Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowed and nurtured. A/N: I'm pulling canon facts and playing with the timeline, mostly AU. Let's see if the team can get home (to the present?) before Hell erupts? x

YOUNGBLOOD

iv

I think true love

is when two people

make each other love

themselves more

- faraway

Kol can hear the USO event through the garden walls, so much for his deal with two-faced Marcel. Now he had nothing, and Marcel had his paragon diamond; his bargaining chip, forgotten. He was trapped, with no way of escape. He could hear saxophones, drums and trumpets in the parade, and wondered how many musicians had answered Uncle Sam's call?

Maybe they were all vampires, explained a lot, he thought. Like Stefan Salvatore, newly turned, unable to control their blood lust. World War II was not an excuse for a bloodbath, although the history books stated it as one: how many supernatural creatures were involved? Or someone else fed on the chaos of war, someone who could be bidding her time here in 1942.

This was a troublesome thought that would not budge from his restless mind. New Orleans was a hot spot for powerless witches, desperate wolves rebelling against Marcel's reign, and in-fighting? And Hope was amongst it all, making his anxieties grow. He didn't want her to face this old threat alone. His yells for Marcel to reconsider were drowned by jazz music, he had no choice but to listen.


"Hope, I don't think I can do this?" Josie whispered; fear etched across her face.

Hope took Josie's hands in hers, squeezing them to ease both their anxieties.

"Josie, I'm not going to leave you, but we need to get Marcel's attention."

Josie looked out at the soldiers waiting for the entertainment to serenade them from the stage. Josie knew of only one '40s song which popped into her head, as she practiced her dance, wearing a diamond studded leotard, complete with a black top hat and tails.

(I got spurs) that jingle, jangle, jingle

As I go ridin' merrily along - Kay Kyser

"I wish Lizzie was here," she curled her hair behind her ear. "It feels weird without her."

Hope nodded, "Same," she held up Lizzie's bracelet, which had no effect, since she was not the intended owner. It was however still full of magic, she just had to figure out how to use it. Hope sent Josie a smile, and a double thumbs up for luck, as the band took the stage. The Andrew sisters gave Josie an encouraging smile and pinched their cheeks.

Marcel grabbed the microphone welcoming everyone to the show. He always had a way with speeches, much like her dad, Hope thought. It was strange to be standing in his presence without him acknowledging her. She wondered what he had done with Kol, he didn't seem to be in the crowd, which meant negotiations had gone sour, and he was either dead, or captive somewhere.

"WELCOME to the biggest, jazziest United States Officers show ever, do stay a while, take the edge off at our burlesque bars; drink at our night clubs; and dance at our masquerade ball; on offer to you 'til dawn, and if you get peckish, we have fifty restaurants open for your convenience. Now, without further ado, Glen Miller's band, with my favourite song 'Don't sit under the Apple tree…'

Hope turned her back as Marcel skipped down the steps, his charming smile a permanent factor of his personality – this Marcel was all confidence and no worries. This was his city, and everyone knew it. He was King, and when he was happy, everyone was happy. Hope watched Josie move towards the microphone, the fourth Andrews' sister. Her song was a hit with the crowd, and Josie's confidence soon shone, her smile matching that of Marcel's.

"Who is that?" Marcel asked, leaning against a pillar.

Hope saw Thierry and Diego shrug their shoulders.

"Good singer?" Diego noted, his eyes on the Burlesque dances across the road.

"Good, she can belt a tune that would put Ella to shame."

"Why don't you invite her to the compound for an encore?" Thierry winked.

Marcel grinned, clapping his hands together. "You're absolutely right."

Hope remembered Marcel's elusive parties where he invited tourists home for dinner. She hurried to greet Josie after the song to warn her of Marcel's intentions. Josie collected a red feather bower with shaking fingers, getting the nod from Mr Miller, they had minutes until the next song. That didn't leave them much time to figure out a plan.

"He's going to what me? Over his dead body."

"You can't change the future, past, present…" Hope reminded Josie.

"Well, he better keep his distance."

"You just have to stall him, enough for me to save Kol from the garden…"

"And if he bites me?" Josie hissed, worry in her eyes.

"Don't let him," Hope looked around the stage, counting their exits.

Josie shook her limbs, trying to focus, and relax her nerves.

"How are you so calm?" she asked, "I'm about to go on a date with your uncle, and you're just, well, you?" Josie pointed to Hope's stance. Hope didn't have the heart to say her boiled egg was climbing up her throat, and the warm milk she'd drunk with it, was turning her stomach.

"I'll distract Crabbe and Goyle, and you just need to knock out Marcel, can I trust you?"

"Of course, who do you think I am? Alyssa Chang?"

Hope grabbed a feathered masquerade mask from the costume box and followed at a safe distance. Marcel appeared by Josie's side with flattery and promises; invited her into the compound to oblige her with chocolates and beignets; before charming her onto the dance floor – no wonder Rebekah fell in love with him: she was a hopeless romantic, like Josie, Hope thought.

Distracting Thierry and Diego had been easy, she caught them with a howl, without transforming. Met them in the shadows, knocked them both out with a high kick to the head, and dragged them into the store cupboard, where she locked the door. It was odd seeing the compound so empty, without any of the Mikaelson's belongings, nor her dad's influence. She missed his artworks, and her mother's photographs scattered around the place.

Catching a glimpse of herself in a gold-studded mirror, Hope rubbed grease from her cheek. She looked like the Artful Dodger. She'd have to lose her cardigan and hat and find something that made her fit in more. She flung herself up the stairs to her room, Rebekah's room, and opened the closest, half expecting there to be nothing inside. Rebekah was presently, daggered in her coffin.

"Bingo," Hope breathed.

She found Rebekah's trinkets inside a dusty shoebox; her 1914 red ballgown dress with gold bodice lay beneath parchment paper; on the next hanger was her red velvet medieval dress with scorch marks on the hem. Lastly, there was a black sequined dress, which would do nicely. The closet was drenched in cobwebs and spiders, which she stifled a scream over, and stumbled into a chest of drawers, knocking over a photograph of the Mikaelsons standing in Rousseau's.

Another pang of guilt consumed her, as she stared at her dad's carefree grin amongst his siblings. She was swept into self-doubt, and depression, missing her family. Hope threw her clothes into the back of the wardrobe, and stepped into the dress, zipping up the sides. Before shaking it down over her hips, and letting the heavy material fall to the floorboards. Much better, she sighed.

Hope pried open the photo frame and tucked the photo beneath her bra strap. She had lost all her belongings in the fire, and the rest, Alaric had burnt at her request. Starting over had been a good idea at the time. Hearing footsteps and voices, Hope crept downstairs, raising her masquerade mask, invisible to Marcel's guests, and hurried to the Garden.


Josephine LaRue stopped them, indicating they hold hands, standing some distance from the French Quarter. The cold night air gave Lizzie chills, but she stood, barefoot, ready to participate in this cult, should it help propel time forwards. Bats cast shadows across the moon, as Brynne Deveraux began the chant, the witches mimicking her words and actions – the spell would remove Marcel's trace on them, allowing them to perform magic without fear of being caught.

"It is done," Brynne relaxed her shoulders and broke the circle.

"One less thing to worry about," LaMarche pulled out a cigarette, offering them one.

"Grioux, what in God's name are you doing?" Agnes' annoyed tone bit through the darkness.

Sinclair lit a ball in her palm, shining the light around the circle, where Grioux now sat in the grass.

"Just a little something to protect us from harm," she whispered, sprinkling dirt in the shape of what Lizzie thought looked like a turtle. "Livy, hand me that rose, but mind you don't-"

Lizzie winced, her finger had struck its thorns, and she dropped the rose into Grioux's outstretched hand, sucking her finger, with a sting of annoyance. The witch gave her an apologetic smile, and placed the rose adjacent over the circle, she closed her eyes, peaceful and calm, and muttered a spell Lizzie could not hear nor decipher, seeing her lips move at a remarkable pace.

"We should return, it is almost eight, and we must not be late for the Faction meeting." LaRue said.

Sheila Bennett gave Lizzie a grateful smile, and Lizzie hurried to catch up. Grams was a stoic woman and had always been the subject of many discussions between her mum and Bonnie, whenever Lizzie and Josie came home for the holidays. Her life story was a mystery, and Lizzie knew little of her history in New Orleans, in fact, she had no idea Grams even had a sister, but she supposed, she had to have, for Bonnie was an only child, and Lucy Bennett was her cousin.

Ahead of them, Lizzie overheard Lenore Bennett discussing her doubts over a string of missing witches all who had drowned or killed themselves in mysterious ways. She had been investigating their deaths for the past ten years, and they all originated in New Orleans. She had, Lizzie gathered, guessed, the true nature of Celeste Dubois. LaRue seemed to feel the tension between her followers playing together only because she bid them to.

"We must remain vigilant. I hear you, Lenore, but tonight we focus on our city, and our freedom." LaRue began the descent into the French Quarter, Lizzie impressed with her choice of heels.

Bastiana, Sinclair and Agnes followed, with LaMarche, and Grioux arm in arm.

Brynne bumped into Sheila and Lizzie, causing Sheila to fall to the ground with an 'oomph'.

"What is your problem?" Lizzie yelled, ready for a little payback.

Sheila took Lizzie's hand, as Lenore and Grioux returned, confused by the interruption.

"What did you do, Brynne?" Grioux shoved Brynne in the chest.

Lizzie was impressed by the amount of ground Brynne lost before she answered.

"My problem is The Bennetts, sticking their noses in my affairs," she hissed.

"Your affair with Marcel Gerard, does not interest me," Sheila retorted.

"Business affairs, were you always this dim-witted?" Brynne snapped.

Actual flames could have burst from Sheila's eyes, the way the youngest witch glared at her.

Sheila Bennett clasped her hand around Brynne's arm and set her sleeve alight.

"What did you call me?" she hissed, as Lenore grinned, satisfied by her sister's skill.

"Get her off me!" Brynne yelled, struggling to be released but LaRue was out of earshot.

Grioux frowned, "Apologize, then maybe I will."

The smallest of apologies fell from Brynne's mouth, undeserving Lizzie thought, but the night had only begun. Lenore held Sheila's hand, and when Brynne and Grioux left, she hissed, "Go, New Orleans is not safe. I'd send you too Livy if it weren't for you being the 'miracle child'. I have a bad feeling, and I'm always right about those. I want you safe, and I want you alive."

Sheila gaped at her sister, and at Lizzie's mirrored expression. "I can't leave. Not now?"

Lizzie felt the pain and anguish on Sheila's expression, and the sacrifice in Lenore's, words blurted from her mouth, "Go to Mystic Falls, make a life there, befriend the Salvatores, everything will be okay," Lizzie hugged Sheila tight, as if she were Josie, missing her sister more. "I've seen it."

Sheila accepted her fate, with a weary nod of her head, "Be careful," she whispered.

"Goodbye," Lizzie whispered, as Lenore hugged Sheila, and bid her farewell.


"You can sing, you can dance? Is there anything you can't do, Miss Parker?"

"Magic," Josie answered with a wry smile.

Marcel gave her an odd, yet compelling look. "Do explain?"

Josie laughed, "Why, not in its physical sense, Mr Gerard, magic doesn't exist, but in its ethereal. You see, what with this façade, I mean, if I were to believe you really were prince charming, swept me off my feet, provided me dinner and the perfect night, of course I would have no excuse but to swoon, and conclude it was a magical night, but you have other intentions, I'm sure?" she rambled.

Marcel's smile faltered and Josie knew she'd caught him in a lie.

"You are one smart lady, Miss Parker. How shall I make it up to you?"

Josie smiled, thinking, as they danced on the spot.

"A favour, one I shall collect when the time is right," she whispered.

Marcel Gerard spun her away and then back into his arms.

"And what shall we seal our deal with?" Marcel's eyes twinkled. "A kiss?"

Josie's stomach backflipped, as did her confidence, returning her legs to jelly. She stumbled, stepping on Marcel's toes. He picked her up so as not to embarrass herself and set her back on her feet with a kind smile, taking no notice of her flustered expression.

"I have not, in my lifetime, met anyone as wonderful as you," he chuckled.

Josie curtseyed like the idiot she was, gave him a beguiling smile, and bid him goodnight.

"I must go, it's almost midnight," she blurted.

She only had to leave her glass slipper, and she would indeed, be living a fairy-tale.


LaRue introduced Lizzie to the Priest standing by a long table which Lizzie thought looked displaced in the middle of a fancy church. He was much younger than she expected, wearing a curious expression which only made her self-conscious of her intended purpose. What could a bipolar 16-year-old witch offer the Nine Covens? Apart from a supposed loophole?

"Miss Parker, this is Father Dominic, he resides in St Anne's, and remains our most trusted ally."

Lizzie curtsied, awkwardly. LaRue beckoned her to take a seat. She sat, taking in dozens of wooden pews. She had not been in a church before, and it made her nervous. She was not religious, attended a school for supernatural creatures, and had entered the world through a vampire pregnancy. She doubted her miracle birth would be accepted by a bunch of conservative Christians.

Her companions took their seats, but one remained vacant.

Even without Sheila's presence, nine coven witches remained.

Lizzie waited for the rest of the Faction to arrive. One from each supernatural linage – LaRue represented the witches; Father Dominic represented the humans, and she assumed, Marcel and Richard Dumas represented the vampires and werewolves.

"Which coven did you say you were from again?" Father Dominic asked, leaning over.

Lizzie frowned, "Gemini," a collective gasp became audible.

Lizzie twiddled her thumbs, glued to her chair and wishing she had left with Sheila.

"Otherwise known as the cursed coven," she explained. "The coven leader is chosen through a barbaric ritual where twins merge; the strongest absorbs the latter. They can only siphon magic."

Lizzie nodded, that was her family tragedy.

Amelia La Fleur interrupted, "Must be hard, not having your own magic? I would go mad."

LaRue eyed the colourful glass-stained windows, lost in thought.

"It's not so bad when it is all you've known," Lizzie said.

Agnes took out her tarot cards, placing three on the table in a foreboding sort of way.

"The Star. The Hanged man. The Devil," she glared at Lizzie. "She will bring death to us all."

Grioux rolled her spectacled eyes, "Oh, put them away Agnes, they're so depressing."

Sinclair laughed, "They have to be, or the tourists wouldn't love them."

Lenore Bennett stared at the cards, pulling them towards her, "Miracles. Self-sacrifice. Envy."

"Let me guess, I shouldn't be trusted? I'm the product of sin?" Lizzie slouched in her chair.

Brynne Deveraux finished her cigarette. "At this rate, we'll miss Marcel's party altogether."

LaRue indicated for Father Dominic to collect a box to put onto the table.

"As requested," he said, opening the flaps to reveal Burlesque costumes of all colours and styles.

LaRue chose to stand, empowering the room, whilst Agnes packed away her cards.

"Some of you may be wondering what this has to do with our peace treaty… You can see we have two empty seats at our table. Marcel believes he has won the war, that we will not rise against him, but he does not know of our sacrifices; he does not know of our promise to the wolves. We need them, as they need us, but the vampires, those vehement creatures deserve to disappear into the shadows where they will cower until God claims them."

LaRue glanced at Brynne, "Deveraux has informed me, Kol Mikaelson is here, Gerard imprisoned him in The Garden, and wants information. Some of you may remember, Klaus Mikaelson, his elder brother. It's been twenty years since he was run out of New Orleans; a lover of the arts, music, New Orleans' culture. Kol studied Kemiya via Arabia, in 1914, he trained our witches to perform dark magic at his bequest; making dark objects with the intention to use them against his brother. Some of these objects were smuggled from his clutches. They are before you, the Rosary of Madness; curses anyone who touches it, insane; the Bracelet of Obedience; as the name implies; these Handcuffs will render the wearer non-magical; the Devil's star, causes one thousand cuts."

Sinclair stared at the objects, "Weapons, but why? If they could be used against him, would he risk it?" She turned her head back to LaRue, her short hair bouncing upon her shoulders.

"It is renown Klaus punishes his siblings by daggering them when they displease him, sometimes for centuries. When he discovered Kol had been plotting against him, (Klaus and Marcel were inseparable once) he used their sister Rebekah to betray him, and Kol was left in a coffin until Klaus saw fit to release him. Kol may be vermin, like the rest of his kind, but he could be the key to our freedom. Brynne, you shall free him, gather his trust; he holds witches in high esteem. The rest of us will infiltrate Marcel's compound and demand our freedom. The werewolves, should they honour our agreement shall meet us there, so," LaRue glanced at the box. "Choose your outfit."

Brynne snagged a feather boa, teasing Sinclair's choice of white cotton gloves.

"Stylish, but simple, no need to flaunt oneself," Sinclair quipped of her fellow witch.

Brynne cackled, "Poor doll. No admirers? Mr Gerard and I are well acquainted bedfellows."

LaMarche had no restraint, "For now, Mr Gerard will never love again. You are just his plaything."

Brynne glared at LaMarche, "Just because he broke your heart, Nandi. He won't break mine."

Lizzie pulled on her new shoes which were oddly comfortable. It was the brown leather band on her wrist that made her squeak. Why was she wearing Hope's Gigolo watch? Out of sheer curiosity, she brushed her thumb across the glass to decipher the time, and the year: 1942. It seemed she really was in Hell with no prince charming to rescue her. She would have to save herself, like always.

After they had pulled on their disguises, the conversation about Kol carried on.

Bastiana Claire who Lizzie had forgotten was still in the room, spoke up.

"Let's not forget the Mikaelsons trapped two of our witches in Dowager Fauline's cottage until they grew insane," Bastiana explained, "One, Mary-Alice was my little sister. Back then there were no limits on magic, but the practice was forbidden. Most of us witches, performed in secret, thus disguising our magic through historical objects was an inviting idea. I have since learnt not to trust a Mikaelson, so, I say to you all, be careful, and know how to defend yourself, magic or not."

Bastiana picked up the Rosary beads, and gave LaRue a courteous nod, before resuming her seat.

Sinclair agreed, "Witches performing dark magic were shunned by their covens, a ritual still performed, should the Ancestors will it; a humiliation I wish upon nobody."

Agnes rose from the table, receiving a nod from LaRue.

"Vampires shall be eradicated, righting the natural order," she began. "But heed my words, LaRue, witches will be wary of siphoners, the Devil's advocate, she will cause our downfall."

Lizzie received a curious look from her companions, apparently, she had a say.

"What if I told you, Kol's the reason I-we came here? He's absolving his sins, wanted to tell you he's sorry, really sorry, it was not his intention, but his punishment, enforced by his psychopath brother, Klaus," Lizzie remembered, pulling the material from an old book Josie had read one summer.

Her confession was interrupted by a stranger approaching, and Lizzie thanked God for his timing.

The table grew quiet, not even a whisper escaped their lips. The man was burly, with thick hair and worn eyes, he had a wildness in him as he gestured to LaMarche, with a low growl in his voice.

"Do you get satisfaction seeing my kind slaughtered, LaMarche? The Crescents are done with you witches, giving moonlight rings to the North Atlantic pack… tell me LaRue, whatever you promised, they won't be loyal to their masters, mark my words. You will regret this."

"Oh, sit down, Dumas," LaMarche snapped. "Marcel's hunt was not my doing!"

"No, but the rings were," Richard frowned. "And that betrayal will not be forgotten."

LaMarche rose from her seat, "I promised them freedom from Marcel's reign, as I promised you."

Richard Dumas gestured at her with his bloodied hands, "There's another way, and you know it."

A hushed whisper broke around the table, and Lizzie glanced at Father Dominic praying.

"Dark magic is not part of our repertoire, Dumas, as you know." LaRue warned.

"Maybe it should be." Dumas turned on his heel.

Twelve werewolves followed, the door banging after each exit.

"Well, that was dramatic," Grioux uttered, pushing back her chair.

Some of the witches exchanged worried looks, which Lizzie noticed.

"Grioux, Sinclair, follow him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. As for the rest of us, Parker, you are our secret weapon, and you hold our lives in your hands, our miracle child." LaRue ended the meeting, adding what Lizzie thought to be a dead raven headpiece to her hair.

Lizzie missed Josie and Hope, she prayed they were safe and not about to lead a rebellion of witches.


Kol lifted his head to hear footsteps belonging to Brynne Deveraux. Her presence intrigued him when she sauntered over brandishing a key to his handcuffs.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked.

Brynne unlocked each handcuff, "Is it true, is Klaus alive?"

Kol shook the dirt which had settled in his hair.

"He's in Spain, underground, bidding his time." he assumed climbing from the rubble.

"Ensure he never returns. New Orleans is run by a tyrant, it is not safe."

"I thought you two were in love?" he queried, a smirk unfolding.

"My heart belongs to another," Brynne answered, helping Kol up the steps.

"I'd ask who, but I don't care. And my companions?"

"Waiting for you upstairs, hurry!"

Kol flew up the stairs, eager to reunite with Hope and Josie, as Brynne had promised.

"Oh, I have one, small favour," Brynne fingered a bracelet on her wrist. "I need your strength, your speed and your bloodlust. Tonight, we kill Marcel, and free New Orleans."

Kol's happiness was sucked from him, as he remained a prisoner still, tied to Brynne's will.

"How did you get that?" Kol whispered, eyes glued to the weapon on her wrist.

"LaRue," Brynne smiled. "You will see your companions again, when Marcel is dead."

Kol returned to Brynne's side, "Marcel is like family," he murmured.

Brynne nodded, "And family is sacred, or so I thought, once."

Kol smiled, unable to keep his secret to himself, it could be the only thing that released him.

"Elijah loved you, and he paid the price, Celeste. You can fool Marcel, but I know who and what you are, and that bracelet only affects my actions, it cannot, and will not, suppress me."

Brynne's eyes narrowed, "You will not dare…" she hissed, showing a flicker of fear.

"Do not underestimate a trickster," Kol murmured.


Josie escaped Marcel, pulling out her hair pins, and relying on her instincts as she avoided masquerade guests, what were most certainly vampires settling in for the night, and the odd werewolf, she was pleased to run straight into Hope, returning from the Garden. With a small squeal, Josie wrapped her arms around her best friend, squeezing her tight.

"Everything okay?" came Hope's worried reply.

"No, your uncle just asked to kiss me!"

"Well, at least he asked. I'm sorry, I'm not helping. What do you need?"

"A drink would be nice, but, under different circumstances… where's Kol?"

"He's gone. I had to find something to blend in, but when I got to the Garden, he'd been released."

Josie stepped back with a sigh, "Marcel, or Celeste?" she wondered.

Hope noticed a change in atmosphere, something was different, like a storm cloud rolling in. Even Marcel had noticed it, watching with his guests as a line of Burlesque dancers arrived, dressed in an assortment of clothes and hats. Hope looked around for Kol, worried. Where could he be? There were also werewolves; Richard Dumas, watching the occasion with a sour expression.

"I don't like this," Josie grabbed Hope's arm.

Josie recognised a familiar face amongst the Burlesque dancers, "Lizzie?"

Hope looked to the skies, where she saw an unexpected celestial event, a Hybrid Eclipse.

"Josie, I think I know how to send us home," she hissed. "Bonnie Bennett used the Northern Lights to escape the prison world, not once but twice, all we need is a spell."

"But you heard Marcel, we can't do magic, or we die," Josie hissed.

"Siphoning magic isn't breaking the rules, you're using what the earth's already given us. Besides, we'll be restoring the balance by sending ourselves home, resetting the timeline," she explained. "I just have to get my grimoire from Mary's, I stashed it under the couch for safe keeping."

"But the Hollow?" Josie had her doubts, anguish plastered on her face. "And Lizzie?"

Hope sighed, "We don't have much time, it's now, or never, Josie."


Brynne greeted Marcel with a kiss and a 'surprise' from the French Quarter witches. The USO soldiers roared in approval, throwing their navy hats, as Marcel's vampires melted into the crowd, moving in on innocent victims. Marcel offered martinis and beignets, a sign of hospitality. His charm did not falter, any judgement was barred from view.

"Then I will not delay your surprise, I only wish Thierry and Diego were here to share in my joy."

Hope made a face; his lieutenants were unconscious. She and Josie needed to get Kol and Lizzie and leave, but something was still nagged Hope, something or someone she had not envisioned to see. A spectacled witch argued with Richard Dumas for some time, before disappearing into the crowd – Hope gripped Josie's hand. She could feel a chill in the air… something was coming.

"Good evening, Mr Gerard, I hope I find you well?"

The witches dispersed leaving Lizzie to meet with Marcel, and she shot a poignant glance in Hope's direction. What it meant, Josie and Hope were unsure, but soon to discover, Brynne had uttered one command, "Kill him." Kol Mikaelson whooshed into view, shoving Marcel into the brick wall, the two vampires fighting in arm to arm combat.

"It's not Brynne, it's Celeste Dubois," Kol yelled. "And you'll have to stop me."

Brynne removed herself, catching LaRue's eye, as Lizzie ran towards Josie and Hope, desperate to be reunited. "We have to get out of here. They want me to be some miracle child, to end all this. I just can't, Josie, what if they make us merge?" Hope and Josie hugged Lizzie, Hope, afraid for Kol.

Rules be damned, she had to do something, there was little time, and the eclipse was in motion.

Grabbing their hands, she muttered the spell which had created this calamity, pulling magic from the objects: the necklace, the bracelet and the watch, hoping she'd return them to a world unchanged – where she could greet her family and the super squad, again, with all the time in the world, because that was her wish.

She shut the noise out: the screams, the howls, the attacks on innocents…

Images flashed into her mind, soldiers in trenches knee deep in mud. Stefan Salvatore bandaging the wounded amongst explosions, a red cross on his arm. Nurses using lipstick to prioritise the injured, overwhelmed with lack of resources. Katherine Pierce holding hands with a stranger. A witch summoning a blue spirit, a dead rat encircled by candles. An unconscious man thrown into a van, passing a stationary blue camaro. A child's graveside, the bones gone; and headstone cracked.

"Lizzie?" Josie whispered, alarmed.

"Josie?" Lizzie's premonitions or memories were as clear as if they had witnessed them themselves.

The spell waned, and their chance lost. For when Hope opened her eyes, Kol writhed in agony from a werewolf bite. Marcel knew he had been betrayed, and by who, but fear befell him as Dumas howled over Kol's writhing body, with the promise all vampires would succumb to this horrible fate.

"No use fighting it vampire, your days are limited."

"I'm an Original vampire, dumb-ass. We can't be killed, and you can count your blessings."

Kol groaned, rolling onto his side as Hope's tortured expression haunted him.

"I'll just have The Hollow finish you off then," Richard growled, his pack howling in triumph.

Marcel drew his followers back, the soldiers blaming their hallucinations, not on the pack of werewolves they had seen but from their inebriation. Seven coven witches chanted into the night – the same spell Celeste performed on the Crescents in the 1990s, and on Hayley, per Klaus' request.

It seemed to Hope, nobody trusted anyone, and that would be their downfall.

Hope rushed to Kol, providing her wrist: her hybrid blood an instant remedy to werewolf venom.

"What is this?" Richard Dumas pointed, "A wolf and a vampire?"

"He's my family," she explained. "Not all vampires are bad, this war will not absolve your pain."

"My wife took you in, filthy vampire sympathizer," Dumas spat, kicking her aside.

Hope recoiled in shock and pain, hearing Josie and Lizzie's shouts of 'NO!'

Her tribrid eyes grew red with anger, but her slow, calm breaths kept her in control.

Kol smashed his bracelet against the pavers until he could wiggle his hand free, pocketing the bracelet for safe keeping. He checked on Hope, pulling her hair from her face, and comforting her.

"LaMarche! The Hollow is waiting. Once a promise is made, it cannot be undone."

LaMarche revealed a boy, unconscious, with markings on his forehead. A woman screamed in the distance, falling to her knees, her prayers ignored. Next, LaMarche's glowing blue eyes locked on theirs: a blue Hope had seen reflected in her own eyes, when she was seven. Hope, Josie and Lizzie screamed in pain as marks were engraved into their skulls.

"It will soon be over, and you will answer to a higher power."

"There is no higher power than God," Agnes shouted, raising her eyes to the thunder-ridden clouds.

LaMarche looked to the Hybrid eclipse. "Four innocents to resurrect the Hollow."

Kol yelled out, the crowd frozen in a trance, unable to intervene. He tried to go to them, but someone had grabbed him, a stake forced into his chest. Still he fought, sweat dripping from his hands, as he pushed against his attacker, breaking their kneecaps, and forced the stake into the man's white shirt – he looked up to see the Priest's shocked expression.

Shaken, Kol held the bloodied stake in his hand, ready for his next attacker.

Marcel grabbed him, "It's me, I'm going to help you. No kids, will die on my watch."

Marcel handed something to Kol, his paragon diamond, "You can trust me."

Josie, Lizzie and Hope lay paralysed beside the boy, Hope could hear Kol's dead heart pounding. Her eyes swivelled across the stunned witches, werewolves and vampires.

She looked for Marcel Gerard and began to sing…

A/N: Please review, chapter 5 won't be far away.