While Damon and Elena sat together in a bond to detox Stefan, after vervain darting him - Abigail was playing hostess to her first house guest that wasn't Ric. Bonnie Bennett had driven her home and was looking around her new home with interest, even taking pleasure in meeting Cat, while Abi got out of her pageant guest wear.

Once she was more comfortable, and after she'd asked Bonnie if she could offer her refreshments, they were seated in the sitting room with Abigail's family grimoire on the coffee table between them.

"You're saying that after you woke up, you went on a scavenger hunt, found this -" Bonnie tapped the book with the very tip of her finger nail. "Along with a note and some other family heirlooms, and the book keeps changing?"

Abi nodded, it was a simplified version, but somewhat. "The book opens and it seems like a regular journal. Herbal remedies, floral descriptions, tinctures, things of that nature." Bonnie nodded. "The more I read, the more that is revealed. Like the family tree." She flipped open the back cover and hoped the other woman could see it, her eyes were on the page, but gave nothing away. "Can you see it?"

Bonnie tilted her head. "I can see a vague line or two, but it's indistinct."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Abi closed the book. "The book seems locked into our bloodline. My father had two sisters, only one married, from the way the tree seems to go, and she had children."

"You think they're still alive?" She stared at Bonnie and waited. "Your parents are dead, Abigail."

"Because they allowed it," Abi sighed. "I cannot explain it completely because it doesn't make a great deal of sense to me. I know that -" She stopped and took a breath. "My family isn't just important to find because they're family, they're also dangerous to me."

"They killed them?" Bonnie breathed. "Why would you want to find them?"

"To make certain where they are, for one." Abigail thought that was obvious. "And," she bit her lip, this was harder to admit to. "I'm promised to one of the sons."

Bonnie's eyes went wider than she'd seen another human's go. "That's not normal, Abi."

"Actually, you'll find that during many ages, it was very normal to intermarry in families." Abi sat back, dropping her head to stare at her hands. "I think he's come to me, in my dreams."

"Is this because of Damon and Elena's dance earlier?" Abigail sighed and shook her head, if only it were that simple. "She loves Stefan, and even though right now it looks impossible -" I knew she didn't believe it, she hated vampires more than I ever had, and for far better reason.

"Thank you for that, but it runs deeper than a single dance," Abi looked up and got back to the task at hand. "How would we track my living family?"

Damon knew, even without talking to her, even without seeing her after the pageant and Stefan's stellar Ripper comeback, that a shift had happened in Abigail. He felt it deep inside of himself. Like a click, and it hurt worse than when his father had shot him in the heart. And instead of being able to go fix it, or figure it out, he was stuck fixing Stefan - Again.

Abigail, with Bonnie's help, had an itinerary. It wasn't great, but it's harder than you'd think to track family from a grimoire and blood from a single person. Cat was going to stay with Bonnie, and she promised to check on Abi's house, with Ric and Caroline helping out. No one seemed to think it was all that strange that the new girl in town was on her way out just as fast as she came in.

Then again, of the people who knew Abi was leaving, only one didn't know her secret.

First stop on the trip? New Orleans. As Abigail boarded the train, because she truly was NOT prepared for air travel, she felt the butterflies she'd felt when she planned her departure in 1864. This time she'd go alone, but this time she hoped to find so much more than she'd hoped for then. Family and answers. Or peace and contentment.

Damon found out Abigail was gone when Caroline mentioned it in passing and it sliced through him like a knife. She hadn't said goodbye. She hadn't left a note. Not a backward glance. And a part of him actually knew he'd earned it. He considered calling or texting her. Again. But a glance at Ric, and a look from Bonnie told him not to. Not now. Time, maybe, was something she needed.

New Orleans, after the train, was something of a wonder to behold. A part of Abigail felt like she'd fallen back in time, only for a loud vehicle to come roaring along to remind her that she was in fact in the present. History seemed to press in on the modern, urging those mingling on the sidewalks and in the alleyways to remember the past less they are destined to relive it.

Churches, graveyards, everything had a hint of art to it, while also a touch the macabre. Abigail checked into a lovely extended stay that looked nothing like the one back in Mystic Falls, leaving her luggage to be unpacked once she found something to eat. She'd barely taken three steps down the street when a dapper man wearing what she'd learned was typical of a jazz musician informed her that Marcel Gerard was requesting her presence for lunch.

"And who may I ask is Mr. Gerard?" Abigail wasn't born yesterday after all, and she'd learned quickly to listen to her intuition. This man was a vampire, so she had no doubt so was Mr. Gerard.

"He's the king of the French Quarter," the man answered, lips quirking. Abigail felt no ill will toward her from him.

"I had no idea that New Orleans had royalty," her smile came out to play. "Do lead on, we can't have the king waiting, can we?"

Marcel Gerard was charming, and he knew it. How he knew that Abigail Morgan was someone to pay attention to was something she planned on finding out, but first lunch.

"Miss Morgan," he greeted, with a beautiful smile that was genuine, she was happy to note. "I'm glad that you accepted my invitation." He took her hand in both of his, letting his warmth literally envelope her. "You are more lovely than my people described."

"You had me followed," she shook her head, grinning through the very idea of it. "Not necessarily the best first impression, Mr. Gerard."

"I have to keep my city peaceful, Miss Morgan," he sighed, pulling away long enough to hold her chair for her. "And someone as powerful as you? That's someone I have to keep an eye on."

"It would appear that 'your people' know more about me than even I do." She muttered as he took his own chair. "Please, do tell me more."

His smile grew, and he chuckled before licking his lip and shaking his head at her irritation. "I apologize. I thought you'd know, with power like I'm told you have -" He shrugged, boyish, and she shook her head again.

"You're very like someone else I know," Damon, she thought, a pang of pain hitting her sharp and fast. "He's quite sure of his charismatic character. Careful, getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar one too many times can lose a finger or two, I'm told."

He chuckled again, finding her funny in this, what could be construed as a threat. "Tell me about yourself, Miss Morgan. What brings you to New Orleans?"

Sighing, but resigned to it, and hoping that perhaps this vampire, for surely as her name was Abigail Morgan, Marcel Gerard was a vampire too, held some of the answers she was searching for, she told the tale as she knew it. All of it.

"You're her." Marcel breathed, once lunch, and Abi's tale was finished. Right up to and including the part where they were currently sitting. Abigail stared at him waiting for an explanation. "You're the sleeping beauty."

Great, this again. "You have friends in Mystic Falls, I see." She picked up her water goblet and took a drink. Lunch had been delicious, a trait that she couldn't seem to equate with the same beasts as Katherine Pierce. "Yes, I've laid 'asleep' for over a hundred years. It didn't take a kiss to wake me, though, only my own stupid mind playing catch up."

"I don't have friends there," he was shaking his head, smile growing. "Well, I might, it doesn't matter." He shook that off too "You don't understand, Abigail." She'd finally told him that he had to call her by her first name, she hated the formality. "I was told your story when I was a young man, by -" He stood up and gestured for her to get up to follow him. "Come here," he walked through the archway and down a hall. "This man," and there he was, the man from Abigail's dream stared back at her from a portrait. "He told me about you, I was too old for a bedtime story, but he told me, like he HAD to tell someone. And he picked me because I had a secret too."

Abi's lips felt numb, and her hand reached out, wanting to confirm he was real, even if it was just a painting. "Who is he?" She breathed, terrified to raise her voice, thinking it was too simple. The first day in a new city, and she found him. "Marcel? Who is he?"

"Who he is isn't the problem, Abigail." Marcel sighed, watching as she studied the painting. "It's who he stands beside that is."