It wasn't until lunch the next day that Caroline and Stefan cornered me. I had taken to sitting outside at a picnic table, watching the sky and the occasional bird. Today the sky was clear, the birds nesting elsewhere. I'd been squinting against the afternoon's bright light when the shadows of two vampires settled over me.

They slid into the bench across from mine. "We need to talk," Stefan said as he crossed his arms on the table before him and leaned into his forearms. Caroline pressed her lips together, brows knotting as wariness shone from her eyes.

I regarded them both quietly, waiting.

After several moments passed, they exchanged a glance before Caroline leaned forward. "It's not that I'm not grateful, or anything. But—" she and Stefan exchanged another look.

"A lot of problems have come to town lately," Stefan eventually told me. His expression was serious, his eyes intent on me as he went on to add, "We just want to make sure you're not another issue we'll have to worry about."

Head tilting, I let my sights shift between them. "I've never been described as such before." I had been created to exalt Father. After He left, apart from the occasional request to perform for a special occasion, the other virtues and I had been left alone.

Of course, we'd been careful not to give the higher orders a reason to bother with us. Just because I was now earthbound, I didn't foresee a reason why that should change.

"What are you?" Caroline blurted as her brows furrowed.

My lips tilted downward. "What do you mean?"

I didn't have to read her thoughts to know she wasn't impressed by my response. Caroline aimed a look dripping derision my way. "You said you could hear me pray. You broke the lock on my cage." She straightened and flipped her hair back. "You're not human."

"You're welcome," I replied flatly.

She grimaced before peering over at Stefan. He returned her frown before addressing me. "Are you a werewolf?" Seeing my vessel's eyebrows summit my forehead, his lips pressed together before he tried again. "Witch?"

"No." I said. From the way their eyes rounded, I must have been a little too harsh in my denial. Insisting, "I don't deal with demons," did nothing to help my cause.

My reply alarmed Caroline, but Stefan leaned forward. "Witches are servants of nature."

I knew that was true of many, if not most, witches—but, "Not all."

Caroline shook her head. "What happened to you, Sophia?" She sent me an entreating look. "I know we've never been all that close, but whatever it is," her gaze softened, "you can tell me."

Observing her with senses beyond the vessel's, I saw Caroline Forbes was nothing but sincere. She had noticed the changes in Sophia's personality, and was worried for the girl she'd spent hours with practicing cheers, riding the bus to meets, and setting up various school events.

Deep within the back of the mortal mind, Sophia stirred from her slumber.

I coaxed the little soul back into a vivid dream of backpacking over Europe before fixing a smile on my face. "I'm pleased you're no longer in danger, Caroline." Seeing her expression fall with disappointment, I rose to my feet. "Have a pleasant day."

But as I walked away, I had a feeling this would not be the end of their concerns. Or their attempts to learn the truth.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ The Long Way Down ⋅.} ───── ⊰

I was restless throughout Saturday morning and into the afternoon. Nothing seemed to hold my attention. As if they were made of oil, my thoughts kept slipping to the upcoming evening as I wondered what more I'd learn about Elijah. I now knew he was a vampire. He dealt with witches. Regardless, I looked forward to listening to the music of his soul.

I was in the backyard watching the birds argue with one another at the feeder—catty little things, birds—when the knock came on the front door.

I turned, heading back into the kitchen in time to see the mother reach the door from the living room beyond. She pulled it open. "Hello?"

"Hello," came the deep, resonant notes of Elijah's voice. "You must be April, Sophia's mother."

The mother nodded. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, I'm here to pick Sophia up." I had reached the opening between the kitchen and the small entryway when he asked, "May I come in?"

"Of course," the mother replied before stepping back.

Elijah stepped onto the small square of tiles that officially marked the entrance, sights roaming around the modest sized living room. He took in the couch pressed beneath the window and the scuffed coffee table that needed a new coat of varnish. The six-year-old television pressed along the far wall. The others boasted a few stenciled pieces of wall art proclaiming this a house of love, the importance of family, and asking for Father's blessing.

His head then turned towards the entry to the kitchen, his questing sights seemingly finding the harbor they sought as they rested upon my vessel. His small smile made its appearance. "Hello."

"Hello," I echoed, crossing the few steps of space that kept me from the mother and Elijah's side.

The mother's forehead was lightly creased as she transferred her attention from Elijah to me. "You didn't tell me you had a date, Sophia."

Date. An important ritual of human courtship. An opportunity for the prospective mates to spend time in one another's company and determine their compatibility.

But Elijah's intentions did not lie in such a direction. He meant to discover the truth of Sophia Canning.

I joined the mother at her side. "Elijah's promised to play the piano for me."

This did not placate the mother. Her brow remained lined, and her lips turned downward.

"I'll have her back before nine," Elijah promised.

It was obvious the mother still did not approve. Too old, she thought. My grace brightened with amusement as the vessel's lips curled upwards. But despite her misgivings, she nodded to Elijah before stepping away from the door, allowing me to join him at his side.

Elijah extended a hand through the doorway. Leaving the little house's walls, I walked out onto the concrete steps that descended to a cracked sidewalk. A sidewalk which led across the yard towards the driveway. Elijah told the mother goodbye before moving up behind me. His hand pressed lightly against my back, indicating I should move down the stairs. I followed the implicit command and began the stroll towards the black Mercedes Bens parked behind the red Corolla in the driveway.

Once we were seated in the vehicle, Elijah backed out of the driveway and turned North. Away from the direction the mother would take to reach the Lockwood manor. Instead, he headed further into town. We passed the outer ring of stores, the inner municipal buildings, and moved back into the northside of Mystic Falls. He drove into another residential district made up of homes considerably bigger than those which neighbored the little blue house on King street. Eventually, he rolled into the driveway of a large colonial-style two story with an immaculate yard and three car garage.

Shifting the car into park, Elijah pushed the driver door open and exited, having said nothing throughout the journey. I was about to follow, when instead of striding up the nearby sidewalk, he instead rounded the car's hood to approach the passenger door. He pulled it open and stood beside it, waiting.

I rose from the car, stepping back far enough to give the door room to close.

Elijah's hand then found its place on the vessel's back. It rested there throughout the quiet walk across the sidewalk lined with flowering bushes and sculpted shrubbery up a long porch that wrapped around the front of the house, to the large oak front door with frosted glass panels along the top. Elijah didn't bother with keys, he simply opened it and guided me inside.

It was not the grand size of the Lockwood manor, but it was not the small space of Sophia's home. It was somewhere between. Not so large to intimidate but big enough to let the visitor breathe in the space. The floors were wood, covered here and there with ornate carpets. The walls were white and bare, but the furnishings were pleasing to the eye.

Hand still on my back, Elijah gently guided me through the front foyer and an archway to a large dining room and kitchen combination. "Tell me, Sophia," he said, voice ending the silence that had joined us so companionably since leaving King street. "Do you enjoy French cuisine?"

Indifferent to food—it was all molecules to me—I let him lead me to an island in the middle of the spacious kitchen. "Do you?"

His lips twitched into a smile as he pulled out a seat at the island. "I do." I slipped onto it, watching with interest as Elijah then unbuttoned his jacket and slid it down his arms. Folding it precisely, he laid it on the chair beside me before undoing the cuffs at his wrists and rolling them back.

I studied the long, lean muscles of his forearms as he rounded the island and stepped to a stainless-steel stove, pulling the oven door open. "Twenty minutes," he announced, before closing the oven and firing up the range.

I watched as Elijah finished preparing the meal. He moved with certainty, his mind mostly quiet as he stood over the stove and concentrated on his task.

"You enjoy cooking," I observed.

"I do," Elijah agreed, stirring a fragrant wine sauce. He glanced over his shoulder, a bit of bangs laying across his eye. "I find it relaxing."

He asked questions then. Not the ones he truly wanted the answers to, but about what my days were like. How did I fill my time? How was school?

He was amused to learn so much of my evenings were taken up by the television.

I tilted my head as he began to serve the meal. "How will I know what happens next if I don't watch the following episode?"

Elijah's lips twitched. "You must be missing several shows tonight."

I was, but, "You are more interesting."

Elijah's gaze darted up to meet mine, lips lifting upwards, before he returned to serving the rest of the meal. "Thank you, Sophia." He glanced to me again as he added, "I feel the same way."

Following his lead as he leaned over the island's granite top, I picked up my silverware and began to eat. As I had anticipated, all I tasted were molecules. Still, as I had learned to say to the mother, I told him, "Thank you."

He inclined his head as he too continued eating.

The realization neither of us needed to eat anything, and yet were playing human for one another, caused another thrum of amusement to lighten my grace. "Do you cook often?"

"Not as often as I'd enjoy," he replied. His fork paused over his plate as he said, "I usually have others cook for me."

"Why?"

He hummed, chewing as he thought. After he swallowed and took a drink from a glass of wine he'd poured himself, he said, "I'm busy with other matters."

"But not tonight," I observed.

His gaze settled onto mine. "Not tonight." He commanded my attention for several long moments before finally relinquishing his hold as his sights fell back to his plate. "Jonas Martin told me you were at the werewolves' camp the night they abducted Miss Forbes."

Jonas Martin. "The magic man."

Elijah's lips twitched as his brown gaze lifted again. "I believe they prefer the term warlock."

"I was there. I did not know they were werewolves." But they had been stronger than average humans. And something wild had lingered in the back of the one woman's eyes. In retrospect, I should have realized.

Elijah hummed before taking another drink from his glass, studying me as he did so. When the glass returned to the island, he asked, "Why were you among the werewolves?"

"To free Caroline." I set my fork aside, figuring I had consumed enough. Folding my hands in my lap, I told him, "They held her in a cage against her will and tortured her."

"The werewolves won't be a problem any longer."

My brows furrowed. "Did you kill them?"

Elijah met my concerned stare, his expression relaxed and his dark eyes untroubled. "Yes."

I absorbed this with a frown. "Why?"

He picked up the wineglass and drained what was left before setting it back onto the granite. "They've interfered in matters several times now." He paused to dab the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin before tossing it back down with a flick of his hand. He met my gaze. "And would have killed those I've sworn to protect."

My frown deepened.

"You don't approve," he observed.

"Life is a gift from Father," I said, holding his gaze with mine. "His most precious gift."

Elijah's small smile reappeared. "Then perhaps he should have made it harder to lose."

Free will. His second great gift, reserved for humanity. The ability to question, to do as they wished, not as they were told.

Still, it was the first time I'd heard anyone challenge Father. I sat and stared, bewildered that any being would do so, and so casually. "How would it be precious, otherwise?" I wondered.

Elijah's head tilted, and his bangs slid to the side. "A fair point." His sights drifted to the dining room behind me, to the large window in the wall facing the street. "But the alternative is to leave my enemies free to oppose me." His gaze returned to me. "Would you leave yourself vulnerable?"

I blinked. "I don't have any enemies." Well, except for demons, perhaps, but I'd never encountered one.

One side of his mouth tilted upwards in amusement. "After your interference in the werewolves' business, it's likely you've gained a few," Elijah informed me. "Congratulations," he added dryly.

I blinked again, absorbing the notion. I, a simple virtue who had managed to avoid the last great clash between angels, now had enemies. Fighting was for soldiers, not servants. I frowned. Earth seemed intent on making it impossible to stay within the boundaries Father had drawn for me. "I've never had an enemy before." I looked to Elijah. "What do I do?"

"Short of killing them?" His mouth twitched upwards again.

"I do not want to hurt anyone," I agreed. I was not created to fight and take life. I wasn't sure if I was even capable of violence.

"Sometimes, we don't have the luxury of such a choice," Elijah replied, expression relaxed and voice even, as if we discussed something innocuous, such as the weather. "Sometimes one must fight."

I curled my vessels fingers into a fist, looking away from the dark eyed vampire to study it. Protected and suffused with celestial power, I could do great harm with this mortal body. And though I had never done it, like all angels, I possessed the knowledge of how to summon a blade from nothingness using my grace. A blade that would end the existence of any being short of an archangel, Death, or Father himself.

And, of course, there was the light of my grace itself, powerful enough to smite any soul or demon.

But at the thought of doing so, of using my very being to destroy, a great uneasiness rose within me. I was certain that, short of defending my own existence, Father would not approve of such an act. If he had meant for me to engage in battle, he would have made me a soldier.

I sighed as I let the vessel's hand relax. "I was not made to fight."

Elijah's head tilted again as he studied me. "What were you made for, Sophia?"

I glanced up at him. "To serve and to listen."

Elijah hummed. "And you think yourself incapable of being more?"

My brows furrowed. "I am what I was intended to be."

"How do you know if you never attempt to be more?" he countered smoothly. "Perhaps you should be something else entirely."

I dismissed his words and stood. Moving beside Elijah, I peered up into his calm gaze. "You said you would play for me."

His answering smirk suggested he was amused that I was done with this topic. Nevertheless, he pivoted to the new one with perfect grace. "And I will." He nodded towards the room beyond the dining room's archway before extending a hand. "Shall we?"

The sitting room was, as its name suggested, designed for visiting. A leather couch was arranged at one end before a great fireplace, along with matching armchairs. In the back corner of the room sat a piano. This one was smaller than the one he had played at the Lockwood's, and black. The hood was lifted, exposing the chords within.

"Sit wherever you'd like," Elijah invited as he stepped around the bench and lowered himself down.

I wandered beside the open hood, close enough that I would be able to see the small hammers hit their chords. I stood and watched his fingers settle over the keys with wide eyes, grace humming with anticipation.

And then he began to play.

Music. It has long been one of Father's great loves. 'Creation in its purest form,' he'd once told me as we listened to the beats of hide drums and the low whistle of hollow reeds coming from an early tribe of man living in what was now the south of France. Father would materialize humanity's instruments for himself—from the crudest of drums to the sophisticated organs of later periods—and craft his own songs upon them. 'Mine never sound as good,' he'd once wondered to himself, a proud smile on his face.

I had not told Father that it was because he did not know what it was to be vulnerable. Lonely, perhaps, but never vulnerable. So much of humanity's greatest music—their greatest art and literature, too—was a baring of what they normally tried to keep hidden. Their fears. Their hopes. Their insecurities. Their mistakes. Their dreams.

The notes baring Elijah's soul were given their own life as he played. His life.

A boy born to parents who had fled their world into a new one, hoping to find safety, haunted by their loss. A boy who was raised in the shadow of that loss and, in his love for them, sought to lessen their burden by behaving as he should and doing as he should. And yet, despite his efforts and the birth of their other children, the loss was too great a hole in their hearts for he and his siblings to fill. He internalized their fears, took them as his own at far too young an age for such a burden. He looked out for his younger sister and brothers as best he could. But all too often his best was not enough.

It would become the familiar refrain of his life. Trying to be better, to be the example. To see that what needed to be done was done as he sought to protect his family. But no matter the power he accrued or the places they ran to, at his core Elijah remained the little boy who feared loss. Loss of control. Loss of society's favor. Loss of his own reputation. And, above all, loss of his beloved brothers and sister.

And yet, these fears and the failures he had suffered lay locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind. So deep he was not even conscious of them most of the time.

Even so, they drove him. The best parts of him, and the worst.

For all his power, his invulnerability, Elijah, son of Mikael, was a man left forever trying to fill the holes in others that only they, themselves, could fill. His futile attempts to do so were the cause of much pain and strife in his life. The true depths of which lay hidden behind a door kept tightly shut.

Even in his song, I could only just sense the sins he kept hidden behind it.

The final note of his piece lingered in the room. A low, mournful note.

He lifted his head and raised a single brow as he sought my vessel's eyes, waiting for my praise or criticism.

I moved to the bench, both of his brows lifting higher as I sat beside him. I laid the vessel's hand on his arm. Now that I knew where to look, I could feel the door in his mind. Darkness and blood and death lay beyond it. The psychic waves that emanated from it were toxic.

I did what I could to soothe away the worst of the damage such poison had done to him with my grace, but I did not dare open the door. The trauma behind it would cause him great harm if suddenly unleashed upon his psyche.

Instead, I let the vessel's smile convey my gratitude. "Another?"

Elijah was confused at the sudden sense of peace that settled over him. Confused, but too old and wise to question such good fortune. Especially given all that was to come when he finally confronted Niklaus and took vengeance for their family's demise. He took in the small pale hand laying upon his sleeve, noted that Sophia's touch and his sudden sense of serenity had coincided, and added it to the growing list of mysteries he had about me.

Turning his attention back to the piano keys waiting beneath his fingers, he began his next piece.

I closed the vessel's eyes, and allowed myself to be swept away, back to the late fourteen-hundreds when he had originally composed the song. Listened to the brilliant mind as it worked out the chords and the rhythms. Let his soul sing a sweeter melody for a young human girl Elijah had become enamored of, and listened as he fell in love.