KLAUS

On Saturdays, the Apothecaire Fair the witches insist on putting at the center of the Tréme is less of an attraction to the locals. They just came to stare, some with desperate anger and others with pity. There isn't a shortage of eyes that linger on Jezebel. All she has to do is sit there in front of a cold Irish coffee. One would have it that I'm not envious of such incredible amounts of attention, but I admit, I'm turning green.
I've had witches spit at my feet, call me foul names to my devilishly grinning face, and of course, attempt to kill me upon first sight. But for her, they all keep a respectful distance and do not speak or breathe so much as a slanderous hiss in her direction.
She is just like a fragile sculpture from hellish Pompeii, new to the exhibit. she somehow survived the years without a crack on her surface through the harshest elements, yet, your hands will still blacken with soot pain if you touch her.
Animals are an exception. One blue-haired tourist passes with a big black canine, muzzled in purple fuzz fabric; it begins to defy the general flow of the excited street and bark at the back of Jezebel's head. Then, it gets more vicious, nearly knocking its owner back as it stands on its hind legs to try and get free. Jezebel turns her head, not a wrinkle on her forehead or general look of malice. The dog halts barking and suddenly breaks free. Head down anxiously, it approaches her with rolling shoulders and big pupils.
"Dawn!" The tourist calls to him angrily.
Jezebel snaps her fingers in front of the dog. It sits, panting happily as though it has found peace on the other side of the café fence between them.
"I'm so sorry, he's been acting so weird today!" the tourist apologizes to Jezebel.
She reaches through the iron welding and puts a soothing hand on its head, it frantically begins to sniff and lick.
"He's very sweet, I bet he makes a good companion," Jezebel comments, scratching the obviously disturbed animal behind the ear.
Reverting to pup-like habits, it leans into her gentle touch.
"He is... How did you do that, by the way?" The tourist laughs awkwardly.
"Just a dog person," distantly, she smiles.
The tourist quickly puts a cage-like structure around the animal's mouth while he's distracted, using a high-frequency voice while he's distracted by his new human friend. The animal is pulled off on a leather-laced leash, its owner rejoining her friends.
Calmly, Jezebel reaching into her coat for something small and glittered.
At a normal volume, my sensitive hearing stretches across the crowded street to catch her kind message to Elijah and I.
"The dog has stitches on his right leg," she brings out an unsurprising Sobranies cigarette, "That's probably why she puts that thing around his mouth. Pain makes animals bite, but..."
She releases the smoke withheld in her mouth.
"Sometimes, they are taught patterns. Like Pavlov's dogs. To salivate for a bell—pero, in this case, the dog saw me lick my teeth which is just a common predatorial move. So, he challenged me. Only there's a pressure point in front of the ear that triggers a rush of dopamine to the brain. It was easy to change his mind. I guess I'm suggesting before you come over here, you figure I know your pressure points better than I know a domestic housedog's."
Elijah and I recover each other's goal-oriented gazes with habitual ease.
"Now, that sounds like an invitation," he simpers slightly.
Jezebel taps the cancer stick over the edge of the heavy napkin underneath her drink. We've already put ourselves across from her by the time she returns our glances.
Elijah tries a polite approach. "Jezebel. What a pleasure to see you."
She slackens back against the chair.
"Then, don't look so upset." She talks over the noise of the outdoor fan above us.
"We apologize for the belated greeting, but now's better than never, no? What are you doing here?" immediately, I interrogate.
More importantly, how could she be alive? Of course, I was warned of boundaries before I walked out my front door today.
Jezebel thrusts her perpetual ponytail off her shoulder.
"Resenting how many people think sitting alone is an invite for conversation. Why, what are you doing?" she casually remarks.
Elijah rejects her offering of emerald-tipped cigarettes for the both of us.
"Regardless of why she's here, Niklaus, I think we should simply address the big rule in our city before she commits another overnight fiasco."
"Is that what we're calling it now? Oh, you're full of it," she squints her eyes doubtfully at him.
Elijah continues, "It's been told you are accountable for causing a ruckus at the Strix party on Halloween, the poisoning of Tristan De Martel and possibly Lucien Castle's Seer, and conspiring with the Regent of New Orleans. Do you decline the charges?"
Jezebel responds softly, "I decline conspiracy. I had a conversation with a close friend in private. But Alexis... She's not a Seer. She was a Seraph. You would experience a lot more concern if she had lived."
The name alone brings a skeptical simper to my face. "A guardian angel. How fanciful."
"A Seraph is a natural-born immortal, a species of witch. I am one, Alexis was one, and if you remember Celeste, she was the one leading us off the edge of a cliff."
My head swiveled to my brother beside me. The pensive finger he leaned against his lip shot back down into his fist and made his Rolex rattle like a snake.
"How coincidental any bodycount with you always entails one of your own kind. I do believe we've seen that elsewhere, haven't we, Niklaus?"
His reference to Mikael spurs her into an angry sneer across her freckled nose.

Polite enough not to blow it straight into our faces, the wisps of grey smoke seeping from the corners of her lips turn into a big cloud that retreats from the exterior world through her nostrils, connected by a golden septum. When it dissipates her head shifts in my direction.
"Let's get to the point. I'm not going to bend mountains for Tristan's recovery if that is what this is about. I didn't come for retaliation regardless of what those women did to me. I didn't save Marcel from making a huge mistake just because I thought I owed your family one. I came because he stole from me and I'm not leaving until I get it back."
"And what exactly is it you desire from a bargain weasel such as Tristan?" I inquire.
She puts out her fiery stub in the bundled and damp napkin.
"Nothing you can afford," she mocks.
I trap her chilly hand on the metal welding of the tabletop to restrain her departure a little longer.

"As much of a blessing Tristan's quick demise would be to us, he holds a set of very important items at the moment. He's the only one who will tell us where they are," I state.
Her pupils dilate like a coyote in headlights the longer they train on mine. "Mikaelsons travel in threes. Where's Rebekah?"
I merrily exhale at her understanding.
To Elijah, I say, "I always had a penchant for negotiating with witches. They prevail in the strangest ways."
He nods down at the table, adjusting himself in his seat. He's bored with this exchange already.

"I pity you, but not that much. I'm not going to save Tristan if I can't make my point," Jezebel claims.
"I understand there's been talk the Strix is looking to get you back under their veiny wing. As there is something of theirs you're looking to retrieve—however gruesome. I understand you came by...vessel, back to this city. If we ransacked your hideaway, which I'm certain the witches can help us find, and found this magical sundial of yours, we could use it for our own purposes to get back our sister. I hope I've accurately persuaded you. Otherwise, I'd quite like to see what others would give for a thrift exchange of a genie in a bottle for Rebekah," I threaten.
She is certain, "You wouldn't do that."
"On the contrary. We're not sparing feelings here, are we?" I counter.
"Of course, not."
"Then what's the hesitation?"
In saying so, I cause an intense silence between us that somehow leads to a very simply surrender. Jezebel rips the sapphire poison locket off her neck resentfully and sets it down on the iron surface next to Elijah's hand. I pick it up boastfully, ensuring it has contents inside. Then, Elijah stops me.
His head turned towards me, peripherally, he shows Jezebel his suspicion.
"What do we owe you by taking this? How do we know this is real?" He questions her.
Jezebel stands to adjust the hot red colors of her meager clothing.
"I actually believe Rebekah is worthy of my consideration. Whatever's going on, she doesn't deserve it," Jezebel addresses her decision sourly. "If you don't think it's real, what can I tell you other than you give me too much credit for being a scam?"
She walks past us, swinging around to the other side of the fencing between us, now equipped with red sunglasses to match the plastic aesthetic of her skirt.
"Buen' muerte, cabrones. Kiss the rabbit's foot you don't see me again."
Slapping her fingers of stacked rings on the fencing near my head like a cellmate, she continues down the road without even a second regard for the people who control the confetti-stained road she treads on.

ELIJAH

Time deprives us of the sweet and quick memory of real love, keeping it at the bottom of the toy chest as new and less important brushes with passion come and go. That is why I apprehend the same blunder once learned with Aurora. Though, conceivably, what I did to Jezebel was entirely worse than a cruel compulsion.
This family has an unfortunate toll on the bodies it tries to embrace. There is a known few who have survived our traditions and our vows, but those same few always seem to come back to us, still in love or overtaken by bitter frost.
Aurora drifts in the purgatory of our good graces. Niklaus was looking at a reflection of his flaws in Aurora, Aurora who was so alone she would love anyone who showed genuine interest in her. That is what I was convinced of when I compelled her to break his heart: they were simply in love with the idea of being loved. He's only been at the whim of Aurora's fantasies in order to get to Rebekah's stolen corpse. I have to believe that; I have to know that there is no going back.
Perhaps, that's the only kind thing the early Autumn pollen by the name of Jezebel ever did for me.
It was hard to say if he ever loved her. She was a clever but miserable girl who washed up on the shore and decided to invade our world. Yet, she was everything he lacked. She wanted to protect him, to make him laugh, to teach him, to prove he was cared for, to be somebody he could not forget. But it was never for the sake of Klaus's love; she made mistake after mistake and she didn't know how to fix it other than fixing someone else.
Much like where our stage is set on this Thanksgiving day, between two brothers and three misfits at a table tainted by the mutual hands that dripped with the blood of each other's sireline.

"It's all been to protect you, respectively. Lucien and I have always been enemies, but if we had arrived together as allies with news of a bleak future, you would have doubted us. It was maintaining appearances," Tristan excuses his band of allies around the Thanksgiving table. "We came to protect you and ourselves. We have never wavered on this point."
Klaus lackadaisically answers, "And the bodies on my streets? Also your protection?"
"Now that's just business. Old tactics for success," Lucien says, "is a frightened human populace. It is much easier to control. If tourism should decline and the local vampires are deprived of fresh blood, well, you saw how quickly Marcel joined hands with us."
My brother mockingly laughs at them all. "Pedestrian. I would have expected something more from such glamorized theatrics."
Lucien leans toward him. "Well, you're not going to let us take all the blame are you? There's a killer snake charmer on the loose with a heavy record for disaster."
"I have been endlessly imagining the reasons, so pray tell, what did Tristan have to do to be next on her list?" I question. "Speaking of whom, did she not get the invitation?"
"You've offered the girl a seat at the table of five vampires with underlying tendencies to discriminate against witch-kind, two of said vampires she has had a romantic history with. And, we're eating dead animals on one of two holidays she despises. In other words, you told her a joke," Lucien comments.
Niklaus appears to see the reasoning in that.

Aurora is visibly irritated with this amount of discussion of another girl in front of Niklaus. She was threatened by the girl, after all. Learning that Niklaus jumped on the allure of Jezebel's sharp Latin tongue and prance of the "lost lamb" apparently put Aurora farther from reasonable conclusion that it was, in fact, over.
She downplays her envy well.
Aurora says to Tristan, "Brother, you had something you desperately wanted to share with our hosts?"
"Yes. This is a good bridge into what I'd like to discuss next, actually. Seeing as Jezebel is a part of your prophecy—"
"If that is true, it's the first I'm hearing of it," Niklaus directly intrudes.
I straighten my back as he brings me into the conversation, properly setting his utensils down. Niklaus waits for one of us to explain. I don't want to talk about it, but he'll demand it of me sooner of later. Fearing the idea of bringing that girl back into our lives, I let it be known what Alexis the Seer showed me.
"Alexis bared some reference to Jezebel's tie to the prophecy through her visions on the night she died," I confess, trying to put the case to rest before it's open. "However, given she wants nothing to do with Niklaus or myself, we should all return the favor and leave the girl be. A war can't be started until we provoke the other party."
And I meant it. If it was easy for her to guarantee the silence of Alexis, we could take a page from her book and cut out our weeping crocodile.
"If you positively considered that, you would not have sent her an invitation behind my back," Klaus defensively notes.
Lucien continues, "But you should be thankful he did. The invitation is what kept her away. For, she would not like the proposition we're about to make. The vessel she was transported on has become vacant, or at least we plan on making it so. When the time comes, we'd like you to lay claim on her artifact."
My head shoots up when Lucien halts his proposition at the distant sound of clacking heels in the distance and slam of a door.
Jezebel sharply turns the corner into the courtyard, looking directly at Tristan. I catch the matching eyes in the room, looking up at her like a renaissance painting.
Lucien sighs, "Speak of the devil."
Lucien's hand turns white upon picking up Jezebel's limp hand. She merely watches him try not to be overcome with pain as the numbingly hot sensation in his hand resides a little longer.
"I'm not here for the fake occasion. My vessel is gone," Jezebel hisses.
"And?" I playfully remark.
She takes out her keychain calmly, flicking open the brightly-sheathed swiss knife it holds. She stabs it just below her heart, and I receive the pain. As she carves upward, her face stiff as a wooden board, I watch my blood stain my freshly pressed dress shirt. The feeling of severed arteries heightens.
As she pulls it out of her chest, she hasn't shed a drop of blood. However, the neckline of her blouse is now beyond repair.
I hustle to catch my breath and to retain my composure.
"And I'm upset. Can you tell?" Jezebel promises.
Klaus irritably groans, setting his utensil down loudly. "Tristan, let the girl have her toys and leave her out of the equation. This is between you and your sires."
Jezebel switches her shark-like posterior in his direction.
"You have made it clear you were disturbed by my presence here and that you would take it if you had to. Tristan is not the only impending source of bone dust in this room," Jezebel barks.
"Well, if you were going to try to kill my brother, why not return the gesture?" Aurora smiles wickedly. "Come on, Tristan let me have her."
"Nobody's killing anyone," the Mikaelson sister, Freya, says as she steps out of one of the back rooms. "It's in safe keeping."

FREYA

Jezebel's chest moves a little with a suppressed sarcastic sound effect.
"Jezebel Zaragoza. I've heard a lot about you," I greet her.
With an air of superiority, I come toward her.
"Nothing bad, I hope" she acrimoniously retorts.
"The child of the first werewolf alpha and a malignant sorceress, oh, there's gonna be talk," I remark.
"I'll introduce you sometime. Speaking of, glad to see Dahlia finally ate shit. I don't know if you remember me. We kind of got into it a couple decades ago."
"Couldn't forget. I'd never seen a monsoon that strong before. You're powerful. But not more so than an original witch."
Jezebel smiles at me coldly.
"I'd bet money otherwise, but my trust fund doesn't come in paper format."
Taunting me, she sniffs and wrinkles her nose softly.
Elijah looks between us witches while he waits for his queue of violence.
Aurora comments, "Dinner and a show. For an American Holiday, Thanksgiving has proved its worth."
Jezebel cuts to the point of her entry, "You've done your research, but you haven't checked your safety net. The thing you stole from me could get your family killed. Where is it?"
"In mint condition, obviously. I happen to know Tristan was waiting for it to be here tonight; he ransacked the DuBois Farmhouse looking for it. You're stubborn, you wouldn't hide it in plain sight, so I did it for you. More for my own cause. Give us the coordinates, and you get the vessel you're looking for," I address Lucien and Tristan.
Jezebel doesn't react; she just makes it more complicated. "You're asking the wrong people."
She escalates the point of the entire evening. A paper flicks upward between her nimble fingers for Tristan to see.
With a dead gaze, she says, "You shouldn't wear a blazer in eighty degrees. If you take it off, you can get pickpocketed at any given tourist hotspot."
Panicking, Aurora stands.
"You naughty girl," Tristan says without surprise.
I try and take it from Jezebel when she isn't looking. She senses my hand before it even moves, holding it to her opposite side.
"You're too late to make threats. She's scheduled to be dropped in the Atlantic tonight!" Aurora blurts.
My heart skips a beat. Jezebel smiles mischievously as everyone suddenly turns to Aurora. Elijah's face is turning a pale pink and Klaus's neck pulsates with stalled swallows.
"The ocean!" Klaus growls, his chair jetting out behind him.
Aurora is taken aback, like she didn't realize what she just told us was wrong.
She frowns, "Nik! She's perfectly fine. I'm keeping her safe! No reason my sire shouldn't be trusted in my hands."
I am not waiting any longer. I prepare to say a spell that brings her thoughts forward, muttering a simply incantation under my breath. I raise my electrically charged hand to Aurora, but Tristan is one step ahead of me. He thinks fast, acts quick for his sister's sake. He grabs me, holding me against him with a knife to my throat.
"Harm my sister and I'll reciprocate," Tristan sneers in my ear.
I don't fear. I see the way Jezebel looks at Tristan, her hands reaching around her head. She breaks her own neck. Like clockwork, the twisting of four vertebrae mimics the ambience of bottle caps popping after a war is over.
Jezebel stands tall, cracking her neck back into place, but her nose still bleeds from the dire exertion. Elijah extends his clean handkerchief to Jezebel, whose nose also bleeds a brilliant red. She doesn't take it.
"I'll make yours bleed the old-fashioned way if you don't take me to what belongs to me," she asserts.