Dark Side.
Chapter 27: Rose. Part I.
"You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering."
—Ernest Hemmingway.
The Kingdom of Navarre, Iberia, 1497.
The house might as well have been a castle. A palace. It rivalled her own home, which was something she did not expect—or want. Her parents had assured her she would be happy here: free to practice magic as she desired, were she to find a way, she might hunt, too. 'The biggest hunt of her life', her Lord Father called it. She was yet to see what boring, ineffective Navarre could offer in the hunting department.
She had hours of travel, from the coast to this lodging, hours of jittery chaos, of guilt-ridden grief, of missing home, real home, not Surrey. Lady and Lord Cambridge had claimed, loudly, that this was the wrong decision, a way for her parents to cast her aside without making it official. If Aunt and Uncle, who had raised her more than her Lady mother ever did, disagreed with this engagement to such a degree, certainly they had the most sensible opinion. The opinion to believe, not that it would lead her anywhere. She was duty-bound to obey.
The main hall was lovely, she even dared say cozy. Carefully embroidered tapestries hung from the stone walls with golden, maroon, green, and blue threads depicting stories she did not bother to follow. Servants rushed about their daily chores; some carried her luggage in from the carriage. Trunks and trunks filled with clothes and other possessions came in, were carried past her, and disappeared down the hallway.
Cassandra stood in the middle of that lovely, cozy main hall watching life pass by in a fog, impassive. Her hands fiddled with the belt tying the waist of her black wool and blue velvet dress. She missed home, certainly, but, in truth, she mourned the life she once led. She wished for a time-turning spell, anything to return her to the past. The new family she was marrying into—the best way her parents found to get her out of the country—was English, residing in the Kingdom of Navarre for some caprice or another. Their bloodline went back centuries—though they were not as ancient as her own family—but they had no claim to any crown, were nobility, not royalty. It was ignominious, the blatant way in which she was being demoted.
"Lady Cassandra Woodehouse." From the opening gate on her left a man glided forward. He was all grace and elegance, with robes to match in the Iberian fashion, not the English. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last."
He seemed strangely familiar in appearance, with his dark hair and wide forehead. She'd seen him before, she was certain of it. Her curiosity was overpowered by indignation. Lifting the black lace veil from her face, she turned to the man fully. He straightened, took a minute step forward. Perhaps he recognized her too, perhaps he didn't expect her to be beautiful. After all, why would the Dowager Princess of Scotland settle for a Lord without blue blood if she was beautiful?
"I am the Dowager Princess of Scotland, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Surrey, Duchess of Norfolk in my own right, Lord Cambridge's true heiress, and eighth in line for the English Throne." She informed him, head held high. "I am above your station, sire; you shall address me as such."
"Forgive me, Your Highness, Your Grace." He bowed his head. He took two steps forward, grasped her hand, and pressed his forehead to her knuckles. "I am Elijah Mikaelson."
Oh, she thought, Odin's beard! Elijah Mikaelson himself. An Original Vampire right in front of her! Was this what her Lord Father meant by 'the hunt of her life'? Was she meant to kill him?
"My lord." She curtsied. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Elijah granted her a smile. One that was genuine, one that carried no malice. She had heard so much about the Original family, benign smiles were not one of those things.
"My brother is out of town; he shall return in a fortnight. We didn't expect you until then." Elijah excused.
Regardless of when she was expected, the man meant to marry her ought to be here to welcome her. She wondered if they knew she was a witch, a hunter, if maybe that's why they brought her here, why Lord Niklaus was out on some trip while she arrived at his home to be received by the honorable Lord Elijah. If this marriage was a farce, a screen for some job they required of her—likely, as no Mikaelson had ever met her prior to this, nor had they ever spoken to any member of her circle—there was no need for pleasantries.
"The wind was in our favour." She explained.
The wind and magic, though she refrained from adding that. She was yet to know if the Mikaelsons knew, and she wasn't about to confess to an Original vampire.
"I shall introduce you to my siblings at supper. Were you to have any issues, with anything, you are more than welcome to come to me."
"I thank you for your words, my lord, but I doubt I will be needing any help." She denied, polite, but assuring Elijah heard the finality in her tone. She did not want his help. He was a vampire; she'd be better off trusting a ghost. "Now if you would excuse me. I have had a long trip; I would very much like to be shown to my chambers."
Elijah regarded her with something akin pity. Perhaps it was because he knew the circumstances that led her parents to agree to this engagement, perhaps it was the furious beating of her heart. She was not afraid. Except that she was, only a fool would be comfortable in a house crawling with vampires, but she was not about to openly show it. She had trained as a hunter since she was four years of age, in magic since she was two. If anyone was capable of surviving this, of making the most of this, it was her.
"Very well, follow me, Your Highness." Elijah inclined his head. "You shall join us for supper. That is not a request."
"Certainly, my lord." She acquiesced.
Elijah led her down two corridors, up a long staircase, down another corridor, turned a left, then a right, straight through a fourth corridor, up a spiralling staircase. At this rate, Cassandra would need Elijah's assistance. This place was a labyrinth.
Her chambers were located in the north wing, top floor. Elijah opened the door to her, informed her that his chambers were straight down the corridor and that he would collect her when supper was ready. More and more it was starting to feel like Elijah was ensuring she went nowhere unaccompanied. Was she a prisoner, not a guest?
"Thank you, my lord." She curtsied one last time, hand on the door. "I shall see you in due course."
Elijah bowed to her. He left before she had to hint at it twice. Cassandra closed the door, secured the latch so no one would enter without permission, considered spelling it for extra safety, and pressed her back to the wooden door. Air would not enter her body; her eyesight blurred. Pressing trembling fingers to her mouth, she closed her eyes.
What, in the name of every circle of hell, did she get herself into?
Mystic Falls, present time.
The day after the Masquerade Ball, Cassandra rises with the sun. Well, she transitions from lying on her face to standing up. She didn't sleep at all.
She shuffled through the front door around eleven pm, tired, sore, with a torn, bloodied dress and ruined morale. She flopped face first on the couch, idly sipping at a blood bag, occasionally nibbling on chocolate-covered pretzels she and Katherine left abandoned on the coffee table two days ago. They didn't close the family-sized bag, so they were stale, chewy, but Cassandra was too disturbed to care. Too many things occurred in too little time, her neck protested each time she moved it too far to the right, and her back was on fire. So, she didn't move all night, didn't even change her clothes, just stared off into the distance, terrified of her thoughts, feeding both parts of herself until her body didn't hurt and her belly felt so full, she worried she'd puke. She stayed there, until the sky turned from dark to baby blue, then she sat up. When the sky turned from baby blue to blue-yellow-orange, she stood up.
Now, with the sunlight bleeding into the sky in a deep orange color, she breathes in once, unzips her dress until the damaged fabric slides off her body on its own, and walks towards her room, the dress forgotten in a heap on the floor. With it, stay the memories of her birthday. She refuses to let what happened yesterday, what she learned, follow her anywhere.
Upstairs, she showers, lets the warm water wash away the ghost of yesterday, of the past century. Her hair is curled, half of it tied up by a two-inch wide black ribbon. Her makeup, simple: mascara, the prettiest of pink eyeshadows, light foundation, only enough blush to give her cheeks the slightest of color, dark pink lipstick. She's very happy with it, until she rises from the vanity and catches her reflection on the tall mirror by the wardrobe.
Her makeup is subtle enough that it tricks the eye into thinking she's no wearing any, which would be great except the foundation doesn't cover her freckles, and she accidentally did her hair in the same way she used to back in the day. Looking at herself in the mirror feels like looking into the past, all she needs is a corset.
There isn't enough time for her to redo everything, so her outfit will have to be the changing element. She discards the dress she'd been planning on wearing, replaces it for a high-waisted, baby pink, tweed mini skirt, throws on a black fitted long-sleeved shirt, slips it into the skirt, adds a belt, shrugs on the double-breasted matching blazer. It's not her favorite outfit because, well, itchiness, but it's pretty and girly and not something her old self would have worn in the 19th Century. Besides, I look pretty, she thinks as she slips her socked feet into her pair of mid-heeled Chanel loafers, almost giddy with herself.
A good sign, that she's still excited about fashion even after the bully of the day she had yesterday, the bully of a month this March has been.
When Cassandra pulls up to the school's parking lot, Caroline is waiting by her usual parking spot, with a wide, bright smile threatening to split her face in two. The blonde is pulling her into a bone-crushing hug before Cassandra is even done closing the car door.
"Happy belated birthday!" Caroline gushes, not letting go. Cassandra gives up and wraps her arms around Caroline, returning the hug.
"Thanks, Care."
"We should do something, tonight!" Caroline suggests, breaking the hug only to grab her by the shoulders.
"Oh, no, it's fine." She cringes.
"No, seriously, we totally can." Caroline lets go of her shoulders, reaches for her abandoned bag on the floor. At Cassandra's less than eager attitude, Caroline shakes her head. "Really! We can go to The Grill, drink, flirt with boys, par-ta-ay!" Caroline insists with a wiggle of eyebrows and excited eyes.
It looks rehearsed, and Cassandra knows the request is also an apology, a 'sorry I participated in a secret plan yesterday, you're still my fave, though!' and it leaves Cassandra feeling mocked, used.
"I am gonna pass," she says, not harsh because she's not that angry at Caroline, but it doesn't leave much room for convincing.
"So, you're telling me you hit 30 and you're happy with the memory of it being Katherine Pierce nearly killing you?" Caroline sasses, one eyebrow raised.
Birthdays after five centuries should feel dumb. They should lose their charm in the same way she imagines Christmas begins to feel dull to humans after childhood. Except Katherine never passes on an opportunity to party; she even threw a rooftop party on Martin Luther King Day once, which was... kind of untasteful. And Niklaus loved birthdays—he probably still does, she's just no interest in ever finding out what he'll do for hers, probably rip out her heart—so she has never not celebrated it. Really celebrated it, enough to make her think maybe eternity isn't that bad celebrated it, enough to thank whatever deity for the love she receives despite the circumstances.
Yesterday, she got twelve short text messages wishing her a happy birthday. The only person who asked if she wanted to do something was Will; the only person to enquire after her well-being was Gwen. It was nice, she loves the two of them, she loves the other ten, too, and it's nice to know those she considers close friends and family thought of her on her special day. Except they all read somewhere along the lines of: sorry I can't be there, have fun celebrating tonight. And she'd realized she wouldn't be celebrating anything at all.
Katherine 'forgot'. Elena didn't bother calling. Caroline left a five second voice mail. Stefan glowered at her all night. Damon's elusive 'happy birthday' was the only comment she got in person, to her face. And he did it to get her to lower her guard, not because he meant it. It turned her lonely, and loneliness paired with eternity can be deadly.
"I've 'hit 30' five hundred times, Caroline." Cassandra shrugs. "I don't need to celebrate anything."
Caroline pouts, disappointed. She ignores it, turning towards the school. Caroline hurries to fall in step with her, and the two girls walk into the school, silent, before Caroline starts attempting conversation again.
"So, Tyler triggered the curse last night. It was—awful." Caroline laments. Cassandra hums, unimpressed. "His eyes went all yellow, with golden specks on them. They were almost pretty." At that, Cassandra sends her a look. Caroline grimaces. "Right, that's insensitive. Anyway, when I left he was freaking out, I can't imagine him doing much better today."
"That's a real shame." Cassandra hums again, sarcastic enough that Caroline notices.
"I don't get why you don't like him."
The two squirm past a chatting group of girls, duck under the banner two footballers are attempting to hang up straight.
"He's a werewolf."
"Lycanthropy isn't a personality trait." Caroline rolls her eyes.
"You'd be surprised." Cassandra flashes her a bitter smile as they reach her locker.
Caroline leans against the locker next to hers, eyes narrowed.
"Is this about George?" she asks, curious.
"George...?" Cassandra trails off before the penny drops. She laughs. "You think this has something to do with George Lockwood carrying a torch for me a century and a half ago?"
"It doesn't?" Caroline looks confused. "Then why don't you like Tyler?"
"I don't like, or fraternize with, werewolves, Care. It's that simple." Cassandra shrugs. Caroline frowns, slumping against the lockers. "What's this about, Caroline?"
She looks almost disappointed. At Cassandra's question, Caroline blinks, shakes her head, and perks up, eyes sparkling and smile bright.
"Nothing!" Caroline dismisses. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, lets out an unconvinced 'uh-huh.' "It's just that Tyler—you know what? Forget it." She shakes her head, lets out a small laugh.
"Are you—?"
Cassandra doesn't finish the question. It'd be insensitive, she thinks, asking if the reason Caroline keeps asking about why she doesn't like werewolves is that she has the hots for newly-transformed Tyler. They have bigger problems than that. Besides, what would it matter if Cassandra doesn't like Caroline's new boyfriend? This is one of the most confusing chats she's ever had with the blonde.
"Anyway, see you in French?" Caroline asks with the same routine tone she uses every weekday when asking that same question, like nothing is wrong.
"Yeah, of course."
Caroline smiles before twirling around and walking towards the general direction of her locker with the same pop in her step as always. Cassandra shakes her head, amused. She opens her locker, looks for the right books, considers bailing when the timetable taped to the inside of the metal door reminds her the first lesson today is chemistry. She loves chemistry, but Mystic Falls High School's curriculum is less than advanced. She's dreading the next hour, debating whether to throw pretenses out the window and just quit school altogether, when the sharp clear of a throat grabs her attention.
Stefan stands to her right, messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, a smile Cassandra doesn't buy stretching his lips.
"Cass." He greets with a nod.
"Stefan," she lets out a breath, hoisting her bag up into the locker. Maybe she really should quit high school. "What can I do for you?"
Stefan's answer is to lift the small cardboard bakery box in his hands and tilt it towards her. The box has a black plastic fork taped to the plastic window on the lid. Stefan opens the box to reveal a four-inch, mid-height cake, with white frosting on the top and red crumbles spread around as decoration.
"Red velvet cake." Cassandra guesses.
"Caroline mentioned it was your favorite." Stefan offers the cake to her. She doesn't take it from him, just looks from the cake to him. "Okay, she reluctantly admitted."
Stefan chuckles at his own joke. She doesn't even grant him a smile, simply turns back to her locker, grabs her chemistry book and notebook and shoves them in her bag before removing said bag from the locker. At least in a classroom Stefan can't bother her.
"My birthday was yesterday." She turns to face him.
"I know. This is more of a, um," a clear of his throat, "an olive branch. An edible olive branch." He attempts another joke.
Cassandra hums, unconvinced, unamused. Stefan sighs. His eyes find the floor before he takes a step closer to her, apologetic.
"Cassandra, I'm really sorry about yesterday. And my behavior the past couple of weeks." Stefan apologizes. She waits for the other shoe to drop, the request, the reason why he's apologizing. He wouldn't unless he needed her for something. Something he's absolutely not getting. "You're my friend and I shouldn't have doubted you."
"Is that so?" she scoffs.
"Yes. I—I let Katherine get underneath my skin, and I shouldn't have." Stefan lowers his head.
He looks genuinely sorry. Part of her wants to forgive him, but another part of her remembers with clarity who Stefan's true persona is, how he always seems to manage to wipe the slate clean with a pout and pleading eyes.
"I see."
"I guess I just have trouble believing people can change." Stefan explains. His eyes obtain that pleading glint she was thinking about a couple of seconds ago.
Because you are incapable of it, Cassandra thinks bitterly. When Cassandra does nothing but look at him, Stefan takes a deep breath in, and continues:
"But now I know you're on our side, so—"
Cassandra inhales, fed up. It must show on her face, because Stefan halts mid-sentence, mouth pressed into a thin line.
"I didn't choose you. I chose myself. I chose Caroline, and your brother. I am on 'Team Mystic Falls' for them." She explains like Stefan is a four-year-old. He might be, his behavior lately is certainly toddler-like. "I will follow them into battle, not you."
Even then, if she's being completely honest, Damon's on thin ice. She might fuck them all over and just trust Caroline, if they keep conspiring against her. In front of her, Stefan clears his throat, his eyes dim. He looks like a kicked puppy.
"I understand." He nods, solemn.
She can't help the twinge of pity that strikes her in the heart. She sighs. Being harsh isn't going to win her any points, but she's still pissed off even if she understands where the mistrust comes from.
"Not yet, anyway. Maybe sometime in the future, if you play your cards right." She concedes. Stefan perks up, hopeful. She takes the cake box from him, opening it to reveal the baked goods inside. "The cake is a nice start."
Stefan nods. His eyes glisten. Huh, she notes, maybe he really is feeling guilty.
"Thank you, Cassandra."
It's her time to nod, quiet. He may have apologized, but her heart still aches. She needs to remind herself—if she'd been in his position, would she have trusted her? Or would she have assumed she was working for 'the enemy'? Cassandra has no answer for such questions.
"Hey." Jeremy joins them. He sends her a little smile as greeting before turning to Stefan. "Look, Elena's got to let me know if I'm supposed to cover for her. Jenna's cool with the two of you, but you guys are pushing it."
Stefan frowns. "What are you talking about?"
"You and Elena." At Stefan's blank stare, Jeremy releases a breath. "Look, I'm glad you guys are back together, but if she's gonna sleep over—"
"Wait, wait." Stefan hasty interruption has Jeremy pulling a face. Cassandra glances back at Stefan. That wasn't annoyance coloring his voice, but concern. "Hold on a minute. We're not back together."
"Wait...she didn't stay at your place last night?"
"No. I mean, I saw her at the party but that was it." Stefan crosses his arms. "She didn't sleep over."
It's Jeremy's turn to frown now. Cassandra's heart dips for the smallest of moments. Her mind has already formed the question the two men are dancing around. Where is Elena?
"'Cause her bed hadn't been slept in and Mrs. Lockwood said that her car was still in the driveway." Jeremy explains. They regard each other. Two breaths pass. "Where is she, then?"
Stefan's first instinct is to turn to her. Not accusing, not suspicious, but harrowingly concerned, helpless. She presses her lips into a tight line, slams her locker closed. How hard is it, in this damned town, to have a normal day?
Classes have started by the time Stefan and Cassandra meet Damon out front. Because of this, the parking lot is desolate. They stand in the stretch of pavement between the steps leading up to the school and the parking spots. The sun beats down on them, the sky is bright blue with no clouds, and she'd appreciate the beauty of it if it weren't for the tense atmosphere the brothers are creating around her.
She called Damon at Stefan's insistence, hoping that he'd either know where Elena was or had seen something. It was supposed to be a civil, helpful conversation where they discussed strategy, except Stefan assumed the reason Elena is missing is Damon let Katherine go.
"Katherine's in the tomb." Damon exhales, eyes narrowing. "Trust me; I'm the one who shut her in."
"Did you?" Stefan asks with crossed arms and a stance that Cassandra thinks is meant to be intimidating.
Damon takes one long step closer to his brother. She eyes both of them carefully, praying this won't turn into a fight.
"Did I what, Stefan?" he demands.
"Well, I know the hold that Katherine has on you." Stefan shrugs.
Oh, here we go, Cassandra rolls her eyes. At this rate, Elena will be lost forever. It seems it's up to her to find an explanation, another job description she did not want.
"She's in the tomb, period. End of story." Damon snaps. He frowns, eyes finding the pavement. "She did say something to me right before I shut her in. I thought she—"
"Fuck me." She gasps, realization striking her like lightning.
There was a man. A random man with a strange demon mask. She saw him twice last night, at the entrance, and, then, when she was looking for Katherine. Both instances, the man had been looking at Katherine. She didn't think much of it, he was human, and she figured he either knew Elena personally and was playing around to see when she'd recognize him, or he'd been compelled by one of the brothers to keep them updated on where Katherine was. Maybe she should have paid more attention.
"What?" Stefan asks.
"Well, the good news is Elena is still alive."
"And the bad news?"
Her eyes go from Stefan's pinched features to Damon. He only has to meet her eyes for a moment to get the message she's trying to silently convey. This is Curse related.
"Do you know who took her?"
"No. I mean, if I did, Katherine and I wouldn't—" be here right now, she finishes in her mind. "I might know who she's being taken to, but even that's a guess."
Whoever kidnapped Elena either didn't know Katherine and Cassandra are both here, or they realized Elena was bigger bounty. A more expensive bargaining chip. After all, no one kidnaps the Doppelgänger unless they're trying to get back into an Original's good graces. Which means it's only a matter of time before an Original vampire gets contacted. Someone's coming, someone close to Niklaus, no doubt. Because if they have Elena, then the next step is the moonstone, and that pesky stone is here with them.
Son of a bitch, she whines inwardly, tempted to throw a mini-tantrum at the Universe. As if she doesn't have enough problems.
Before Damon can say anything, probably question what she means by 'taken to', probably accuse her of knowing this would happen all along or being responsible for this, Stefan nearly explodes.
"We need to find her!"
"Stefan—" she starts, hesitant.
How does she tell him there's no point?
"No, Cass, I need to find her." Stefan interrupts with enough resolve to silence her. "With our without your help, I'll find her."
Pity's strong hold squeezes her heart. She doesn't know how to help, though. If an Original has taken Elena, then Niklaus already knows. Even if whoever took Elena isn't an Original, but someone close to one, chances are Niklaus already knows, too. There's no way of saving Elena, not if they aren't ready to give their lives for the cause... and, well, Elena may be a nice girl, but Cassandra isn't planning on dying for anyone right now.
"I'll help you," Damon says.
She's surprised. And maybe she shouldn't be. After all, Elena has both brothers wrapped around her little finger. She just didn't expect Damon to be so open about it.
"We'll get her back."
Judas, he's so resolute. Stefan radiates appreciation. The pieces fall into place in Cassandra's mind slowly; they don't know how high the stakes are, but they won't give up without a fight. She's not sure whether Damon is doing this for Stefan or Elena or both, but she knows she's not exactly willing to let him walk into what could be absolute death on his own.
"Fine." She groans, relenting. The brothers blink down at her, shocked. "Damon, get as many weapons as you can from Alaric. Stefan, get me a map. And Jeremy."
With that, she begins walking towards the school.
"Wait, why Jeremy?" Stefan calls after her.
She half-turns around. Damon has already disappeared, but Stefan stands in the same spot, bewildered.
"I need Gilbert blood." Stefan blinks, frowning. "Go!"
That's enough to snap him out of his stupor. He flashes away, moving past her with enough speed to ruffle her hair. She huffs, before following. At least they aren't turning on her and demanding answers yet. Though she's certain that will come soon enough.
In order for the spell to work correctly, Cassandra needs as few distractions as possible, which is why she commandeers one of the fourth-floor abandoned classrooms.
At one point in history, Mystic Falls High might have had enough students for the fourth floor to be widely used. Now, however, most active classrooms are ground floor to third floor, leaving around ten abandoned classrooms gathering dust and hosting a couple hundred spiders. There's nothing on this floor except for the art studio at the end of the hall. Mr. Bender, Mystic Falls only art teacher, likes to sleep in, so nobody will come up here until eleven in the morning. It's perfect.
She chooses the classroom farthest from the stairs, but still a safe distance away from the art studio, just in case Mr. Bender feels like getting to work early. She thinks they used to teach geography here, or world history, as the walls are covered in maps, different styles, ones focusing on mountain ranges and planes, ones focusing on borders, the American map, one of Europe, one of Asia. Aside from its inconspicuous location, this classroom's small size makes it so that it can't store as many ruined blackboards, broken chairs, and other objects the school can't help but hoard as the other rooms.
She takes the United States map from the wall, one large enough that even somewhat small towns are labelled within states, and places it atop two pushed-together desks. The edges of the map still fall off the desks, turning it into a strangely colored tablecloth. It doesn't matter, Virginia and its adjacent states are in the center. After pouring water all over the map, Cassandra takes a step back, leans against another desk, and waits.
By the time Damon walks through the door, ten minutes later, she's drank the rest of the water in her water bottle, taken off her blazer, and is now sitting atop a desk, legs swinging back and forth. He's frowning as he enters, giving the room a cursory glance before dumping a heavy-looking duffle bag on the desk next to hers. She looks at him, wondering why he looks like he ate a lemon.
"Are you okay?" they ask at the same time.
Damon's frown softens, his lips twitch into what could be considered a half smile. She wants to think it is one. When his eyes meet hers with that same look that had her mind reeling yesterday, she smiles and says:
"Yesterday wasn't so bad. I'm not going to break because someone tried to kill me." At that she shrugs like it was nothing, voice turns teasing. "I'm not made of glass, you know?"
It's a lie. Yesterday was bad. Not terrible, but bad nonetheless. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore, though. She forgave Stefan, she officially switched sides, she forgave Damon, she spent a whole night putting it all behind her. She's done discussing yesterday. Or the Jenna incident.
"I'm not talking about yesterday." Damon shakes his head, serious.
When he takes another step closer to her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that she has to tilt her head up to keep eye contact, she worries he might have seen through the lie.
"Are these the people you have been running from?"
The breath catches in her throat, her heartbeat quickens, and she has to slam her tongue to the roof of her mouth hard to keep the tears at bay. Her eyes still sting, but her vision isn't blurry, thank goodness. She's not sure what has her this emotional, the fact that someone is asking her about it without making it a joke or a threat, or the look on Damon's face.
"I don't know."
Cassandra answers only after she's sure her voice won't waver. The frown returns to Damon's face, his eyes fall to her hands on her lap. She stops fiddling with the ring on her finger, self-conscious. His eyes return to her; they scan up her face, like he's trying to notice every detail. Air refuses to enter her lungs.
"I'm not gonna run." She finds herself saying. "I'll help you get Elena, and then..."
Her voice flickers out. She helps them get Elena, and then... what? There's no escaping, not anymore. Niklaus hasn't known her whereabouts since 1922, and though they may have parted ways in semi-civility, the second he discovers whose side she's on, their political agreement ends. If she doesn't run—death awaits her. Her eyes fall back to her lap, her thumb rubs at the ring on her index finger. Her brother was right, after all; no matter how fast she ran, her past caught up anyway.
"I'm not running away."
It's a statement full of resolve. One she thinks she might regret later, might fill her up with fear later, but one she means in this very moment. If she runs, and Niklaus's minions roll into town for the moonstone, Elena, and Katherine, people are going to die. Damon is going to die. Caroline is going to die. Alaric. Stefan. No one else is dying because of her.
No one.
Damon reaches towards her, hand finding a home in the crook of her neck, thumb brushing against the skin in front of her ear. He doesn't have to guide her face toward him, she's so startled by the gesture she's looking at him herself, but he does it anyway, and his hand doesn't leave. He breathes in deep, features pinching as he studies her.
"Maybe you should." Damon tells her, voice so gentle her eyes sting again, and her nose starts to tingle.
I don't want to leave you again, she thinks, but she doesn't say it. It's silly. They're just—they're only—she doesn't know what they really are. They're not lovers, but 'friends' doesn't sound right, either. She does know, however, that saying that won't help matters.
The classroom door opening saves her from having to answer. Stefan enters the room at the same time Damon lets his hand drop. Jeremy follows, Damon takes a step back. By the time Bonnie walks into the room with her head held high, Cassandra and Damon are standing a respectable distance from each other.
Cassandra nears the table with the map, eyes jumping from a Bonnie that's all self-righteousness to Stefan.
"What is she doing here?"
"Why do you want Jeremy's blood?" Bonnie demands before Stefan can grant her with an explanation.
The atmosphere turns tense. Even Jeremy seems uncomfortable, scuffing his feet against the old floor tile.
"I need Gilbert DNA, and I used the last I had of John's blood healing Elena yesterday."
There's a beat of silence. Jeremy's head snaps up, Stefan seems to almost retract. Even Bonnie appears surprised, though she's the best at covering.
"Bonnie healed Elena." Jeremy breaks the silence, unsure.
Cassandra glances at Bonnie and waits.
"No, I—I only took her pain away, I had no idea how she healed. That was you?" she asks Cassandra, for the first time in a while sounding genuinely impressed, free of disdain. "Why would you do that?"
Cassandra blinks. The words replay in her mind. Why would you do that? Why would you do that? Why would you do that? Bonnie isn't accusing or bitter. She's confused. Not for the first time, Cassandra wonders what Bonnie heard or read to think so lowly of her, especially when Cassandra hasn't done a single bad thing to get her to hate her this much.
No one moves, no one says anything, and Cassandra realizes they're all waiting for her answer. Stefan is alert, staring her down with enough intensity for it to be uncomfortable. Jeremy simply looks between her and Bonnie, frowning. She doesn't turn around to look at Damon, but she imagines he's expecting an answer, too. Tough, she doesn't owe them anything, including the answer to a question that's more than offending.
"Am I going to get that blood, or not?"
"Yeah, here." Jeremy steps forward, hand outstretched in offering.
Bonnie took a step closer to the table when Jeremy did, but she doesn't stop Cassandra, simply stands by the table, eyes rapt in what's about to happen. Cassandra takes a hold of Jeremy's hand, slits a vertical laceration across his hand with her nail, long enough that blood can flow, superficial enough that it won't bleed profusely. At Jeremy's gasp, Bonnie takes another step forward, no longer focused on her but on Jeremy. She doesn't mention it, simply redirects Jeremy's hand until his palm is facing the map. Blood trickles from the wound onto the map in irregular splatters, enough for the atmosphere to be permeated in the scent, and she suddenly doubts having done this with a recovering ripper in the room. Stefan appears to be devoted to the mission, however, as he stands by the door, unfazed by the blood.
Once enough blood has pooled on the map, Cassandra releases Jeremy's hand. He staggers backwards, away from the table, and Bonnie follows. Again, Cassandra thinks it strange, but no one else seems to notice, so she focuses on carrying the spell to fruition.
Lifting her hands above the map, she begins the spell, opening the door on her magic's cage only enough for a quarter of it to slip through and flow through her veins, warming her blood, making it easier to breathe. At her words, the blood begins to mix with the water, spreading and combining until the whole surface is a murky pink color. She mutters the last part of the spell, and the whole map catches fire, the blood and water working as an accelerant even if it's not scientifically possible. None of her companions expected that, and it makes for an amusing sight, all of them scrambling away from the fire.
"Relax, the fire is under my control."
"That doesn't make me feel better." Bonnie quips.
Cassandra allows a roll of her eyes. The flames die out as suddenly as they were born. The map is a charred mess, the states are barely recognizable. The edges have disintegrated and fly around the room as half paper, half ash. In the West Virginia area, in that thin stretch of land right between Ohio and Pennsylvania, however, is a tiny circle clean of any burning.
"Elena is there," Cassandra says, tapping the untouched part of the map with her nail.
"That's more than three-hundred miles away." Damon notes, leaning over her shoulder to get a clear view of the area. "Is there any way you could get a more exact location?"
"More exact than that?" she raises an eyebrow. There's only forest in the circle, a circle that is an inch in diameter, if that. She understands it's not perfect, but she's working with a map, not a satellite view of the area. "We can map it through satellite viewing, but no spell is going to be more precise than this."
Damon shares a look with Stefan. He nods.
"Let's go." Stefan claps his hands once.
He doesn't wait for Damon or Cassandra to make amove, simply turns around and walks out in a hurry. Damon hoists the duffleover his shoulder and does the same. So, she gathers her blazer and bag in ahaste, before running after them, briefly asking Bonnie and Jeremy to clean upthe room as she rushes past the door.
It's time to get this show on the road.
A/N: He're the beginning of 'Rose'. I love this chapter, don't really know why, so I hope you guys like it, too!
nerdalertwarning: Lucy's character always intrigued me. I wished we'd seen more of her on the actual show. Or, you know, more of other witches who weren't just Bonnie. Oh, I know! I keep having them avoid The Talk, because they both strike me as evaders, for personal reasons each, but it is coming! Cassandra found out that Katherine did something, which she doubts she could ever forget, so their friendship will be rocky moving forward, very rocky. You're right, though, sisters are forever.
Eennio: Oh, here's a sneak peak! The very first time she met Elijah!
AB0918: Thanks!
Crazy Devil Girl: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter too!
Guest 2.0: I'm excited too! Get ready for the sucking up that's coming! lol
For the record, UPDATED: 21/03/2020