"And it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Jeremy remarked dryly into the stunned silence that had swept over the decrepit room.
A deep growl resonated from Damon's chest, spilling out of his mouth as he hissed at the kid reflexively; he felt his eyes briefly burning golden in response. Jeremy's Adam's apple bobbed nervously.
"And I'm worried that by the time the spirits cool off and I can do magic again, it'll be too late," Bonnie said with a grimace.
Well, that's just great, Damon thought to himself with a groan. This was just typical—the times he was actually selfless, nearly every time something ended up biting him in the ass. He had to admit, the impending threat of being wiped from existence by Klaus' soul was a new one…
"Are there any other witches 'round here?" he asked, "This is Mystic Falls, they've gotta be a dime a dozen," he added hopefully.
"If there are, I can't imagine they'd be keen to help you," Bonnie pointed out, Damon making a begrudging face of agreement; they weren't exactly his biggest fan, "You're an abomination of nature as is, and Klaus…"she trailed off, pulling a face and waving a hand like she was trying to magic an appropriate response out of thin air.
"Puts a whole new spin on the word?" Jeremy suggested with a bright smile, attempting some levity.
Damon snickered; it seemed the simple action caused his head to spin painfully. Then something warm and wet was trickling down his jaw. He pressed his fingers in the warmth, bewildered at the blood coating his fingers.
"What's going on?" he asked Bonnie in confusion, wiping the nosebleed away with his hand and wiping the blood on his jeans.
"My guess?" She gave him a brief once-over. "It's yours and Klaus' subconscious' fighting with each other," she said, biting the inside of her cheek nervously.
"And I have about two days to stop it before I get wiped from existence?" Damon said with raised eyebrows; yet somehow this wasn't actually the weirdest day in his entire life.
"Maybe an extra day if you're lucky," Bonnie said, but she didn't sound convinced and he was sure she was just trying to reassure him, "But it's possible due to the powerful nature of Klaus' soul, it could actually accelerate the time frame," she added worriedly.
"Shit," Damon cursed unceremoniously, betting Klaus was sharing similar sentiments.
She then moved off towards one of the cobweb-lined shelves, pulling a Grimoire off of them. "I have the spell in here," she handed it to him as she walked back over, "So if you find a witch, they should be able to use it," she explained.
"Okay," Damon paused to briefly thumb through the yellow-stained pages, not really understanding the gibberish and the doodles there, "Well, I'll get beef jerky here and go," he said, motioning towards Klaus' coffin.
"Go where?" Jeremy asked him.
"Hopefully there's a witch at the end of the yellow brick road who can help us," Damon said with a shrug, but the remark lacked his usual wit and conviction; he even sensed Klaus' unease at the whole situation.
He doubted being stuck in the weakened body—by comparison to his own, anyway—of a younger vampire was an ideal outcome for him in their current scenario. If Damon knew the man well enough, and he was well-inclined to say so, he'd guess Klaus would've rather died as a powerful bastard rather than live as a severely weaker one.
Damon's phone rang out into the silence. He shoved a hand into his pocket, grabbing it. He groaned when he saw the Caller I.D. "Not a good time, right now, Stefan," he said with a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Hello, Damon," Elijah's voice floated through instead of his brother's, "And to you, Niklaus," he added as an afterthought, sounding like he had forgotten his manners.
"Elijah?" Damon frowned. "Why do you have my brother's phone?" he asked in a mixture of confusion and worry; he knew Elijah had his own, but did it mean he had knocked Stefan out—or worse—for some reason?
"I ran out of minutes," the other man explained simply, Damon's worry deflating somewhat, "I believe Rebekah and I may have a solution to your problem," he added brightly.
Damon raised an eyebrow, exchanging a confused glance with Bonnie and Jeremy, even though Elijah couldn't see it. "Go on."
"A few centuries back, my siblings and I resided in New Orleans with some of the most powerful witches of the country," Elijah informed him, "There should be some left that can help us," he
"How sure are you?" Damon asked; he was gonna need a little more than a nicely spun story before he went off on a road trip with the guy.
"Sure enough that Rebekah has already packed two suitcases," Elijah said smoothly.
"Well, what've I got to lose?" Damon said aimlessly, shrugging to himself; right now, it seemed better than nothing, "I'll meet you back at the boarding house," he added.
"Have a safe trip."
Elijah then hung up. Damon pocketed his phone and threw the Grimoire—none too gently from the look on Bonnie's face—into the open coffin containing Klaus' body. He closed the coffin lid, briefly wondering how the hell he was going to get this back to the boarding house without raising a whole load of eyebrows.
"I take it that was good news?" Bonnie asked expectantly, raising her eyebrows.
"Good enough that I don't feel impending doom hanging over my head," Damon responded, shrugging again.
After a sudden start, as if she had thought of something, Bonnie headed over to a musty-looking vase. He watched quizzically as she pulled out a jar containing a dark green mass and walked back over.
"Here," she gave it to him, Damon turning the jar this way and that in his hands as if it would help him remember where he saw it from. "Take these."
He frowned as he recognized the jar. "Ric's herbs?" he asked in confusion.
"They worked at keeping his dark side at bay when he was actually taking them," Bonnie told him, her eyes looking at the floor for a split-second; Damon felt his chest twinge momentarily in guilt alongside her. "Maybe they'll do the same for you, or give you more than a couple of days," she suggested.
"Gonna need a bit more than 'maybe', Bonnie," Damon said with a raised eyebrow. Before I go looking like a junkie, he remarked to himself.
"Sorry," she apologized with a sympathetic wince, "This is one of the first cases of vampire-vampire possession I've ever seen," she explained, "Doubt any other witch has seen a lot of it," she added nervously.
"Well, enough to put a spell for it in a book," Klaus' voice pointed out. Damon tried to ignore the swift surge of pain in his head.
"Better than nothing, I guess," Damon shrugged, briefly opening the coffin to put the herb jar inside.
"So, where are you going?" Jeremy asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Rebekah seems to think the witches of New Orleans might be powerful enough to help me," Damon responded, "And I do love a good road trip," he added with a knowing smile.
"Be careful," Bonnie warned him, "Not all witches are as… liberal towards vampires as I am," she added hesitantly.
Damon was about to retort, but Klaus beat him to it: "You seem to forget who I am, Bonnie," he said silkily, "Their personal feelings mean nothing when I can just force them to do my bidding." There was a brief flash of fang that Damon was able to force down in case of another nosebleed.
"If you're liberal, I'd hate to see what they look like," he remarked sarcastically in his own voice, "I'll bring you back a souvenir," he added with a grin, wheeling Klaus' coffin out of the room.
He was, of course, neglecting to say the objective word in this situation—if.
When he arrived back at the boarding house—having taken mainly back roads and darkened alleyways, being that he was wheeling a coffin around—he spotted an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway near his own (who had driven it back?). Most likely Elijah's or Rebekah's. But what wasn't, was the large SUV. Where had that come from?
He passed Elijah and Rebekah in the parlor as he wheeled the coffin inside, snorting in amusement as he did indeed see two purple suitcases; both to Rebekah's taste more than Elijah's.
"You weren't kidding about the suitcases," he remarked.
"I rarely kid, Damon," the other man responded evenly, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckled. "I'll just be a moment," he said, motioning to go upstairs. Elijah nodded and he headed up.
"I'll go load Nik's body in the car," he heard Rebekah say as he reached the upper floor.
He headed into his room and found his small travel bag, loading up essentials like toothpaste and a toothbrush, extra boxers and an extra change of clothes. Actually, make that two, just in case, for whatever reason, Klaus decided Damon absolutely needed to transform into a wolf and he didn't have time to strip.
He also got changed, having belatedly realized he was still in that dead deputies'' outfit. Needless to say, it felt good to be back in his own clothes.
"So, you're really going to New Orleans?" Elena asked him in disbelief from the doorway, leaning on it as Stefan crossed inside. "Rebekah and Elijah didn't say why," she added.
Damon turned to her as he shrugged on a jacket. "Have to if I want any chance of surviving," he said bluntly, "And I have you to thank for that, Stefan," he added with a thin smile.
Stefan crossed his arms. "How is this my fault?" he asked.
"Well, since he asked…" Klaus remarked, trailing off.
Damon strode forward so quick even Elena took a step back. "If you had just stuck to the plan and desiccated Ric like you were supposed to," he began in a growl, jabbing a finger into his shoulder, "I wouldn't have had to come up with this Hail Mary to save our bloodline and have Klaus slowly kill me from the inside!" he yelled, barely restraining himself.
He felt the tell-tale trickle of blood down his jaw as Klaus forced his hybrid visage through to further drive home his point. Damon faltered on his feet, searing pain shooting through him for a split-second.
He hadn't even realized he was keening over until he felt Elena's hands steadying him.
"What?" she asked in confusion, while Stefan was a little more pale than usual.
"According to Bonnie, I've only got two days before Klaus' soul takes over my body and I get wiped from existence," Damon explained, having to sit down on the edge of his bed a as the swarming in his mind became too much.
Elena winced sympathetically, sitting beside him. He gave her a tiny, grateful smile.
"She can't help you?" Stefan asked in dismay.
"She's on a bit of a magic ban," Damon began, trying to calm himself down as he felt Klaus' anger boiling up, "She doesn't wanna risk not being able to use it ever again, since she did some pretty messed up stuff to try and help Elena, apparently," he added with a shrug. He had no idea what it was, but it had to have been bad for Bonnie to look so traumatized.
Damon then felt his eyes burn with gold, bolting up and striding over to Stefan of his own accord as Klaus yanked on his metaphorical puppet strings. "And so help me, Stefan, if I end up never being able to be back in my own body," he growled dangerously, "Because I will make your life most unpleasant," he added.
"You mean more than you already did?" Stefan retorted, raising an eyebrow.
"Turning you into a Ripper would be the least of your problems if this doesn't get a happy ending," Klaus said smoothly, not even needing to threaten him this time.
Regardless, it had the same effect as Stefan looked remorseful and backed off, swallowing uncomfortably. As soon as he was pleased enough, Damon felt the familiar pain in his mind of Klaus retreating back into it.
He groaned, putting a hand to his head to try and ease the pain. He then picked up the small travel bag and headed out the door.
"Damon, wait!"
He turned at Elena's call, feeling her suddenly colliding with him in a hug.
She held him at arm's length. "Come home, okay?" she pleaded, looking concerned for him.
"I'll try," he promised, nodding as sincerely as he was able, refraining from mentioning he'd literally die trying otherwise, "Try not to massacre the woodland population between you while I'm gone," he teased, looking between them.
He was almost out the door again when something crossed his mind and he doubled back. "Oh, and Stefan?"
He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.
"Burn that thing," he ordered, pointing to the deputy outfit laying crumpled on his floor.
He then finally left the room, heading downstairs to where Rebekah and Elijah were waiting for him near the front door.
"Are you ready to go?" Elijah asked, "I'd hate to lose precious time if we get stuck in traffic," he explained with a grimace.
Damon nodded and the three of them headed outside; dawn was starting to break. Shit, they needed to move fast.
"Why don't I just follow you?" he suggested as they walked up to the three cars in the drive.
"Better to go in one car to avoid suspicion," Rebekah pointed out, momentarily making him frown; then why hadn't they car-shared on the way over?
"Well, mine isn't going to fit the three of us and a coffin," he said knowingly, pointing to the blue car. At a stretch, it probably could with the top down, but no-one would let that slide if they saw it and they didn't have time to be stopping to compel everyone and their grandma's dog.
"I came prepared and compelled a rental," Elijah informed him, gesturing to the large SUV.
"Explains a lot," Damon said, briefly raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement, "Figured you for a Ferrari guy, Elijah," he admitted.
"Lamborghini, actually," he corrected, unabashed, while Rebekah rolled her eyes, "But I digress; functionality over form in this case," he said with a shrug. Especially if said functionality was to transport his brother's coffin around.
(But it's just as well it wasn't left up to Damon to find some means of transport; he probably would've found a hearse just to be funny.)
"Shotgun!" Rebekah cried suddenly, dashing over to the passenger side door.
Damon and Elijah exchanged a look that simply said, 'siblings' with a feeling of fond dismay; Damon bet Klaus felt the same way.
The drive was quicker than Damon expected—or it was possible it wasn't; he couldn't really remember most of it. He wasn't sure if he had just fell asleep, his body completely exhausted given the sudden rush of the past few days, or he was blacking out because of some side effect of having Klaus inhabiting him.
The clearest thing he remembered was having to stop at a gas station to buy cigarette papers, filters and a lighter—the items were weighing heavily in his pocket as he got out of the car.
The Handlebar Inn wasn't exactly the cushiest-looking place, but it had several vacancies and was far enough out of the way—without actually being so far from New Orleans, according to Rebekah—to stay without drawing suspicion.
Elijah helped Damon get Klaus' coffin out of the trunk, then the three of them headed inside. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, but after a few peruses of the empty parking lot he brushed it off as being paranoid. It wasn't every day the most powerful supernatural being in existence was a sitting duck in a coffin or being wheeled around so blatantly out in the open. They didn't even have the cover of night anymore; they were right under the blazing sun.
A faint smell of damp hit Damon's nose as soon as he got inside the main area, making him cringe. Explained the vacant amount of rooms.
The receptionist looked as damp as the hotel smelled; there were sweat patches under his arms and his pimply face looked to be covered in a fine layer of grease. He looked disinterested; his feet propped up on the desk as he flicked through a magazine with a scantily clad woman on the cover.
(Damon grimaced as he noticed it looked well-thumbed through.)
Rebekah walked up to the desk, tapping on it to get the guy's attention. He started suddenly, the magazine tumbling from his hands as he tried to right himself and look somewhat professional. He eventually did, but he had knocked the bell off the desk with a loud ding!
"Room for three, please," Rebekah asked politely.
"Double and a single, or three singles?" the receptionist asked, looking at the three of them.
"Three singles," she replied.
"Okay, we can get you set up in room 309, just down there," he said with an accommodating smile, revealing slightly yellowing teeth, pointing down to the hallway on their right, "And that'll be—"
"On the house," Rebekah interjected smoothly.
"On the house," the receptionist parroted back mechanically, no doubt compelled; Damon shared a brief smirk with Elijah.
"Compliments of the hotel," the man added in a slight daze.
"Thank you," Rebekah chirped with a smirk as he began entering the information into the computer on his desk.
"That's a mighty-big carry on you've got there, sir," he remarked to Damon, eyes flickering to the coffin.
"Oh, you have no idea," Damon said with a cryptic smile, beginning to roll it down the hallway without another word. He needed to get it out of sight; he couldn't picture this place having a sudden rush of customers, but he couldn't risk it either.
Elijah collected the room key from the receptionist and followed him while Rebekah remained behind.
"Not exactly the Ritz, but it'll do," Damon commented as they walked down the hall to their room, eyeing the peeling and cracked wallpaper, "Beggars can't be choosers," he added knowingly, nodding his head. He just prayed the place didn't have fleas.
Elijah moved past him to open the room door, holding it open as he wheeled the coffin inside. He left it ajar with the doorstop, waiting for Rebekah.
Damon winced and almost collapsed forwards onto the coffin; he could feel a fine layer of sweat beading down his forehead as his vision momentarily blurred in front of him.
"Damon, are you feeling all right?" Elijah asked, looking at him in bewilderment.
He made an uneasy noise in the back of his throat as he headed over to the closest bed, collapsing on it. "Bonnie says it's most likely Klaus' soul taking over mine," he explained, "All the more reason to hurry up and fix this," he added.
"Do you have the spell she used?" Elijah looked at him expectantly.
"She gave me the Grimoire, in there," Damon pointed a shaky finger towards the coffin.
He flopped down onto his back as Elijah walked over to it and opened it. He flung a hand over his arm; he was beginning to get worried. His current state wasn't even a side-effect from Klaus having used him to move or speak.
"I never pictured you a drug-taker, Damon," Elijah said in surprise.
"I'm not," Damon said with a grin, picturing Elijah's bewildered face as he found the jar, "Bonnie reckons since they did something for Ric's dark side—when he actually took them—and thinks they can help me," he explained.
"Explains why you had us stop at a service station for cigarette papers," Elijah remarked, more to himself, "But having Klaus inhabiting your body is a little different than quelling a murderous urge, don't you think?" he asked.
"Guess it depends what mood he's in," Damon joked, attempting to add some levity.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his blurring eyes. "Look, if I thought something as stupid as dressing in drag and doing the hula would help me buy me an extra day, I'd already be doing it," he insisted, trying to convey the sheer stupidity of relying on an herb—that Damon still maintained looked like plain old weed—to help.
"Thank you for that image," Rebekah said with a slightly disgusted expression as she entered the room, kicking the doorstop out of the way and letting the door swing closed.
"The receptionist has been compelled to forget we were ever here and I had him wipe the room record of it," she informed them, "Can't be too careful, especially with Klaus like this," she added, with a worried glance at Damon.
"I'll have you know—"
But those words couldn't finish coming out of his mouth; extreme pain smacked into Damon like a freight train, causing him to crumple back onto the bed with a loud yell of pain, blood dripping from his nose and filling up his mouth, choking him.
"Damon!"
He felt Rebekah's hands on his face, but he couldn't see her; his eyes were shut tight in agony as it continued to course through his body. He coughed up his own blood onto his front.
"Nik, stop it, you're hurting him!" Rebekah cried in shock.
"I'm not doing it on purpose, Rebekah!" Klaus retorted, their voices in a distorted meld.
The meld of their voices was like a levee breaking in Damon's head—it gave way to a god-awful screeching sound much more painful to bear than any magically-induced migraine. He gritted his teeth and used every ounce of his strength to control Klaus to stop whatever he was, unintentionally, doing to him.
It was like a switch had been flicked; he laid there, dizzy and panting for breath.
"Maybe we need to work out a schedule, Klaus…" he said tiredly, Rebekah helping him sit back up, "Some sort of timeshare?" he suggested meekly, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
Elijah walked over to offer Damon his handkerchief. He nodded his thanks and began wiping his bloody face clean, then gave it to Rebekah to clean up where it had splattered onto her hands.
Something slithered up Damon's throat without warning, making him cough abruptly into his hand. A mixture of blood and a thick-looking black liquid splashed into his hand, some of it seeping through his fingers and onto the sheets below him.
Rebekah looked a mixture of confused and disgusted as she eyed the weird mixture staining his hand. "What is…?" She was too shocked to finish her sentence.
"We should hurry and find you that witch, Damon," Elijah commented.
"You think, Captain Obvious?" Damon shot back in annoyance, flinging his black-stained hand in the air for emphasis.
Elijah just calmly wiped off a blob that landed on his cheek.
During the trek to New Orleans' French Quarter, Damon felt that distinct feeling of being watched prickling up his back. He could've sworn there was someone following them this time, having seen the same black-suited man at least three times on the way over.
He wouldn't be surprised if Klaus was feeling paranoid and it was leeching into him; he just smoked one of the herb roll-ups he'd made, finding it calmed him down a little.
"God, what happened to this place?" Rebekah asked in surprise as she took in the sights she hadn't seen for a long time, "It's gaudy as all hell," she commented, looking around at some of the tacky souvenirs in some stalls nearby.
"It's become a… tourist haven," she remarked as a massive group of people with cameras passed her, her nose upturned in disgust.
Damon smiled as, even as disguised as she was, she went over to examine some little voodoo dolls bundled up on a stall alongside some candy. Some postcards ended up catching his eye and he went over to them.
"Damon, have you noticed those men?" Elijah asked quietly as he walked over to him, "Six, nine and three o'clock?" he added.
So, he wasn't being paranoid… he spotted three people behind him in the reflection of some sunglasses, surreptitiously moving the sunglasses a little closer to himself to further get a better look at them.
"Yeah, I see 'em," Damon nodded, "Been staring at us for the past ten minutes,"
"And I'm fairly sure I noticed them walking the same route we were a few blocks back," Elijah commented, Damon turning the sunglasses rack towards him so he could better see it without drawing attention to himself.
"Then let's go have a little chat with them, shall we?" Rebekah suggested, her voice coming in loud and clear in his ears, despite her being several feet away.
They then split off in three different directions; Damon continued to smoke as he headed into an alleyway, smirking as he realized one of the men was following him. As he headed up the alley, he saw a shadow flicking on the walls behind him.
He stopped in his tracks as the two others flanked the opposite end of the alley, looking slightly confused as they were no-doubt expecting to see three vampires cornered.
"Y'know, you're not very good at tailing people," he called out to them.
He dropped his cigarette with a smirk, turning around and speeding towards the vampire that had followed him, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back as the other two were quickly seized up by Rebekah and Elijah.
"And I'll have you know it's a sign of very poor manners to spy on a lady," Rebekah said in disdain, playfully shaking her head.
"What do you want?" Damon demanded, pulling the vampire's arms even tighter and making him grimace.
"You guys are the Mikaelson's, right?" the one Elijah was holding asked with a slight grin.
"What's it to you?" Rebekah snapped defensively.
"I have someone that's very interested in information about—"
Before the vampire could finish his sentence, Klaus' wolf claws burst through Damon's nails and punctured his arms. He snarled and sunk his fangs into his neck, feeling Klaus' werewolf venom leeching into the man's bloodstream.
He pulled away, with blood staining his mouth, in time to watch Elijah swiftly decapitate the vampire he was holding, whilst Rebekah ripped the spinal cord out of hers. Their bodies thumped to the floor and the vampire Damon was holding started to struggle.
As Klaus' wolf claws receded, Damon felt another wave of dizziness overcome him; his grip faltered enough for the vampire to be able to break free and speed off in a shimmer of motion. Damon started after him.
"Best to let him go," Rebekah said with a dismissive wave, "Then whoever sent him will get the message we're not to be trifled with," she added with a slight smirk.
With the current threat dealt with, they made their way over to the French Quarter. They were met with a peculiar sight; a woman was up on a stage, while a dark-skinned man strode back and forth, monologuing to the large crowd that had united.
Damon felt a huge surge of supernatural energy; witches and vampires. Not a single human in sight. "What's going on over there?" he asked in confusion.
Rebekah narrowed her eyes and leaned forwards, then righted herself as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "Is that Marcel?" she asked in bewilderment.
"Who?" Damon asked?
"An old friend," Elijah responded.
The three of them walked closer, smoothly integrating themselves with the large crowd until they had a clear view of the guy—Marcel—and the woman kneeling in front of him. Her hands were restrained with cuffs that bore strange symbols.
"Jane-Anne Deveraux, how do you plead?" Marcel was asking her, although it seemed more like he was putting on a show for the big crowd.
"I did what I had to for my family," the witch—Jane-Anne—insisted, her face bearing a calm expression that didn't match her current situation, "If that makes me guilty, then so be it," she declared resolutely.
"I will pass from this world to the next knowing my niece will live another day," she added, her hard, cold eyes briefly softening.
"I sympathize, Jane, baby, I do," Marcel said with a grimace, looking at her; she refused to, "But you know the rules: Magic under any circumstances is not permitted," he added, emphasizing those last two words in particular.
"What?" Damon growled in annoyance; things couldn't ever be easy for him, could they?
"Just our luck, eh, Damon?" Klaus remarked bitterly, sharing his sentiments, and Damon would deny under oath that as he staggered to try and shake off the weird buzzing noise he had to grab onto Elijah's sleeve to steady himself.
"Oh, bloody hell," Rebekah swore, sighing as she rubbed a hand over her face.
Elijah had no such reaction, but a muscle in his jaw twitched in aggravation.
"But, if you plead guilty I can let you off with a warning," Marcel continued, "How about it? You get to see your niece and sister again and we can just forget this whole unpleasant business?" he suggested, giving the witch a warm smile.
She smiled back, but it wasn't one of reciprocation; it was one of triumph and smugness.
"Your time on the throne is almost up, Marcel," she said, her voice serene, "I've seen it," she added with relish, while Marcel's grinning expression faltered at the words.
"And I'd say it's well-deserved," she went on, her voice gaining an angry edge, "You were nothing but a street scrapper last I heard, living off the dregs the great Mikaelson's left behind," she continued; Marcel's eyes narrowed.
"I'll die happy knowing you'll soon follow me," she said confidently, "Klaus Mikaelson doesn't take kindly to people stealing what is his," she finished knowingly.
His lips twitched in a smirk not his own. "It's true, I don't," Klaus chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
Damon grit his teeth with a curse as he felt the familiar pulse in his head and blood beginning to run down his lips, reaching into his back pocket for one of the herb roll-ups. He lit it and took a drag, feeling the onslaught of the nosebleed slowing down. He wiped it off with his sleeve.
Jane-Anne finally looked Marcel in the eyes to deliver the final blow, a harsh spit of, "Rot in hell, monster," that had her narrowing her eyes with such hatred Damon had seldom seen.
Marcel's brow twitched. Jane-Anne was then choking and gargling, a river of blood gushing from a slit in her neck as a wicked-sharp knife was slashed over it. Her body fell forwards—she didn't even try to stop the blood-flow with her hands—and the crowd cheered loudly.
"Don't say I never gave her a chance," Marcel remarked in a blasé manner to the large crowd, some people laughing in response, "Clean this up before a human sees it," he said in a quieter voice to one of the men flanking him.
He nodded and set about hauling the witch's dead body away from view. The crowd gradually begun to disperse and Marcel nodded, pleased with himself. Although anyone with a brain cell would see that he was rattled by Jane-Anne's dying declaration.
As he was about to walk off, Elijah strode forward and called out to him:
"Marcellus!"
He turned in response to the call, briefly confused but then a large grin spread across his face as his eyes landed on Elijah and Rebekah.
"There's only a few people who can get away with calling me that," he declared as he walked happily over to them.
"Are my eyes deceiving me?" he asked in surprise, "Rebekah and Elijah Mikaelson?" he said in awe.
"What brings you back to the Quarter after all this time?" he wondered, "What about all that nasty business with your old man?" he asked in concern, momentarily looking around as if he was waiting for Mikael to burst out from behind a bush.
"He's finally rotting in hell where he belongs," Rebekah said in relief, folding her arms, "We're here on another family matter," she added cryptically, glancing at Damon.
He just took another drag; understatement of the century.
"Then where's Klaus?" Marcel frowned. "I'd've thought the old bastard wouldn't be far away," he added, sounding almost disappointed he wasn't there.
"He isn't," Klaus replied dryly, his voice coming out of Damon's mouth of his own accord.
Marcel's frown deepened. "Sorry, who are you?" he asked politely, looking extremely confused; no doubt about the fact someone who looked nothing like Klaus had just spoken in his voice.
"Damon Salvatore," he introduced himself, "Or technically, Klaus Mikaelson, for the time being," he corrected himself with a shrug.
"What?" Marcel looked even more confused.
"It's a long story, Marcel," Elijah interjected, "Is there somewhere we could go to talk?" he asked.
"Away from prying eyes," Rebekah insisted, giving the men flanking him a knowing look, "This is a rather delicate matter; the less people that know, the better," she added, conferring with Elijah.
Marcel mulled it over, then nodded.
"Take five, guys," he called over to them, waving them away, but they didn't move, "They're cool; old friends," he added, as if it would convince them.
Reluctantly, they moved off, giving Damon a strange look. He just waved at them with a false, merry smile. Just who was this guy round here he could play public executioner and require private security? The witch had mentioned a throne, but… somehow Damon couldn't picture this guy as a ruler.
"We'll go in there," Marcel decided, cocking his head in the direction of a bar, "Pretty deserted this time of day," he added, Rebekah and Elijah nodding.
"You guys have to try the gumbo," Marcel went on, insisting, "It's to die for," he gushed.
They followed Marcel to the bar—Deveraux, the sign read; the same name as the dead witch—and one of Marcel's lackey's seemed none-too pleased about leaving him alone with them. Damon spotted him trailing a fair distance away.
"Damon, isn't that the vampire you bit?" Elijah asked him.
Damon turned to see where he was looking; the trailing vampire did look familiar. Then he realized why; he was looking feverish and had a gruesome-looking bitemark on the side of his neck, looking red and inflamed.
"So it is," Damon nodded; so, Marcel was the guy having them followed? But if he was an old friend of Elijah, Rebekah and Klaus, how come?
When they got inside—Damon snuffing out his cigarette—they sat at a nearby table. It was quiet, just like Marcel had said. The only other occupants were three men inside nursing drinks and a blonde waitress with kind eyes bussing tables.
"Three bowls of gumbo, please, Cami," Marcel called over to her.
"You're in luck," she stopped wiping down the table to look at them. "There's enough left. Sophie isn't coming in today, some—"
"Cami," a dark-haired woman from behind the bar spoke up suddenly, cutting her off, "Go get this gentleman his order," she said with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.
Cami moved off with a nod, and the dark-haired woman strode over as soon as she caught sight of Marcel; if looks could kill, he would be a desiccating corpse.
"You have some nerve showing up in my bar, Marcel," she growled, her eyes shining with tears that were staining her face, "You kill my sister and then you come in here like nothing happened?" she spat, showing nothing but contempt for the man in front of her.
"I gave her a choice to plead guilty, Sophie," Marcel said, holding his hands up placatingly, as if it absolved him from any responsibility, "She wouldn't take it," he admitted.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Sophie said dryly, giving him a thin smile, "She was dead the minute she performed that spell and you know it," she added, narrowing her eyes.
"Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go pay my respects and explain to my niece why her mother won't be coming back in time for tea," she said, her voice faltering on the last few words.
She stormed off with tears in her eyes. Marcel turned back to the three of them with a grimace but didn't look apologetic in the slightest. Damon could feel even Klaus was disturbed by Marcel's apathy, and he had no-doubt slaughtered thousands for fun in his lifetime!
"Unpleasant business, but it's just that—business," he said briskly.
"Why place the witches under an embargo?" Elijah asked in confusion, "In our day they were a force to be reckoned with," he added, sounding slightly disappointed they were no longer. Or maybe they were, just forced, like rats, to hide.
"Why not?" Marcel said, splaying his arms out with a grin, "This became my Quarter the minute you ran out of here with your tails between your legs," he said simply, shrugging.
Damon had to dig a hand into his sleeve so hard he drew blood to stop Klaus bursting out with an interjection.
"I drove out the werewolves and enslaved the witches," he informed them proudly, "The humans look the other way and the blood never stops flowing and the party never stops," he added, licking his lips with relish.
"No-one to stop it, you see," he went on with a smirk, "No witches telling me, you can do this, you can't do that," he continued, mocking the self-righteous attitude of many witches that Damon knew all-too well.
"Speaking of unpleasant business," Rebekah interjected, before he could go on a tangent, "We believe we had a run-in with some friends of yours," she explained.
"Damon bit one of them," Elijah revealed.
Marcel's eyes widened, then he sighed heavily. "That's what's wrong with him?"
"Well, thanks for letting me know, I was just about to issue an order that all the nearest werewolves be slaughtered in retaliation," he said in such a calm manner Damon's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
This place sounded like Hell for anyone that wasn't a vampire; he sincerely doubted, as authoritarian as he could be sometimes, Klaus allowed such a thing to happen when he and his siblings ran the place.
"Why were you having us followed?" Elijah demanded.
"Nothing personal," Marcel began, holding his hands up placatingly, "Heard some chatter from the witches that the Mikaelson's were around and I wanted to see for myself," he explained with a shrug.
"And since you were out of city bounds, I can forgive you for breaking my rules," he decided, giving them an accommodating smile.
"Rules?" Damon repeated.
"No killing or attacking those in my inner circle, for one," he relayed, "Punishable by death," he added.
Inner circle? Damon thought to himself. He sounded like a poor-man's Klaus Mikaelson; sounded like he was trying too hard to emulate someone he was not.
"Well, we're unkillable, so good luck there," Rebekah commented under her breath, but everyone at the table knew Marcel had heard her.
"What's going to happen to Trevor?" he asked, looking to Damon.
"He'll die a slow and agonizing death unless you put him out of his misery," he said bluntly.
"Or, we can ask Niklaus to heal him with his blood," Elijah said smoothly, "He's how an Original hybrid, and his blood is the cure for a werewolf bite," he explained.
Damon quietly kept it to himself he wasn't sure that would work; he was only capable of having Klaus' hybrid abilities because he was inhabiting him. He wasn't physically him—at least, not yet, thank god—so surely didn't have the same blood that had those healing properties.
"I thought his mom suppressed all that with a spell?" Marcel said with a confused look on his face, it then clicking for Damon that, of course, when Klaus was in New Orleans he was just a vampire under a curse.
"She did," Rebekah nodded, "He broke the curse a few years ago," she revealed, Marcel nodding with a look of awe.
"So, Damon is a werewolf, then?" he asked, leaning forward with interest, but was unable to press for more information as Cami came back with four bowls of gumbo, two in her hands and one balanced on her arm.
"Thank you," Rebekah smiled at her, taking the spoon she gave her.
Cami smiled back, setting down three more spoons before she went back behind the bar.
"No, vampire," Damon revealed as soon as she was out of earshot, picking up his own spoon and poking it around the meal in front of him.
"Not a hybrid?" Marcel asked in confusion.
"No, just a plain vampire," he said simply, shrugging, and spooning some gumbo into his mouth. Probably wasn't the safest idea to eat, given how queasy he felt, but he also couldn't run around on an empty stomach.
"Then how did you give my friend a werewolf bite?" Marcel frowned.
"Hence why we're here," Rebekah informed him.
Marcel just leaned back in his chair, grabbing his bowl of gumbo and gesturing for her to continue.
"As you can see, this is my friend, Damon," she began with a heavy sigh, gesturing to him, "But due something I really don't have the time or energy to explain fully, he had a witch put a spell on him to allow my brother's essence to go inside him should something happen to him to protect those of my brother's sire line," she explained.
God, he lived it and it still sounded incredibly far-fetched to Damon.
"Lucky he did, or else you would be dead," Elijah said bluntly.
"And Klaus was staked with a white oak state our resurrected mother magically created," she continued, a veil of contempt sneaking into her voice as she mentioned Esther, "so he's now currently residing in Damon's brain," she finished.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Marcel was digesting the information Rebekah had laid out in front of him, looking at Damon with a tilted head and an expression that indicated he wasn't sure whether he believed it or not.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and declared, "That's too weird even for you Mikaelson's," with a laugh, but didn't look like he disbelieved them.
Damon snorted so hard his last spoonful of gumbo almost came out of his nose. "You should come to Mystic Falls then," he said invitingly, "This is a regular Tuesday there," he joked.
"So, why the urgency?" Marcel asked, returning to his plate of food, "Just ask the witch that did the spell in the first place," he said, flapping his hand as if it was obvious.
"Gee, why didn't we think of that, Damon?" Rebekah asked with false shock, exchanging a look with him; he refrained from rolling his eyes at Marcel's stupidity. Obviously if said witch could do the spell, they wouldn't be here!
"The spirits are preventing her from using magic and Rebekah said those here don't have the same set of rules and would be strong enough to help get Klaus back in his own body," he explained.
"You're trippin'," Marcel scoffed, looking at him like he was nuts.
"Oh I wish, Marcel," Klaus' drawling voice spilled out of Damon's mouth, the other man's eyebrows raising slowly in shock, even more so as Klaus gave him a show of his hybrid visage on Damon's face, "As it is, I only have two days before I'm permanently stuck in Damon's body with no way to get back into my own," he continued.
Marcel sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "I would love to help you, I really would," he began, looking uneasy, "y'know, Klaus, you saved me from a life of misery, lifted me up from the gutter and all that," he added, holding out a hand to placate him as if Damon was about to leap over the table.
"But I just killed a witch for doing a spell to save her sick niece," he pointed out, "If I make an exception for you, it'll make me look weak," he said, remaining firm.
Damon snorted internally; he really wasa poor man's Klaus Mikaelson.
"You'll be feeling weak from my bite if you don't help me," Klaus' voice growled, Damon's eyes burning as they took on Klaus' hybrid appearance; he didn't fail to notice Marcel press himself against his chair as much as he could.
"And as your friend will soon be able to attest, it's a hell of a lot worse than a regular werewolf bite."
As the threat hung in the air, the three men with their drinks got up. No, not men. More of Marcel's 'inner circle'. Damon and Elijah stood up, while Rebekah vamped out, snarling defensively in their direction.
"Are you threatening me?" Marcel asked dangerously, "You'd do well to show me respect, Klaus. I'm the King!" he yelled, his booming voice echoing around the bar.
Damon snarled back in response, baring Klaus' double-fangs. "No, I'm telling you," Klaus corrected him.
He then rushed over to the nearest vampire, grabbing him around the throat tightly and lifting him slightly in the air. Damon turned and felt Klaus raise his eyebrows emphatically.
"Hey, look, a show of force—I get it," Marcel said, quickly standing from his seat; his tough bravado was wavering somewhat. "How about showing some leniency, for an old friend?" he asked nervously.
"Only if you'll be glad to do the same," Klaus said simply.
But before Marcel could give a response, Damon felt his hand pulling the vampire towards him and his fanged mouth; he sunk them into his neck and withdrew. Dark veins were already starting to show under the surface of the bite.
"But until then, shall we say that for every hour that ticks by you don't allow the witches to help us, I'll bite more and more of your friends until there's nothing left," Klaus continued; he wasn't threatening them, because Damon knew he would do it.
The other two vampires came forwards to rescue their friend. With a flick of his wrist, Damon—or was it Klaus? He couldn't tell—snapped the neck of the bitten vampire and attacked the other two with ease, his hands pushing through their ribcages like butter and pulling their hearts out.
Their bodies thumped limply to the floor and Damon dropped their hearts on the floor nonchalantly.
"Oh dear," Klaus said with faux sympathy, "It does appear I've broken one of your rules," he continued with an exaggerated wince, turning to Marcel, who looked a mix of pissed off and terrified.
"But you see, I cannot be killed," he continued as matter-of-fact, striding forwards with a vicious smirk, "I am immortal," he growled, his smirk intensifying as Marcel averted his eyes.
He turned and walked outside, Rebekah and Elijah following. Damon felt the reins loosen and he was back under his own power, but the lack of headache or a nosebleed like he was expecting confused him.
He wasn't sure if the lack of a reaction from Klaus using his body was something to be concerned or relieved about; did it mean the timeframe his soul would take over his own was accelerating?
"I don't know if you are immortal in my body, Klaus," Damon pointed out once they were a good distance away from the Deveraux bar.
"He doesn't need to know that," he muttered inside his head; Damon made a noise of agreement.
"So now what the bloody hell do we do?" Rebekah asked in exasperation, flinging her hands up in the air.
"Get used to me as your new brother?" Damon tried to joke, attempting a smile.
But honestly? Things were looking pretty damn bleak.
Wow! Long time no see, huh? Wouldn't be surprised if I'm talking to myself at this point, haha. But if anyone out there still enjoys my work, please let me know with a review down in the box (even if it's just to scold me for not updating for what? Two years?)
Hope you liked it, and I'll see you next time with the next chapter.