Maxine's POV
"So, tell me again why Gloria needs Rebekah's necklace?"
Following our impromptu shopping excursion, Klaus had returned Rebekah and I back to Gloria's bar, hopeful that the experienced witch would be able to locate Rebekah's missing necklace. I'm still unclear as to how obtaining Rebekah's necklace will help Gloria in helping Klaus make hybrids but up until now haven't catechized the siblings. Well, I had mentioned the necklace and the reasoning we are searching for it, but the vague responses I acquired still left me as clueless as before.
Klaus has been observing Gloria who is reading over a large grimoire, but upon hearing my voice whisper in his ear, turns and responds to my question. "We need to contact the Original witch. She has a connection to Rebekah's necklace — it's her talisman. She can tell us why I'm not making any hybrids." Klaus turns away from me, going back to watching Gloria.
Still abundantly confused as to who the Original witch is and why we need to contact her, my eyebrows draw together, forming a crinkle in-between the two bushes of blonde hair. I look to Gloria as well, figuring I can extract more information from her than what Klaus or Rebekah are providing me with. "So, who is the Original witch? Why can't she just come to see us or something? Why does Rebekah have her talisman?" At my prying, maybe even pestering, I feel Klaus stiffen beside me, as well as Rebekah on my other side.
Is that fear I smell? Trepidation? This witch must be something wild if the mention of her invokes such a response from two of the oldest vampires in existence.
Before Gloria can answer me, the doors to the closed bar open and a mop of brown hair finally makes his appearance.
"You left us," Rebekah mutters, pouting as Stefan makes his way down the few stairs separating the top floor from the bottom. Stefan, looking anything but guilty or apologetic for her unhappiness, replies, "Yeah, sorry. Retail therapy was making my head explode."
"Tell me about it," Klaus mutters back in agreement just before lifting an old-fashioned glass to his lips and drinking the alcohol within.
Stefan watches Gloria who lets her hands hover above the book that is opened to a two-page map. "What's she doing?" Stefan asks, not expecting an answer from anyone in particular. It is very clear what it is that Gloria is doing.
A locator spell.
Of course, it is Klaus who answers Stefan's question and of course, it is condescending. "She's failing," Klaus mocks the experienced witch, sneering in her direction. My head turns to the right where the hybrid sits and I throw him a nasty glare, which he acutely avoids.
For a man who has never practiced magic himself, it is of no surprise that Klaus is quick to poke fun of a witch in an inauspicious environment. Klaus evidently has no clue the amount of strength demanded to produce divination entirely from your mind. He doesn't have a clue what it feels like to be unable to rely on your potential, on the power you possess. Witches aren't granted physical prowess, we develop our mental maturity as a means of protection.
Gloria doesn't spare a glance at Klaus, but she expresses my exact thoughts by saying, "It's hard to find something when you don't have anything to go on."
"So use me," Rebekah offers. "I only wore it for a thousand years." She pushes herself off the top of the bar, walking over to Gloria's candle-covered table. Each of the ignited wicks burn into naturally bleached beeswax candles.
The colorless candles surrounding Gloria are all styled pillar, one commonly utilized during multiple-day spells, though not atypical to use for multiple, small spells. Despite what the stereotypical rumors say, witches don't have to use a virginal candle for each spell. Of course, the candle depends on the spell. Most witches prefer tapers, chimes, or votives over pillars as they burn within an allotted amount of time.
In grander spells, the white candles are utilized for detoxification, purification, healing, blessing, and protection. Whether the implementation is intended for the procuration of purity, veracity, sincerity, spirituality, or enlightenment, they always invoke lunar energy. As white is the balanced presence of all colors in synthesis, candles of its neutral color can be substituted in place of another in nearly any ritual, spell, or practice.
Customarily, a white candle is used for the exercise of concentration and meditation rather than any incantation. The unstained candle represents virtuosity, infancy, and divinity that we, as witches, associate with ancient and sacred spirits. There is an old wives' tale that supposedly, white candles are more potent on Mondays, the day of our moon. Now, I'm not one to believe in superstition, despite being part-witch, but today is a Thursday and Gloria's magic isn't doing so hot.
Of course, there is more to a candle than its color. In fact, the fire is, by popular opinion, the most notable portion. Fire is the element of transmutation and considered to be the closest to the spiritual plane. It is often regarded as a holy gift and substance of the divine. The light can be exploited as an offering to the ancient spirits, to the ancestors who discovered and tamed it.
Witches proffer the spirits honor and respect in the form of light and energy. With divergent candles brings divergent elements, but typically, a candle possesses all four forms. The earth exists in the form of solid wax, once melted by the fire, which is the burning wick, the wax becomes water. The smoke produced from the wick is the air, and of course, there is the added, silent fifth element: the spirit, which is the light that consumes our space. All elements are executed and harnessed in a unified and synchronized manner.
And as always, good can be used for bad. White candles, which can be transformed into anything, can be used for black magic to incite corruption, create weakness, and implement fear.
I watch Rebekah perch herself on the wooden table where Gloria works. The witch waves a hand at the blonde vampire. "See? Now this one offers a solution," Gloria mutters thankfully. She holds out her hand to Rebekah and with a sigh, instructs, "All right, give me your hand, sweetheart." Rebekah complies, placing her hand in the palm of the older, yet much younger woman.
Huh. Magic is odd.
Klaus and Stefan watch the exchange occur between Rebekah and Gloria as well. Stefan rather uneasily stumbles over his words when he says, "She's, uh, she's looking for the necklace, huh?" My head swivels in his direction. There is something wrong with Stefan Salvatore, besides the obvious. He is reserved in the presence of Klaus, Rebekah, and I. I've seen him with Elena and his brother before. I've seen him interact with the people he's called his friends and neither of those are mirrored onto anyone in this room.
This time, nobody responds to Stefan. Klaus stands up as Gloria chants. With Rebekah performing as an anchor to the missing necklace, Gloria is able to locate it on her second reciting. "I can sense something," Gloria announces into the tense air. I peer over at Stefan again. His concentrated expression reveals a hint of worry, the tale-tell signs birthing genesis of fear in wide eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and pursed lips.
Gloria begins casting her spell again, whispering slowly, "Anta Cotis Syrum, Anta Cotis Syrum..." One of the witch's hands is under Rebekah's offered one, the other above, sandwiching the vampire's extremity between her own. Intrigued, Stefan begins walking closer as agonizing seconds pass by, giving way to suspense. Suddenly, Gloria drops Rebekah's hand and turns to the three of us on her other side. With a look of absolution, Gloria declares, "I found it."
Rebekah, eager and impatient at the same time, leans closer to Gloria. "So where is it?" my fellow blonde inquires. Gloria shakes her head. "It doesn't work like that, doll. I get images," the witch explains. Images, she says? Maybe it is a crystal ball spell? Acclaimed fortunetellers don't just use the translucent glass to see into the future, spying is also a predominant reason they garner so many clients. Jealous, insecure girlfriends who believe their beau is cheating? Well, they certainly get their money's worth, doesn't really matter if the fake they pay guesses the truth or not. "There's a girl with her friends—"
"Yes, a dead girl with dead friends, if I don't get my necklace back," Rebekah rudely interrupts, mainly angry at the thought of someone else wearing her necklace than at Gloria for being murky with the details.
Gloria nods at Rebekah, clearly overwhelmed, but attempting to appease the girl. "Well, I'll have to dive back in to get the details," Gloria supplies.
"So dive," Klaus suggests, voice apathetic and bursting with truism. Of course, he has to offer up a proposition that states nothing beyond what it fucking implies. He makes close-distance between the witch and himself, waving his hand in the air as if diving, as he likes to refer to whatever it is that she is doing, is such an undemanding thing.
Gloria leans back in her chair, looking at a rapidly-approaching Klaus over her shoulder. "I need more time." Klaus places his hands on the table, intimidatingly hovering over the witch. Unperturbed, Gloria shrugs him off with a wave of her hand, saying, "And space. Look, you're harshing my ju-ju."
"We can wait," Klaus replies, feet firmly planted beside Gloria's seat.
Gloria sits upright again and places her hands back onto the opened book. "I'm sure you can," Gloria agrees with the hybrid, nodding her head. She looks Klaus directly in the eyes, confident with what she says next. "But that's not what I asked."
I take this moment as my cue to terminate whatever is bound to ultimately transpire between the hybrid and the witch. Jumping to my feet from the barstool, I jog the ten feet across the floor to Klaus. I grab his arm roughly, just as he's done to me many times and pull him — more like he allows me to pull him — away from Gloria, off to the side for imaginary privacy.
Something takes over my body, claiming the control panel that is my brain. My face shoves itself as high as possible to get to Klaus, glaring into his eyes. "Back off, Niklaus," I growl at the hybrid, intentionally using his official first name to get his attention.
Rebekah had vaguely and rather briefly — as if she hadn't realized she had done so — mentioned that Klaus had only ever been referred to as Niklaus by his mother, father, and older brother Elijah, predominantly when he was due for punishment. I receive the reaction I yearn for: recognition. One of his eyes twitch upon hearing his name, but he stands straighter and finally looks into my eyes.
"Gloria said she needed time," I continue after my brief pause. "Being an ass isn't going to make time go by faster. So either you shut the hell up and patiently wait or you leave her alone." Unintentionally, my anger seeps into my words, making my voice sound like more of a disciplinarian than intended, but to my satisfaction, it serves my purpose and gains me the reward I search for. My hand that holds Klaus' arm squeezes tighter, pulling him closer. "Do you understand me?" I finally ask, needing confirmation that my mate and I are clear on the terms I have explained. Klaus snaps his teeth together, unhappy with me for denouncing his actions in front of people, people that are supposed to follow his rules, but regardless, he nods in agreement and I liberate him from my grip.
Shockingly, there is no foreboding threat that follows or a teasing jeer from Stefan or Rebekah. Gloria is even silent. Maybe that is because, for once, Klaus has someone other than his family to put him in his much-needed place. For once, Klaus has heeded what he has been told.
Klaus does, however, roughly snatch my hand inside his much larger, warmer one. He turns to Rebekah and nods to the doors of the bar, indicating our departure. Together, Klaus and I walk out of the bar and into the sunlight. I hear Rebekah's heels follow behind, but don't bother listening in for a sign of Stefan.
Marching down the busy streets of Chicago, Klaus uses his hand as the glue to anchor me to his side. Rebekah makes her way to the front of us all, walking with confidence only a Mikaelson can possess. With her head held high and a glance never spared behind either of her shoulders, Rebekah suggests, "Why don't we go feast on some party girls? They'll undoubtedly be an easy catch, not that it's hard anyway."
Piping up from the caboose of our severely deformed train, Stefan says, "I'm starving. I could go for some party girls."
In the wake of Stefan's voice, Rebekah finally turns around, forcing the rest of us behind her to abruptly stop walking. She branches her long arm out in the eastern direction and the three of us follow the tip of her finger to a club a block away with a line that breaches into the street, despite it only being early in the evening. It takes two minutes tops to reach the excessively deafening club. I watch as a group of three young girls coincidentally happen to tumble out of the club's doors, already afternoon drunk and stumbling on their heels.
Rebekah must notice the opportunity she's been offered as well because her tanned legs make quick strides in that direction. Just as one of the girls begins to trip, Rebekah snatches her up by her arm. The girl, although slightly alarmed, appears relieved when she realizes it is just another girl that is touching her.
She won't be relieved for long.
Stefan grabs one of the other girls, his grip seemingly far more gentle than Rebekah's if I look at the pinched skin between the female vampire's fingers. She must be starving if she is gripping her food that tightly. The girl Stefan has staked his claim over is a tanned brunette with a long body, dressed in skimpy clothing and shoes that rival even Rebekah's. When she sees Stefan, she sends him a flirtatious smile that is uneven due to her impairment. Her eyes bat and she giggles in an overly-high-pitched tone.
It's like watching Elena Gilbert fan-girl over her boyfriend all over again.
Only one girl remains. Long blonde hair falls from her head, tapering off near her bottom and she fidgets with her hands, acrylic nails alternating between picking at the loose skin surrounding the outside of her cuticle and wringing her fingers together. Those unsteady fingers tear apart to push strands of straight, loose hair back.
She is nervous, rightfully so.
Patently, the last girl is intended for Klaus, if I'm reading the expectancy written on the faces of Rebekah and Stefan. Instead of grabbing the anxious girl, Klaus releases my hand in favor of resting his hands on my shoulders. Excruciatingly slow, Klaus' hands fall over the curve of my shoulders and down my arms, rubbing. The circular ministrations paired with the vertical warming of my skin, erupt a heat within my body. Somehow, before my mate even utters a word, I know what he is going to say.
"I've already got my dinner waiting for me."
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Niklaus' POV
A taste.
I had told myself that a sip of Maxine's sweet blood would be enough. But one drip of the hot liquid on my tongue invited a euphoria into my body that I've never encountered before, and ecstasy I can't convince myself to be released of.
Astoundingly, convincing is not a prerequisite my mate needs to permit me to drink from her. In fact, I suspect the rare hybrid welcomes it, desires it. Once inside the dimly-lit warehouse, I had taken my position on a comfortable, heavily padded couch. Stefan had taken property over the green, leather-upholstered chair and my sister remained standing.
My dear Maxine is situated snugly between my two legs, her small back pressed firmly against the planes of my chest. Deep within her jugular, precisely where my spontaneous bite has marred her white skin, my teeth withdraw the blood inside her body. Every so often, a stubborn whimper tears itself from her safe-tight lips, occasionally a moan if I'm fortunate enough.
Unlike the other vampires in my presence, I had chosen the wise decision not to compel my food to remain noiseless. Technically, I don't have a choice because Max is a witch, but even so, I had wanted to listen to her cries of rapture and torment. I crave to hear — feel — her pulse climb its increasing high, faster, racing with every drop I steal.
Blood had splattered on the ground in the aftermath of my sister. She had ripped out the throat of her acquisition and whatever life source remained, she lapped up. "My girl's dead. I'm bored," Rebekah mumbles from the top of a sturdy crate, expecting Stefan, Maxine, or I to entertain her.
Ignoring my pettish kid sister, I remove my sharp fangs from Maxine's throat and look over to Stefan who is still feasting. My veins dissipate as I call out to the male vampire, "You weren't kidding about being hungry."
Stefan lifts his head from his meal as well and sighs heavily. Blood dribbles from his mouth and stains his white teeth, but he smiles blissfully, unashamed by the mess he has conjured up. "Yeah. It's been a long day." My head nods in Rebekah's direction. "Try being related to her," I counter, sharing a friendly laugh with Stefan.
I feel Maxine shift in my arms, resting her exhausted head within the crook of my fabric-covered elbow. I cradle her head, caressing the blonde strands between my fingers. The sound of movement provokes my eyes to drift from Maxine to Rebekah. Still pouting, my sister says to me, "You're being mean." Stefan laughs at the weight her simpleminded words carry. I watch Rebekah uncross her legs to let them hang from the edge of the crate before turning her glare to hone in on Stefan. "And why are you being mean? You used to love me."
A muffled titter falls from my mouth. Rebekah is fairly acquainted with pushing boundaries, but she never can comprehend the concept of abstinence. "It's been ninety years, Rebekah. Give him a minute," I chasten my little sister.
Rebekah glares at me in disbelief. "Why are you taking his side?"
I turn my head to Rebekah over my right shoulder. "Because, my dear sister, I feel pity for any man who doesn't give you what you want," I answer earnestly, knowing all too well the extent of my little sister's wretched selfishness.
My words serve to further infuriate my sister. Raising her voice, she speaks through clenched teeth, "Will you stop making me out to be a brat? I am not a brat!"
I look over to Stefan who watches our sibling tiff unfold. "A thousand years of life experience says otherwise," I sing. Maxine stirs in my arms once again. Looking down, I see her mouth open to mumble, "Stop being so mean." Maxine's words slur together in her state of blood loss and her eyes open just a peek.
My jaw locks, remembering how she'd chastised me earlier with an audience. One night in Rebekah's presence and they're already teaming up against me. Uninterested with drinking from her any longer, though only momentarily, I bite the inside of my wrist and hold it to her mouth, shoving it inside when she refuses to drink. As Maxine's tongue sweeps across my skin, the puncture wounds on her neck fade until all that remains is two circular scars and semi-oxidized blood.
In the distance, I hear Stefan criticizing me as well, something about a picnic and wanting to blow his head off. Somewhere along the way, I hear my sister laugh and mutter a satisfied, "Fantastic." When Maxine is healed, I aid her to sit upright on the couch, then push her hair aside to lick the blood from her skin, cleaning her back to perfection, though I much prefer her when she is dirty.
Across from me, Stefan's eyes veer off into the distance before suddenly dropping his girl's dead body to the ground. The nameless girl's limp body hits the ground with a resounding thump and Stefan stands, wiping his mouth of her blood.
"I need to go," the vampire announces, basking the warehouse in silence. Rebekah waits until Stefan is far enough from our vicinity to ask me, "Where's he going?"
I look at Maxine and brush a stray hair out of her face.
"To write a name on a wall. It's a long story."