A.N.: I've made a lot of progress with my assignments, and have been told by my parents to take a break! So, you get the benefit of an update!
Resurgam
33
Witch Hunt
They were tearing the house apart. Not an unexpected development, or unique to their history; proximity tended to bring out the worst in Kol and Isak. They couldn't tolerate each other for longer than a few weeks - especially sober, confined together, and forced to be on their best-behaviour: Simply put, they despised each other, and knew exactly which buttons to press.
It was the doe-eyed monster Isak kept to warm his bed that had set them off this time, triggering an argument that escalated, as they always did, into a building-levelling brawl. Something about Isak offering to "remove the obstacles" between the wolf-girl and her son. Elijah gleaned Isak had said this much, only because he had said it in front of Kol, who knew exactly what Hayley Marshall had done to her son… Kol had his own issues regarding abusive mothers, and would happily peel the skin from Hayley's pretty body before letting her anywhere near her son - the boy bonded so deeply with Giulia.
Isak had suggested "treating" Hayley to something she wanted, after entertaining him in the bedroom: Kol had promised to give her claws to Giulia as earrings if she so much as looked Spencer's way - Isak had pounced, angered, rumbling, "Don't play with my doll!" snatching the woman away… Kol had smirked, and obliterated indolent, irreverent Isak, five centuries out of practice.
Kol did not tolerate abusive mothers. He adored Giulia. Giulia adored Spencer. Spencer had been abused by his mother: Kol would never allow Isak to reward Hayley for her loud performances in the bedroom by removing decent parents and guardians out of the way so she could do further damage to a boy who absolutely deserved better.
That was what provoked this most recent argument: And as soon as Isak recovered, he attacked Kol. They started throwing punches, smashing windows, demolishing walls to dust, and Hayley Marshall fled, wide-eyed, her earthy green satin slip shimmering as she darted out of sight in a ripple of shining barrel curls and tanned legs, heartbeat stuttering. She may know her way around male werewolves, but Originals were an entirely different unconquerable beast altogether.
The two lashed out at each other, as they were never provoked to lash out at any of the others. To each other, they were cruel, they were unforgivably violent: They were each other's mirror-image - both former-witches denied their connection to Nature, their identity - and despised what they saw. They managed to collide with Niklaus, still chained to the antique rack. It crumpled beneath their combined weight, the force of their collision, and Niklaus shuddered free of the debris - the vampires torturing him, the violence surrounding him, his own inner turmoil, set Niklaus off, triggering his hideous transformation, one of the mantrums Stefan Salvatore had described with such relish…
Elijah sighed grimly, settled on a stool at the kitchen island, and reached for a decanter, pouring himself three fingers of Macallan, watching his brothers.
Boys will be boys…
Kol and Isak's ire at each other quickly turned to rage redirected at Niklaus: Within minutes, they were taunting and baiting Niklaus as he snarled and snapped, and howled as bones broke and shifted beneath his skin, his instincts at war. They beat him into submission, breaking more bones, and chained him up like the beast his true nature had finally been revealed to be…
"I feel better," Kol declared, dusting off his hands, giving Elijah a jaunty smile. He rarely stayed overnight: But Isak…oh, Isak liked to keep the werewolf around to infuriate Niklaus with the sounds of their lovemaking, keeping the werewolf at Niklaus' expense, utilising his credit-cards to lavish things on her, replacing everything she had left behind when she was kicked out of her home. It was her werewolf scent as much as anything that set Niklaus off: The innate wolf straining to find her, join her, to run and to play - to be everything that a werewolf was…in a pack…everything his dual nature and his own personality denied him.
The fighting over, Elijah spied the werewolf emerging, eyes apprehensive; she giggled loudly as Isak spied her. Worked up from his fight with Kol, from tormenting Klaus, Isak slung her over his shoulder and laughed richly, smacking her ass, as he carried her down a corridor out of sight.
"How long has he been dandling that…creature?" Elijah asked, with only vague interest. He had noticed her scent the other night, when Giulia had appeared with Zita, Caroline and Rebekah dead in the trunk of her car. After, he found himself so wonderfully busy with school that he rarely came to the Klaushaus, or even thought about it, caught up with planning lessons, finding new resources and assessing work: He was finding it…easy, not to think about Niklaus first, always and forever… A relief, not to have to. To let go had been the easiest thing in the world. Because it wasn't him alone: They were united. Even Isak and Kol, much as they despised each other, and probably always would, would always unite against Niklaus.
Without saying a word, the decision had been made between them, unanimous: Always and forever, they would protect their family, each other. Even and especially from Niklaus.
"I'd say since about the time Hayley found the nerve to confront Giulia about Spencer," Kol mused.
"Spencer Lockwood's father must be made aware," Elijah said softly, exiting the Klaushaus to the sound of Klaus' roars of anguish and rage, and loud moans and cries from the bedroom Isak had commandeered. The sound made him shudder, and unbidden a memory of Giulia consumed his mind…
"Oh, Isak never bothers to fulfil any promises made in the bedroom," Kol scoffed, "you know that, Elijah… He'll tire of her long before he has to lift a finger to do something for her."
"Mm. Still…the idea is out there," Elijah said. Even though Isak was a selfish lover, it would be in Hayley Marshall's mind that such a thing - stealing her son from the protection of his father, by any means necessary - was possible. He remembered the girl in the library, holding the shotgun aimed at Giulia while the pack tortured her. The girl who'd been having sex with two pack-mates while the rest tortured Caroline Forbes, days earlier. The woman who had shattered her son's arm, and emotionally manipulated and intimidated him into keeping secrets about her infidelity from his father… "In case she tries something reprehensible, Mason Lockwood must be prepared to make some hard decisions."
"He already has," Kol remarked grimly. Mason Lockwood's hand had been forced, as much by what Hayley had done as by what Giulia had threatened if Mason allowed things to continue. She would happily have adopted Spencer, Elijah thought: She was too extraordinary a person, too good a mother, not to want to give everything she had to a kid who deserved the world.
"Why did you ask me here this evening?" Elijah asked, unlocking the Bentley. He had lusted after a new Tesla, but the witch-house had no infrastructure in place to charge it.
"For the brother-baiting, of course," Kol snickered, and Elijah sighed.
"I have forty essays to grade, Kol; next time you wish to waste my time…don't," Elijah grumbled.
"What is the matter with all of you?" Kol asked, shit-eating grin in place. "Gyda and Lagertha and Finn won't come out and play with me, either."
"I do not engage in your torture of our half-brother, as I have no taste or desire for it," Elijah said sharply, "but do not make the mistake of thinking that beast is not still Niklaus beneath it all. He will remember. And he will find a way to punish you for it."
"Tit for tat," Kol scowled. "We've endured a smörgåsbord of tortures over the centuries, all of Niklaus' invention. We haven't even gotten around to letting him off the leash so he can rebuild some semblance of a life, nurture happiness, pursue lovers - only for us to shred it from him like ribbons, one swipe of our claws at a time, laughing as we do so, revelling his pain."
Elijah sighed, shaking his head. "He is still in control of your life, Kol, as long as you engage him in this petty game."
"For now, I'm content to play it," Kol smiled. "Immediate gratification - it'll wear off soon enough, the novelty always does. Even torturing the great and terrible, true immortal Niklaus Mikaelson." He mocked Niklaus' self-aggrandising way of speaking, and Elijah couldn't help his lips twitching; the likeness, the accent, the unbridled fury and ego and paranoia, was uncanny. "He's turned into the greatest punchline in history. And that will sustain me long after we tire of torturing him."
"That's very true," Elijah mused. Niklaus had built his empire on quicksand, using terror and pain and them to keep the supernatural world on its knees…
What was Niklaus without the people he forced to surround him like planets orbiting a cold, dead sun? Without Elijah and Rebekah, was he the charismatic leader he believed himself to be? The just, brilliant leader of the masses who adored and respected him?
Who was Niklaus without them?
Elijah was well aware that it was he and Rebekah who drew people to them; and they who had to fight so hard to nurture and maintain relationships when Niklaus inevitably alienated everyone.
Elijah and Rebekah…gave Niklaus the illusion of normalcy, that he could maintain close relationships with people… They also enabled his behaviour.
He had read one of Giulia's many published dissertations on the Dark Tetrad personality, part of her Masters in Psychology…it had been…illuminating. And a manual, truly, for Elijah - to kick the habit of a millennium.
Day by day. Choice by choice. He had to actively choose himself, over Niklaus - and that was difficult: A thousand years had ingrained absolute loyalty and subservience to his younger half-brother - to his own detriment… It had been easier to capitulate than endure the storms created by denying him. No longer. The truth was out; Niklaus was utterly, utterly vulnerable - and instead of acting the bodyguard, as he would traditionally have felt himself duty-bound to be, Elijah…walked away. He left Niklaus to his brothers' mercy, and drove home to the witch-house, thinking again that Giulia's hospitality would not stretch indefinitely, and they were best served finding their own accommodations soon.
He smiled, entering the dining-room, finding four heads bent over their books. Rebekah, blonde hair shimmering in the light of the chandelier, painstakingly typed an essay for her History class on a brand-new laptop, only just introduced to a typewriter before she was daggered: Gyda sat cross-legged on her chair, bopping her head, huge cordless headphones covering her ears, a mess of sweets, lipsticks, children's storybooks, drawing pencils, crochet and nail-polishes spread out beyond her Algebra textbook as she munched on potato-chips and proved that a vampire could adapt - she had her new smart-phone out, and was happily dipping between apps to communicate with the friends she had made at school, scrolling the internet, as adept with technology as if she had grown up with it. Willem had his long legs stretched out beneath the polished table, a much-abused copy of Good Omens in his hands, a smile twitching on his lips, delight sparkling in his eyes, sipping a beer. And Finn, freshly-showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot, frowning with his head in his hand as he stared down at a small book with pages printed with blue and red lines - a handwriting practice book. Someone had modelled letters for him; modern written English was very different stylistically to the elaborate medieval French and Latin he had learned in Marseilles.
"Well, look at this," he smiled warmly, leaning in the doorway. It was a rare sight indeed. Gyda continued to jerk her head to The Ramones, but Rebekah looked up from her typing, a faint line of stress between her eyebrows. "My family gathered at the dining-table doing their homework!"
"I know," Rebekah said rather grimly. "It's very mortal of us. And just where have you been?"
"The Klaushaus," Elijah said; they all referred to the bleak white monstrosity Niklaus had purchased by Giulia's little nickname for it. He set his briefcase down at a free seat, pulling out his own smart phone, and the pile of papers he had gathered from his AP students. He sighed, and dialled the phone.
"Hello, Elijah," she purred warmly as the call connected.
"There's an echo, where are you?"
"Oh, in the truck; the phone's linked," Giulia said. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, I…was wondering if you would be available for a consult…"
"Depends on what kind of consult," Giulia said, and Elijah grinned, starting to mark his papers. Willem raised his sapphire-blue eyes from his book, smirking luxuriously as they listened to Elijah flirt.
"How much would you charge to do a walk-through and redesign of a mid-century modern home that has undergone some…structural damage?"
Giulia didn't miss a beat. "Isak and Kol have another go at each other?"
"It was inevitable," Elijah sighed. "But it wouldn't do to leave the house structurally unsound. I imagine it would sell very well, with a few alterations."
"Hm… I could be convinced to take a look."
"For an obscene consultation-fee, of course, generously paid by my half-brother."
"Just how obscene are we talking? Profane or offensive?"
"Exquisitely offensive," Elijah grinned.
"I really like your brother," Giulia purred teasingly.
"I thought you would," Elijah smiled. "Shall we set up a date for the walkthrough?"
"Yes, I - " There was a soft beeping on the line. "Uh…hang on a second… Can I call you back, Elijah?"
"Of course," he frowned, wondering at the abrupt change in Giulia's tone. She sounded concerned. He set his phone down, grading his papers while he waited, aware of the eyes on him.
"Stop it," he said quietly, as he turned a page, and Willem laughed richly, Rebekah giggling softly, and even Gyda glanced up from her phone to smirk. Even Finn smiled when he caught Elijah's eye, a thoughtful look on his face…
"Bonnie?"
"I need you to c-come back!" Giulia sat up straight, alarm coursing through her at the sound of Bonnie's stricken voice - she was terrified.
"Bonnie, what's going on?"
"They're g-gone!" Bonnie stammered: She sounded like she was succumbing to shock.
"Who?"
"My babies - they're gone! Someone attack-attacked - Sean…he's unc-conscious!"
She always watched her friends walk through their front-doors: She had seen Bonnie duck inside her darkened house and drove off, smiling as Elijah's name flashed up on the smart-screen. Checking her mirrors, Giulia made a wide U-turn and drove back down Bonnie's quiet street.
It was Bonnie's first time away from her children, her first outing since baby Deana's birth - the nickname Bonnie used for her infant daughter, to avoid confusion with Grams. Caroline had hosted a girls' night at her house, with lasagne and manicures and The Spy Who Dumped Me for a laugh and some Sam Heughan ogling. It was Bonnie's first break from the kids since Deana's birth, much-needed mommy time to remember that she wasn't a walking milk-machine, but an adult with friends who adored her, who had her own interests and hobbies beyond her children, her responsibilities to them and to her husband - and was allowed to indulge in them every once in a while. They had played cards, Caroline had scrapbooked, Bonnie had brought out her crochet, and Giulia had researched Vanellope von Schweetz's race-kart to draw up designs to decorate the papier-mâché 'shell' she and Spencer had made the other day, currently drying out in her garage. She had sketched and coloured as Caroline gave her a pedicure, and Bonnie laughed as they watched the movie, enjoying a half-glass of wine with her dinner - her first in months.
The front-door was wide open as Giulia parked on the drive; she stalked up the path to Bonnie's neat bungalow, the flowerbeds overflowing with late-summer flowers lingering stubbornly despite the cooler nights late-September brought, a relief after the breathless summer heat. Bonnie met her at the door, wild-eyed and frantic.
"Thank you for c-coming back!" Bonnie choked, and burst into tears.
Sean was out cold on the sofa, unhurt but very clearly unconscious - not just sleeping. Giulia checked his pulse, scented him for anything untoward, and turned to make Bonnie a cup of camomile tea as she tried Sheila's cell-phone. The babies weren't in the calm, nature-inspired Montessori nursery Giulia had created as a gift for Bonnie when Penelope was born. Other than Sean, there was no sign anything was…wrong. Except Bonnie had left the babies with Sean for the first time since Deana was born; they were gone, and he was out cold.
And Sheila wasn't answering her phone.
Bonnie's hands shook so badly she was in danger of spilling the tea as Giulia handed her the teacup, but sipping the tea slowly gave her something to focus on, to calm herself down, while Giulia sighed, and dialled her phone.
"Giulia, is everything alright?" Elijah asked softly.
Giulia paused. And then said quietly, "I need your help… We need your help."
"What has happened?" Elijah asked.
Twenty minutes later, Willem was scenting his way around Bonnie's modest bungalow, picking out the girls' scents, and any other clues as to what had happened to Sean, while Elijah and Finn waited on the porch, Elijah talking to Ashlyn on the phone. Giulia checked hers for news from Damon, who had headed over to Sheila's house to check on her. Rebekah had headed downtown to track Abby Bennett at her noted haunts.
"Anything?" Giulia asked Willem, who carefully closed the nursery door and padded down the hall to them.
"Whoever it was has put a lot of effort into trying to cover their tracks," he said quietly. Giulia glanced over her shoulder at Bonnie, tears coursing freely down her cheeks. Willem leaned against the wall, gently nudging Giulia's shoulder. "Lucky for Bonnie, I've been doing this a lot longer than these witches have."
"It was witches," Giulia said grimly, and Willem nodded: Bonnie suspected Abby, her mother's instinct overriding everything else. And Giulia thought Abby Bennett truly believed she was dealing with amateurs: There was no way the attack on Giulia by the vargulf, the wolfsangels outside Sheila's house and the disappearance of Bonnie's children were not connected - and had all begun just as Abby Bennett returned to town.
"When I was a boy, my mother taught me that all magic leaves traces," Willem said, his expression sad, faraway, the most solemn Giulia had ever seen him. "I can't track the witches' scents, and they have masked the girls'…but magic… Magic has a very unique scent."
"Does it?"
Willem smiled warmly, nodding, "I'll teach you. Close your eyes. Focus on your sense of smell."
"Now?"
"What better time?"
"You know I'm not good at it," Giulia demurred quietly, but did as she was told. Willem had devoted most of his eternal life to mentoring werewolves: If he couldn't help Giulia break through whatever was holding her back from embracing - and utilising - all of her senses…who could? She hadn't had opportunity to really…try. So she did what he asked, and focused, listening to his instructions.
She caught a whisper - and seized on it, with Willem's calm, patient coaching, immersing herself in that tiny vapour, that hint of scent, a memory of it. She recognised the unusual, earthy…tangy scent that made her nose twitch the moment she focused on the scent, natural and at the same time, exquisitely unnatural. It instantaneously brought to mind New Orleans - the colloquially-dubbed 'Cauldron' in the witches' territory in the Quarter; a specific bar in the Tremé; the Lafayette Cemetery where so many witches communed with their dead. That was the smell. That was the scent of magic.
"Oh!" she whispered. "I got it!"
"Well done," Willem smiled warmly, as she opened her eyes.
"That's what magic smells like?"
"Unique, isn't it?" Willem said softly, leading the way casually into Bonnie's living-room.
"Anything?" Bonnie asked, gulping down her tears, and started when the front-door opened, Ashlyn and Jeremy letting themselves in.
"The witches masked their scents, but they left the stench of magic behind," Willem said quietly. Giulia's phone pinged, and she frowned as she glanced at the screen, her heart sinking. There was literally no sign of life at Sheila's place, Damon texted: Except a now-smouldering wolfsangel impaled in her front-yard. Giulia showed Willem the photo Damon had sent over.
"What - what is it, is it from Damon? Is it my Grams?" Bonnie stammered, eyes wide.
"Yes," Giulia told her. There was no point sugar-coating anything. "Sheila's not at home."
"I'll head over there," Willem said. "See if I can pick up anything. I'll be quick."
"I'll get you the address -"
"No need. I know Damon's scent," Willem said simply. "I can track him across Manhattan; Mystic Falls is no challenge." He headed out the door, pausing on the porch steps only long enough to confer with his brothers, and raise his nose to the air, scenting.
"Is Sean okay?" Giulia asked, turning to Bonnie.
"He will be…they just gave him a little mystical Benadryl, from what I can tell," Ashlyn said, wincing slightly, exchanging a glance with Bonnie. "Might be better for all involved if we don't wake him up just yet…" Until the girls were safely home: And they could ensure Sean never knew what had happened. He didn't know Bonnie was a former-witch: He thought Grams was a kooky lady who drank a lot and talked a lot of crazy stuff carried over from her career as a professor of the Occult. He didn't know it was real… And Bonnie wanted to make sure it stayed that way. So, Sean slept on, while they planned to retrieve the babies.
"Can you find them?" Giulia asked Ashlyn, who winced, unfolding an ordnance survey of the town.
"I can only try," she said, sweeping her long champagne-blonde hair over her shoulder. "But…if it's the same witches controlling the vargulf, Willem may have a better chance of tracking them down. Faster, too."
"You mentioned the coven jammed you last time you tried to trace them," Elijah said, frowning thoughtfully as he leaned unimposingly against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. In dark-wash jeans and a powder-blue shirt beneath his suit-jacket, he looked…devastating, Giulia thought, with his new haircut and the emotional weight shed off his shoulders. He exuded a warmth and subtlety, a quiet charisma, an understated presence that drew all eyes when he entered a room. Even the way he held himself was more relaxed, more comfortable in his own skin, more open. "Could you channel us, to smash through whatever precautions this coven has set in place?"
"You mean overwhelm them with sheer brute force," Giulia said, and Elijah nodded.
"Like a computer virus," Jeremy said softly, and Ashlyn gazed thoughtfully at him, considering. They communicated silently: Every witch had their own well of power to draw on, and faced pushback that affected their physical strength if they overexerted themselves - thus, channelling was a useful way to increase their power without risking their health: And Originals were the equivalent of harnessing a handful of Tony Stark's arc-reactors. They were literally self-sustaining energy-sources for witches.
"Well, I'd need as many of you as possible to even try to overwhelm a coven of any considerable size - especially… Well, if they're using alternative magic," she said, giving Giulia a subtle look. Giulia remembered the side-effects of Ashlyn channelling her to heal Spencer: With Bonnie's children in the wind and Sheila unaccounted for, she couldn't afford to let Ashlyn drain her of strength. The Originals, though…
Within twenty minutes, Willem had returned, riding in the passenger-seat of Damon's sky-blue '69 Camaro. They were arguing about it needing a tune-up - and about Damon's choice in music.
"-house-rules, Liam. Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cake-hole," Giulia heard Damon sigh as he flung himself out of the driver's seat, Willem rolling his eyes as he slammed his door shut. Her lips twitched as she caught Damon's eye: That was exactly what she always told him.
"I got the scent," Willem said, by way of hello; Damon waited on the porch with Finn, Gyda and Elijah. "Smells like Sheila put up a fight."
"Grams had spells to protect her from anyone who intended to do her harm in her own home," Bonnie said glumly, wiping the tears from her chin with her hand, sniffing.
"I'm here, I'm here!" someone blurted, and Caroline shimmered into view, eyes wide. She ducked past Finn to enter the house unimpeded, gathering Bonnie up in a huge hug. "Do we know what's going on, where the girls are?"
"We can track them down," Willem assured Bonnie gently, ever so subtly pre-empting another meltdown they didn't have time for.
"The question is what we'll find when we do…" Giulia said, and they all exchanged a look. They were going in blind - and against witches, that was not just stupid but potentially dangerous. Originals were hardier than most supernatural creatures but even they weren't infallible.
It was agreed they hadn't the time to dissect every plan they might come up with: Two little babies were out there, possibly with their elderly great-grandmother, in the hands of zealots who formed a supernatural hate-group.
Stood in the backyard, Ashlyn tried to find them, channelling the Originals and using Bonnie's blood as a catalyst: She could only point them in the direction of the woods west of town. Bonnie's blood blurred and spread across an acres-wide stretch of the map, obscuring her family's true location - but even witches couldn't do anything about the bond between mother and daughter, which was why they had the general idea of their vicinity.
Giulia could cover the two-hundred acres of woodland without breaking a sweat, searching for the babies.
But there was Sheila to consider. The wolfsangel. The vargulf. And the coven of witches. Rebekah texted, saying that Abby Bennett was hosting a cocktail-night with several old girlfriends downtown: She wasn't directly involved…but Bonnie didn't believe for a second - and nor did Giulia - that Abby wasn't at the helm of this targeted attack. Bonnie's Grams and her daughters being kidnapped on the same night, almost every lead concealed by magic - magic that led them right to the coven responsible.
"We can't go in there blind, without any plan of attack."
"I have a plan," Damon quipped, smirking luxuriously, "attack."
"We're missing something important," Elijah said softly, frowning at the ordnance survey, Bonnie's blood pooled over it. "Why have they targeted Sheila Bennett? And why take the infants?"
Giulia sighed heavily, wincing at Bonnie, as she said, "I…think it's because Abby knows about - what Sheila and I did…"
Bonnie blinked. "You mean - stripping my magic?"
Gyda glanced at Willem, her lips parting. "If Sheila Bennett was directly involved in denying a witch her rights to magic, the Order…" she trailed off, pressing her lips together. They all had the imagination to realise the implications. "Well, they - the Order would consider it their sacred duty to put Sheila to trial and…mete out whatever punishments they deemed appropriate for the offence."
"These freaks took my Grams and my babies because Grams and Giulia saved my life?" Bonnie gasped, fresh tears of outrage, of self-loathing and guilt, coursed down her wan cheeks. "Stripping my magic was my penance for what I did - if they hadn't done it…" She broke off, swallowing hard. "My babies wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here."
"It is irrational, I know," Gyda said gently, her youthful face at odds with her wise tone. "But we aren't dealing with rational people; the Order is comprised of extremists. They live by their own rigid laws; subtleties like your situation would throw into question everything they have been conditioned to believe…they like to keep things simple. You were a witch; now you are not. And Sheila Bennett is to blame."
"Then why isn't Giulia being harassed? Why wasn't she taken?"
"I would imagine the Order doesn't quite know what to do with Giulia Salvatore," Elijah said softly, his eyes warm as they seemed to consume Giulia. She felt his gaze like a caress, and had to stifle a shiver.
"Giulia's a being of nature," Willem added. "And…unique circumstances went into her creation; if witches respect one thing, it is that…life finds a way." Gyda cast her uncle a fond look; Giulia caught the Jurassic Park reference and adored closet-nerd Willem for it. She was also reminded of Elijah, driving her home after the vargulf attack, telling her there was a reason she had come into being at all. "She was meant to be…they won't mess with that… Not yet, anyway."
"So can we get on with it, before they get bored with baby Bennetts and move on to bigger prey?" Damon asked. "I have a bet with Rebekah over who'll snag the vargulf. So, chop, chop."
"Let's not belabour the point," Elijah said, catching Giulia's eye; she nodded in agreement, reaching back to start braiding her hair neatly out of the way - a habit she had formed in childhood, sure sign now that things were about to get messy. "We must decide now who will snatch back and protect the children, who will go to Sheila's aid. Willem, will you deal with the vargulf?"
"I'd prefer to," Willem said, giving Damon an unyielding look so unfamiliar on his usually relaxed, smiling face that people always respected the power emanating from him, the thinly-veiled menace and intent.
"Not for nothing, Liam, but the last time someone looked at me like that," Damon smirked devilishly, "I got laid."
They drove out to the woods, as close as they could get without wrecking the alignment of their vehicles: It would be easier to go on foot. Giulia changed into her boots before climbing out of her truck; and they picked their way quietly through the trees, away from any roads, toward the acreage Bonnie's blood had pooled over on the ordnance survey.
"It'll be quicker if I go ahead," Willem said, sighing heavily as he gazed into the dark woods, hands on his hips. For a second, he looked like a Greek sculpture, limned by moonlight, his eyelashes sending shadows over his high cheekbones, blonde hair glowing like a halo, his muscular arms velvety in the moonlight.
He stripped off, flinging his clothes over his shoulder at whoever caught them: His jeans still warm as she draped them over her arm, Giulia sighed appreciatively, ogling. "I've always admired his mind."
Willem raised his eyebrows over his shoulder at her, and Giulia grinned, in spite of the circumstances. "Behave."
"Shan't."
"Stop showing off," Gyda called, smirking playfully, and Willem grinned. "Get a move on."
In heartbeats, he had transformed. It was seamless, apparently effortless: One moment Willem stood there, the next, an enormous wolf prowled away from them, low to the ground, ears pricked back in awareness, his rich wheat-gold coat glistening silver in the moonlight.
Giulia glanced at Elijah, at Finn… They were stunned. They had never seen Willem transform. Had never known him to be a werewolf at all to have such a unique ability. And to contrast Willem's exquisite transformation with Niklaus… The difference was staggering.
"I'd say you get used to it," Gyda muttered, watching Willem's bushy tail disappear through the underbrush, "but you never really do."
"He…"
"He is a werewolf-turned-vampire," Giulia said quietly. "He's very proud that the werewolf is dominant."
Willem had been turned into a vampire years after he had triggered his werewolf curse: He had lived as a werewolf, lived amongst werewolves, been mentored by them, for years before the fateful night werewolves tore apart his youngest brother, following older Niklaus to drag him back from a rendezvous with a slave-girl… Willem had the mentality of a wolf - deeply nurturing, community-oriented, patient, self-sacrificing, protective and intelligent, intuitive and adaptable. Traits Giulia adored him for.
The very same traits utterly lacking in his only full-blooded brother Niklaus - one of the many reasons Klaus had no control over his own body. Klaus' issues were barely about his physical shift: To have any hope of tapping into his nature, harnessing his transformation, he would need to address some very serious psychological issues nurtured and indulged over a millennium - he had to alter his core nature.
Giulia gazed up at the waning moon, days past full: She sighed, and gazed into the woods. Of the recent occasions her shift had been triggered, not one had not involved some horrific threat to her life or the lives of those she loved - Klaus' hand gripping her heart; the vargulf sniffing its way to Zita. But she was not solely reliant on a hefty dose of terror to trigger her shift: She had learned to control it, unleashing her true nature and learning how to rein it in. She had learned on the job, because she had to. It was dangerous for her, and it was dangerous for others if she didn't learn what made herself tick.
She exhaled slowly, opening her eyes: Her vision adjusted, as if someone peeled a film from her eyes, taking away the darkness, leaving everything saturated with silvery light. She saw night-insects and birds, the predators of the night, owls in the trees and the Originals, all around her, in exquisite detail. The closer to the full moon, the stronger her senses: She worked hard to not let them overwhelm her. But tonight…tonight, her fingernails sharpened to claws unbidden; her fangs descended, her jaw throbbing subtly; her heart pumped blood to her organs, leaving her skin cool to touch, pale in the starlight; she listened, and she raised her nose to delicately scent the air - scent Willem, disappearing out of sight, but leaving the trail of his scent to track him by.
She remembered the scent of magic, and tried to find it amid the thousands of other strains of scent lingering in the cool woods.
Giulia smelled it, first, long before they came into sight of it. Like Maleficent's great wall of thorns, uncanny vines of vervain had climbed up the trunks of trees, weaving together, forming a living, toxic boundary twenty feet high in places.
And within the perimeter, a vargulf patrolled.
There were twelve of them, twelve witches in dark robes painted with the Order's insignia, standing in a perfect circle, hands outstretched, wrapped around flaming torches sending eerie shadows flickering across the undergrowth, jammed deep into the earth, which was marked with spine-tingling symbols.
In the very centre of the circle, white-faced, her lower-lip trembling, was Sheila, tied to a stake, kindling and branches stacked at her feet.
One of the witches had spread a woollen blanket on the ground, a show of care utterly at odds with the scene: Barely four feet from Sheila, Penelope and baby Deana slept peacefully, Penelope sucking her thumb, Deana tucked into her star-shaped swaddling blanket. The way they were sleeping so peacefully brought Sean to mind; whatever they were going to do to the babies, this coven didn't want them to wake.
"Okay, who forgot the marshmallows?"
Damon. The master of irreverence and diversions. He sauntered into the firelight, dusting vervain ash off his leather-jacket, grimacing at the sting. Giulia fought not to cough as the stench of the burning vines started to choke. She had always been good at starting fires… "This looks cosy."
"What're you doin' here, Damon?" Sheila asked warningly, trying to crane her neck to peer over her shoulder, visibly shaking.
"Oh, well, I'm a man of my word, Sheila," Damon said breezily, sauntering closer. "I've never broken a promise before, I'm not gonna start now. You comfortable up there?" His appearance startled the coven, briefly. Their faces shadowed, eyes glinting behind eerie featureless masks, it took a second for them to react.
"Not very," Sheila said grimly, settling back against the stake, her eyes lowering to her great-granddaughters, Deana only a couple of weeks old, both of them so, so precious. She wasn't just staring to make sure the last thing she ever saw in this life before hers was gruesomely ended was her grandbabies sleeping so sweetly: It was an unspoken command to Damon to prioritise the babies.
He ignored her, of course.
Where their friends and dependents were concerned, Salvatores had a zero-loss policy. Only with their friends and dependents. With their enemies, they happily swerved toward maximum-casualties strategies. All while being glib and highlighting their excellent bone-structure with strategic lighting.
Giulia couldn't help but appreciate Damon's theatrics, all to draw attention to himself while they crept into place. This coven was large, but their one witch had a handful of Originals to channel from: And the Originals were good at multi-tasking, especially when murder and mayhem were on the menu.
"Abomination," one of the witches hissed.
Damon's face contorted, materialising in front of the witch. "Words hurt," he tsked, and smirked decadently as the witch raised his hand - with no effect whatsoever. Damon clicked his tongue, whispering with mock confidentiality, "Performance anxiety?"
Damon reached up, and snapped the witch's neck - giving a decisive yank for good measure that echoed like a gunshot around the clearing as the witch's head popped free, a signal to the others. He sighed, smiling benignly at the witches who seemed to whisper and hiss to each other, still connected by the flaming torches they grasped: One took a hasty half-step backwards as the disembodied head rolled from Damon's hands, his expression unconcerned.
"So…who's next?"
The vargulf howled, and the pyre ignited as the witches started chanting, low and eerie in the quiet woods.
Through the flames, a russet-coloured wolf leapt, fangs bared, snarling, at Damon. Old blood matted its fur, but it had healed from the wounds Giulia had inflicted.
A blur of dark-gold, and the russet wolf yelped painfully as it landed heavily on its side, tiny in comparison to the giant that was Willem in his wolf form, pinning the vargulf beneath his immense paws, and the wolf shook, ears flat to its head, simultaneously snapping its jaws to rip out Willem's throat - he roared, so loudly the supernatural creatures present winced, their ears ringing… And Giulia shivered. It wasn't a call, the way Hayley and Mason and Tyler had heard Willem dominating Klaus at the Fourth of July party - but it held power… It was a command. One huge paw pressed to the vargulf's muzzle, pinning it to the ground, using his immense body-weight to pin the vargulf bodily to the ground, destroying the symbols carved into the earth beneath them, the flames of the pyre flickering as Giulia snapped a neck and leapt over the crumpling body, her eyes on Sheila, deathly pale, trying to keep away from the encroaching flames, sweating and shaking.
Giulia screamed as her blood turned to acid searing her veins: She crumpled toward the flames growing as the witches continued their chanting. Writhing, she screamed, and screamed - pain like nothing she had ever experienced - and then, nothing. She shuddered and shook, startled to find herself in danger of catching alight, and rolled away from the pyre - to find Elijah stood over her, a bloody heart in his palm, the most vengeful look she had ever seen on his face, delicately splattered with blood. He was…scary. Delectable.
She gasped, and shuddered, and acknowledged the pain was gone, and clambered off the ground as Elijah carelessly tossed the bloody heart aside. He scrutinised her, for one long second, before turning to assess the pyre - the flames were flickering, now lower, now higher, and in the centre, half-concealed by the smoke of green wood, Sheila's pupils were tiny pinpricks, her face livid with fear.
Before they could dive for her, a dark-haired blur snatched Sheila, landing on the ground beside the empty blanket where Penelope and Deana had slept. They didn't land lightly; and Damon hadn't grabbed Sheila gently.
But she was alive, and she wasn't burned.
The flames died as Gyda snapped the last neck, and luxuriated in feeding from a fresh source for the first time since awakening - she used blood-bags, finding them utterly convenient, and more in tune with her philosophy that blood was integral to her survival, as much as insulin was necessary for diabetics: She preferred not feeding off living human-beings, as most people preferred not to name the cow they turned into barbecue. She was also a great believer in sustainable living: Waste not.
"Sheila…are you okay?" Giulia asked concernedly, even as she was aware that exhaustion was setting in - her shift, and the pain, had burned through her energy, limited as it was these days.
"I'm just fine," Sheila said, shaking like a leaf, her pupils blown. The stench of her terror was more overwhelming than the smoke and tang of blood. She gazed at Giulia. "Where's Bonnie?"
"She's at home with Caroline, Ash and Jeremy," Giulia told her quietly. "Sean's out cold, but he's okay." Sheila let out a sigh of relief, but wrung her hands as she gazed down at the blanket where her great-granddaughters had slept so peacefully.
"Where are the babies?"
"Finn gathered them to safety," Elijah told her gently. There was a snarling, yelping noise behind them, and they turned to watch Willem remove his enormous paws from the vargulf's muzzle as she shook, her fur on end.
"She's not turning back," Giulia frowned softly, and Elijah glanced from her to the vargulf, and then at Sheila.
"I would have thought the death of the coven would have freed her," Elijah said.
"It should have," Sheila said quietly, calming down as dread settled in the pit of Giulia's stomach, realising. The vargulf wasn't changing into her human form…because whoever held power over her was still alive. Meaning, not present…meaning they had no idea just who it might be… Giulia glanced at Sheila, wondering…was it Abby the vargulf was linked to?
"Why wasn't Abby here tonight?" Giulia asked, and Sheila scoffed gently.
"A daughter murdering her own mother? The Order has its own warped code, and that'd be too much," Sheila said, her voice dripping with irony.
"If the vargulf is not shifting to her human form, is it possible Abby Bennett is linked to the vargulf?" Elijah asked.
"That's not the sense I'm gettin' from this place," Sheila said, massaging her rope-burned wrists as she gazed around the clearing, the site of the massacre. She focused on the vargulf, whining and writhing beneath Willem's paws. "The wolf was linked to the coven, it's true; they controlled her thoughts and actions. Now…"
"Now?"
"I can sense…a curse. She's bound, still, yes, but to this form, rather than to the will of this coven," Sheila said, frowning softly. "Killin' them freed her from servitude to them, but not from the curse keeping her in her wolf-form."
"So…she was being controlled when she attacked Giulia and the others?" Damon frowned, gazing at the vargulf. They watched Willem lean down and tenderly lick her muzzle, trying to comfort her, but she writhed and whimpered.
"Of course she was," Sheila said sensibly.
"But the coven was controlling her; they're dead - so she's free?" Damon prompted, looking grumpy. It was harder when they had to wade through shades of grey. Damon was a black-and-white kind of guy: He didn't like to think too hard about the details that got in the way of getting a job done.
"Mentally, I'd say she's free," Sheila said, glancing at Giulia. "She's remembering who she is, even if she can't transform back into her human form."
"How can you tell?" Elijah frowned, and Giulia watched the vargulf. With Zeus, Gallant and Tisiphone at home, Giulia could see it.
"She's distressed," Giulia said, and Elijah, who had had many pets over the years, watched the vargulf. "You can smell it." She smelled the confusion, the terror, the rage, and the grief. "Willem…" She said it gently; his ears pricked, and he glanced away from the vargulf, whining beneath his paws frantically. "Let her go." He canted his head to the side, glanced down at the vargulf. She heard him chuff softly under his breath, leaning down to again lick the vargulf's muzzle, nipping her ear tenderly - all gentle, comforting acts - then carefully removed his paws from her body.
Shuddering, the vargulf froze for several heartbeats before she rolled onto all fours, quickly scanned and scented the people in the clearing, and ran, disappearing into the shadows.
"Um…we've just spent days trying to find the vargulf," Damon said, as if speaking to a simpleton. "We were supposed to skin it, not set it free!"
"She's no longer just a vargulf to be killed, Damon; she's a wolf now in control of her own mind again," Giulia said quietly. "There's someone trapped inside that wolf-pelt."
Damon sighed heavily, looking annoyed; Willem padded over to Giulia - eerily silent, for his immense size. He reached her, and scented her hand, licking her palm and her fingers with his rough, hot tongue. He rubbed his huge head against her thigh in a show of affection, of thanks: Because she had understood. The vargulf had been a prisoner inside her own mind as much as she was still imprisoned inside her own body.
And Giulia had too much experience with the Crescent pack of New Orleans to think of their vargulf as just a wolf. Whoever she was, she was someone's daughter, girlfriend, best-friend; she had a life, people who missed her - if she was lucky. And she had run, rather than attacked, as any truly indoctrinated member of the Order would have: She had run, and that showed she was in control of her own mind once again, her own body - even if she was trapped in wolf-form. And that worried Giulia. That meant there were more unknown enemies lurking around town - or perhaps even further afield: The vargulf was bound to something, or someone.
"What's that?" Giulia asked gently, as Sheila stooped to pick something off the ground at a dead witch's feet. It was a small sickle blade, shining brightly in the moonlight, the metal freshly-forged by the smell of it, and…Giulia could smell the magic seeping off it like blood oozing from a wound. The handle was made of bone, the blade itself engraved with symbols and runes she recognised from her Occult studies.
Sheila sighed, and handed the blade to Elijah, who looked perplexed.
"You'd best keep a hold of this," she told him gently. Elijah raised an eyebrow in question. Sheila flicked a glance at Giulia before adding, "I watched the witches forge that blade… They forged it from a set o' matching silver daggers."
Gyda glanced over her shoulder; Giulia heard her breath catch. Gyda glanced at her father, whose lips parted, accepting the blade from Sheila. It looked lethal in the moonlight. "They're…they're gone?"
"The silver daggers? Mm-hmm. They'd absorbed so much of your energy, your power, over the centuries, they were uniquely powerful magical objects," Sheila said, gazing sorrowfully at the blade. "The coven channelled that power to forge the silver daggers into somethin' new, a weapon… That's no ordinary sickle you have in your hands. It'll siphon the power from whatever it kills - witch, werewolf, and vampire…siphon it, store it, to be harnessed at will…"
"A rechargeable mystical battery," Gyda said shortly, and Sheila nodded.
"Rechargeable through death," Elijah muttered, frowning at the scythe in his hands. His brows drew lower, and he focused on the details, the curve of the blade, the bone handle, and he blinked several times, before glancing at Willem, who sniffed and sneezed as Elijah held out the blade to him to look at. Willem peered closer at the blade, tilting his head to the side as he glanced up into Elijah's face.
"The silver daggers are no more…." Gyda murmured: Elijah shared a look with his daughter. They were free. Never again could Niklaus use the silver daggers to control his siblings' lives.
And for a second, Elijah gazed at Giulia, as if he had realised something. His lips parted, eyes widening subtly, but he frowned gently, and glanced at Sheila, at Damon, and pressed his lips together.
He didn't say anything to Giulia, not in the clearing, not on the ride back to Bonnie's house with Sheila, not until they had watched Bonnie fling herself at a bruised, grimacing Sheila, the babies fast-asleep in their nursery, and, leaning in the front doorway, Elijah murmured to her, "You know more about what has happened here tonight than you are letting on."
Giulia glanced at Elijah, reminded how well he knew her. The game they used to play. How he never underestimated her. "I only act like I know everything, Elijah."
Elijah gave her a look dripping with irony. "You were not surprised the scythe was made from silver daggers…so either you handed them over, or you knew they had been taken and said nothing," he muttered, frowning softly, as if trying to work out a particularly evasive problem. "Because you wanted something significant to happen."
Significant, like the silver daggers being destroyed. The one weapon Niklaus had consistently used against his family, to manipulate and control them, for a thousand years. She had seen the way Elijah's and Gyda's eyes lit up with wonder - with possibility - at the very thought of such delicious freedom being granted them.
"What's that?" someone asked sharply.
"Nothing," Elijah said softly, glancing thoughtfully at Giulia, brushing off Bonnie, who advanced with a scowl, her eyes bright, shining with unshed tears.
"No, what do you mean?" Bonnie demanded belligerently, advancing. "Why is he saying you're…involved?"
Elijah turned to frown at Bonnie, and a wiser person would have backed off just at the look on his face. "That is not what I said," he said, his tone so silky, so dangerous, Caroline and Jeremy exchanged a glance over Ashlyn's head. Giulia glanced at Ashlyn, who was gazing at the coffee-table, determinedly not meeting anyone's eye.
"That's exactly what you said," Bonnie said harshly. She turned her wide, bloodshot eyes on Giulia, demanding, "Did you know about this? You knew they would come after my babies, after my Grams?"
"Of course I didn't," Giulia frowned. "Do you think I would ever let anything happen to them?"
"You woke them!" Bonnie shouted, gesturing at Elijah and the others, gathered on the porch. "You brought the Originals to my home. They're here because of you. And now this magic Ku Klux Klan is in town, and they're using my Grams and my babies to get at me because of what you did to me!"
"What I did to you?" Giulia repeated, her eyebrows rising. "I saved your life."
"I didn't ask you to come to New Orleans and get involved."
"No, Sheila did," Giulia snapped, and Sheila sipped her tea, looking exhausted, and regretful that an argument had been triggered. "You didn't think twice about getting me involved tonight."
"Why not, it's your fault my babies were put in danger!" Bonnie hissed nastily. "You woke the Originals! That coven wouldn't have even come to town to notice my family if it wasn't for you and your vampire crap."
"Baby, what those witches did tonight had nothin' to do with vampires. And everythin' to do with how Giulia and I saved your life all those years ago," Sheila said tiredly. "They wanted to execute me for stripping you of your magic, and test the babies to see if they were born with any."
"Don't defend her - it's her fault!" Bonnie shouted angrily. "They would've never come here if it wasn't for those monsters." Even Caroline sat up a little straighter at that: The Originals went rigid, and Giulia felt cold seep through her, straightening up.
"Those monsters who protected your children tonight," Gyda said, with a silky danger that she had to have learned from her father. "Those monsters who saved your grandmother's life, who protected your friend when the witches attacked her.
"Some friend," Bonnie scoffed maliciously. "It's no wonder you were so miserable without them; you're just like them. A monster."
All eyes flew to Giulia, whose silvery-grey eyes remained fixed on Bonnie's face, her pale skin flawless as her face seemed to harden to stone, her expression chilling, utterly unyielding, dangerous. Suddenly they were reminded how beautiful she was, and how tall: How her physical presence had shifted to be at once elegant and awe-inspiring, unearthly and vaguely threatening, imposing and scathing, warning. Ever so subtly, her body-language shifted, her shoulders pinned back, her chin level with the floor; and Bonnie seemed to realise in that instant that she had made a mistake.
Giulia said nothing. Simply stared at Bonnie. Her keys clicked softly in her hand, and she turned and strode out the front-door.
It was Gyda, again, who spoke, breaking the silence, and Elijah heard her warn Bonnie as he made a decision, and followed Giulia down the drive to her truck: "She will remember that, the next time you assume that monster will clean up your messes for you."
Giulia jammed the key in the ignition, jerking the gear-stick into reverse, and was glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn't back into Willem's truck when the passenger-door burst open, and a shadow climbed into the seat. The truck lurched to a stop, and she stared, eyes wide and burning, at Elijah.
"What're you - ?!" she blurted.
Let's…drive for a little while…" Elijah suggested, and Giulia stared at him for a second, as he buckled his seatbelt. Then she put the truck back in gear and drove off, her eyes burning. She was exhausted from her shift, and Bonnie attacking her… She had just turned the corner onto the next street when she had to pull over, her eyes swimming so hard she couldn't see straight. Elijah sighed heavily. "Shall we switch seats?" She nodded, whimpering softly, and they did just that, climbing out of the truck so they could change places. Elijah sighed, adjusting the seat, and drove off. After a moment, he sighed, and reached over to take her hand, entwining their fingers. He said softly, "She had the scare of her life tonight. We say things we mean but shouldn't say."
"That's usually when the truth comes out," Giulia said, her voice hollow.
After a moment, Elijah said honestly, "The truth is, I was surprised by your friendship with Bonnie…given the last time I saw you, you refused to acknowledge she existed, due to her attitude towards Caroline's transformation." Giulia glanced over at Elijah, her lips parting. "I know you moved to New York after that summer…how did you become friends again?"
Giulia wiped her face, curled up in the passenger-seat, and watched the road slip by.
"I saved Bonnie's life."
"She was grateful," Elijah said softly.
"And embarrassed. When I found her in the Tremé, she was… To say not one of the witches we killed tonight could touch on the kind of evil she was dabbling in…the Order would consider it an abomination, to use that kind of magic," Giulia said, suppressing a shudder. Dealing with that particular coven of witches had been one of her earliest and most harrowing experiences in the wider supernatural world, a precursor to what came next and a series of events Giulia sometimes found herself comparing things to, so significant was the trauma and macabre. "She was in so deep she couldn't even see straight - I…killed the coven she got mixed up in, dragged her back to Mystic Falls…"
"You killed New Orleans witches?" Elijah asked, his eyebrows rising. New Orleans witches were not to be trifled with.
"None of the other covens wanted to risk going against them," Giulia said, sighing heavily. "When I handled it, they were grateful."
"And the message spread, I imagine: Even the witches' worst are no match for Giulia Salvatore," he said, with a small smile on his lips.
"Something like that…"
Elijah glanced over at her, as Giulia pinched her eyes, and shook her head. "What is it?"
"You've just…reminded me why I stopped being friends with Bonnie in the first place. She couldn't accept that Caroline was turned against her will; even now, in an argument, it's the first thing she accuses us of. Being anything other than what she thinks we should be," she said tremulously, the tiny muscle in her jaw ticking, a tell that she was more upset than she seemed. "I…shouldn't have to apologise for being what I am, for something I cannot change - and wouldn't. I'm tired - I'm tired of this town. I'm tired of small attitudes."
"Why do you stay?" Elijah asked.
After a moment, Giulia said, "It's best for Zita," but even she didn't sound convinced, to Elijah's ears.
"I would have thought a happy, fulfilled mother would be best for her growth and development, regardless of where she lives," Elijah said softly. "You're allowed to put yourself first, Giulia."
He was surprised by the little chuckle that came from her. "Said the kettle to the pot."
Elijah smiled. "Perhaps we should make a blood-pact…to be a little more selfish sometimes."
"Sometimes… You were right, you know. I knew the daggers had gone missing."
"But you didn't hand them over to the witches."
"No. Only one other person knew where they were hidden. Because she hid them."
Elijah sighed heavily, understanding. "Ashlyn… Why…? Oh. Jeremy."
"It would be a shame for him to die, just when she's finally agreed to marry him," Giulia said sadly, and Elijah nodded.
"There's more you're not telling me, more you know…"
"I don't know…I can only guess," Giulia admitted. "Bonnie was right about one thing; the Order is here for you."
"And how do you know that?"
"Because I'm the one who infiltrated the Order and destroyed it from within," Giulia told him, and Elijah glanced around sharply. "What's left is the people in town, now."
"When you woke me, you told me Niklaus is not the one giving you sleepless nights," Elijah murmured, and Giulia nodded.
"Abby Bennett and Bill Forbes…they're the only ones I have allowed to survive so long," Giulia said quietly. "Out of loyalty to my friends… I couldn't be the one responsible for their parents' deaths."
"But their deaths must inevitably come."
"All death is inevitable."
"What is it you want them to do for you, before they are killed?" Elijah asked succinctly, and Giulia smiled to herself, luxuriating in being in the presence of the one person who had always understood her, never underestimated her, and accepted her wholly for who she was, every flaw and nuance. His lips twitched, and he smiled, "Beyond destroying the silver daggers that kept us prisoner to Niklaus, of course."
"Beyond that?" she sighed softly, as Elijah moved his hand to her thigh, rubbing tenderly. She placed her hand on top of his, stroking her thumb against the back of his hand. She sighed, and glanced at him. "Beyond that, I am going on faith."
"Faith? In what?"
"Not a what…a who… Fabian."
"The miser," Elijah murmured, and Giulia nodded. Her husband never gave out more information than he thought was strictly necessary; and even then, it was confusing and ominous and usually a riddle. He was impossible to track down; and even harder to gauge when he would be lucid. But what he did give was…always helpful, in its own obscure way. Fabian never did anything for anyone; he pointed them in the vague direction, but only after spinning them around twenty times and setting them off like a drunk spinning-top - it was up to them whether or not they succeeded in interpreting and heeding his advice.
"And what did Fabian Seydoux advise?" Elijah asked. Giulia sighed heavily, glancing at Elijah.
"What's coming will come," she said quietly. "I just had to put the pieces in place so you could meet it when it does."
Elijah frowned. "Me?"
"Your family," Giulia said. "You're the Originals…your family has set the precedent for a thousand years… Fabian hinted that the next millennium will not be like the last, but only if…certain criteria are met. I only know about the daggers. Whatever else is going on in town… They still trust him."
"Fabian? He leads them?" Giulia shook her head.
"At this point, he's merely an unreliable consultant."
"The lot of the oracle," Elijah said grimly, and Giulia nodded. No-one ever believed the oracle. "But he has guided them here." Elijah frowned, and then realised, "You work together."
"It's easier for us to work together to do what needs to be done…if we're not together," Giulia admitted. "He…can't see when I'm around. And he can't see me. He could only track my life through the choices and actions of others…"
"I wonder why that is," Elijah said thoughtfully.
"He…thinks it is because I am utterly unique to nature…with untold potential," Giulia said quietly. "There's no knowing how I will affect things once I truly start to embrace what I am. At the moment, I'm still trying to figure out what it means to be what I am…just another monster."
"Not all monsters are monstrous, Giulia."
A.N.: I know in TVD Bonnie did show character growth, yadayada, over the seasons, but writing this really made me think how unlikeable a person she was in the very beginning.
Right, back to work!
