"You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one forever."
- Carmilla, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
September 15, 1870
"If it is the last thing I do, I will rid this world of them. They have preyed on these villagers long enough. It will be a long battle, I'm afraid. It does not help being the last of the witches around these parts. At least, Alaric seems convinced now and I need whatever extra pair of hands I can get."
- From the journals of Sheila Bennett
They had sent word to the inspector about Robert. A missive had returned directly in the hands of a young constable, informing them that Inspector Alaric was out on a case. The young man had taken down all details relating to Robert, assuring Madame Pearce and Bonnie that he would keep his "ears 'n eyes wide open."
It does little to reassure them. Madame Pearce is unconvinced by the young officer's "green around the ears look" as she calls it. She needs the solid, experienced assurance of Inspector Alaric.
Bonnie, on the other hand, finds that her doubts stem from something a little less... tangible. Since Madame Pearce had woken her from her return trip she had felt scattered, lost. A heavy weight sits in her gut, and there is the sense of something looming behind her, pressing ever closer, and yet maddeningly just out of reach.
She had wondered if she should tell Madame Pearce that there are large gaps stretching in her memory, that what now preoccupies her mind are her strange nightly dreams. But she had banished that thought fairly quickly. Nothing can come of it, aside from Madame Pearce fussing over her in breathless anxiety, and only increasing Bonnie's worrying twofold.
To distract herself – and to avoid Madame Pearce's mutterings about how men are never there when you need them – Bonnie charms up a tray of hot tea to her room and holes herself away with her grandmother's chest.
When she finally finds Madame Pearce – after fifteen minutes of running through the castle as if the very devil is at her heels – it is in the chapel. Dust motes float in the slants of late afternoon sun peeking in through the tops of the chapel windows. Madame Pearce's black dress makes her appear as if part of her is melting away into the shadowed corners.
Bonnie clatters down the aisle, shattering the peaceful tableau. She sees Madame Pearce start and turn to look up at Bonnie with wide eyes as if she is some wild thing. Bonnie feels like a wild thing – she can hear her blood thrumming at the back of her head to a frenzied, staccato beat. For a minute, she is unable to speak as she stands there, staring at Madame Pearce.
"Are you alright, my dear? Here – sit down." The lady moves further down in the pew to make room for her but Bonnie shakes her head, swallowing.
"Tell me – tell me, what was Grandmother doing when she went away? That year I turned sixteen?"
Madame Pearce stares at her blankly.
"I thought she was travelling to Italy to locate the missing grimoire. But that's not the truth, is it?"
The woman's eyes close, and she makes the sign of the cross, muttering under her breath.
Bonnie drops to her knees by the pew so that her face is level with Madame Pearce's. "Please. Tell me what happened."
The woman's gaze settles on her, sorrowful and misty-eyed. "No," she says finally. "Your grandmother was not travelling with the grimoire in mind." She inhales deeply and tilts her head to the ceiling. "I don't know how I can tell her this."
"Madame Pearce!" Bonnie clutches at the woman's arms. "Please. I am not a child."
Madame Pearce looks back at her, patting Bonnie's cheek with a tremulous smile. "Oh, I know. But to me, you always will be, you know." She inhales again and straightens up. "Very well. Out with it. This was inevitable from the moment you stumbled upon that chest." She gives Bonnie a half-smile. "Your grandmother... when you were still rather young, about thirteen or so, she discovered the presence of vampyres." She gives an emphatic nod at Bonnie's start. "Yes, here. In this very village. She spent most of her young life as a witch fighting them, and it rankled her that there should be any in the place that she had come to call home. In the very place where you were."
Madame Pearce turns that pitying look on her again.
"By that time, she was also a target for them, and... well you know your grandmother. She used this to her advantage and lured them away from here. Away from you." Madame Pearce's smile is small and sad. "That's when I came to stay with you at the castle."
Bonnie is frowning. "Why – why didn't she tell me any of this?"
Madame Pearce shakes her head. "I'm not entirely sure. I have often wondered the same thing. I believe she was trying to protect you...trying to hide away an ugly side of the world."
But that doesn't sound like her grandmother. She was never one to pretend away the ugliness of life. She had always taught Bonnie to take the world as it was.
"Who is Mikaelson?"
Madame Pearce looks up at her, confused. "I beg your pardon?"
"Grandmother mentions someone by the name of Mikaelson in her journals. Someone she...seems to have particularly disliked."
Madame Pearce shakes her head, and her bewilderment is obvious. "I have not heard that name. He may have been an acquaintance from before I arrived at the castle. I was lecturing in London myself at the time." The woman shakes her head and looks down at her gloved hands. "She never did tell me the details of how it all started. She was so ... adamant that that part of her life should never be revisited. That she would keep it and you separate." Madame Pearce looks up at her and shrugs.
Bonnie sighs, still frowning. She drops into the pew next to Madame Pearce with a resigned slump.
She looks up at the plain crucifix hanging above the altar.
"It's as if I don't really know her."
She feels Madame Pearce take her hand and squeeze it in silent sympathy.
The message from Inspector Alaric doesn't arrive until after dinner, well after Madame Pearce has retired to her room for the evening.
Miss Bennett,
I have been doing some digging about your visitor, Mr Mihăiță. It has been difficult trying to trace his journey prior to his arrival at Matlock Inn. It seems there is none around these parts with the same family name. More puzzling is the fact that no one has heard of such a family. This does not necessarily indicate danger, but I will repeat my earlier message of caution. I will be returning by coach late tonight, but will endeavour to see you tomorrow.
Your servant,
Alaric S.
It is clear that the inspector is still on the road and has not received their message about Robert. She wonders if it will alarm him. She wonders why she is not more alarmed. What is it about the visitor that continues to muddle her thoughts and disperse logic?
The thoughts circle each other as she prepares for bed. She frowns at her reflection as she brushes her hairs, tugs at the ties of her night dress in frustration. She is not sure what she should do. She knows what she wants to do.
Before she knows it she is outside his door. It seems to open to her with barely a twist of the handle. All is quiet and dark inside.
She can hear his quiet, regular breathing. She moves closer to the bed, touches the candle at the bedside table so that it reignites. Though its small glow seems to be swallowed by the darkness of the room it casts enough light. Enough light for her to study his face. He appears harmless in repose. His lips appear to be on the brink of a smile, and there is an easiness to his face that she has never seen before.
Who are you?
She doesn't realize that she had reached out until she sees her fingers tracing the contours of his face, the jut of his heavy brows, the dip just below his eyes, the edge of his jaw, the slight indentation of his chin.
Quick as lightning, his fingers close around her wrist. Her heart becomes stuck in her throat.
He opens his eyes and regards her wordlessly. Though he is not smiling, there is a brightness to his eyes that hints at laughter, touching his face with a boyish light that she finds clenches at her heart.
"You know who I am," he murmurs.
She shakes her head.
"You know" he whispers, and then tugs at her viciously, taking her in his arms as she topples onto him.
Her lips find his in the dark, and his heat surrounds her. Her senses fill with him, and she knows that this is why she came here.
Several doors down in Bonnie's room, the night wind sweeps in through the open window, upsetting the soft curtains, ruffling the canopy of the bed, and snaking over the open chest at its foot. The papers nestled in it flutter slightly, rustling against each other, and the words in faded ink seem even more transient in the moonlight.
May 10, 1873
This is something I never imagined. While I was ... I felt brave before, now I feel...now everything seems at its most dire. To think that I had been nursing one of those in my very own home. To think that Bonnie has been fraternising with his son. My blood runs cold. Perhaps – perhaps I cannot do this alone. I cannot watch after Bonnie and complete my mission. I need to take this battle away from home. It cannot be close to her. She cannot be nearby when I kill Mikaelson. And I will kill him. Both him and his son.
- From the journals of Sheila Bennett
