Disclaimer: I do not own the concept or characters from the show "Supernatural." Any other characters not related to the show, The Vampire Diaries or Nightwold series, however, are mine and are not to be used in any other fan fiction. Some concepts were also borrowed or loosely adapted from L.J. Smith's "Nightworld" and "The Vampire Diaries" series. The original stories were developed using SPN episode content up until 02/11/10 and this one may include anything up through 2019. I will not include any spoilers for future episodes of Season 15, though my story took its turn after SPN Season 4. This is the start of a new trilogy. The first trilogy is: "Possession," "Broken," and "Sacrifice," followed with a new trilogy, "Mission," "Prelude," and "Bound." This story takes place where Prelude left off and has the same characters from the first trilogy. I do not own any quotes used in the actual episodes. Any lyrics mentioned in this story do not belong to me are the property of their original writers.
Abby discreetly warded the inlaid oak doors from the inside of her room. She couldn't risk disruption or waste precious time on kicking ass. On the waxed floor, she quickly drew a pentacle with her finger, the red seeping into the wood planks. She placed and lit six candles at every noticeable point; red, blue, green, white, purple, and black in the dead center. It was exactly as she recalled from her notes.
With the lights extinguished, the only illumination from the flickering flames of the six holy candles, the stateroom felt foreboding. Abby gently moved her dark flowing hair aside, reaching back to loosen the clasp from her silver necklace, removing the amulet of herbs Jesse had gifted her for protection. She needed to be psychically as open as possible to complete her task. The month before was a gift as Abby was able to methodically pour over both her old and her mother's journals. When she wasn't spending her last moments with her family, she had spent her free time studying and re-reading, memorizing the ancient Blood and Sigil magic spells. She may not have had the upper hand in the situation, but she was sure as hell leveling the playing field.
Her darling mother had taught her some incantations for protection back in the 1700s for use in only dire situations. After all, a Lamia with telepathy should be able to handle themselves. However, her mother did have one stern warning. When Abby was very young, she had woken up in the middle of the night, scampering down the dim hallway to the galley. She peered around the corner to catch her mother slicing her hand with a blade and pouring her blood into a mortar. Being unsure, little Abby made herself known, and meekly asked her mother about her injury. Her startled mother reassured her young daughter that she was indeed unharmed but she was performing a spell.
"Come on, little one, back to bed." Ann had wiped the blood from her hand on a cloth and picked up her young daughter, kissing her gently on the forehead. Abby's head rested safely on her mother's shoulder as she was tucked back into bed. Ann bent down next to her, her face very close to her daughter. Her mother's dark eyes had a look that showed there was something of importance she was about to relay.
"Abigail," she whispered, her cool breath on Abby's face. "You need to be discreet about what you just saw. Father mustn't know. It has to remain our secret."
"But why," six-year-old Abby questioned as children habitually do. Her obsidian eyes carefully searched her mother's matching shade for candid answers.
"Blood magic can be incredibly dangerous if you do not have the skills or knowledge. Father would not understand this spell and why I need to do it, but I promise I am safe. Ok, my dear," she whispered, tucking her daughter's ebony hair behind her ear. "It's our secret."
Young Abigail had set her finger to her lips to indicate she was not going to utter a word. There had been a smile in her heart that night, that her mother had entrusted her with something very special. After that night, her mother started discreetly teaching her their secret code that would establish the key foundation of her mother's journal. There was not a time in her prolonged life when there were no secrets.
Her mother's words of warning echoed through her mind on repeat; blood magic was dangerous. Needless to say, all of the incantations that her mother had secretly coded as critical required the use of blood.
Abby prepared herself with a breath and knelt on the hardwood floor before the shimmering Pentacle. Using the pointed tip on her amulet, she sliced her palm, extracting blood into a prepared bowl before her vampire flesh began to heal. She dipped her fingers in the sanguine, chanting her affirmation in Enochian, drawing the sigil she created for her task onto her forearms, her chest, and forehead. Fastening her eyes, she focused her telepathy on the symbols, forcing her intention into the sigils to imbue them with power. She concentrated her conscious mind and instantly felt considerable warmth spread from the symbols until it felt like they were burning, searing beneath her flesh into her bones. She forced herself not to scream at the pain as it charred her aura. The feeling was comparable to when she had intentionally walked onto a balcony and into the daylight so many years ago. Despite that, she had to fixate on her intention, forcing it into the tokens. When she felt the fire finally decrease from agonizing to merely uncomfortable, she fell forward soaked in perspiration. Abby spread her hands down her arms and across her chest. She could feel the sigils deep inside her, though physically there was no trace; part one complete.
She unsteadily rose from her kneeling position and clutched the goblet of blood from the nearest end table. Bringing the cup to her lips, she downed the liquid, the pleasant aroma of human fulfilling her palate. Even now, she morbidly compared it was not nearly as aromatic as Dean. Thinking that way about him made her feel like absolute garbage but it was true. The vampire part of her had relished in him, wanted to devour every last drop. But the part that loved him, the part of her that might have had a soul, merely dissolved with every ruined sip. It was probably for the best to have the piece of her, linked to true humanity, disappear for what came next. Besides, she kept reminding herself, as if it was a consolation, that did what she had to do to spare him. Plus, she needed to be as strong as possible for the next evening if she had any chance of succeeding in her plot. At that point, if they were buying human, she was drinking. She'd keep it coming and pretend she was being their good girl for Lilitu. The obedient niece.
Abby smirked as she rose to start filling the bathtub in her on-suite. She carefully tossed the herbs from her amulet to soak her body, to get herself ready for the offering the next day. If she couldn't haul what she required to the ceremony, she was going to make sure she was ready for the taking. She just had to sincerely pray to God that her allied aunts were going to faithfully keep their word and serve their part.