The Lockwood estate is not difficult to find. Southern plantation homes these days are not exactly a dime-a-dozen, and Google lists it as one of the top historical sites in all of Virginia. Can't imagine how annoying the lack of Internet would be if TVD took place in the early 90s or something.

And… there's the dude who would hit all the right buttons for high school me. Tyler Lockwood headed to school in that ridiculously expensive lifted truck, all dark hair and jaw and chisel. Woo.

Seeing him in person, I can't say that college me is all that different, truth be told.

He drives past without a second glance at my approach toward the gate. I half consider using my magic to sneak inside, but it'd be a waste, and the butler's already approaching.

"Excuse me, sir," he begins, "what brings you here?"

I don't remember a butler on the show, but this is one of those things that would be brushed aside unless the butler has any plot relevance at all. You can't forget that this is the show that didn't think showing Bonnie's father was all that important until the fourth season.

"I'm new in town, sir." I hold out a hand, and the man shakes it. "I heard about the Lockwood property and thought I could get a tour, if it's not too much trouble? Want to see all the sites!"

The butler nods. "Of course. I can have Mrs. Lockwood show you around. I'd bet all of us would be delighted to see one such as yourself taking an interest in the local history."

Suck it up, buddy. You just like to show off.

The little balding man ushers me inside and closes the gate behind him. I get my first look at the expansive property, and quite frankly, it's gorgeous. Local trees slowly turning in the fast-approaching Fall months, rolling hills disappearing into a rather large pond. It's beautiful, and I'm not a hugely outdoorsy person.

The mansion is even more extravagant, and an idle thought about a collegiate Tyler becoming a rich frat boy distracts me for a moment. The door opens at the butler's knock, and it shakes me from my embarrassing reverie.

"Hello?"

Pardon me for the pause, ma'am. Your son is fucking hot.

"Mrs. Lockwood, this is Mr…."

I hold out my hand, and she shakes it. "Hi, ma'am, I'm Logan. Just moved into town. I've heard a lot about your property, but it's a lot different when you actually see it in person." I get a good look at her and grin. "A lovely estate for such a lovely woman."

Rich people love compliments about their things, but aging women definitely love compliments about their looks. Based on her reaction, she is no exception.

"Oh? Well, aren't you sweet?!" A brilliant smile, as she beckons me inside and dismisses the butler, closing the door behind her. "What brings you here, Logan?"

Good lord, this place is swanky.

"Well, ma'am, I kind of wanted a tour of the place, but I was also curious if you could pull some weight for me."

The look on her face changes slightly, perhaps to concern? I'm not the best person at understanding people's faces when they have more subtle reactions.

"See, I don't know anyone in town. I'll be honest: I was kind of hoping that you might be willing to help a friendly face get a job. Somewhere popular with kids my age, maybe as a bartender, a waiter? A simple letter of recommendation from your husband or even yourself would go a long way toward helping me get established in the community."

Rich people love to propagate that sense of community. Makes 'em feel like they are in charge, establishes dominance when they host things like the countless festivals or events this damned town seems to have. Plus, I'm pretty sure they love it when people owe them favors, and this would be a huge one.

"Logan, I think we'd love to help."

I'm a little surprised it was that easy, because I distinctly remember that she was a bit of a bitch in the show, at least toward the beginning. Then again, I'm trying to play to her archetype, and it seems to be going swimmingly.

"Oh, thank you so much. You have no idea." She starts to lead me deeper into the home, mumbling about how long the house has been in her husband's family, but I'm no longer listening, just nodding occasionally. "Ma'am, sorry to interrupt, but can you show me where a bathroom is?"

"Oh, right." Her terse look on her face is clear irritation, but she points down the hall. "Second door on the left."

"Thanks, Mrs. Lockwood."

The second I open the door, I look around to be sure, and mutter the oft-practiced word. The cloaking spell, a specialty of the coven, activates, and I close the door with me still standing in the hallway, invisible to everyone.

I don't bother walking quietly. There should be no werewolves in the Lockwood family anywhere near the premises, as neither the mayor nor Tyler have activated their genes by this point, and Mason's in Florida; no super hearing to worry about. Even if some maid hears something odd, the chances of them being able to notice that it's me are so slim that it's inconsequential. Hell, if the Lockwoods didn't know about the supernatural, they'd probably assume that it was haunted and start making money giving tours like this all the damned time. They might still. Who knows?

I know what I'm looking for, a vague idea of the room where it can be found. Likely somewhere on the first floor, a parlor or a living room. If the mansion wasn't so stupidly huge, I might have found it much more quickly.

Sliding past a group of men and women setting some table in the dining room, I think I spot it. Situated behind a chair in the parlor, the corner of the terribly tacky rug stands out among the rest.

I situate myself in the corner and look around, but no one seems to be in sight. Even so, I shift the furniture around just so to obscure my operations for a few precious seconds in case someone comes in.

Lifting the corner of the rug, I fight the urge to shout eureka. Beneath the floorboards is a safe, and I lift off the wood paneling.

This is the most difficult part; opening it without attracting attention. I knew inherently that I could magically rip open the top; it'd probably be blamed on Tyler or something, or they'd connect it to the growing vampire problem. I needed to be absolutely sure that I could do this without getting caught.

Gemini witches and warlocks emphasize duplicity, which is why they are taught to cloak themselves at a very young age. But often, that does not extend beyond themselves. Some kind of sound cancelling field would be a great spell to know right now, just throw it up over the room to ensure no busybodies come in wondering what the hell's going on. I'll have to do without, and add developing one to the list.

Already, the magic within my body is beginning to wear from such a prolonged cloaking spell, and I really do not want to have to deplete any energy from the watch. But, this is so worth it if it works.

I touch my hand to the door of the safe and focus on the words of the spell, trying to utter the words as silently as I can. Telekinetically, I'm attempting to crush the hinges of the safe door, and it's taking a long time to develop the kind of pressure necessary.

Finally, they both warp at my mental manipulation and then break off, and I push inward on that side of the door. The door falls down, and then I yank upward with the spell. The door swings outward rather loudly; wincing, I know that I have precious seconds.

I flutter my hands through the items, careful to avoid fingerprints touching anything, but I already know that it's a failure.

The box isn't there. The box containing one of the single most important objects in the entire damned series is missing. I triple check once more, frustrated, and then quickly place everything back where I found it. Magically, I lower the door back in place, but I don't have time to fix the hinges with the know-how that I have now.

The room is in relative disarray, but it only takes a few seconds to urge everything back where it goes, using my powers to save time. No one notices, but a maid walks in afterward with a confused expression on her face. I glance downward to ensure the cloaking spell was still active and almost sigh in relief. Still gone from sight.

I slip back into the hallway, the maid fluffing the room behind me as though somewhere were amiss.

I find a good spot to ensure that no one is looking and drop the cloaking spell, entering the foyer where I left the nosy Founders' wife.

"Sorry about that. Where were we?"

While she urges me through the house, pausing every few feet to describe some tiny detail about a painting or a knickknack, I'm trying hard to come up with some reasoning for why the moonstone wouldn't be inside that safe. I had apparently wrongly assumed that he kept it there for safekeeping all the time. Tyler didn't find it until the beginning of the second season, after his father had died on Founders' Day. Did he carry it around for no reason while he was alive? Had he somehow not had it in his possession until, at the latest, the end of the second season?

Damn. What a shit-show this turned out to be.