy began. "Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos santificado sea tu nombre venga tu reino hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo danos hoy el pan de este día y perdona nuestras deudas como nosotros perdonamos nuestros deudores y no nos dejes caer en al tentación sino que líbranos del malo. Amen." A heaviness in his chest clutched, making him stop for just a second, then begin again. "Padre nuestro que…" As his own dried blood stuck sickeningly close to his body in the sweaty clothing, he gasped when some else's voice rang back out taunting him with a content laughter.
"Marcus!"
