A/N- Here we are. Thank-you everyone who has taken the time to read this story.

Caroline has- unfortunately- been kidnapped enough times that she's barely even regained consciousness before her instincts kick in and she's leaping to her feet, lunging furiously towards the first beating heart she can hear pumping in a human chest.

She has the body surrounding this vital organ dangling in the air and is squeezing the life out of them before she can gain enough of a grip on herself that she realizes that she isn't killing Vincent the witch.

But Jessie, her old friends-with-benefits guy.

She's so surprised and confused to see him several states away from where she broke up with him that she automatically releases him and he drops to the floor, gasping as he clutches his bruised throat. She looks behind him and sees the door to her dorm room, somehow she'd ended up back here and, in spite of everything, feels a measure of safety.

This is her turf.

Another throat clears itself pointedly and Caroline turns around to see a slightly familiar woman brandishing a gun,

"This the guy you're looking for?" she asks drily in British accented tones, pointing down to where Vincent knelt, bound and gagged with a droplet of blood slowly making its way from his temple down to his chin.

Caroline gives herself a moment to withdraw her fangs and let her eyes clear of blood before she nods,

"Yeah and um…thanks for rescuing me and all, but who the hell are you two? And I mean really."

"We were following you," she explains, "And who we are is a long conversation that we can circle back to later, for now…" she holds the gun in front of Vincent's eyes, "See this? I know how to use it and I've killed way too many people with one to have any second thoughts about splattering your brains across the room. Caroline here," she waves to her with her free hand, "Can easily compel anyone who comes to the door asking what they heard. Talk or die."

His eyes go wide with fear before resignation sinks on his shoulders and he nods, waiting patiently as the woman tugs the gag out of his mouth, he breathes deep and swallows a few times before speaking, "I don't feel too good," he murmurs and the woman nods,

"Good, I gave you a concussion, figured you can't do magic if you can barely think straight."

Caroline is impressed by this woman's logic but doesn't say anything because she doesn't want to distract anyone or give Vincent the chance to come up with a lie,

"Why have you been following Caroline?" the woman asks, as Jesse scrambles to his feet and puts some distance between him and her.

"Because I was ordered to," he confesses and Caroline has a moment of panic that Klaus had been having her tailed before he continues,

"Sabine Laurent is working with the Guerrera cartel and had my wife killed, she's blocking her spirit from resurrection and I could only get her back if I did what she said."

Sabine Laurent?

Caroline has a vague image of the woman in her mind but having met so many people since coming to New Orleans, can't immediately place her.

"What did she say?" Jesse asks, massaging his throat and Caroline starts in shock when she hears him speaking with a British accent. She turns on him but he mouths the word 'Later' to her and she focuses her attention back on Vincent.

"At first, she wanted me to seduce Caroline," he grimaces apologetically at her, "She uh…she had me put a love potion in your drink at the masquerade party but you just went home with Klaus. I also had to put sedatives in the champagne at the Bourbon St Manor so that you or Katherine could be spelled while everyone was asleep but someone- another witch- has been blocking us for months."

He swallows nervously and continues, "She…she said me that if you didn't sleep with me willingly that I should uh…well…" he trails off with a nervous cough and Caroline can hear her heart pounding in her chest and she struggles to control herself.

"Seriously?!" she snaps, "You were trying to destroy my relationship with Klaus and thought that would work?"

"And by the way," she adds, not giving him the chance to answer, "Didn't you guys learn anything from the last time you crossed the Mikaelson's? Wasn't like, almost every damn witch that wasn't killed, exiled from this city?"

"And then some," Vincent agrees, "Which is why Sabine started working with Francesca, she reckons that she can take down the Mikaelson's and set herself up as head of the witch covens across the entire city, and she make herself as powerful as any witch alive right now."

Caroline lets her disgust show in her eyes, "So that's why you attacked me?" she demanded, "If these two hadn't interrupted, would you have…"

"No," he interrupts, "I would have told Sabine that I had but I wouldn't have, all I really had to do was keep you locked up somewhere until tomorrow morning."

"Why?" Jesse demands, "What's happening tonight?"

Vincent shrugs, "I don't know but I'm betting that whatever the master plan is, it's scheduled to go down tonight."

Caroline pulls out her phone, "Okay, I need to call Klaus now!"

Jesse reaches out and takes her hand, stilling it on her phone, "First, we need to take you to our leader…and yes, I realize how corny that sounds, but if you're going to tell Klaus what's going on, he's going to need the whole story."

Caroline's instincts tell her to call her boyfriend immediately, but she remembers that he subscribes to the 'Kill first, questions later if convenient' and if he came now, he'd probably be elbow deep in the intestines of seventy-five percent of the room's occupants before Caroline could figure out what was really going on.

"Fine," she tells him, checking her watch, "You have two hours to tell me everything and then I'm calling him."

The sun was just beginning to set when Elijah found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror in the Bourbon St Manor. His fingers deftly turning the silk tie between his fingers into a perfect Windsor knot before sliding it into place around the collar of his shirt.

It felt strangely like a noose.

Swallowing, he risks a glance upwards and studies his reflection.

If he doesn't look too closely, he has the same face that he has worn for nine hundred years.

But when he looks closer, he cannot recognize himself.

Who is this pale being, with heavily lined eyes, stubble across his jaw, and grey strands in his hair that weren't there nine hundred years ago.

And why can't he breathe?

With a sigh, he pulls his suit jacket into place and wishes that it wasn't one of last season's outfits.

However, all his new suits are at Le Coeur Jardin and he hasn't been able to bring himself to cross the threshold of that apartment since…

The rooms still carry the scent of damask roses.

He can hear Sabine waiting three feet from her front door when he arrives at her apartment, her breathing patterns betray her excitement and he feels foolish and embarrassed on her behalf.

He knocks on the door and it swings open so quickly that he wonders if she used her hand or her magic.

She has a wide smile on her face and a white dress that wouldn't have been out of place two hundred years ago when his family last called New Orleans home.

He matches her smile and kisses her cheek in greeting.

She is wearing a perfume that is no doubt expensive but smells only of alcohol to him.

They maintain pleasant chatter on their way to the restaurant, her arm wrapped tightly in his as she navigates the path in what must be new high heels.

He'd made a reservation but despite his preference for dining in the back gardens, or the corners away from the busier areas, they find themselves seated in the very center of the restaurant, with all eyes upon them as they're handed a wine list twice the size of the menus.

And Sabine is perfectly fine.

She is overly polite to the staff; she peruses the wine list instead of barely glancing at it before ordering the most expensive glass available. She asks questions about the food and discusses options with him instead of choosing her meal and then tapping her finger impatiently while he chooses his. She doesn't roll her eyes when their appetizers take longer than five minutes to arrive. She doesn't check the restaurant for wifi, or rub his leg with her foot while pretending to be admiring the building's interior. She doesn't people watch and make snarky comments about those around them.

She is not Katherine.

He finds himself becoming irritable at that knowledge. This well-behaved, lovely woman is not spoilt, she isn't dressed to attract attention, her every move isn't calibrated for seduction and she doesn't look at him as if she already has the evening planned out and he is expected to simply go along with it.

She is not his fiancée- ex-fiancée, - and that should be a good thing.

So why can't he breathe?

When she is in the bathroom, he pretends for a moment that he is Kol and moves to the bar and orders three shots of whatever the bartender had in his hand.

It turned out to be jager.

Cheap jager.

It somewhat takes the edge off, at least enough for him to stop seeing imaginary brunette curls in his peripheral vision.

By eleven, they are wandering down Conti St, as he had done with Katerina for her very first morning in New Orleans and he wonders if he heads to Woldenberg Park if he will find her standing by the Mississippi, glaring into its watery depths as if it personally is to blame for not being the Tundzha river in Bulgaria.

It had always been a form of retreat for her, a place for her to find comfort and lose herself in memories until she could bare facing the world again.

He finds himself unable to take another step in that direction and instead, tries to subtly direct Sabine back to Bourbon St, to a bar where he can drink until the scent of damask roses, the click of high heels and the scrape of tight denim no longer haunts him.

They are walking through one of the many graffiti-covered, litter-strewn alleyways when she suddenly turns and kisses him.

He is surprised and automatically kisses her back, noting that there is a strange familiarity in the way her teeth graze his lips and her hand rests on his upper left arm.

She presses closer but he finds himself stepping away, breaking the kiss as gently as he can.

"Forgive me," he smiles, finding himself breathless, "I…I can't…"

He isn't entirely sure what he can't do, can't kiss her, can't be romantically involved, can't even?

He simply knows that this doesn't feel right and that there isn't enough air in the alleyway for him to breathe.

Sabine is looking at him in confusion before her eyes alight on the line in his shirt and she steps forward with such determination that he nearly backs up into the wall.

She presses her hand on his chest and feels the lump against her palm, determining what it is all-too-easily.

He had broken skin when he'd ripped his engagement ring off his finger, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to throw it away.

His hand had been clenched over the trash can but he couldn't force it open.

Something instinctual had told him to keep the ring close, and it had brought him a feeling of protection.

"What is it about her?" Sabine demands, "What virtue does she have that makes you love her even now?"

Her language has changed, become formalized in a way that is close to his but that he hasn't heard in some time.

In the moment, he brushes it off in favor of managing a woeful smile,

"Katerina is selfish," he begins, "Impulsive, spoilt, impatient, challenging…" he trails off,

"She does have virtues also, but it is for her vices that I love her and even now…" he breaths out and inhales deeply, feeling his chest ease as the air inflates his lungs,

"She still holds my heart in her greedy, French manicured and paraffin waxed hands."

He takes her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the knuckles, noting a ring that seems familiar to him but brushing it from his mind,

"Forgive me," he murmurs, truly meaning the apology, "I wish matters were different from what they are."

Her eyes are bright and hard as diamonds, "I don't."

He knows that it is far from gentlemanly to leave her in that alleyway, but the witches of New Orleans were safe within the French Quarter, so he begins walking away, his steps slow but firm and he doesn't falter until he catching the hint of a whisper on the air.

On the wind.

The wind that wasn't caused by nature but by magic.

His vision swims in front of him and he spins around quickly, hissing and lunging towards the witch, intending to stop the words falling from her lips except that his legs give out beneath him and he drops to his knees in that filthy alleyway.

Elijah claws at his throat, his nails raking at the skin and the chain holding his engagement ring breaks and it slips down his chest to the waistline of his pants.

Blood stains his shirt, pieces of torn flesh stick under his nails and flop against the starched collar.

He can't breathe.

He is suffocating!

Spots are dancing before his eyes, he is losing consciousness but before he does, a revelation flashes through him and he can gasp the true name of the witch cursing him.

"Celeste."

From: Katherine Piece 'Sorry, Father K, send the cleaning bill to Elijah'

When Father Kieran had received that text from Katherine Pierce, he had put down his dinner and hurried to St Anne's Church to find that he was already too late.

"Please tell me that this isn't human blood." he begs with a despondent sigh as he looks down at the magical mark that was staining the floor of his church.

The pews had been pushed out of the way and the altar cloth removed and he tries to calculate how long it would take him to clean all this up.

Because if there is one thing he knows about supernatural creatures, it's that they don't clean up after themselves, no matter what kind of mess they make- be it emotional, magical or physical.

Katherine Pierce, looking as immaculately put-together and seductive as ever, despite the bruising just visible under her make-up throws him the wicked grin he knows all-too-well,

"Shouldn't you love all of God's creatures equally?" she asks with feigned curiosity and he sits down in one of the available pews,

"Yes, but dead animals are a lot easier to cover up then dead humans." He explains, "And I'm afraid to ask but I'm going to do it anyway, what the hell are you doing?"

"Magic," she explains with a smirk, "More to the point, very old magic."

He studies the ingredients, seeing what he could unfortunately recognize as bones that had been ground into dust, "Dark magic?"

She shakes her head, "No, but it's hard to explain, it's often misunderstood as evil because it can't be applied to the balance of nature understood by most schools of witchcraft today."

That doesn't sound promising and Kieran has the idea in his head that he's slowly being pulled into whatever supernatural calamity was fast approaching New Orleans like a hurricane.

"Promise me that this isn't a spell to harm people." He demands and she offers him a tender smile, reaching down to stroke his cheek,

"I swear on the mass grave I will put my enemies in."

Wonderful.

So he could pretty much chalk that answer up to a yes.

Another woman comes in from a side door, carrying a burning torch and he shoots Katherine a warning look but she ignores him.

Her eyes are burning bright and the excitement is etched into her face, he knows that if he tried to stop her now she could quite easily kill him and feel little remorse later.

Katherine Pierce was the very image of beauty and the very soul of deadliness.

Worse, Kieran suspected that she had been forced onto a path of vengeance and once the first step was taken, it was awfully hard not to go all the way.

And he wouldn't be able to draw her back from damnation. Not with the very little time that he had and not when her enemies were the same as the ones who had killed his beloved nephew.

But he wasn't leaving.

If nothing else, he could be a witness to this act.

The other woman- the witch, he presumes- lowers to the markings on the floor and a quick blue flame darts across, feeding greedily on the blood before it darkens and turns black and languid, reaching up as though it was the greatest of efforts before drooping back down towards the floor.

The witch holds her hand out and Katherine sighs before working the engagement ring off her finger and letting it slip into the proffered palm.

It is sacrificed to the pitch black flames and quickly lost to sight as the woman chants, a wind from nowhere gushing through the church, banging on the doors and rattling the candlesticks. The light from the windows is lost and Kieran tries to keep ahold of his senses as terror tremors through his legs and turns his bones liquid.

Katherine is gazing at the fire with rapt adoration and reaches for it as if for a lover, he wants to pull her backwards, to shout a warning but the words are lost in his dry throat. Her middle finger touches the blackness and she gives a little gasp of happiness before the tiniest of frowns furrows her brows and she withdraws her hand, turning it over to study the marked skin.

"It's not working," she murmurs, sounding so much like a disappointed child who was about to cry, but Kieran has seen her grieve and knows that it doesn't immobilize her for long.

"Why isn't it working?" she shrieks, fury dancing in her voice and the witch frowns at the black flames,

"Something is wrong…" she murmurs and Katherine huffs,

"Gee, you think?"

She storms across the area, through the flames which sluggishly part to make way for her, "Why isn't it working?"

The witch is looking around the church evidently confused, "Where is it?"

Katherine snarls in frustration, "Where is what?"

"Elijah's consciousness?" the witch asks, her eyes as black as the flame but confusion clear in her tone, "Where is his soul?"

Katherine stomps her foot and spins away from her, marching down the aisle and- eager for an excuse- Kieran follows her,

"I don't understand," he confesses, as they descend the steps into the moonlit night, "Is Elijah…dead?"

Katherine shakes her head, checks her phone and Kieran sees her engagement ring glittering on her finger as if it had never been removed,

"Doubt it, if I had to guess, I'd say Klaus lost his temper and finally daggered him," she sighs, "But we can't remove the hex while he's daggered, so I'll have to go convince him to wake him up."

With a haggard sigh, as if this was all an inconvenience to her, she set off towards Bourbon St and after a moment, he followed her.

There is a gun in Francesca's desk drawer.

It was one inch from her hand and would take ten seconds at most for her to open the drawer, grab the small revolver, aim it at her heart and pull the trigger.

The question was, would those ten seconds be too long?

Would Celeste have time to react?

Would her brothers be able to rush to her defense?

Would they be able to kill the witch?

Francesca contemplates this within thirty seconds of silence, as Celeste DuBois stood in her office, divested of her disguise and no longer hiding the madness in her eyes.

Or was it worse than that, was the madness actually zealotry?

Which was the greater threat?

Either way, Elijah Mikaelson's desiccating corpse was now lying on her couch. His eyes watching and condemning them as his fingers- the last parts of him able to move- twitched constantly.

Oliver, who had been summoned by Celeste to drag him in, was standing at his feet, his arms crossed as he vibrated with energy,

"We can't leave him here," he points out, breaking the furiously tense silence that had reigned ever since they had entered the room.

"Rebekah will be back at some point and…"

Francesca turned her sharp, animalistic gaze on him,

"At some point?" she asks in a frighteningly emotionless tone, "She's not here now? When you were supposed to keep her here?!"

She finishes her sentence shrieking as she rises to her feet and Oliver shrinks back from her fury before his manhood reasserts himself,

"If I'd tried keeping her here against her will, she would have suspected something or hell, even killed me and where would we be then, huh?"

Better off, Francesca thinks to herself before turning to the window and running a hand through her hair.

They weren't prepared.

Katherine Pierce was too newly exiled; she wasn't completely isolated yet. Vincent had Caroline Forbes but he wouldn't have had time to get her out of the state, to a location where Klaus Mikaelson could be lured into an ambush. Rebekah hadn't been convinced to join them in taking down her family or spelled into desiccation, much like her brother who could now only move his eyes helplessly.

He had been kidnapped and his brother would figure that out soon enough and come looking for him.

If he wasn't on his way already because somebody must have seen him being dragged away by Oliver.

Thanks to Celeste, they were out of time.

She draws out her phone and texts her brothers.

"We'll have to attack tonight," she announces, when they've gathered in the room,

"There'll be humans at the new Abattoir, you can kill them to trigger the curses and then we can move on Bourbon St. The goal is to capture his son, we can use him as leverage against his mother's pack, keep them in line until we kill him. Klaus will have to be dismembered quickly so he can't kill anyone or retaliate."

Her brothers and their men nod and she is satisfied that they can follow instructions at least.

"Let's go." She orders, leading the way out the door, deliberately putting as much distance between Celeste, Oliver and herself. Her oldest brother climbs into the car beside her and she takes a moment to exhale,

"Whatever happens tonight, bring me the head of the witch and the wolf. They're too stupid to live."

He nods.

"Okay."

Celeste waited until everyone had left before sitting on the couch and leaning down to see Elijah's face. His eyes darted to her before looking away and she clicks her tongue, reaching up to stroke his cold, veined cheek,

"I am sorry that the shard of white oak pains your heart, mon cher," she whispers lovingly,

"Once all this is done, once that little Bulgarian bitch is dead, you and I shall be together again, free to love one another."

Her hand strays down to his neck, his collarbone, exposed by the shirt and she sighs, remembering all the times she had touched his naked chest. She brushes her fingers over the skin now, feeling a twinge of lust.

"You were not to know," she chides gently, "However, it was Katherine Pierce who killed me that first time, yes," she adds, nodding when his eyes come back to her,

"I myself did not know this until I saw her many years later, the night that she killed Marcel, yet it was her who came upon me when I was bathing and held me under the water until I drowned. Une petite sauvage."

She kissed his clammy lips and hummed with delight, "Soon, mon cher, I shall be taking my baths again while you worship me and try to lure me to your bed, will that not be everything?"

Elijah's eyes leave her face, gazing once again on the windows visible to him and she leaves with a twinge of annoyance at his stubbornness.

Still, he would love her once the whore was dead.

Klaus looked up at the moonlit sky, the stars barely visible even now, lost in the light pollution of New Orleans. In the flashy multicolored bulbs and strobes that painted the pavement, the stench of liquor, garbage, foods and vomit making an arid aroma that was detectable even with the numerous flower pots and vines that grew across his balcony.

Still, it was the stench of life and one he found comfort in as he sipped at his tumbler of whisky and pretended to be a part of it.

Perhaps he could bully Raina into watching a movie with him on the Netflix later? She was just putting Erik to bed now, but she couldn't be too tired, even if his son had been somewhat tetchy at supper, throwing his spoon down frequently and grumbling constantly.

Such a wicked thing he could be when he set his mind to it.

Klaus did love him for that.

He senses her before he sees her, and leans on the balcony railing, spotting Rebekah striding through the crowd and walking through the archway like a Queen storming into her Court.

He doesn't bother to tell her where he is, she can find him easily and does so, appearing at his side mere moments later.

"Come to play Cleopatra once again, little sister?" he taunts, lifting the tumbler to his lips but it's smacked out of his hand and sent flying across the way to smash to smithereens against a hotel wall.

"Usually when I betray you, it's because you've bloody deserved it," Rebekah snaps, her temper so easy to rile, but just as quickly as it flared, it dies down again,

"But this time, I'm here to help."

Without his drink to distract him, he turns around, leaning his back against the railing,

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow, "How pray tell, will you help me? Perhaps a summons to Mikael? The shedding of the doppelgangers very useful blood? Conspiring with whichever enemy is still stupid enough to think they can stand against me and survive?"

Rebekah inhales sharply through her nose, gritting her teeth,

"I knew you would be like this," she seethes, "But Nik, this is bigger than your bloody ego. I've been walking around and thinking about it all day and, you were right, something is off with Elijah and whomever lit that fire at Farnese's used magic to do it and Ollie…" she stops and closes her eyes briefly, bracing herself,

"I think he's been playing me."

Klaus resists the urge to roll his eyes at the last piece of information, and lets her continue,

"Someone or something is coming at us, Nik," she explains, "Taking us out, one by one, and why would anyone be stupid enough to try that?"

He barely needs to think it over, "Because they would have a kingdom to gain," he answers, growling, "There's a bloody coup coming!"

She nods and is about to say something when her eyes drift over his shoulder,

"I think it's already here."

He turns and follows her gaze.

A pack of men, dressed in jeans and leather are making their way down Bourbon St. They're moving silently, quickly, without speaking and knocking aside anyone who gets in their way.

They're headed straight for the manor and there's no time to bar the gates.

One of them breaks away from the pack and does a running leap, up a car and onto a telephone pole. He climbs up to the very top and looks down at the street before reaching for the box and driving his fist through it.

The French Quarter is plunged into darkness.

The lights go off behind him and his son begins to wail.

He grabs his sister's arm, "Come." he orders, racing through the house to the nursery, where Raina is already bending over the cot to try and comfort Erik. He grabs her roughly by the shoulder and scoops his son up, blanket and all, pushing him into her arms, and bundling them from the room.

"There's a passage that was installed during Prohibition," he explains, pressing his mouth to her ear as they clamber down the inner staircase, hoping they won't be overheard.

"It goes under Bourbon St and leads to the old docks opposite Algiers Point."

They reach the cellar and Rebekah moves past him to reach up, to the lever hidden behind the stone pillar where the secret door was. It creaks open under protest and she pulls it until it's wide enough for Raina to slip through.

"Take my son and get to Algiers Point," he orders her, "If you can't find Katherine Pierce, take the car at her house and drive it the hell out of Louisiana," he pushes his wallet into her hands,

"Don't stop until you hit an ocean and stay hidden until I call you."

She nods and his heart breaks as he turns to his son, pressing a fierce kiss to his forehead,

"I swear, we will be together again," he lies to him, "I love you more than anything in the world."

With a weak smile, Raina and Erik disappear into the darkness and he and Rebekah close the door behind them. When they leave the cellar, he breaks one of the casks and jams the metal rim into the lock of the door, so that it would have to be broken down if anyone wished to enter.

He and Rebekah march to the courtyard just as the bullets begin flying and as they dart behind the pillars, Klaus sneaks a glance and sees the yellow eyes and fangs.

Newly turned werewolves.

Rebekah had been right.

Fortunately, she didn't have the time to say 'I told you so' before they looked at each other with matching grins of feral delight and threw themselves into battle.

A/N- Hope that was a good read.