Part Two
Caroline's focused on a distillation, humming absently to herself when Klaus enters the lab. She glances at the clock on the wall, notes that it's nearly noon.
Which is weird.
She's not a natural morning person – like at all – but by necessity, she's trained herself to be alert-ish by 8 AM (though it takes longer and a ton of coffee for her to be firing on all cylinders). Klaus, on the other hand, seems like he barely sleeps. She's been working for him for nearly a month, and before today, she's never once beat him into the lab.
She checks the temperature of her cauldron, eases to flame down a touch. "Morning," she ventures, wondering if it's crossing a line to ask if he's okay.
"Good morning," Klaus replies absently, voice hoarse. He's not looking at her, flipping through his mail. She hadn't been worried when he'd been late, figuring everyone indulges in an occasional day to sleep in and that Klaus probably needs it more than most, given his habits. The full moon had been last night, traditionally a celebration in certain circles. Granny Forbes always marks it. She's aware that Klaus is, or at least was, estranged from his family, but maybe he still partakes in some kind of ritual. Now, though, Caroline wonders if she should have gone to look for him earlier. He's pale, and his eyes are bloodshot, with prominent dark circles.
He's never chatty, but he usually asks her what she's working on. Today, he doesn't, appearing preoccupied. He walks by Caroline and opens one of the closets, dragging out a trunk.
The trunk.
It's one of the more magical items in the room. She's been desperately curious about it, surreptitiously hovers for a few moments whenever she ducks into that closet. The energy it radiates is cold, and repellant, its magical signature the equivalent of voice rasping 'abandon hope, ye who enter here.'
"Do you need help?" she asks, rising from her stool. Klaus' movements are stiff and halting, he leans heavily on the trunk for a moment before straightening. Technically, it's her job to help him. And her concern increases the longer she observes him.
He hides it quickly, but Caroline spies a flicker of pain.
Klaus offers a faint smile, and she's not the least bit reassured. "It's probably best if you stay back a bit."
He crouches, both of his hands pressed to the top of the trunk. His eyes close, and his breathing grows labored even as his lips form words. The trunk's magic pulses, like it's angry, and Caroline takes an involuntary step back.
Klaus' attention remains on taking down whatever enchantments he's laid, and Caroline knows she probably should return to her work.
Except she's fascinated. She's made some educated guesses based on the runes scratched into the trunk. Caroline is incredibly tempted to inch closer. Klaus is distracted; it would be easy to peek inside and see if she's right.
She resists because that would be both a giant violation of Klaus' privacy and a step over the lines she'd carefully drawn to get through this rotation.
But she's pretty sure he's built a self-sustaining void, and that's awesome.
Klaus moves too quickly for her to make a decision. He flips open the top, flings the letters inside, then slams the lid shut. He wavers, his balance off, and Caroline lurches into action, no longer able to resist the urge to help.
She snags a chair, sets it down next to Klaus with a purposely pointed clatter. He blinks up at her blearily. Except for that first day, Caroline's maintained a careful bubble of personal space, even when it would have made more sense to get closer. He looks even worse, exhausted, and her worry grows. "Sit," she says firmly. "You look like you're going to pass out."
"I need to…" he doesn't finish his thought, wobbling again. Instinctively, Caroline reaches out to steady him, gripping his right shoulder. Klaus stiffens, his jaw clenching, and she catches the pained noise he tries to hide.
Immediately, she loosens her grip.
"Crap, sorry!" She shifts and hopes his injury is only on one side. Caroline tentatively eases his left arm up so she can duck underneath and help him into the chair. He makes another noise, softer but still filled with discomfort.
He doesn't fight her, which might be the biggest clue that he's weaker than he appears.
When Klaus settles, Caroline doesn't move away, accepting that it'll bother her if she doesn't make sure that he's okay. When she looks closely, she can see bruising edging out from under his collar.
She slides her hand under his clothes without thinking about the consequences.
His skin is hot, and his breath leaves him in a pained rush. "Sorry," Caroline murmurs, easing his shirt aside, so she has a better view. The bruises are fresh, still red in many places, just beginning to deepen to purple-blue in others. They cover a large area, at least from his collar bone to his upper arm. "What did you do?" she asks.
"Fell down the stairs."
"Liar."
Such a blatant fabrication should deeply annoy her, but she's more focused on what to do next. She tries to remember what she's learned of healing magic (so not her strong suit). Her mind runs to catalog Klaus' stores because she knows she can at least whip up a competent poultice.
"I'm fine, Caroline. I need to…"
He's looking at the trunk, and Caroline glances over at it with some wariness. As Klaus had managed to latch it shut, she judges that it's not an immediate threat. But, from the way he's looking at it, she half expects it to begin vibrating or to see smoke drifting from the seams.
Caroline can faintly feel its magic warning her away, but she can block that out. "What, is it going to explode?" The lab contains a wide array of delicate objects and flammable materials. Klaus far from stupid, so she's reasonably confident he wouldn't be storing the trunk in the lab if it were dangerous.
"Of course not," he says, sounding offended.
"Well, I appreciate it, given it lives six feet from my desk."
She's joking, even smiles, but Klaus isn't looking at her. "I'll move it to my rooms if you're worried."
Caroline sighs and uses her free hand to direct his gaze towards her, skimming his jaw with her fingertips.
He leans into the touch but, for her sanity, she's going to forget that.
"I'm not, honestly. I know that you and I are…" Caroline can't quite find a description that is both appropriate and neutral; she lets her sentence trail off. She shakes her head, focuses on his injuries again. "I just mean, I don't think you'd do anything that would put me in danger."
"I would never hurt you," he says, low and earnest.
It sounds like a promise, and it takes a great deal of self-control for Caroline to swallow her scoff.
Klaus had hurt her.
If she mentions that it will be so much harder to re-establish boundaries. She'll need those back once she's assured herself Klaus' injuries will mend. Without distance it's possible, likely even, that he'll hurt her again.
She turns away, not wanting to risk him reading her expression. Caroline decides she needs more space to work, grabs the trunk's handle to shift it.
Klaus says her name urgently, alarmed.
He grabs her wrist and yanks her back, pulling her off balance. He catches her when she half-falls against him, even as he gasps out at the impact. "Careful," he scolds. "You shouldn't…" he pulls her palm towards him like he expects to see burns or blood or some other wound.
She's fine, unmarked save for the stains from the leaves she'd been prepping and a few callouses from where her knife rests.
Klaus' eyes go wide, mystified.
Ordinarily, Caroline would question his alarm and complain about being pulled practically into his lap. Pressed against him, it's apparent that it's not just Klaus' abused shoulder that's warm. He's a furnace, his core temperature far higher than it should be.
She takes her hand back, touches him as minimally and gently as she can when she pushes away. Caroline steps back but glares when he makes to follow. "You stay right there," she says, in the tone she'd always used to instill fear in the younger girls at school. "Do you keep pain elixirs on hand?"
The stash she'd brought is gone, making more is on her to-do list. Klaus shakes his head, "I don't bother with them."
She makes a note to double the batch she'd planned on brewing.
"Okay, then we'll lean on medical science. I'm going to get you some water, an ice pack, and Tylenol." She glances at him, questioning, checking for confusion. Kat's family had been ultra-traditional, and she'd never ventured outside sorcerer circles before being sent to school. She'd been clueless about a fair number of the items Caroline thought of as commonplace.
The Mikaelsons are even more hardcore.
"After I was sent to school, I avoided going home as much as possible. I spent most of my holidays in less strict homes."
Caroline nods wishes she could ask about his friends. So far, he's not had a single visitor, and as he hadn't bothered with outfitting the house with any sort of communication technologies. She can't help but wonder if he's still in contact with them. "That's good, wouldn't want you to think I was trying to poison you."
"I trust you."
Yeah, she's going to need to leave that statement alone. "Tylenol doesn't work instantly, but it should help. I'll mix up something topical that will take down the swelling and speed up the tissue repair."
"You don't need to go to the trouble, love. I'll be fine in a day or two."
She can't help glancing skeptically at his shoulder. The bruising looks deep. "It's no trouble." She'll feel way better if she does something. She turns away to gather supplies. "Take off your shirt," she tells him briskly. It's only practical.
She does not check to see if he's doing it.
Caroline's mother tends to send useful care packages; she's well-stocked in basic first aid. She retrieves an icepack from one of the refrigerators, then a clean towel, a bottle of Tylenol and a tensor bandage. When she returns to Klaus, she means to focus on his injury, not on the newly bared expanse of skin that she'd briefly gotten very familiar with back at school.
She fails, but only because the bruises are far more extensive than she'd realized. His right shoulder is the worst of it, probably why he'd reacted when she'd touched it. There's bruising on his left shoulder, more decorating his ribs, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. "What did you do?" she asks again, forcefully this time. Caroline approaches slowly, afraid to touch him now, her hand extended uncertainly.
Klaus' lips press together, and he averts his eyes.
At least he's not attempting to lie again.
The urge to ask questions is nearly unbearable. It perturbs Caroline greatly that she has to swallow them. She recognizes that demanding answers it's not her place. She's here only because she's Klaus' subordinate, and The Guild had mandated her presence in his home. She may have thought they were friends once but, given how Klaus had left and hadn't bothered keeping in touch, she'd been wrong.
"Okay then," she chirps, too loud and obviously falsely cheerful. She lays the towel over Klaus' shoulder and then the icepack. He doesn't flinch or complain, but she's as delicate as possible, directing him to lift his arm so she can wind the tensor bandage around his torso to keep the ice in place.
She's fairly sure he won't stay sitting much longer, her hunch proven correct once she pins the bandage in place. His movements remain careful as he drags his shirt back over his head. She doesn't assist, though her fingertips practically itch with the urge. "Any allergies I should know about?" Caroline asks, once he's on his feet again.
She half-expects him to argue with her plans now; he's technically within his rights to forbid her from making anything else to help him.
Caroline would ignore him. Maybe he knows that.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
Rude.
She's just about to say something less than polite - because he deserves it - but Klaus continues before she can. "What I meant was that I don't keep anything I react poorly to in the house."
"Oh," Caroline says, mollified. "I guess that makes sense."
He reaches for her but stops abruptly, his hand just brushing her arm before he steps back. "Thank you, Caroline. For everything."
"It's no trouble. Might even be good for me to brush up since you're apparently very clumsy."
It's bait, but Klaus doesn't take it. He merely smiles faintly, again bending to examine the trunk.
Caroline doesn't try to hide her annoyed sigh, and she might stomp just a tiny bit on her way back to her workstation.
She's not nearly annoyed enough to go back to her regularly scheduled work, however. She's got a few ideas, but she figures a quick trip to the library is now on the agenda.
Once she's mixed up something for Klaus (and convinced him to use it), she'll take a closer look at the store cupboards.
Something is up with Klaus; perhaps there's a clue to be had in the stockroom, something standard that's missing. Caroline senses a mystery and knows Klaus won't solve it for her.
She also knows it's absolutely none of her business.
She's still going to figure it out.
Caroline has a weekend routine.
She wakes up at precisely 9:40, throws on something comfortable, then hustles down to the dining hall before breakfast is cleared. Years ago, she'd discovered that staff eats as soon as the breakfast hours are over, so when Caroline shows up, there's a fresh array of food and very few students to share with.
Then, she makes herself a plate and finds a table near a window, scrolls through her phone because the rules around electronic use are relaxed on weekends, and she does her best to seem normal to the friends she'd maintained outside of The Academy.
Her mother will never leave Mystic Falls, and Caroline would rather not have people tossing around wild speculations. Her Instagram feed is carefully curated to present her 'boarding school' as boring, academically demanding, and perfectly mundane.
The first weekend after she'd been assigned to work with Klaus, she'd considered deviating. Maybe getting up earlier to make herself more presentable or skipping her usual comment spree in favor of getting to the library earlier.
In the end, she'd stuck to her routine Saturday because primping and schedule changes seem like things a girl does for boys she's interested in dating. Klaus Mikaelson so isn't in that category. Besides, she's well known for being a creature of habit. If she gets dolled up, people will notice, and she'll be subjected to even more nosy questions.
It's super creepy how many times she's been asked to describe Klaus' scent.
So she wears old jeans and comfortable sneakers, strolls into the library just before 11. The crowd of gawkers looks to have thinned though that may be because plenty of girls go back to bed after breakfast on weekends.
She spots Klaus at the table he's commandeered, but he's not alone. Kat's talking to him, seated on the table, and Caroline again experiences a rush of emotion that's far too intense for such a dreary room.
At least there are fewer witnesses this time.
Katerina Petrova is Caroline's best friend, a fact that would have shocked her ten-year-old self.
To say they hadn't gotten along initially would be an understatement. Caroline had resented being sent off to boarding school. Kat had been raised to view people outside her own family with suspicion. Neither of them are inclined to shyness or willing to back down from conflict.
They'd each needed an outlet; naturally, they'd found one in each other. The first day they'd fought over bed assignments in the dorm, then over what games to play outside, what music to listen to before bed, and a myriad of other things.
Honestly, it was impressive that they hadn't gotten in more trouble. Girls still joke about the couch they'd set on fire.
In Third Year, they'd found a common enemy (a transfer student, Bethany Altree, who took pride in being a tattletale extraordinaire), and by the end of the spring term, there'd been a grudging détente.
Over the course of Fourth Year, they'd discovered they had more in common than they thought and became a team rather than adversaries.
Bethany must have transferred again because she hadn't shown up for Fifth.
They've spent time together on breaks - Kat's come home with Caroline and Caroline's made the trip to Bulgaria - so she's seen Kat interact with people she finds attractive. Kat's got a distinct flirting posture (though flirting's probably too mild a term – when Kat decides she wants someone, it's more of a hunter/prey situation), and she's clearly deploying it on Klaus.
It's a cliché, but ripping Kat's fantastic hair out from the roots would be so satisfying.
Caroline had plenty of unkind thoughts about Kat when they'd been adversaries but nothing quite so vicious as the ones currently racing through her mind. She's angry, irrationally so, has to take a deep breath and count down because she's well aware that if she walks over there now, she'll probably make an ass out of herself and say something to Kat that will never allow her to live down.
Klaus notices her first and appears relieved though maybe that's wishful thinking. He's not Kat's usual type, but Kat's just about everyone's type from what Caroline's observed.
Caroline smiles because it's a habit and makes her way over. Kat's out-of-uniform wardrobe is dark, tight, and slinky. She's making the most of the sheer plum blouse she's wearing, the lace of her bra visible because Kat has unbuttoned even farther than she usually does – and Kat is only passingly familiar with modesty because she gets bored in detention.
Caroline's teeth hurt a little from clenching.
Kat looks up (probably miffed that her audience isn't as enthralled as she thinks it should be), and her expression sends new alarm bells ringing through Caroline's head.
It's smug, a touch condescending, suggesting that Caroline and not Klaus is the prey.
Kat hops from the table, leans a hip on it, smirking. Caroline's steps slow, and her anger begins to cool.
She's been successfully deflecting questions about Klaus, what he's working on, what she thinks about him. Caroline just hadn't noticed that Katerina hadn't asked questions, which is wildly out of character. The Petrovas firmly believes that knowledge is power. She's a font of information about all the prominent magical families and is always eager to store away new tidbits, just in case they come in handy one day.
It's part of why they get along so well; Caroline respects anyone who can play a long game.
"Hey, Care," Kat drawls. "I've been looking for you."
That's definitely bullshit. Kat's aware of Caroline's standing weekend plans.
Calling her out with a witness will only antagonize her. "Well, you found me," Caroline says, glancing at Klaus, trying to gauge just how abrasive of a conversation he may have endured. "Did you need something?"
Kat grins, a distinctly evil tinge to it. "I don't need anything, but I've decided to do a good deed."
Caroline's not sure what that means, but it seems ominous. "Why?" she asks suspiciously.
Kat's expression only sharpens, and she latches on to Caroline's arm, tight enough that she can't be shaken off without making a spectacle. She addresses Klaus breezily, "I need Caroline for a few minutes. I will return her in more or less the same condition. Thanks so much for the… enlightening conversation. Tell your brother I said hi!"
Kat's deceptively strong, and despite her height disadvantage, she manages to drag Caroline away and into one of the smaller rare book rooms. She releases Caroline once she's shut the door, leaning back and blocking the exit. She crosses her arms, "Looking a little green there, Cupcake. Don't worry, I recognize that you've called dibs even though you didn't have the ovaries to actually call dibs."
Caroline is tempted to play dumb, but she respects Kat too much. Plus, it'll only drag this out. "He's not a peanut butter cup."
Kat beams, "But you're dying to lick him, aren't you?"
Caroline sighs, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. "Is there a point to this?" She refuses to give Kat the satisfaction of confessing to the slight interest that has kindled. It's not like it has a shot of going anywhere.
"My good deed is the point of this. Or do you not want to know what I know about Klaus and his messed-up family? I know dear old Pa Forbes frowns on gossip."
Damn it, that's tempting. "Do you know them or something?"
"Some of them. I've never met the two oldest. Twins, totally the golden children. I forget their names. I have met the next brother, Elijah. Hot, well-dressed, thinks he's too old for me. He seemed to have a stick lodged somewhere unmentionable. If he asked me to assist in removing it, well…"
She wiggles her eyebrows, and Caroline has no trouble filling in the blanks. "Is he too old for you?" Caroline asks.
Though Kat's usually unconcerned with those sort of details.
Kat shrugs, "Probably. But if we happen to cross paths in a few years, it'll be another story."
"Poor guy," Caroline mutters. She hops up on the table behind her, figures she might as well get comfortable because Kat is clearly just warming up.
Kat's eyes narrow, and she flips her hair over her shoulder. "Hey, be nice. I'm doing you a favor here, remember?"
Caroline's not yet sure if that's true, but she'll be magnanimous for now. "I'm listening."
"Now, I'd met Klaus once years ago – I think I was seven or eight. At this big Beltane thing near Naples. Generally, though, he seemed to get left behind. Rumor had it he was sickly, but he looks fine to me." She pauses suggestively, but Caroline merely stares back, refusing to provide the desired reaction. Kat pouts briefly but returns to her monologue. "There's Kol. He's a year or two older than we are. He's fun but talks too much. Thinks really highly of himself."
"Yes, that can be annoying."
Kat ignores the sarcasm. "Then there's Rebekah, a bit younger than us." Her nose wrinkles subtly.
"I take it you're not a fan?" It's an easy supposition – Kat doesn't like very many people, and she tends to like girls their age even more rarely.
"Ugh, Rebekah Mikaelson is the opposite of fun. Spoiled, snotty, stuck up."
It's a struggle to keep a neutral expression. "You realize that many people would apply those adjectives to you, right?"
Her eyes narrow in annoyance, "No one worth talking to."
"Obviously."
"I'm delightful and you know it. Though Klaus didn't seem to think so." Kat extends a hand, examines her nails theatrically. Caroline swings her legs, grits her teeth again when her temper flares."
She will not give Kat the satisfaction.
"Didn't even look down my top and I am wearing a great bra."
Caroline will not take the bait. She will not take the bait.
"So, six kids? That's a lot for magical families these days."
"Seven," Kat corrects. "There's a baby. Henrik, I think."
"Wow, that's an age gap."
"Not an actual baby. He's like 12."
Ah, Caroline should have known. Kat's distaste for the first years is legendary, and they're usually terrified of her by the end of week one.
"Now, the parents are the most interesting. Rumor has it they hate each other, and from what I've observed, that's accurate. Esther doesn't seem to say much, rarely mingles. She manages always to appear like she's judging you. Klaus' dad is notoriously strict. He arranged his oldest son's marriage like it's still 1647. And he's very proud of his family's legacy, despite it being sickening."
"Legacy?" Caroline asks.
"Yeah, their connection is glossed over in the official history books, which must have cost a fortune. The Mikaelson family was largely responsible for The Purification."
Caroline's mouth falls open in shock. "That's… wow."
"Yeah," Kat replies grimly.
The Mikaelsons aren't popular or well-liked, but they're powerful. More powerful than they should be if they'd orchestrated prolonged, targeted, mass murder.
Caroline's a sorcerer from a long line of sorcerers. Granny Forbes claims they're descended from Valkeryies, but that's impossible to prove, and her grandmother's always been fond of hyperbole (and gin).
It could be true - sorcerers often to mixed with and married members of other species up until about two hundred years ago because they could also practice magic. Not always – from what Caroline's read, the ability was sort of a recessive gene. A few kids would be born every generation with an aptitude for sorcery in a werewolf pack or a nymph line or amongst the selkies. They would have attended the same schools as Caroline's ancestors and accepted into the same society.
Some sorcerers had always resented that. Sirens could lure with their voices, and Dryads were nearly indestructible. Werewolves were stronger, faster, had heightened senses. Most species had gifts and abilities that Sorcerers didn't. Was it fair then that they could also wield magic?
Some decided it wasn't and that magic should be reserved only for sorcerers. Those who'd led the movement had called themselves The Purifiers. They'd killed thousands and terrorized many more.
After about a century of the murder of any non-sorcerers who could use magic, the ability of other species to practice had been snuffed and has never been recovered. Sorcerers no longer associate with outsiders, and they're generally viewed with suspicion by other species - certain areas of the world are too dangerous for them to enter.
Caroline can't claim they don't deserve it.
She'd once visited a memorial in The Petrova's village. Kat had pointed out the names; succubi wiped from her family tree a few generations ago. There'd been so many names, even in a sleepy corner of Bulgaria.
"Suddenly, it's making a lot more sense why my dad refuses to associate with any Mikaelsons."
Kat's taunting façade drops when she pushes off the door. She sits on the table next to Caroline, softer now. "I was just messing with you because it's fun."
"I know."
"You should be careful."
Kat reaches over and hooks a finger in the chain Caroline always wears around her neck. There's a single charm on it, a septogram her father had crafted from iron at her birth. Each point holds a tiny stone that her grandmother had selected and imbued with her considerable power. Caroline's always worn it, and it's heavy with protective magic. "Don't take this off."
Kat's rarely serious, and it's unnerving. Caroline tries to reassure her, "I'm just writing notes, researching. He'll be gone in a few weeks. It's really not a big deal."
"But you like him."
There's no point in denying it – Kat knows her. "I'm just a sucker for a pretty face."
Kat bumps Caroline's arm. "He better be on his best behavior; I'd hate to I have to mess that pretty face up."
From Kat, that's an 'I love you.'
It's her Sunday off; usually, Caroline would spend it outdoors. Unfortunately, a storm has her trapped in the house, ominous thunder crackling and rain coming down in thick sheets. Klaus had shoed her out of the lab, joking that he didn't want to be accused of unfair labour practices.
As if The Guild would even care.
She's restless, physically and mentally. It's been a few weeks since Klaus' mysterious injuries, and despite Caroline's best efforts, she's growing more and more comfortable with him. They talk more, touch more. Nothing prolonged or even intimate, but she no longer avoids his side of the lab. They'll often work together on a single task where before they more often alternated duties.
Caroline reminds herself to keep her distance constantly, but her usual tenacity is failing her. She catches herself laughing and revealing more than she should in conversations, hopelessly drawn to him.
They're not friends, not even coworkers. She's technically his assistant.
It just doesn't feel like that.
She's doing brisk circuits through the house, not quite enough to break a sweat. There's an odd number of tiny tables and knick-knacks scattered in inopportune places, and Caroline would hate to break one.
She is moving fast enough that she almost misses the click and the creak of a door opening.
Except it's a door that's she's very aware of, one that is always locked tight—the door to Klaus' room.
Caroline pauses, head swiveling, half-wondering if her imagination's going wild.
The door's still moving, slowly opening wider as if in invitation. The hinges are silent now, and the room is well lit. Caroline averts her eyes, knowing she should keep moving. There's a reason Klaus' door is kept closed and heavily warded. Caroline's sensitive to protection spells, but even someone who's not would be wary.
Caroline's taken them as a big fat hint – a confirmation that Klaus desires distance.
The wards are curiously absent now.
She creeps closer, can't resist looking.
Klaus' room has the same worn stone floors as the rest of the manor but are covered in plush rugs. It's large, split into two halves by a short wall of bookshelves. Caroline has a clear view of a seating area, a velvet sofa, and a low table in front of a fireplace, large pillows layered on the ground. She steps closer, twisting her head so she has a better view of the rest of the room. He has a desk that looks very similar to the one in the lab, piles of parchment and books arranged in a way that she thinks is haphazard. Klaus, however, insists that his workspace is perfectly organized. His bed is large, a dark wood frame with elaborately carved posts, and draped in dark fabric.
Caroline takes another tentative step forward, having accepted that she's going to snoop a teeny bit, but her eye catches something odd.
She abandons subtlety. "What the…" Caroline mutters, crossing the threshold.
Why does Klaus have a cage in his room?
She approaches it warily. She'd guess it's made of iron, standing just a bit taller than she does and roughly six feet across, maybe three or four deep. The bars are as thick as her wrist, running both vertically and crosswise, allowing for little light to enter the interior.
It's also pulsing with power.
Warily, half-expecting to be forced back by the magic emanating from it, Caroline edges closer. She ducks her head, squinting into a gap.
Her hearts beginning to pound – what will she even do if there's a gory scene in there? The manor is isolated. Klaus hadn't even bothered to put in a landline when he'd moved in. She won't get too far on foot, considering the storm outside.
Her breath leaves her in a relieved whoosh when she gets a good look, sees that the cage is clean and mostly empty, with just a pile of blankets in one corner.
That does little to alleviate her confusion.
"What in the…"
"How did you get in here?"
Klaus' voice is sharp and Caroline whirls, biting back a startled yelp. He looks livid, standing in his doorway, jaw working.
"I…" she begins weakly, knowing there's no good explanation for why she's standing in his room. "I was just… passing by?"
"How did you get through the wards?" he demands, striding into the room. He's carrying a notebook, and he tosses it on the couch, uncaring that it bounces from the force and lands on the floor.
"There were no wards. I was just power walking through the halls since it's raining and I can't hike the grounds and I was feeling a little stir crazy. The door creaked open so naturally I glanced over and then, okay fine, I looked but come on, who wouldn't?" She gulps a breath, cringes, because now's probably not the time to be accusatory. She gestures to the cage, "I saw the… this and was a little alarmed and then my feet were moving and my brain was stuck on 'oh crap, it's a cage' and then I was fully in your room and invading your privacy and I am sorry."
Klaus inhales deeply, his head tipping back. "There were no wards?" he repeats, sounding strangely defeated.
"Did you set wards?" Caroline asks, unable to resist, even though she's well aware that it's probably not her turn to ask questions.
"Daily. Since you arrived." There's a tired note now as he bends to collect his notebook.
Caroline tries not to be offended – after all, hadn't she just proven she kind of deserved the distrust? "I see. Well, again. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."
She edges towards the door, giving Klaus as much space as she can. She's almost in the clear when he speaks, stopping her hasty retreat. "That's it? Don't you have questions?"
Duh. But she's not going to ask them.
She spins, still poised on the balls of her feet, eyes darting back towards the cage. "Nope," she lies. "Absolutely none of my business. Especially considering the, uh, trespassing. What you do in the privacy of your own bedroom is totally your business. And I will forget all about everything I have seen."
Another lie. She'll just have to act like she's forgotten. Caroline will likely think of little else for the foreseeable future.
"It's not…" Klaus runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "It's not at all what you're thinking, Caroline. I promise"
She waits, wondering if he'll explain though he owes her no such thing. Really, how many explanations can there be? Klaus doesn't elaborate, shaking his head. He stalks away towards one of the closed doors, either a closet or a bathroom, his hand reaching back over his shoulder, beginning to tug at the collar of his shirt.
Caroline beats a hasty retreat when she realizes he's about to strip, certain she's invaded his privacy more than enough for one day.
It's harder than it should be to leave.