Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowed and nurtured for fun. A/N: Woah, thanks to all the favs and reviews. Hope you enjoy this latest instalment. Reviews appreciated.
YOUNGBLOOD
iii
ladies don't start fights
but they can finish them
Kol walked inside the compound, reminded of when he possessed Kaleb Westphall's body, and cursed Rebekah to Dowager Fauline's cottage until he forgave her for her 1914 betrayal. For this, Klaus trapped him in the compound with only Marcel's protection. It was Davina who pleaded for Marcel to protect him from the others; a witch verses a nest of vampires.
As he crossed the courtyard with Marcel Gerard on his mind, he realized 1942 should have been a time of prosperity but instead the humans were recruiting soldiers for World War II. He trod on pavestones newly laid, no weeds or cracks, just the evolution of new beginnings. He had never known Marcel Gerard, the man, only the vagabond Klaus had rescued from the Plantation.
It was imperative he sealed a deal with the King of New Orleans – no matter the cost.
Kol knew he was walking into the lion's den without magic, without back up, just his lineage and reputation – Marcel's word could be his last. His eyes darted from the balcony to the rooms above, one which had his name on it, and that of Davina's. It felt odd to be back without Davina, his wife, and any knowledge of all that had happened, all they had lost.
Come on Marcel, where are you? Revelling in Klaus' empty throne, probably, he thought.
He could not let on that he was from another time, or that he had changed as a person, physically, and emotionally. He no longer sought to kill Klaus, in fact, he would have given his life again, if he could save his big brother's. Klaus had sacrificed himself to protect Hope, like Hayley had for them, rendering Kol, Davina and Freya her soul guardians.
The compound was eerie, most civilians had vacated for the war, except Marcel. There was a flurry of breeze and Thierry and Diego grabbed him, unsurprised Kol played the part of someone in the wrong place at the wrong time; his pleas ignored. Kol had his own reputation to protect, an Original vampire more formidable than his brother Klaus. Madder, more cunning, a ruthless killer.
Most of his kills were an attempt to regain his strength after being trapped in a box for a century. It's a wonder he didn't go mad in the months after his release. Kol was thrown to the ground, two shiny leather shoes belonging to Marcel Gerard met his weary expression. His past was only a distant memory, Marcel was no longer the weak, nervous little boy, he remembered; he was a leader.
A hand was offered, "Thought you were history, Kol."
Kol, much to Thierry and Diego's surprise accepted. "You heard wrong. I don't want trouble."
"You're a Mikaelson, trouble is your middle name," Marcel grinned.
"Used to be yours too, if I remember correctly," Kol reminded him.
Marcel indicated for his friends to stand down, offering Kol a seat at a nearby table.
"Why are you here?" Marcel asked, his grin remained his only asset.
Kol dusted the dirt from his hands and clothes, thinking through his answer.
"To run with the witches, and because I have unfinished business with my brother."
Marcel ran his hand over his mouth, eyeing Thierry and Diego, who regained their territory.
"Klaus, Elijah and Rebekah left here decades ago, I don't know where they are, and I don't care to find out. New Orleans is my city now. If you wanna stay here, then you'll be working for me."
Kol dropped the tension in his shoulders, and sighed, shaking his head.
"I wish I could, but I'm just passing through," he declined.
Marcel smiled, kicking some loose stones aside, before grabbing Kol's shoulder.
"Tell Rebekah when you see her, I'll be waiting, but if Klaus returns, he's a dead man."
Kol felt the intensity in Marcel's grip, the tension of their meeting baring its expiration date.
"You'll be waiting a long time, Klaus will never approve of you with Rebekah, even if he considers you family. Rebekah is too close to his heart for him to care about anyone else. Trust me, I know."
Marcel turned to someone and beckoned for the figure to meet him.
Kol recognised the witch from the Occult store. His worries had been confirmed.
"Brynne tells me you are travelling with companions. All are welcome here, should you follow my rules – no magic in the French Quarter. Perhaps you should stay the night, and I'll show you my city. I've organized a USO event for our soldiers with jazz singers and entertainers on Bourbon street."
Kol was aware of his promise to Hope, Josie and Lizzie but could not decline Marcel's offer: a test from his former alley, no doubt. The skies were blood orange, starlings scattered from trees above and vampires emerged from balconies. Marcel had an impressive number of followers, he thought.
"I'll have to run it by them," he said, standing his ground.
"We'll expect you by 8 o'clock," his grin never faltered, but his eyes were full of mistrust.
Klaus would be shaking in his coffin, if he had one, Kol thought.
Hope, Josie and Lizzie huddled together in the bayou.
The sunset usurped all light from their trail, leaving them filled with dread. Hope was descended from both the Crescents, and her father's North Atlantic pack, but still she was nervous. Hayley was of Labonair blood, betrothed since her birth to Jackson Kenner, a Crescent wolf. Hope had to find the only other family member she knew existed: Mary Dumas, her grandmother.
She remembered her mother's stories, as mosquitoes bit her fair skin, and reeds clung to her legs.
During Lucien Castle's reign, the Mikaelsons learned of six werewolf packs. All Paxon, Basroq, Barry, Deep Water, Poldark members were tortured for their werewolf venom and killed, leaving her aunt Keelin, the only survivor of the Malraux pack. 1942 meant in-fighting was still at large, especially since Marcel's reign forced the packs to only occupy the bayou as their home.
If Hope, Josie and Lizzie were to survive in New Orleans without magic, they would have to focus on their strengths alone. Lizzie had the power to get whatever she wanted; Josie cared deeply for others and Hope could persuade anyone to listen, she got that from her parents: leaders, and werewolf royalty. It was Josie who held her hand, reassuring Hope of her gifts.
"You're a Labonair princess, of course they'll listen to you."
Hope sighed, "I don't know, I have a vague recollection Mary was married to a militant Alpha, hell-bent on destroying vampires. She terrified my uncle, wouldn't let him in the house. Dad too."
Lizzie halted them in their tracks, having heard a wolf howl.
"This is their territory; they have rights, AND we can't use magic?! Whose idea was this anyway?"
"Shh, Lizzie, I can see something," Hope pulled Josie, who pulled Lizzie into a clearing.
They had stumbled upon a graveyard, with hundreds of crosses. Hope touched the engraved cross: the name seemed familiar, Lana, but she could not put a face to it. Next to her name was a crescent moon and the letter A. She passed by a dozen similar graves, wolves who had died in combat, or wars, she could not be sure. The smallest grave caught her off guard: a stillborn baby by the name of Andrea Dumas.
Tears welled in Hope's eye sockets; she had never known. Had Jackson or Hayley known where Hayley's birth name originated? She stifled a sob, barely able to keep herself from standing if it wasn't for Josie and Lizzie, her two pillars of support. Hope shared her name, and now an affinity with this dead baby. Her thoughts rested on the last moments she spent with both her parents:
Klaus engraved Hayley's name into a tree; followed by his nickname for her "little wolf"; he farewelled Hayley with a kiss to her pale forehead; Hope hugged Klaus as they watched Hayley's body burn in a Viking funeral fit for a queen. These wolves, this baby, had only a cross and a pound of earth, so little… she couldn't help but cry.
It was Lizzie and Josie's hug which comforted Hope, their friendship gave her strength.
"I'm okay, really," she wiped her face with her cardigan sleeves.
They broke apart to find a young woman with short blond hair holding a rifle in her arms.
"Step away from the grave, or I'll blow your heads off."
Hope eyed both Josie and Lizzie's startled expressions, their arms raised to the rain clouds.
"We meant no harm. We've come a long way and would like a place to rest-" Hope began.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "-I do not run a charity for vagabonds. I want you to leave."
Hope knew the woman wasn't bluffing but felt compelled to try another tactic.
"I'm sorry, about the baby. She was yours?" Hope pointed to Andrea's grave.
The woman adjusted her gun, finger on the trigger, her fiery eyes glanced in her direction.
"Whatever my loss, I do not discuss personal tragedies with strangers."
Hope lowered her arms. "I'm no stranger, my name is H-"
Josie interjected, "Harper Marshall. I'm Josette Parker, and this is Livy Parker."
"Livy?" Lizzie hissed in disgust.
Hope kicked her; she was grateful for Josie's quick thinking; they had their present to protect.
"What is your business here?" Mary asked, suspicious of her trespassers.
Hope glanced at Lizzie and Josie, knowing she had to be careful and not give too much away.
"To find my family, I've a crescent birthmark on my shoulder?"
Mary Dumas grabbed Hope's cardigan, pulling it down to see for herself. Satisfied, she lowered her gun, although the temptation to still use it obviously remained.
"Marshall, no, I've not heard that name in these parts. My husband is Alpha of the Crescents, perhaps he can help you. You can rest only one night, then you are on your own."
Hope, Josie and Lizzie followed Mary into the cabin. It was only after entering Hope noticed the purple flowers from her childhood around the house. She passed photographs of a small church wedding, a bonfire with lots of happy faces and an empty nursery which gave her chills.
"There's gumbo on the stove." Mary paused. "Where are you from?" Mary handed out three bowls from the cupboard. Lizzie dished out the gumbo, whilst Josie rummaged through drawers trying to locate the cutlery, until Mary indicated 'top drawer.' Hope sat down at the table, nothing in that house had changed from memory, except for Richard's photographs, presently hidden away.
Hope had never known what her grandfather looked like, only the stories of how he'd made a deal with the Devil – The Hollow. A deal which would cost him his life and shame his family for decades. Richard Xavier Dumas was the reason her mother grew up an orphan. His choices were made out of greed, unearthing The Hollow's bones, protected by The Labonairs and raising an army for her.
Hope tried to put her thoughts to rest and answered Mary.
"Mystic Falls," she replied, after all, it was half true.
"Eat, I'll get some blankets. My husband is due home soon, and he'll have the final say."
Hope looked at her friends seated at the table, the steam rising from her own bowl. She missed family dinners, her protective brother Marcel, Freya and Keelin, and Kol and Davina seated together. Hope wondered whether Marcel's vow to protect children existed: he had saved Hayley, a child forgotten in the destruction of Richard's greed, but was this even his opinion in 1942?
Her worries were interrupted by the front door banging and the man in her mind, the man responsible for so much pain and grief, who was rejected by the Crescent pack, at his time of judgement, entered, scars from recent warfare scattered his muscled body but his eyes remained full of love for his wife, that Hope could not believe he was the same man from her mother's stories.
"Gumbo, my favourite!"
Richard Dumas paused, curious to find three starving teenagers digging into his favourite meal.
"Is it true you're still waiting for her?" Brynne asked jealous of Rebekah and Marcel's love affair.
Thierry and Diego had vanished, leaving the two figures standing together out of the rain.
"I loved her," Marcel admitted, Rebekah's smile still took his breath away.
"Like you loved me?" Brynne sounded hurt and betrayed, she turned away from him.
"It was a different time, a different era. You, my dear, are one of a kind, my clever little witch."
Marcel caressed her cheek, encouraging her to come back to him.
"Little?" Brynne cocked her head to the side, as Marcel kissed her cheek with sweet promises.
"I'd be lost without you, is that what you need to hear? It is with you on my side, I have gained power, keeping the witches and werewolves in line." Marcel kissed her. "Without you, I'd have nothing - no kingdom, no future, no one to believe in me."
Brynne shook her head, "Not true, you'd still have Thierry and Diego."
Marcel gave her a look, pushing her against the compound wall.
"But I only want to kiss you." He smiled, kissing her neck, and unbuttoning her dress.
Brynne smirked into his ear, "Why Mr Gerard, I do believe you're forgetting yourself, you are, after all, a gentleman? Let me pay Kol's companions a visit, see what they're really capable of." She pushed him gently in the chest, cupping his cheek in her hand, "please?"
"They are only children, by the sounds of it, harmless children."
Marcel stole two languid kisses from her before resting his forehead against hers.
"All witches must learn to control their magic; these children will need to express themselves."
His thumb parted her lips, and he whispered, "Well, Kol will have to teach them how to behave, or he will pay the consequence." Marcel swept Brynne's black wavy curls from her eyes.
"Would you really kill a Mikaelson?" she queried.
Marcel pulled her close to his body, his breath short in his lungs.
"If the time came, I would gladly kill a Mikaelson, if only to inflict the pain that family brought me."
Brynne welcomed his promise, after Rebekah Mikaelson subjected her friend Genevieve to typhoid in 1919, leaving them both to die, with the secret of summoning Mikael to New Orleans to kill Klaus. Kol, though he remained the black sheep in the family, was still a danger to their newly built, functioning city, and wherever Klaus was hiding, Kol was the key to finding out.
All she needed was to lure one of his companions to her shop, and the rest would fall into place.
After something to eat and a bath, using boiled water from the stove, Hope retired to the couch in front of the fire, listening to the rain ease. It was strange to think a day had passed – it felt like they had been stuck in 1942 for a decade. She wondered how worried everyone was, and if her Aunties would ever forgive her for casting the spell in the first place. Hope had scoured her grimoire as if she'd missed an important footnote, but nothing. It was irreversible.
Hope scratched a mosquito bite on her wrist and noticed a silver bracelet engraved with Bitchy Lizzie on it. Confused by how it got there, she looked around the room for Lizzie, but she must have retired early. Hope flicked the pages forward reading about magical objects and their uses – maybe her Aunties had sent her a key to get home? A loophole, that's what she needed.
At the sound of the couch deflating, Hope tore her gaze from the colourful page, and met Josie's apologetic eyes. Her brown hair was wet and still steaming from her bath. Mary had traded their clothes in for her husband's spare shirts, which acted like the perfect pair of pjs. Hope noticed Josie's fingers were wrapped around a necklace which had not been there before.
"I'm sorry about befriending Landon, I know that me being with him hurt you and I'm sorry for causing you pain. It was not my intention," Josie admitted, worried.
"You weren't yourself," Hope dismissed Josie's apology, she'd already forgiven her.
Josie took a deep breath, looking down at her necklace.
"I know now, I had a part of my soul missing," she whispered.
Hope bit her lip, smiling at Josie's confession, she didn't need her to explain.
She reached for Josie's hand, "I felt the same," she smiled.
Lizzie wanted what Hope and Josie had, that closeness, she didn't want to feel this worm hole of loneliness. Why couldn't she find someone to love her, was she unlovable? What was wrong with her? She always said the wrong thing and picked boys with emotional baggage – like Rafael. Was she too high maintenance? Was it her mental state they ran from?
She was sick of seeing it in their eyes, a fear of what life would be like with her on their arm.
She had tried to shed the image of a broken girl; someone whose days were polar opposites. She felt like Elsa, hidden behind closed doors, parents frightened by her power. But it was all in head, the loneliness, the jealousy, the depression, therapy had compartmentalised her self-doubt, she was happier because she could see a future, a future where she could be herself.
Sebastian was different, he was not infatuated with her like MG: a boyish love. He was dangerous, mysterious, someone her dad would hate. There was a pull from her heart to his, like they were meant to be, but she did not know why. She could still see him in her mind, his charming smile igniting her heart, his eyes sparkling like Edward's when he saw Bella on their wedding day.
Elizabeth, she could still hear his sultry voice in her head.
She was determined to find her prince.
All she needed was some cash, and an open window.
Mary returned to her empty coffee mug to the sink.
"They just needed a place to stay," she explained to her husband.
Richard sighed, "The bayou is no place for children. There's only a matter of time before Marcel comes for us himself; the North Atlantic pack already have an unfair advantage with those moonlight rings LaMarche created. I don't want to lose this life we've built here, but we deserve better than this swamp life. If only I could wipe that smile from Gerard's face."
"If they set foot here, I'll kill them," Mary put her cup on the dish rack to drain. "And even if you did, what then? He has too many henchmen, one of them would surely rise to power, in his stead. And then, there's the witches. They're planning something, I know it. The bayou is our home, it's all I know. And I'm not leaving our baby behind."
Richard kissed Mary's forehead, looking over at the runaways on the couch with a sad look.
"There's no future here for them, Mary, and one of these days, you're gonna have to let go."
Mary watched her husband leave the table and clutched her cross around her neck.
"Never," Mary pulled the plug, and sent another curious look in their direction.
Hope waited for her to leave before opening her eyes.
Josie was asleep on the rocking chair, legs hanging over the arm rest, she had drifted off to sleep singing Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift. Hope wondered why Lizzie hadn't said goodnight, and unable to sleep, threw off her blanket, running her hands through her wet hair. She had too much on her mind obviously.
They were stuck here because of her. Kol was missing and they had missed his rendezvous time. Maybe he was swapping stories about her dad with Marcel, she knew both men could talk! She glimpsed the moon beneath the billowing curtain and thought of the moonlight rings Francesca Guerra had stolen giving werewolves free will, heightened abilities and power over New Orleans.
There was only one other person who Richard could turn to for help, and that person scared her. She had usurped her once, only seven years old, frozen inside her own subconscious; taken from her parents and unable to stop The Hollow from controlling her actions and creating an army of darkness. The only way to stop it had been her father and uncle's sacrifice.
Hope rolled onto her side to keep warm, begging herself to get some sleep.
She witnessed Klaus' sacrifice… Her mother's body burning… Elijah's promise over milkshakes… Davina and Kol dancing at Keelin and Freya's wedding…Marcel telling her to close her eyes and sing…
Marcel clapped his hand on Kol's shoulder, keeping him by his side, as they watched the lights in the cabin fade. Rain had eased, leaving Kol's shirt damp, but his worries remained. He had been foolish to trust Marcel's word – leading his enemy to the bayou where Hope, Josie and Lizzie had taken refuge. Kol watched with continuous unrest as Marcel's henchmen surrounded them.
"Running with the witches I believed, but the werewolves? That surprised me."
Kol made to interrupt, scratching his stubble, attempting to remain indifferent.
"1925." Marcel recited, "I murdered the Guerra pack in punishment for helping the witches."
"Wolves should be shown their place," Diego snarled, raising his torch.
Later changed their name to Correa, Kol thought, to protect their legacies.
"I often send hunting parties to disperse the Alphas. I can't let anyone contest my reign, Kol. There are always consequences, you should know that by now. Klaus Mikaelson raised me in his image."
Kol watched, unable to intervene, as wolves were murdered before his eyes. He felt sick, thinking of Hayley and Hope, and the danger Hope now faced because of him. He needed to warn them, he needed them to run. Kol reacted in time to escape the bite of a huge grey wolf. Marcel withdrew, dragging Kol with him. Kol caught sight of a woman in the cottage door, firing into the darkness, her cottage engulfed by flames.
Lizzie spotted Damon Salvatore's camaro outside Bourbon street and an idea hit her. She still remembered how to hot wire the car like Alaric had taught her, and it would take less time to drive than to stop at every station. She wondered whether this would ruin their present time, but then she heard Damon's voice, and she needed to get out of New Orleans as fast as she could –
Elizabeth… Sebastian was waiting.
Maybe it was a stupid idea, but it wasn't like Hope or Josie would miss her, they had each other, and she only had Sebastian. Kol had already broken his promise. Lizzie pulled at the door frustrated Damon had a conscious in 1942. Trust! Pouting, Lizzie pulled a bobby-pin from her hair and picked the lock. She sat in the driver's seat, and closed her eyes, resting for a minute.
She did her hair in the mirror aware she resembled nothing of the 1940s aesthetic, her braces had fallen off her shoulders, and her shoes kicked beneath her chair. She wished Damon Salvatore would hurry up, she didn't have all day. She yawned, when had the sun set? She hadn't even noticed. She adjusted the side mirror, seeing Lexi walking away from a frustrated Damon.
She wondered where Lexi was going but had no time to reflect. Damon had noticed the exhaust running. He opened the passenger door. Lizzie greeted him with a smile, "Hey loser, get in we're going shopping. Kidding, I have a man to find, but seriously, you better not still be in love with Katherine Pierce, I never understood the appeal. Besides you can do better-"
Damon eyed the broken wires beneath the wheel, took in Lizzie's pantsuit, and looked back over his shoulder, as if something behind him might explain his current predicament. Lizzie pulled away from the curb, eyeing Damon's reluctance, and rolled her eyes in reply of his uncertainty.
"Did Lexi put you up to this? Because I don't need a companion, I prefer to ride solo."
Somewhere between realizing Lizzie hadn't stopped the car, and seeing a policeman staring a him oddly, Damon decided to sit, pulling the car door shut.
Lizzie rolled her eyes.
"Trust me, I am not that kind of girl. I just want to put New Orleans behind me."
"Look, Orphan Annie, I'm not a good guy, I'm dangerous."
Damon's pupils expanded and dilated, as if to prove his point.
"Leave, before I turn you into my own personal blood bag."
Lizzie was unable to keep a straight face, laughter cascading from her mouth.
"I'd like to see you try," she snorted, being a witch had its advantages.
Damon's fangs appeared and he lunged into her personal space. Lizzie grabbed his face, "Desisto," she said, lazily. One hand steered, the other drained the magic from his body. She sighed, as Damon's vampire body slumped in his seat paralysed, but still breathing. This was not how she remembered her beloved Uncle, but this Damon believed he was the bad brother; selfish, not human, a monster.
Lizzie flicked on the radio, eager to start a new life, as "Moonlight Cocktail" by Glen Miller played. She glanced up at the crescent moon, reminding her of Josie and Hope, waking up to find her gone, worried sick, maybe. She had not left a note, and she had no change to make a call. She looked back at the road, squinting at what looked like a woman standing unperturbed in the middle of the road.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Lizzie slammed on the breaks, sending Damon's unconscious head into the dash. "Sorry, no, why am I apologizing? This is all your fault!" Lizzie could hear her parents in her head when she stepped out of the car, her baby's headlights shining through the crisp night air. Damon still very much unconscious and no help whatsoever in the front seat with a broken nose.
She walked over to the stranger, recognising her at once –
"Brynne Deveraux?" Celeste Dubois, what did she want?
"I warned you not to do magic in New Orleans."
Lizzie crossed her arms, "I didn't," she lied.
Brynne's cunning smile unsettled Lizzie, however she was distracted by more figures emerging from the fog. Lizzie expected vampires, but all were women, different ages and wearing stern expressions. Brynne introduced them one by one, giving Lizzie the impression, they were somewhat special.
"Lenore and Sheila Bennett, Nandi LaMarche, Bastianna Natale, Gaia Sinclair, Amelia La Fleur, Madeleine Grioux, Agnes Rillieux, and Josephine LaRue, meet…?" Brynne indicated for Lizzie's name.
Lizzie sighed, it didn't seem like she could escape this parade of bitches, so she held out her hand.
"Livy, short for, what's the catch?"
"The catch is, Miss Parker, you just found a loophole, which makes you our guest," Josephine smiled. She opened the car door where Damon massaged his eyes, touching his blood clotted nostril, with a groan. Josephine touched his shoulder, "Leave New Orleans and forget all that you have seen here."
Damon drove away, leaving Lizzie stranded again in his wake.
"I thought you said you weren't allowed to do magic?" she pressed.
"In the French Quarter, no. But here we are outside the border, do keep up."
Confused, but refusing to stay on a deserted road, Lizzie realised she was still barefoot as her shoes were in Damon's car.
"Oh, fuck me!" she swore, much to the surprise of new friends.
Hope, Josie and Mary spent the good part of an hour doing their best to save the cottage, without magic – due to Marcel's rules. Hope gathered this was not the first time, as Mary filled buckets with water with such vigour that it impressed both Hope and Josie. Richard returned with a heavy heart, the losses in his pack felt by all, dead wolves scattered the bayou.
His patience lost, and revenge motivated by fear of losing all he loved.
For the first time, Hope understood why Richard chose The Hollow, and she could not blame him.
He was desperate for change.
Marcel's actions had angered her, his reign terrorised her people, and it was their eradication that led to The Hollow's first resurrection. There was something else nagging her mind: Lizzie was nowhere in sight, not a trace. Josie had raided the smouldering cottage, frantic for her sister's body. Hope realized had likely returned for the one person she thought cared about her, Sebastian.
"But he's dead?! Why would she choose him over her own family?"
Hope knew why, "She loves him, and people do crazy things for love."
Josie wiped her fearful tears from her face, angered by Lizzie's selfish adventure fuelled by love.
Hope looked over at Mary hugging her husband and watched as he kissed her forehead, lowering her arms, with as much strength as he could muster, before a sharp whistle rounded up what was left of his pack. Twelve of so wolves, that was all. They turned, howling through the night sky with blood on their paws. Mary's eyes wandered over the dead, haunted and alone. It was Hope who picked up the last smouldering torch, blew on the flames, which ignited, and set fire to their pelts.
Mary gripped her cross in her palm, as Josie put aside her anger, and held the old woman's hand. Both women, separated by time, envious of Hope Mikaelson.
Kol woke up with a splitting headache, at some point between escaping the bayou and returning to the compound, someone had snapped his neck. Kol opened his groggy eyes to see he was beneath the compound in what Klaus had vindictively named 'The Garden' – a place of punishment and peace. He tried to move his arms, fastened by chains, his body behind freshly laid bricks.
"What is this?" Kol demanded of Thierry, who smirked, slapping cement onto each brick.
Marcel descended the steps into the basement, one at a time, his explanation drawn out.
"Did Thierry not explain? This is your new room? See, this is where I keep vampires I don't trust, and since you're immortal, well, I prefer you in a state of decimation where I can bleed you dry of information until you've outlived all usefulness, pardon the pun. When that day comes, I'll let Thierry finish his wall, and you'll be alone with your thoughts. Bit like your coffin, but this way there's no escape."
Kol frowned, hatred burning in his dead veins.
"What information?" he hissed.
Marcel shrugged, walking towards him, hands in his suit pockets. "Where's Klaus?"
"Last I heard, Klaus was traipsing around Europe, Germany, 1933."
Marcel smiled, "See, wasn't that easy. Now, don't you worry about your companions, Brynne will see to them." Marcel grinned when Kol's anxieties forced him to lash out behind his tomb. "Don't worry, they haven't broken any of my rules yet, but when they do…" Marcel laughed, running his finger across his throat in a threatening manner, making Kol scream for his release.
Kol remembered something of value in his jacket.
"I've something to guarantee your longevity in New Orleans, and I'll bring you Klaus."
Marcel stopped in his tracks, suspicious but listening.
"It's in my jacket, if you'll be so kind."
Marcel's fingers closed around the diamond in Kol's pocket, rendering him breathless.
"Dowager Fauline's paragon diamond, worth more than one hundred carats. But I took this on the night of your incarceration, how did you get it?" Marcel twirled the diamond in his fingers.
Kol shrugged, "Your witch was selling it for half its price. Maybe she's not as loyal to you as you thought? Do we have a deal?" he pressed, waiting for Marcel's agreement.
Marcel frowned, his smugness diminishing in his eye.
"I'll consider it. Goodnight, Mr Mikaelson."
A/N: So, thoughts? Hope you enjoyed the twists, had fun writing it. Stay tuned for chapter 4! x
