Dark Side.

Chapter 18: Bad Moon Rising. Part III.

Cassandra sits quietly by the window. In her hands lies an old polaroid photograph from the 70s. The four boxes containing her property which Isobel so rudely stole sit on the desk beside her. Okay, so not all of it is officially hers, but it is about her, so she's taking it home either way. Vanessa can take it from her dead cold fingers.

Cassandra only came for two reasons. One, figure out how much Isobel knew about her. Two, find her locket. Five hundred years of planning, a hundred and forty-six years of finally being free enough to try said plan, and it's all for nothing. The locket is lost. Forever. It's not the piece of jewelry itself that's so important. Nor is the fact that it's been the exact same for the past five centuries—protected by magic, one of the few items she has from her human years—that which makes it special. What's inside is what's important. The most valuable thing Cassandra was able to protect. A Hail Mary to redeem herself from her greatest sins.

There is no hope now.

She wants to cry. For the first time in years, she can honestly admit that. She wants to walk into the woods until she disappears, until nature swallows her and there's nothing but coldness around her. And then she wants to lie down and cry. Easy, unchecked.

Instead of allowing any of that, she watches her friends. Elena is still by the center table, Isobel's research on Katherine sprawled all over it. She seems to be maintaining a civil conversation with Vanessa. Cassandra could listen in, but right now her mind is too muddled to bother listening to anything beyond her own heartbeat. Alaric seems to be the only one still focused on the original plan. He sits by the table near the exit, a thick book in his hands. The box beside him has MYSTIC FALLS—LORE scribbled on the front. And then there's Damon. He's by the largest bookcase in the room, one hand resting on its side, the other moving past book spines. Cassandra isn't entirely sure what he's looking for, but his shoulders are tense, and he's behaved strangely all day.

She wants to ask him if he ever saw it, the locket. But she doesn't even know if he went back to his house, and she doubts he ever entered her room after she 'died'. Besides, he probably doesn't even remember she had a locket to begin with. Her eyes drop to her lap, to the polaroid resting in her hands. The 70s were a strange time. Almost as strange as the 60s, specially when it came to fashion. For the first time in decades, Cassandra cut her hair above her breasts. She had a fringe. That had been a bad idea.

The picture was taken on a Monday afternoon, 1973, at Billy's. The bar-occasionally-turned-nightclub was closed, and she and Katherine decided to drop by and visit Will. Katherine, because Will had been giving them new identities since forever and being polite and feigning friendship meant lower prices. But Cassandra went there because she genuinely enjoyed Will's company. Still does, if she's honest. They call each other once every six months to catch up. And, also, because Will had taken pity on a humanity-less vampire who just so happened to be Damon.

In the picture, she's leaning on the bar top of Billy's in New York. The big smile in her face, the one that was all teeth and scrunched up eyes, looks out of place in the dark establishment. And, yet, she looks like she belongs there, with her mini-skirt, translucent black tights, large leather jacket, and high heels. Her make-up was dark; her hair a mess. Judas, why did I let Katherine talk me into bangs?

Behind her, in the distance, there's a band mid-rehearsal. She squints at them, curious. She can't remember who they were, probably some aspiring superstars that didn't amount to much. Will tends to like underdogs. Her eyes flash to the back of Damon's head again before returning to the picture. She wonders what he'd do if he realized Will was her friend first.

Cassandra passes one finger across the image. She's not keeping it to keep Damon in the dark about just who ended up with Eliza Elliott Van Ness's identity. He can find out about everything as far as she's concerned now. No, what's so precious about the photograph, the reason why the rarest of her smiles has now been immortalised, is a cat. The most gorgeous, intelligent, black Siberian cat ever. Berwick. Cassandra got him in 1966, on a whim, but the cat quickly became her most faithful companion. And there he was, sat on his hind legs, tail waggling mid-air, as his forehead pressed against her held-up hand. It's not the only picture she has of her beloved pet, but the knowledge that Isobel stole this private moment brings tears of fury to her eyes.

"Oh, my god!" Elena gasps loud enough that her voice breaks through Cassandra's daze.

"What?" Vanessa asks.

"I think this is in the wrong box…" Elena starts out tentatively.

Cassandra looks up at that. Her curiosity doubles when she realizes Elena is talking to her, not Vanessa.

"What is it?" Cassandra rises to her feet.

Tucking the polaroid into the front pocket of her jacket, she walks to the table. Disappointment weighs her stomach when she sees what's in Elena's hand: a letter, not a locket. How would Elena know you're looking for a locket? She reprimands herself.

"My dearest Cassandra—at this point I can admit without difficulty that thoughts of you revolve around my mind in the most surprising of moments—" Elena reads. Her voice is colored with astonishment. "Please, accept this pin as a token of my affections. The color of it will compliment your hair in the most mesmerizing ways. Love always, George."

"Oh, wow." Cassandra scrunches her nose up in veiled disgust as she takes the letter from Elena's hands.

She looks down at it with distaste. George had written more, this elaborate declaration of love that had her cringing for a whole day, every time the words appeared in her mind. Still, she wore the pin. The ugliest pin she ever saw, one that had her wondering if maybe George had meant it as a joke. He hadn't. It pleased him greatly the first time he saw it on her.

"That's… that's a love letter to you. From George Lockwood." Elena confirms.

Cassandra shrugs, allowing a noncommittal sound out as she, without hesitance, proceeds to rip the letter to shreds. Ugh, she can't believe she didn't destroy it the second she got it.

"Okay, seriously! Stop doing that." Vanessa exclaims.

Cassandra simply sends Vanessa an unimpressed look, dropping the letter pieces back into the box. This letter is hers, therefore, she can do whatever she pleases with it. like destroying it into teeny tiny pieces that cannot be restored.

"Hardly a love letter." Damon scoffs from afar. "Also, I remember that pin. It was ugly."

"Here we go." She rolls her eyes.

"What?" Elena wonders.

Both Elena and Vanessa turn to an approaching Damon. So, she does the same, unable to stop the smug grin spreading across her face.

"He's jealous." Cassandra sing-songs.

"I am not!" Damon protests before the word is fully out of her mouth.

"You are, too!" Cass counters, before turning to Elena. "Always have been."

"No, I wasn't." Damon insists, lightly, with a careless shrug. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head conspiringly at a bewildered-looking Elena. "Besides, you didn't even like him. You said he was—"

Damon stops talking, so suddenly it sends red flags shooting up in Cassandra's mind. She turns back to him, dreading. The amusement slowly dissolves from his face as realization strikes, quickly replaced by anger. She just got busted. Who would have thought George Lockwood would get to screw her from beyond the grave?

"What?" Elena asks after seconds have passed with the two of them just looking at each other.

"You knew?" Damon demands, eyes icy. "And you didn't say anything."

"You didn't ask me!" Cassandra defends herself.

While true, that was the wrong thing to say. If anything, Damon's face hardens even further. His eyes flash dangerously, the light blue shade of them makes it an intimidating sight. His nostrils flare. Cassandra can't remember the last time he looked this mad at her.

"Fine. I'm asking now."

Cassandra sighs, slumping against the table. There's no point in keeping this a secret. She's just worried information on werewolves will eventually lead to information on The Curse, and that's a whole can of worms she has no interest in opening. Except she can't keep lying. She can't keep things from them, and give them half-truths, and expect them to trust her. Regardless of whether she's doing it to save them from pain or not. This nonsense has to end.

"Werewolves are not native to Mystic Falls. They are, however, prominent in America, for some reason. I think because people have made sure to nearly eliminate them everywhere else." Cassandra explains.

"Why?" Alaric asks from his spot on the other side of the room.

"They're vermin." She scowls, crossing her arms. "Stronger than a human, and even stronger than a vampire when the full moon is in the sky. They don't heal as fast as we do, but they do have enhanced healing abilities. They are faster than us, at any point. Their stamina is off the charts and they can be real fucking gymnasts when they feel like it. They're annoying, and deadly."

Silence surrounds them. Vanessa is looking at her like she's her new favorite hero. Cassandra glances at Damon. He hasn't moved from beside her, and while that's a little consoling, it's not exactly good news. Damon's face is a stoic mask that reveals nothing.

"Oh, and they smell like wet dog. All the time." Her words are an attempt at a joke. One that only Alaric seems to find amusing. His lips stretch near imperceptibly. Cassandra relaxes. "They have the worst tempers imaginable. Seriously, they do not make good companions." She adds.

"Okay, you don't like them. We get that." Damon interrupts brusquely. "How do I kill one?"

"How do you kill a human?" Cassandra counteracts. "They may be more durable, but they're still mortals. Broken neck, decapitation, exsanguination…" she trails off, thinking. It's been a while since she hunted a werewolf. It's been a while since she's hunted anything for that matter. And declaring war on werewolf packs hasn't been on her list of priorities lately. Usually, she just stays out of their way. "Aconite is to them what vervain is to us. Supposedly, silver, too. But I think that may be made up—Fire! But you need to make sure they're extra crispy, otherwise they may heal and live."

Elena lets out a quiet groan of disgust. Well, they're the ones who wanted to know about werewolves.

"How about you guys take a look at this?" Alaric walks towards them.

The book he was reading earlier is open in his hands on a particularly colorful page. He places the book on the table for everyone to see. In it, there's a man with a wolf for a face; another, with a demon's. In the center, a shaman has one hand up in the air. The sun and the moon shine brightly in the background. Cassandra doesn't need to be a historical expert to know what this means. She's just not sure why there's a detailed drawing of it in what clearly is the wrong ancient culture.

"Tonartsliitsii Metslii," Vanessa says, angling the book towards her. "Which roughly translates into The Curse of The Sun and The Moon."

Okay, so it looks like there's no leaving this place without spilling some more beans. Great.

"It's Native American." Alaric clarifies.

"Aztec. It explains one origin of the werewolf curse traced through Virginia." Vanessa corrects, kindly. "The short story: 600 years ago, the Aztecs were plagued by werewolves and vampires. They terrorized the countryside, made farming and hunting impossible, until an Aztec shaman cursed them, making vampires slaves to the sun and werewolves servants of the moon. As a result, vampires could only prowl at night and werewolves could only turn on a full moon. When the full moon crests in the sky, whoever's unlucky enough to fall under the werewolf curse turns into a wolf." She finishes. Her eyes find Cassandra. "I'm guessing your friend George was one."

"Yeah…" Cassandra nods, pulling the book closer to her. Is this… real? "Are you sure this is genuine?"

"Positive."

It makes no sense. This is not the version she's familiar with. The storyline is the exact same. Change shaman for high priestess and it becomes the story she grew up with. But Nik talked about the one Cassandra knows. The Celtic version. Nobody ever mentioned an Aztec version. And it wasn't because they weren't common knowledge. The supernatural world was always aware of America and its inhabitants. Something is off… was The Curse a world-wide thing? Did witches team up against vampires and werewolves all around the world? Surely, if that was the case, her parents would have known. Her parents would have told her. Mother and Father were many things, but liars, they were not.

"I'm surprised you're still alive, then." Vanessa's comment snaps her out of her internal unravelling.

"Why?" Damon asks.

The anger he displayed before vanishes for an emotion Cassandra knows too well: protectiveness. He turns to face Vanessa without stepping away; his body presses against her side. Discreetly, Cassandra takes one miniscule step to the right, enough for there to be half a foot between them. Damon furtively glances down at her before focusing back on Vanessa.

Damon never trusted George much. Even less when George started to become interested in her. It's the only reason she ever gave George the time of day, a frail hope that Damon would finally realize his protectiveness burgeoned from jealousy. If Damon figures out George could have killed her without issue…

"Well, werewolves will attack humans." Vanessa shrugs. "But instinct and centuries of rivalry have hardwired them to hunt their prey of choice: vampires."

"If werewolves were hunting vampires, I would know about it." Damon sends her a feigned smile. One that's bitter and warning.

"Not if there aren't that many werewolves left alive. Hundreds of years ago, vampires hunted them almost to extinction." Vanessa juts out her chin at him.

"Why would they do that?" Elena asks.

"A werewolf bite is deadly to a vampire."

Elena inhales sharply. She, Damon, and Alaric share a look that's filled with worry. Thankfully, no one realizes Cassandra's privy to that little detail. It may have to do with the utter panic she forces into her face, the same one Elena wears, the same one Damon won't show. Just in case, Cassandra whips out her cell phone, pressing on Stefan's contact. The phone rings twice before he picks up. Thankfully, he listened to her warning this morning. He and Caroline are at the Boarding House, safe and sound. Nobody ran into any rabid werewolves. Nobody got hurt. At least nobody they care about. If Mason kills an innocent human, well, that's on him, not on Cassandra's silence.

Still, Cassandra feels silly. Keeping werewolves a secret was not very useful. And now, Elena, Alaric and Damon know about The Curse, which means she's going to have to come clean. Before someone digs out the ingredients list.

Cassandra closes the car door with her hip as she hoists the last two boxes up until the bottom one reaches the soft area between her ribs and her hips. She ended up taking the four boxes without Vanessa saying anything, probably because Damon's threat about saying anything to anyone also extended to this. Regardless of how or why, Cassandra happily took her boxes home just as she intended the moment she found out they existed.

It lightened her mood enough that the constant bickering between Damon and Elena about manipulation and real friendship didn't faze her at all. Nor was she affected when Damon discreetly gave Elena the Petrova book, an action that was done with enough secrecy for Cassandra to know he worried she wouldn't let Elena have it. Except the box containing her 'Post-Mystic Falls' stuff has things she actually missed, and she's too excited to even bother warning Elena Katherine will not be happy about this. Not that she's planning on telling Katherine anything.

It's late enough that the only activity on her street is Mr. Featherstone from two houses down watching the 11 o'clock news at a loud enough volume for his old ears to catch, Valerie—Cassandra's next door very pregnant neighbor—quietly baking brownies while her husband snores upstairs, and the lights in her own house. Aside from that, the street is quiet, serene. The front door to her house opens just as Cassandra reaches the last step on the porch. Damon walks out with not as much gait as usual. She doesn't blame him. Elena's words towards him were brutal. His lips stretch into a half-hearted smile as he takes the top box from her. The two of them walk inside, silent.

"I told you I didn't need help." She reminds him.

Her voice is soft, kind, one reserved for wounded animals. The last thing she needs is for him to misinterpret her words. She means he can go home and mope over Elena if he wants, she needs no company.

"I don't mind," says Damon with a tone that reminds Cassandra of the human version of him. He places the box atop the kitchen island, where it sits next to the others. "Do you need anything else?"

She begins to shake her head no, before deciding against it.

"Actually, I need to tell you something." Cassandra begins with a deep breath. "Something incredibly important. Something I need you to keep secret unless it can't be kept secret anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Damon frowns.

"The Sun and The Moon Curse."

Damon loves Elena. Stefan loves Elena. They already know the curse exists. They may as well find out it can be broken. And how. They sit in her living room; the same place where she once said he didn't deserve her life. How fitting. They sit and she makes him swear he won't tell anyone. There's no guarantee that Elena is actually in danger, no guarantee that other people know Elena exists. It's only after Damon has given her his word that sheshe talks.

Cassandra tells him… almost everything. How she was a powerful young witch with a reputation for breaking the rules. How she was… roped into figuring out a way to break the Curse without one of the main ingredients. How she failed. Cassandra does not mention Niklaus, or exactly under what circumstances they were introduced. She does not mention betraying him. Or running.

She mentions how the version of The Curse they found today isn't exactly the one she knew. She explains how, legend has it, whichever party breaks the curse first wins. And then, because there's no point dragging it further and, damn, Damon already looks worried, not to say mildly scared, she starts with the ingredients. A sacrificing altar. A moonstone. Not just any moonstone, but the original one. A vampire. A werewolf.

And a human doppelgänger.

The way Damon's face falls at that, without her having to specify who is the doppelgänger up for sacrifice, is enough for Cassandra's own heart to break just a little bit more.

UPDATED: 16/01/2020