Marcel took Abigail under his tutelage. If she wanted to learn about the Mikaelsons, then she would learn from someone who knew them at their best AND worst. She also clearly wasn't completely up to speed on every aspect of the modern world, which was why she was clutching the steering wheel with a death grip and feeling as if the lunch from her first day in New Oleans, some five days past, was about to make a reappearance.
"Abi, this is NOT as bad as you're making it." His voice was far too calm for the situation, which was a road in the middle of nowhere, with not a hint of the traffic of the Quarter, but she still wasn't prepared to let her guard down, lest another monstrous vehicle come out of nowhere. "Just let your foot off the break gently and tap the gas, I promise, you're doing fine." Sure, she thought, you're impervious to death by vehicular homicide. A term she'd taken the time to look up when he suggested the madness she was now taking part in. Imagine her, Abigail Morgan, born in 1846, learning to DRIVE.
"You do know that there are a plethora of means to get from point A to point B," she argued, her foot lodged on the break so hard that she wondered if she could press it down permanently? "There are taxis, and trains." She was sweating, which was absurd, since the car had air conditioning. "Even airplanes are an option." Not for me, she thought, but for some madman.
"Yes, those are options," Marcel agreed, his hand moving cautiously across the seat to settle on top of one of her very rigidly gripped ones. "Learning to drive for yourself, Abi, is a better one. Then you depend on no one else, no one but yourself." The calloused pads of his fingers worked to soothe her, while he kept talking, knowing he could ease her slowly. "And I was born in 1820, so if I can learn, so can you Missus Morgan," he rolled his eyes and that did it, causing a giggle to bubble up and erupt. "Come on, you can do it, Abi, I know it."
The car lessons took longer than others. Learning about her family, Klaus, Elijah, Rebekka, Kol, Finn, and Mikael, was much easier, if not less painful. Knowing that Mikael, the patriarch was the hunter, the man who was behind her parents' deaths hurt. Realizing that he was her uncle, by marriage certainly, was horrible. How family could wish such horrors on their own was something she had difficulty understanding.
"Klaus," Marcel stared into the difference, this was a hard topic, he'd been sired by this vampire. "Let's just say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"He would harm his own family?" Abigail felt her stomach twist, perhaps Bonnie had been right, maybe finding her family was a bad idea. "Can he? Aren't they indestructible?"
Original vampires, unlike those that came after, were not the same. Like Abigail wasn't like the witches that came after, they were cut from a similar pattern, but like copies made, the pattern altered a bit with each new one. It's why Abi's parents and her own lifespan wasn't short, like a normal mortal, but she didn't have to adhere to the same terrible pact that Damon and Katherine had to stay alive. It made little sense, but why are some people born right handed or blue eyed? Science can explain it, and so can magic, but to laymen, it makes little sense.
Elijah, she found, was the one who visited her dreams. He came more often, not in the same way, but in the normal dreamy way that regular people dreamt. He met the criteria of tall, dark, and handsome, but even with him Marcel had warnings. He was as dangerous as Klaus, more fiercely loyal, and on he went. Abigail worried that perhaps, Marcel was far more biased to the negative for the family than he'd let on.
Until he spoke about Rebekka. Even when he was being a harsh critic, there was something softer in his voice, a telling tone that told Abi that perhaps there was a very personal reason that Marcel held for his feelings against the eldest Mikaelsons.
The days passed, driving lessons, family courses, tours of the Quarter, and Abigail almost forgot about Mystic Falls. Only a twinge of pain when the right shade of blue caught her eye, or broad shoulders in a leather jacket in her peripheral vision. Her phone was silent, and she told herself that that was a GOOD sign. But it hurt a little to know that no one seemed to miss her - Again.
Damon left Stefan in Elena's hopefully capable hands while he and Ric went to see what her less than trustworthy uncle John was up to. They found him aiding and abetting a tomb vamp named Henry, who for lack of a better analogy was turning state's evidence on his fellow vamp's in return for room, board, and lessons in how to live in the 21st century. Traitor.
Henry was NOT Isobel. It took Isobel wanting to FIND Ric, actually, wanting to see Elena to be more accurate. The Grille, an awkward encounter for everyone who had to witness it, and a promise of a bloodbath if a meeting was made. Of course, Elena would agree, especially when Matt was injured, Jeremy was kidnapped, and John beaten senseless after his magic Gilbert ring of regeneration was stolen.
Isobel sat across from her daughter and proceeded to tear her apart at the seams. From how she looked like Katherine Pierce to her choice in men. Right down to the very scraps of any idea of having any type of a thread of relationship between the two, and ended with a demand. The device that Pearl had handed Damon in recompense for Stefan's torture at the hands at her tomb friends or the town falls to her minions.
Elena broke apart, and Damon went on a hunt, finding Isobel reigning over her little groupies like only a sad bitch like she could. And he did what he was known for, he threatened her. Put Elena in that position again, and she'd never inhale again.
If anyone asked, if anyone had taken the time to question him, he would have said he'd been too busy to miss Abigail. Or that phone lines ran two ways. Damon Salvatore could have come up with a thousand excuses for why his mind never wandered to Abigail Morgan while she was gone, if someone had brought her to mind, but the truth was, like it had with Stefan, out of sight out of mind. Again.
While a part of Abigail thought of staying in New Orleans for longer, she did have a few more places marked on her itinerary. And she had managed, by both talent AND perhaps a wee bit of persuasion that coursed through her voice, to pass her driving test. So with a license and a car that wasn't huge or unwieldy in her mind (she chose something called a Mini Cooper, much to Marcel's chagrin), having the GPS programmed for the next stop, she was off. He made her promise to check in, and warned her that he would be if she didn't, a promise that she was surprised he kept.
Chicago, Illinois was a LONG drive. Without stops it would take over thirteen hours, with stops it was going to take a couple days. Luckily, Abigail didn't have anything to worry about, or to rush her. She checked in with Bonnie, Cat was fine, the house was fine, everything was fine.
Marcel hadn't just unleashed Abigail on an unsuspecting world, and a highway, he'd made sure that she was prepared for real traffic. That her nerves would handle the stress, and that she wouldn't cause mass chaos. Which was good, because there were some very tense moments on that 930 mile trek.
He was true to his word, checking in throughout the day. If he felt it had been too long between calls or texts, he'd call. When she finally crossed the border, she let out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd made it, now where to start?
Bonnie wasn't trying to be rude when Abigail checked in, but she was somewhat busy with her own situation. Elena was traumatized by a meeting with the birth mother from hell. Then she found out that not only did she have the plans for this device Isobel was so thirsty for, but she knew how to activate and deactivate it. And it was no surprise which side her best friend came down on. But why should she deactivate it? Hadn't Damon AND Stefan caused enough damage, not to mention these tomb vamps that were hellbent on vengeance? Why not just let it happen? Let the device do what it was created to do.
So while Bonnie made sure that Cat was taken care of, that Abi's house was in good shape and everything that should be on was on while everything that should be off was off, she was juggling some pretty hard decisions.
Abigail wondered, as she settled into another extended stay hotel, if she could reverse the course of how Marcel had found her to find someone in Chicago to answer her questions. He'd told her, the right witch with the correct spell, knew just who was in the boundary he requested. He knew as soon as she stepped into the Quarter, and more than that, he knew just how powerful, because she radiated the power. The witches in New Orleans had stayed somewhat scarce, only a few had made contact, but all were very clear in the fact that Abi's magic and theirs were wired differently.
Getting comfortable in the room, once she'd sent Marcel a text to assure him she'd arrived and once she ordered some dinner, Abigail pulled her grimoire from the large handbag she'd begun carrying with her daily. Flipping through the pages, she closed her eyes, focusing on what she wanted. Warmth flowed through her fingers, and when she opened her eyes she saw what she was looking for - not a spell so much as a way to find someone who might have come into contact with one of her extended family members.
When her phone rang, she assumed it was Marcel and answered it without a glance at the screen. The voice that came through stopped her in her tracks and caused her eyes to snap shut. Live and learn, and check the damn screen, she added. "Damon." Her voice said out loud.