A.N.: So the wolfsangel is something inspired by Grimm, a TV show I adore. In Grimm, the wolfsangel is the symbol of a cult of KKK-esque Wesen who promote purity of bloodlines.

Also, it's Game of Thrones season so this may be your last update for a while…and when it ends I will be emotionally traumatised and good for nothing, so… Anyone wants to start a support group, PM me!

Resurgam

21

Wolfsangel

The worst part, for Caroline, wasn't the torture, or even that it was her dad who had been the one to hurt her. It wasn't even that no-one had noticed something was wrong; because they had.

It was Jesse.

Jesse was dead: And Caroline had no clue where her boyfriend's body was.

They knew Jesse had struggled with the reality of being a vampire; that he often forgot that they couldn't get married and have children and live a white-picket existence in their sleepy, happy town, or that reminding him put him in depressive slumps that could last weeks.

But it was one thing to worry that Jesse would take off his daylight ring and walk into a noon sun: It was another for them to know Bill Forbes had staked an unresisting Jesse in the heart. He had refused to defend himself against Caroline's father, even as Bill tried - and succeeded in killing him: Jesse had given up the fight. He hadn't fought to stay with Caroline; that hurt.

And Bill refused to tell them what he had done with Jesse's body.

He lay somewhere, desiccated and decomposing, forgotten: Bill's disposal of Jesse was detached, impersonal and clinical.

It was utterly disrespectful, and that, more than the torture, more than Bill's involvement, more than Jesse giving up, hurt Caroline worst of all.

Their friend, Caroline's partner, deserved more than a hastily covered-up disappearance, and a second-thought every now and again from the people who missed him, but were moving on without him.

And in lieu of being able to grieve over his body, Caroline did what she always did in times of overwhelming emotional trauma: She curled her hair, dabbed on some blush, and made lists. She caught up on her emails, put in a dozen calls in with suppliers unleashing the wrath of Forbes to get jobs done that had been malingering while she was on vacation; she baked cakes with Zita and made enough casseroles to drown Matt. She gave Elena a tongue-lashing; and had a mother-daughter night with Liz, a bottle of bourbon, cookie-dough and P.S. I Love You.

Caroline planned Jesse's wake.

She was determined that they honour their friend, her boyfriend, properly: Giulia was in agreement, though the six a.m. calls about the appropriateness of Jesse's favourites - barbecue, sunflowers, Jell-O shots and backyard Twister - at a wake held to honour the noble nature of his death, were not appreciated. Giulia had successfully cured herself on insomnia the moment she became a mother; every moment she got to sleep was precious.

And fiercely-guarded.

Her working-hours were nine-to-five and nothing less than a Friend Emergency could force Giulia to palm off her responsibilities as a mother to Enzo; dead boyfriends definitely made the cut, but she put her foot down. She devoted an hour to Caroline every night after they finished up at the office, but her first priority, always, was Zita, who didn't really understand what death was yet.

She misunderstood Giulia's explanation of death and heaven: She thought Jesse had gone to Devon. It had made Caroline laugh; and then cry.

The best balm to heal all wounds was a cuddle with Zita: She had lived in Caroline's lap the last week, and was happy to be there, what with constant trips to the scrapbooking store for stickers, baking up a storm in the kitchen with Caroline, watching their favourite Disney movies on repeat and going to the public pool, or riding their bicycles down Main Street for ice-cream at the historic Meadowlark Dairy drive-thru; Caroline let Zita climb into bed and cuddle with her, something Giulia didn't allow unless she was ill. They watched Royal Opera House ballets on DVD and ate pretty smoothie-bowls for breakfast.

"…mine was yellow," Zita told her delightedly. "It had…mangoes and banana…and - Aunt Caroline, what made my smoothie yellow?"

"Yours had passion-fruit and almonds and dragon-fruit -" There was a soft, horrified gasp.

"I ate Toothless?"

"No, honey, it's the name of a fruit, you didn't eat Toothless," Giulia told her, and she heard Caroline murmur reassurances on the other end of the phone.

"- and today I had oatmeal with strawberries and banana and peanut-butter and blueberries and Aunt Caroline made the mango into a heart! Can you do that?"

"Caroline, you are setting impossibly high standards. You know you can't keep Zita, right?" Giulia asked her friend, when Caroline took the phone back from Zita, who had hurried to strip and dive into one of Caroline's bubble-baths; the bath-bomb, according to Zita, was shimmery pink and gold and had real dried rosebuds in it. She was going to stink when Giulia picked her up in the morning.

"I know, I'm just enjoying being a godmother," Caroline said, sounding happier than she had the last time Giulia had spoken to her. Giulia had agreed to let Caroline have Zita over the weekend, after the memorial wake in the backyard of the home she had shared with Jesse since she and Giulia had decided to start flipping houses and build up their business. After Caroline's first week alone in her home, the pitter-patter of little feet at the crack of dawn was a welcome distraction: Caroline couldn't stand the silence. And she had gone into full meltdown mode at Jesse's stack of unfinished books on his nightstand, even the cap of the toothpaste he always forgot to screw back on, the leftovers in the refrigerator he insisted on keeping, though they never got around to eating them.

The little things that had annoyed Caroline had become the things that she would miss most of all.

Caroline had never dealt with a loss like Jesse's death before. She had been lucky in the majority of her breakups: She was still on good terms with most of her exes, Tyler being the impossibly high-standard for post-breakup friendships she tried to maintain with every other guy she had outgrown. She was lucky that she still had both her parents. Caroline had never lost a loved-one the way most of her friends, unfortunately, had: Giulia had envied her that, for a little while - until she realised that the longer Caroline went without suffering the loss, the harder it would hit the first time she truly experienced it.

She was there now: But she had support. And she had her goddaughter on loan. Putting in some quantity Zita-time.

Without effort, children lived in the moment.

Caroline needed a little of that; to focus entirely on the tiny, extraordinary life she was lucky enough to be part of. She followed Zita's lead, and delighted in it. Giulia would hear all about it later on; Caroline would put together a scrapbook of their little adventures. She always did: It would go on a shelf in the bookcase in Zita's room; sometimes Giulia saw Zita looking through them, cuddling her Monstroctopus and sucking her fingers, gazing at the pictures and trying to reconcile the little girl in the photographs with the one she saw in the mirror. Caroline was devoted to cataloguing Zita's life: Caroline lived vicariously through Giulia as a mother, and treasured every single moment she was privileged to be able to spend with Zita.

Right now, Zita was Caroline's little lifeline. Her reason to get up in the morning, put on her 'paint' as Zita called it, wear a pretty dress and a smile, and try to find something to bring her delight.

Giulia took care of the business until Caroline was ready to face people: The story of Jesse's 'accident' had been disseminated, and so Caroline was given time. Monday-morning, though, she was determined that things would return to business as usual. They had some projects to work on, and they still needed to sit down and discuss Matt.

In the meantime, Giulia shouldered the workload Caroline would usually tackle with her characteristic enthusiasm. She had to take some time out, during the week, and sit down with Rose to discuss the Boarding House during their quarterly meeting to decide what came next.

What with Klaus's return, Elena's accident, Caroline's kidnapping, and the cascade of work that landed on Giulia's shoulders, covering for Caroline's absence, Giulia hadn't made opportunity to sit down with Rose yet. Like a growing majority of people in her life, she was due a long conversation with Rose.

It was always better to approach a War Council with fresh pastries.

She picked up a bakery-box full of still-warm Kouign-amann and some of Ashlyn's finest coffee, knocking on the front-door of the Boarding House out of courtesy before letting herself in, finding Rose working in her father's old study, which now served as the main administration office and reception. The customary classical music radio-station Rose always listened to was piping Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 1 in F Major - one of Zita's favourites. Giulia's ancestress Veronica smiled curiously from above the fireplace, her portrait - a rare Botticelli, personally signed to the model by the artist himself, and, even more rarely still, dated - exquisitely restored: There was no surviving portrait of Carafina to match her sister's. Giulia's great-great-grandmother, Carafina, turned into a vampire in the Papal Court of the 1490s, had apparently defaced her portrait with exquisitely accurate anatomical graffiti.

"I adore that you always still knock before entering. You do remember it's still your house?" Rose teased, glancing up quickly, a smile on her lips. Her pen was busy, and her gentle waves swayed around her shoulders as she glanced back down at her work. Ever since Giulia had decided to turn the Boarding House into something that earned its keep, Rose had found her passion.

"Good afternoon to you, too," Giulia smiled, leaning down to give her friend a kiss on the cheek. "What are we working on?"

Rose wanted to add horses to the Boarding House's expanding list of activities next, cross-country riding routes culminating in gourmet picnics in the most beautiful places around Mystic Falls. Giulia owned a lot of the woodlands; she and Rose had set up a Trust to protect the status of the woods and the natural falls, and dotted about the nature-trails were unusual sculptures and artistic shelters. They did a lot of work with toddlers and children, introducing them to nature and animals and the wildflower walk in early spring was Zita's favourite. Giulia glanced over Rose's shoulder at the paperwork spread across the desk.

"The stud," Rose said, her eyes lighting up.

"Finn?"

"Ha-ha," Rose rolled her eyes.

"Car told me you're both 'totally crushing' on him."

"Yes, well… When I thought they didn't make them like that anymore, I hadn't realised that of course, Finn was made quite a good deal earlier than I'd thought," Rose said, and Giulia smiled guiltily. Rose's crisp English accent and uncanny hazel eyes cut through bullshit easier than a knife.

"It is always accusation with you," Giulia tutted indignantly.

"Because you've usually done something worthy of it!" Rose laughed. "If it's not burning down a university, it's turning an entire coven of witches on its head."

"It was one building, Rose, not the campus, I'm not careless! And that nastiness in the Tremé was purely retaliatory."

"I know," Rose sighed, glancing over at her. "But only the truly naïve would believe you're innocent!"

"I am plenty innocent. Here I am, out of the goodness of my heart, bringing you fresh pastries -"

"Don't think you can bribe your way out of this conversation with a Kouign-amann," Rose said sternly. Giulia smiled winningly and offered Rose the bakery-box, the scent of butter, sugar and pastry decadent and, hopefully, appeasing. Rose raised an eyebrow. "I would like to know how Finn, my best gardener, tireless, uncomplaining, polite, is an Original. Finn, who's outside right now tending to the peonies."

"When is afternoon-tea served? I want to know, just in case - witnesses, you know?" Giulia said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Why do you always let this kind of stuff get sprung on me?"

"Because I'm mischievous? You're five-hundred years old, Rose; I'm trying to keep you spry." Rose stood, and closed the office door. "Aw, come on - Car's already told me off!"

"But you enjoy how much I sound like Professor McGonagall when I berate you," Rose said crisply, and Giulia conceded the fact.

"That is very true. Alright. Shall we role-play -"

"Giulia."

"Yes?" Giulia shrank in her chair.

"Tell me about Finn."

Giulia sighed heavily, offering Rose the pastry box. This time she took one, as Giulia doctored her coffee. "Perhaps I should have told you sooner, I just…wanted to give him a chance."

"A chance at what?"

"At…being seen as more than just an Original," Giulia said quietly. "His family's done him no favours, building on the reputation of their family as sadistic monsters." Rose nodded, agreeing.

"I've never even heard of an Original named Finn," she said, frowning, as she doctored her coffee with brown-sugar from a cut-crystal sugar-bowl she kept on her desk especially, but no milk. With Ashlyn's coffee, they didn't need to adulterate it: Their senses picked out every nuance of flavour. Ashlyn was meticulous with her roasting because of her vampire clientele.

"He's been desiccating for nine centuries," Giulia said, and Rose's eyes widened over her coffee-cup: Ashlyn served her drinks in bone-china or bamboo travel-mugs, never disposables. And when they sat down like this, Rose always transferred their coffees into bone-china cups. They were forced to sit and sip and enjoy, rather than tip the bilge-water Starbucks sold as coffee down their throats for a buzz and a way to get through the morning.

Slowly, Rose lowered her cup, fragrant steam whirling gently in the sunlight beaming through the lead-paned window. Ever since the renovation, things had been moved around: Giulia had stripped the house of most of the junk accumulated over the last century, selling it on at antiques auctions. It all went into the cost of the renovation, which she was still paying off: But it was an investment, and the reason Giulia was sat in the office this afternoon.

"Well…it does explain why he's so quiet…and so industrious," Rose sighed, groaning; she sank back against her chair, eyes closed, remembering not to rub her face because of her fresh makeup. "People have forgotten how to work… Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to associate him with the others," Giulia said honestly. "I thought it was important he learn how to settle in to this time, and learn, and…maybe make friends. Connections, you know?"

"I do," Rose said quietly, grumbling but begrudgingly accepting Giulia's reasoning. "You did the same for me."

"Hardly; I gave you houseroom then left on a summer road-trip, and started university in New York City a week after I got back!" Giulia laughed. "I didn't even come back for Christmas!"

"Well, you arranged for Matthew to move into the Boarding House," Rose said fairly. "Coming here is the best thing that's happened to me in five centuries. I'm glad you didn't stake me that night I appeared."

"Me, too," Giulia grinned. "I'd never have known that god-awful carving was worth so much money!"

"A hundred and fifty-six thousand dollars, and you wanted to turn it into kindling!" Rose chuckled.

"It was hideous though."

"Oh, heinous. There's no accounting for taste," Rose smirked. She sighed. "I really wish you'd mentioned Finn to me, though."

"Well…you know now," Giulia said softly. "And, in fact, you found out at the moment when Finn showed his true character."

"He brought the baby to the house," Rose said quietly, nodding, fiddling with her pen. "He told me to stay inside."

Giulia nodded. "That's Finn," she told her friend. "None of the rest of that…Originals crap the others have put so much time and effort into cultivating - well - Klaus and Rebekah, and Elijah, too, I suppose."

"Klaus and Rebekah always had the reputation for cruelty, and they lived up to it," Rose said softly. She would know. "But Elijah…his character was known throughout the world… His actions have always showed his true character - just like Finn."

Finn was earnest and hardworking, loyal and uncomplaining; he was adjusting, albeit slowly, but he was very much his own man. He didn't seem to have any burning need to learn everything about the modern world he had been drawn into: He enjoyed living simply, wanted to learn what would get him by, but was content. He was very unlike his siblings: Giulia couldn't decide whether that was purely his personality, or in combination with not having suffered nine-hundred years' abuse at his brother's hands, denied everything he had ever treasured.

"I… I really hope that finding out who his family is doesn't affect…his place here," Giulia said quietly. And she meant it.

Rose's smile had a bittersweet edge. "I'm not going to punish Finn for his family, Giulia… He's earned a place here. I'd be very sorry to lose him…" Giulia narrowed her eyes at Rose, who lifted her pretty hazel ones, and gave her a hesitant smile. "I'd… Before I found out, I'd been considering asking Finn out for a drink."

"Really?" Giulia beamed. Rose shrugged slightly.

"He's just…calm and generous," Rose said warmly. She cleared her throat. "I hadn't considered a relationship with anyone in centuries, what with running… And there's the obvious drawback, you know - the big bad secret."

"But you're both vampires…"

Rose's smile was a little more sweet than bitter now; it glowed from her eyes. "I'd always thought myself a sucker for the bad-boys, but Finn…he just has this way about him."

"I know," Giulia smiled warmly; because she did. Zita had instantly bonded with Finn, sensing what few others did, innate gentleness, patience, an understated charisma - an understated personality that would have been lost, underappreciated in a sprawling family full of very forceful characters. Gentleness, patience, earnestness and a hard-working nature were often taken for granted - or more often than not, taken advantage of. Finn wasn't naturally dominant, the way Willem and Elijah were; he didn't throw tantrums to make sure he was the centre of attention, to make sure he got his way, like Klaus; and he was naturally shy about his own sexual attractiveness - as if some girl had gotten her claws in him young and rendered a lot of damage.

Given that his past was tangled up in a love-triangle with the human slave-girl each doppelgänger resembled, she could say with certainty that Finn had been wounded by a confident girl who didn't understand his sensitive nature - and, likelier still, it had been Klaus who aimed the barbed words to hit the mark. Klaus had been in sexual lust, possessive over Tatia, lauding his conquest of her - a slave-girl any man was free to have whenever they wanted, as was their law - over Finn, who had truly loved Tatia, in his gentle, earnest way.

History may have been different if Tatia had been wise enough to see Finn's love for what it was; and to never look twice at the narcissistic Klaus, who took her simply because his brother coveted her from afar, too shy to approach her.

Elijah had once told Giulia that Tatia had been afraid of the kind of love Finn represented, a terrifying, earnest, enduring love she had never experienced.

"Are you still going to ask him?" Giulia asked curiously.

"I don't know," Rose admitted.

"Finn is not his family," Giulia said gently.

"We both know family is a curious, dangerous thing…family has a life of its own," Rose sighed. She had lost her only family, the vampire Trevor she had spent five centuries running with. Without an anchor, without anything in the world, she had come to Mystic Falls to offer her help to the Salvatores, offering her knowledge to help try and protect the very girl she had, hours before, used as leverage for her freedom: Rose had lost Trevor, but she had built a new family. She had met and mentored Matt, as the mother, older-sister, best-friend, tutor, care-giver he had always deserved and never had: She had a funny relationship with Damon that was neither friends-with-benefits nor siblings, but something in between once the allure of a new sexual relationship gentled into something else, something richer, and infinitely more satisfying. She and Enzo liked to wander the gardens talking Renaissance poetry and gardens and philosophy in the starlight, and play Wei Qi when Giulia wasn't around to anticipate every move and ruin the game.

Rose had built a family.

And family was a complicated thing.

Whether or not he was like them, and whether or not they remembered he was, Finn was still part of the Original family.

"The longer he remains near them, the more he will become like them," Rose sighed softly. "We can't help it; we take on the characteristics of those we are closest to."

"It's his choice if he stays near them," Giulia said. "I thought you said you weren't going to punish him for his family."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "I - I did."

"But you're losing out on the chance of something that might be…extraordinary, because of them," Giulia pointed out. "You're depriving yourself of something you want, because of them; and haven't they taken enough from you already?" Rose sighed, nodding, sipping her coffee, gazing at a rare photograph of Trevor that showed him relaxed, smiling. Giulia hadn't known him, she had just admired his library, curated over centuries. He had helped Giulia with several of her dissertations by default: His library was now permanently homed in the Boarding House, which delighted Rose. If Trevor couldn't have freedom and lasting peace, at least his books had found a home where they were suitably cherished, their worth appreciated.

"I'll think about it," Rose said, not promising anything; Giulia raised her eyebrow at Rose. She repeated, "I'll think about it."

"Don't think about it. Do it! Let me date vicariously through you," Giulia smiled, thinking of Finn, and, with a pang, Fabian - only made more complicated by a second pinch, that of the tears in Elijah's eyes when he had held her face in his hands…the tiny little stamp kiss he had given her after the lingering kiss in the garden…

"Well, I have to ask him first - and he has to say yes!"

"Why wouldn't he?" Giulia asked, bewildered that Rose might think Finn was an idiot not to say yes. "He's so patient and gentle…makes you wonder how intense a lover he'd be." Rose choked on her coffee. Giulia would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it. Rose's eyes glittered. "You'll tell me every single scintillating detail, won't you?"

"I'll call you during the cigarette," Rose teased, and Giulia grinned.

"We were actually talking business before you took a lewd turn," she reminded Rose, feigning innocence, and Rose chuckled as she handed Giulia some folders.

"We took a look at the numbers last week; this year's wedding-season will put us in the clear."

"We've paid it all off already?" Giulia blinked, stunned. It had taken the better part of three years to complete the renovation, from basement to attics, stables to gardens and outbuildings.

"The heinous carving went a long way to settling some of the expenses for the renovation," Rose said, smiling. She had managed the entire renovation, drawing on five centuries of experience. Every antique had been valued, and then valued again, and sold at auction in New York City to international collectors: Giulia had unwittingly owned an Aladdin's cave of treasures that made her lightheaded to think of the value - and the way Giulia and her dad had neglected them over the years. A few things had needed restoring; but the mid-Victorian mechanical bird that sang still delighted her. It lived in Zita's bedroom, entrancing her since she was a toddler.

"You're joking."

"I'm not. Everything we've done the last five years has been worth the time and investment to turn this place into a destination venue. The spa treatments; the weddings; the restaurant," Rose smiled. "We did it!"

"You did it. This was all you. I had the idea; I left you to get on with it," Giulia said earnestly.

"Well, I appreciate your trust in me," Rose said warmly. The Boarding House was the first home Rose had had in over five centuries. She had gained a purpose, but also a family: She had Giulia and Zita, Enzo - and Matt. The surrogate son and best-friend and brother she had adopted as her own, and taken care of. Giulia had left Mystic Falls, but she had offered Matt rent-free houseroom; Rose hadn't wanted to go anywhere, enjoying the small-town atmosphere of Mystic Falls, nestled in the heart of the countryside. After Damon had left with Lexi, Matt and Rose had been left to themselves, and become a family: Rose had helped Matt graduate high-school and gain a scholarship. And she had turned the Boarding House into a flourishing business, after overseeing a complete renovation.

Giulia opened the folders and started flicking through the pages, absorbing the information laid out in charts and lists of figures. The spa had been profitable since the day it opened; Carol Lockwood had given them huge kudos to her extended social contacts, and there had rarely been a week they weren't booked up for day-spa treatments, or treatments with a gourmet lunch. Rose had put together three different packages for weddings, unless someone was willing to pay for a completely unique experience; and for corporate entertaining throughout the year, their packages could be tailored. Pampering weekends and afternoon-teas lush with cocktails were a favourite for elegant bachelorette parties; and Rose's traditional English Sunday-afternoon roast-dinners were becoming legend, especially during hunting season when large groups booked in after all day in the cold. The restaurant had always been profitable: Extraordinary food offered at shockingly decent prices, organic and locally-produced, they had a reputation for beautiful food, seasonal menus that varied, and a warm, welcoming atmosphere, an excellent bar, and sumptuous desserts.

"What are you going to do for the next ten years?" Giulia asked, half-teasing. Rose had put so much work into getting the Boarding House renovated, and up and running as a business, she had neared Giulia's level of obsession.

"Maintain standards," Rose smiled warmly.

"You still want the horses?"

"Horses, goats, bees."

"Goat curry would be nice."

"Goats to make cheese!" Rose clarified, laughing, and Giulia shrugged.

"Are you still keen on a dairy?"

"Yes, but not too large; guests would complain about the smell," Rose said, and Giulia agreed. "But it would be lovely to make our own clotted cream… I've even thought about introducing a small flock of merinos."

"Sheep? Why?"

"The wool, of course," Rose said softly. "I was spinning at my mother's knee, now that I have somewhere to call home, I'd…like to touch back to my roots. Organic merino wool."

"You want to do more with those natural dyes you got Bonnie hooked on, don't you?" Giulia said shrewdly. After Bonnie had been stripped of her powers by Sheila, still suffering the repercussions of what had happened in New Orleans, Rose had helped Bonnie heal from her PTSD by nurturing her continued love of nature: They went on long hikes together, collecting plants and flowers, which Rose had then taught Bonnie how to turn into natural, organic dyes, appealing to Bonnie's bohemian Earth-goddess sensibilities. Rose had taught Bonnie pattern-making and sewing: Throughout her fertility troubles, Bonnie had developed her own children's clothing line, turning her pain into something beautiful.

"It's something Bonnie's been talking about looking into - yarn," Rose said.

"Merinos are the Aston Martins of the sheep-world," Giulia said thoughtfully. "Could they thrive here?"

"I'm sure there's a strain of the breed that has been adapted to the kind of climate we have here in Virginia - they live out in the Australian desert predominantly!" Rose chuckled.

"I'd say it's a lot of work…for now it'd be more cost-effective to buy in the untreated merino wool," Giulia said softly, and Rose nodded.

"That was my thinking, too," she sighed. "I've been doing some research - with everything we're doing here, with First Chance and the cooking school idea… It's something to think about maybe, in a few decades."

"It would add an interesting dimension to the Farmyard; teaching kids about natural textiles, handmade, slow fashion," Giulia said, a spark of excitement glowing. "It's definitely more of a long-term idea, but I love it; I just don't know that we'd have the manpower - or the expertise… But once we exhaust the destination-venue aspect of the Boarding House, diversifying what we do with the estate would be a wise option."

"I agree," Rose nodded. In 'olden times' Rose would have been called Giulia's Agent: The manager of her estate. Giulia could tell Rose had, several times over the centuries, been the head of sprawling households, in some capacity or another. She knew exactly how to manage people; and had spent so long thinking about what she would do when she had opportunity to settle down, that when presented with the opportunity by Giulia, she had leapt at it. She had not let either of them down.

"Well, you know what I say: You do the research, I'll write the cheque," Giulia said, and Rose chuckled. "Even if you don't ask him out for a drink, I'd ask Finn about the bees. Organic local honey would be amazing for the kitchens. Finn looks after the hives at the Farmyard; he's been making mead. Old-school knocks-Giulia-on-her-ass-after-two-cups Viking mead."

"Wow!" Rose raised her eyebrows. "Is there anything he can't do?"

"Well, you'll have to experiment and tell me. In toe-curling detail."

At Giulia's suggestive grin, Rose buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.

She was still chuckling to herself as she drove to Sheila's house; they were due a game of mah-jong and a conversation about the witch-house. Now that the Originals had come out of the coffin, now that they were all on the same page, now that they were all considering their next moves, Giulia thought it prudent to whisper a reminder in their ears that the witch-house was not theirs. And Giulia had promised it to another, more long-term arrangement.

Sheila greeted her on the porch with a smile; they ducked into the air-conditioning, Sheila poured sweet-tea, offered Giulia a peach from the tree groaning in the backyard, and they sat down to a game of mah-jong, discussing Bonnie's impending birth, the Originals, and the gossip from Sheila's bridge girls.

And anything Sheila may have heard from her friends in New Orleans.

Giulia was curious why Marcel Gerard had propositioned her to move to New Orleans to rebuild parts of the city he had acquired. She was curious why Tyler had seen fewer familiar faces; and why the witches, who were notoriously secretive, were even more squirrelly than usual.

She had a reputation outside of Mystic Falls; Marcel wasn't ignorant of it. But Françoise- Amélie had left the city of her own volition, deciding never to return: Over two centuries, Françoise had watched New Orleans become unrecognisable. She had no longer felt it was her home; so she had left. She had left it to Marcel, 'breaking the wheel', putting an end to their game - a game of thrones, of sorts: They had alternated decades as head of the supernatural community of the city, giving each other a well-earned vacation each time they ousted the other, the civil war that erupted each time culling the growing population of vampires. Checks and balances.

"Nothin' out of the ordinary, baby," Sheila told her, though her expression dripped with irony, "though I never get the good stuff until the party's over."

"Have you told anyone what you saw on Fourth of July?"

"Did I, ever!" Sheila clicked her tongue. "I put that on the WhatsApp group. A few of the girls in N'awlins heard there'd been some nastiness with the werewolves out in the bayou; wisely they kept well shot of it for a good while until they started hearing of nasty murders up north. Apparently a tall drink of water with cheekbones to cut diamonds asked a favour…"

"Yeah, that's…ancient history," Giulia sighed, setting down some tiles. "I was hoping for something more recent. Your hand is dead, Sheila."

"My aching butt!" Sheila swore resignedly.

"I'd wondered where Penelope had picked that up!" Giulia chuckled.

"Don't tell Bonnie. Baby's sitting on her lungs, making her out-of-breath and all kinds of miserable," Sheila warned.

"Noted," Giulia said. "Not long now."

"Not long," Sheila agreed. They were all waiting with baited breath for Bonnie's due-date. They all wanted to meet her little rainbow baby. They just…weren't letting themselves get too excited; neither was Bonnie. And her agitation had a lot to do with her being frightened: Giulia, the only one of Bonnie's friends who had both given birth and could talk about it in a healthy way, was the sounding-board for a lot of Bonnie's anxious outbursts. Her phone-calls were becoming more frequent as she neared her due-date, frightened for what was to come, and frightened for what they all dreaded might - shouldn't - happen again. Bonnie was taking every precaution: But then, she had before. "Did hear something… The Vieux Carré coven, some of the girls I know, they've dropped off the communications - the annual Beltane celebration was cancelled."

"That's news," Giulia stared. Beltane was big among the New Orleans covens, especially with the Vieux Carré coven, who shared a rich pagan heritage drenched in curious ancestral magic traditions. There wasn't a holiday in the pagan, Christian or occult lunar calendars that the witches of New Orleans didn't find an excuse to celebrate without some form of revelry. "Why?"

"By order of the King," Sheila said, giving Giulia a look. She frowned.

"Marcel? He's usually been duly respectful of the power witches could exert over vampires, if they chose to," Giulia said softly. There were nine covens in New Orleans, all with their own rich and complicated cultures, their members and their spells kept secret, their traditions passed through the generations - it had been Giulia's privilege to gain access to them, limited though it still was; she had earned the respect of some of the most hard-core witches when she did what others had been afraid to, and handled a breakaway coven of despots who went down the rabbit-hole of Dark magic in a bad way - and tried to drag Bonnie down with them. They had promised her salvation for the cancer Sheila was treating with medicine; they had wanted the magic bonded to Bonnie, the hundred dead witches she could channel at will.

Sheila had called in a favour with Giulia, who had been studying in London: Giulia had descended upon New Orleans, and cleaned up the mess Bonnie had made, in her grief and her terror at potentially losing Grams. They had almost lost Bonnie: She was still reeling from what had happened in that city. Often, Bonnie thought her miscarriages and stillbirths were penance for what she had done then.

The little coven that had threatened the lives of so many in New Orleans had been dealt with: Giulia had the respect of the community, however reluctantly, however much they distrusted her as an outsider, and as a woman with a reputation for pulling strings and making things happen.

Giulia had chosen New Orleans to live while she worked on her Psychology PhD, rich with culture - and vibrant with the occult. She had immersed herself in a supernatural community - the first she had ever experienced - with Marcel their respectful, enigmatic leader.

She knew how New Orleans worked: She knew what made Marcel Gerard tick.

In a lot of ways, he had reminded her of Elijah: When he'd asked her out, she had respectfully declined, telling Marcel exactly why.

She still didn't know if Marcel was more proud or insulted that she saw a lot of Elijah in him. Families…

"Well, that's interesting," Giulia said, sighing heavily. "Marcel always loved the witches' celebrations. Marcel's crew give the phrase 'tourist trap' new meaning."

"Makes the city rich," Sheila shrugged delicately. "Can't begrudge anyone trying to make their way in a world that's determined to knock 'em on their asses."

"You have to admire the way Marcel runs things," Giulia said thoughtfully. "Very little collateral damage; he doesn't like waste. Or undue attention; and he always avoided conflict - though he is a born showman. Very charismatic man. I wonder what crawled up his butt."

"Something big. Somethin' bad," Sheila sighed. "Those Vieux Carré witches were an old-school Ancestral Magic coven. And they lived right on Marcel's doorstep - they're not to be trifled with."

"I remember them. Some of them," Giulia admitted. She had spent more time in the Tremé. "I do have a friend in the Quarter, Katie. She's sweet. Really pretty; likes belligerent guys."

"A lid for every pot… Might be a thought to ask pretty Katie what's going on down in N'awlins," Sheila drawled, three juleps deep, and losing spectacularly at mah-jong. The tiles were mostly for show, now; Giulia refreshed Sheila's drink, and they chatted about New Orleans witches they both knew of through mutual acquaintances - some witches Sheila hadn't heard from in a while. Long enough to unnerve her. Everyone knew the Bennett family - mostly because of Sheila, a highly-respected professor of the Occult who travelled the world teaching and giving lectures, filling obscure bookshelves in specialised bookstores with her staggering works. Giulia had every single publication; and had built most of her dissertations on the foundations of what Sheila had taught her. Bonnie was the younger, notorious Bennett witch who, for her own safety, and for the safety of others, had had her magic stripped away.

Giulia frowned, hearing a crackling noise; she glanced over her shoulder, investigating the noise, and jumped out of her seat at the glowing coming from outside the house. Sheila set down her julep, looking suddenly more sober; Giulia stalked to the front-door, flinging it open and glaring. Anyone who might've been stood on the porch in that moment may have been turned to salt, so dangerous was the look on her face.

Because Sheila's lawn was on fire.

A stake, four feet tall, had been impaled in the centre of the pristine emerald lawn: Sheila's flowerbeds were the envy of the neighbourhood. In the centre of them, now, crackling and spitting and popping, something had been nailed to the stake before it was set alight.

It was a symbol. An ancient rune of indeterminate, possibly Germanic origins, and thought to be connected with ancient wolf-traps, the rune believed to ward off wolves.

The wolfsangel.

Giulia had seen it recently, burned into Bill Forbes' chest.

It was the symbol of the Order.

A symbol to inspire terror in witches and werewolves and vampires, creatures subservient to Nature and beholden to its laws, or abominations of them. The Order believed werewolves endured divine punishment for their crimes, had had a long history of policing renegade werewolves who grew to like the taste of human blood long before the first vampires became known to the world… The Order believed that witches must be held accountable to Nature - and to each other.

They took disloyalty seriously, and were forbidden from killing another witch as fellow servants of Nature - that didn't mean the human or even werewolf members of the Order committed to the cause couldn't kill them. The Order tracked and punished those witches who abused their powers - or used them to help werewolves escape their fates, their punishments…

And especially, the Order loathed those witches who gave aid to vampires.

Every single vampire in Mystic Falls wore a daylight ring; Giulia had commissioned Sheila to create hecatolite rings for Mason, Hayley and Tyler.

In their minds, Mystic Falls was a cesspool of everything the Order fought against.

The wolfsangel burned merrily on the lawn. Sheila looked grim, and sober, and Giulia frowned at the rune, lifting her nose to scent the air - whoever it was had magically concealed their scent: She could get nothing. Not even Willem could.

"Shouldn't this be burned into my lawn?" Giulia asked thoughtfully, pointing a finger delicately at the mess burning and spitting embers into Sheila's neat lawn.

"They get bold and stupid enough to show their faces, I'll be sure and send them over to your house," Sheila said grimly.

"I'll be waiting," Giulia promised, mesmerised by the fire. "You wouldn't happen to have a fire extinguisher?" Sheila sighed, closed her eyes, and then her palms very slowly and consciously. The fire extinguished, with barely a wisp of smoke carrying on the breeze. Giulia stared at the void where once beautiful, entrancing flames had danced. Replaced by hissing, creaking wood charred to coal. "Oh."

"Not exactly a good omen," Sheila sighed, glancing at Giulia with a question in her dark, shrewd eyes; she knew a little more about what Giulia had been up to the last decade, more than Caroline would ever dream. Not enough to put Sheila in danger, and Sheila…believed in what Giulia was doing. She had her own reasons, and Sheila kept them to herself; Giulia respected her privacy, but suspected it had everything to do with the fate of her uncle, Joshua Salvatore.

Decent witches were few and far between, and ones with an unbreakable backbone were even rarer: Giulia protected and respected Sheila.

Giulia had infiltrated and then used the Order to dismantle the empire of vampire enemies Klaus had built over a millennium. She had let them go at each other until all that remained was a handful of stubborn vampires and the last, most desperate, most devout of the Order's followers.

The most dangerous: They had nothing to lose.

They had already broken or abandoned anything that might have once meant more than the mission.

Like Bill Forbes. In his zealousness, he had lost the respect of the one person who could have been his greatest ally; Caroline had adored her father. Had he come to her, simply requesting her help…there was nothing Caroline wouldn't have done for her daddy. It wouldn't have mattered, until it was too late, that what he might have asked her to do had ramifications beyond her understanding. Caroline would have helped her dad.

And that was the problem with zealots: They were not wise.

Fools made more dangerous enemies than geniuses. A mastermind, Giulia could anticipate, and would enjoy thwarting: A fool was unpredictable, especially one driven by divine purpose.

"Definitely not a good omen."

Removing the daggers from the Originals would have sent ripples throughout the supernatural world: All magic left traces. It created ripples in the fabric of the world.

The Original family was akin to a tsunami.

Sheila glanced at Giulia. "Don't you dare tell Bonnie about this. I don't want her worryin' about anything but herself and Baby."

"Agreed," Giulia nodded.

Sheila sighed heavily, staring at the smoking wolfsangel.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Sheila," Giulia said softly, knowing she couldn't keep such a promise - but it felt good to say it; to mean it.

Sheila's smile said she knew Giulia's promise was heartfelt but ultimately, couldn't be upheld. Because Giulia was neither omniscient nor all-powerful: "Baby, I was barely a teenager an' up to my eyeballs in civil rights rallies; my auntie was murdered by the Klan; and my granddaddy survived a lynchin' using old-school voodoo… These fools have no idea who they're taking on. You just make sure my grandbaby and her babies are okay."

"Yes, Miss Sheila."

The knock on the door was gentle, but her heart-rate spiked; she pulled off her reading-glasses, automatically reaching for her phone. It was at the back of her mind to call Giulia…and then she remembered, she was a witch!

She had become accustomed to having things dealt with on behalf of the people she had once protected in secret; Sheila gave lapis lazuli and hecatolite rings in gratitude to Giulia, who shouldered the greatest burdens.

But all she had told Giulia the other night was true; she had experienced more than most would believe.

She may be a kooky, more-than-slightly sozzled semi-retired professor of the Occult but Sheila was more than capable of doing some deadly witchcraft if the occasion called for it.

Sheila lowered her laptop screen, turned on the porch light, and opened the door.

Shock may have killed her, if she wasn't so used to it.

Twenty-five years.

Her daughter stood smiling gently on her porch, as if the last twenty-five years hadn't passed, as if she had come to pick up toddler Bonnie after a rare date-night.

"Abigail."

"Hi, Mom. You look surprised. Didn't you get my message?"

A.N.: I miss Sheila. I miss Jenna and Sheila and even Carol and who else wept ugly, ugly tears when Liz died? I miss the decent, earnest people who were the moral backbones of the show, the adults. And Sheila was a strong, vulnerable woman who was educated and passionate and kind.

I hope you enjoyed the update; it may be a while before I upload another chapter.