Not Dead Yet

Time is never on her side.

The wound heals as she runs through the trees. A gaping hole that Diego left in her shoulder slowly closes. The skin prickling and stretching until she is whole again. The wolf skin is tucked under her arms. In the chaos, she hadn't known what to do with it. She'll need to hide it. In the distance, she can hear the wolves chasing Diego across the bayou. Not letting up. If they can, they'll bite him and if that happens, then he won't be much of a problem anymore.

Except, she likes Mercy. Enough, at least. And she'd be devastated if he died.

Once she makes it back to the city, she grips the fairy cross in her palms so tight that it draws blood. The transitive property of her blood mixes with the glamour magic, speeding up her transition into the remarkably typical blond. Everyone looks at her but no one sees her as she passes through the Quarter. No one remembers a face that is like so many others.

It's early enough in the night that Marcel is still out though the party downstairs rages on. She slips through the crowd and drops the fairy cross in her pocket as she passes a human with a Nightwalker at her neck. Elena grips the woman's waist and buries her fangs on the other side, slipping the jacket out of her arm and using it to hide the skin. By the time the other vampire rears his head back, Elena looks like herself again. She smiles through the black veins and then pretends to notice the blood on her shoulder. Frowns like it's an issue of bad manners and shoves the woman into the man.

Continues her escape back to Marcel's room.

An hour later, she watches the party from the upper levels of the Abattoir. Her skin is clean and her wound is long-since healed. Her hair is bound in a simple braid that lays against her collarbone, exposed in the cream shift dress she'd thrown on after tossing her ruined shirt.

When she spots Diego, her heart leaps into her throat. Mercy chases behind him and they head towards Thierry in the corner of the room. In minutes, he's on the phone and the crowd is so loud that Elena can only guess who they might be calling. But it is a fairly educated guess.

Marcel will be here soon.

She watches them pace the room for a half hour and she isn't the only one who senses the blood in the water. Astrid monitors the trio from the fountain with a drink in her hand. Glowering at them over the rim. A strange standoff that no one else seems to notice. Finally, Marcel arrives back at the compound and five sets of eyes find him. Trace his path through the crowd.

When he nods toward the corner, all three of his inner circle follow as he ascends the stairs. Toward Elena who works at fixing her face into a mild curiosity.

"Where have you been?" She forces as much boredom into her tone as she can manage. Acts like she's been here the entire night and is over the party. She weaves her arms into Marcel's when he leans over the railing to grip the bars.

"Getting Davina settled in," he whispers even though she suspects he's already told the others. She keeps her hands on him even when he shouts to get everyone's attention. The Abattoir settles into an eerie quiet. The only noises are the few vampires who brought human dates and are now compelling them to leave. Sloppy behavior without healing them.

"The Wolf Mother has been sighted again." Over the weeks, they've taken to calling her that due to the protective way she keeps to the forest. For the way she watches over the pack. It makes her proud, but what Marcel says next sends shivers down her back. When she clings to him, he mistakes it for a different kind of fear. He pats her hand reassuringly. "Diego lost two good men tonight trying to put it down. He almost didn't make it back to us. I'm issuing a formal warning. No vampire is to go into the bayou until Thierry and I end this beast. For good."

The Daywalkers in the room don't react, but many Nightwalkers are upset. The bayou was one of the only places they had to get their aggression out and now that was gone. Elena was concerned about the other outlets they would find. What this decree might mean in the long run. The party disperses after Marcel dismisses them. Likely taking their anger out on the streets like a flood.

Elena stays behind with their small group. Marcel listens quietly as Diego recounts the details he can remember.

It delights her to hear her own legacy forming in front of her. Diego confirms that the wolf is strong, standing on two legs like a human. His panic is palpable as he tells them how easy it was for the Wolf Mother to kill his men. "Threw them around like a fucking kid playing with dolls," he sneers but his jaw is set too tight to ignore how scared he is now. "The bayou wolves answer her call. Poured out from the trees like they were waiting to ambush us. I watched one of them suckle at her bare breast."

"Diego," Mercy squeezes his arm. "Whatever it is, it's just a wolf. And wolves can be killed."

"It's not just a wolf. I tried to kill her. I reached into her chest and I felt no heartbeat. She isn't tied to the moon like the others." Diego shakes his head and looks straight at Marcel. "Whatever she is, it isn't like anything we've seen."

"You sound scared, Diego." Elena can't help but tease him in her triumph.

"You'd be fucking scared too if you saw the shit I've seen out there."

Marcel holds her close as they start to form their plan on how to kill the Wolf Mother right in front of her. She sucks in her cheeks and does her best not to let the smile creep onto her face.

All day she's high on the notion that she terrifies all of them. Enough so for Marcel to ban the vampires from the bayou. It's the biggest win in her life she's managed since fleeing Mystic Falls and her body vibrates with the need to celebrate. By the time Marcel leaves to take care of Davina, her muscles are aching with the contained energy of her pleasure.

Throwing any caution to the wind, she rushes to Rousseau's and ignores the blonde bartender's greeting as she scans the crowds for her witch. Sophie comes out of the kitchen with her hair pulled back from her face in a bandana. Without checking for Jane-Anne, Elena drags her to the storeroom. She feels like she could fly and she wants to take her witch along for the ride.

They don't speak. The look in Elena's eyes says more than words can say. She's on Sophie, pinning her against the closed door. Pressing their bodies together with an urgency that feels like licking flames. Her mouth on Sophie's pulse point on her neck, nipping and sucking. Sophie moans in her ear and the sound spurs Elena on. They've been hurdling towards this for months now.

When Elena reaches down to inch her fingers past Sophie's waistband, she grabs her hand and shakes her head. Reaches to the shelves to grab a bundle of sage. A fire lights between them, reflected in their brown eyes. Sophie mutters a spell and sets the sage back down on the shelves to fill the room with smoke and silence.

Elena resumes her efforts, sliding her fingers down Sophie's jeans. Noting where the curly hair begins from the expanse valley between her legs. Sophie is already slick and Elena's knuckles turn white as she grips the doorframe. Now that they're here, she wants to be patient but it's difficult when her body is pounding with every need she's ever felt.

She starts with soft kisses at her neck, cupping Sophie's body and pressing three fingers gently between her legs. Pulsing more than plunging. Her hands are on Elena, searching for the secret button to press for more. Between her heavy breathing and her begging hands, Elena is more than happy to oblige.

Fingers thrust, one a time, into Sophie and her hips spasm against Elena. There's only so much room like this and, frustrated, she strips Sophie's jeans off. Rough and impatient. Pressing their bodies together again. Sophie clings to her shoulder as Elena brings her to a fever pitch with her hand. Writing a masterpiece between her legs.

Only when she is legless does Elena drag her to the ground.

To mount her. To spread her dress over them. To intertwine their legs. Their bodies touch and Sophie shivers, realizing that nothing had been between them. Elena had come to her bare and ready. Thrusts her hips down, grinding her body into Sophie's. Her lips part and though no one can hear them through the sage, Elena covers Sophie's mouth. Allows her groans escape through her fingers while stokes the fire.

Grinding and twisting her body until Sophie arches her back and Elena loses what little control she had. Her fangs descend and she brings Sophie's hand to her mouth, piercing her skin when she cries out. Pulling greedily from her veins. Warmth rushes her mouth and down her throat to meet the fire in her belly.

Afterwards, legs shaking, she offers her own torn wrist to Sophie. Cupping her breast as the witch tentatively licks at her healing blood. They lay together for an hour trading soft kisses and a more tender exploration of each other's bodies. Sophie tries to remind Elena about the destruction of her room and the war brewing in the Quarter but for now all she wants is to hold Sophie close and forget.

Eventually she leaves, but for a long while all she wants is to pretend that the world is only a bar storeroom.

Elena tucks a piece of Sophie's hair behind her ear when she kisses her goodbye and smirks to herself when she overhears her stumbling over her words to Cami about taking stock.

When she returns to the Abattoir, she sinks her body underneath the bath water and replays the night in her head, touching her own body under the surface. Goes to sleep before Marcel comes back and doesn't notice when the bed shifts underneath them. Wakes up in the middle of the night as the air changes just enough to let the world know that daybreak is on the horizon.

Maybe she should be unsettled about sharing a bed with Marcel so soon after being with Sophie, but she can't find it in her to care. The only unsettling thing about it is sharing a bed with a liar, but she's done that enough times that she's not sure she cares about that either. It's a surplus of energy that propels her from Marcel's bed out into the compound. To check out her old room, but she worries less about who broke into it now. Speculates that whoever stole the white oak stake has no idea the actual importance of it. In the moment, she's sure she'll get it back in time.

Since no one is around so she keeps exploring. Goes back to the storage room with all the Mikaelson memorabilia. Curious to read Rebekah's thoughts or figure out who stole those grimoires.

Wherever Marcel is keeping Davina, it isn't here anymore and as many times as she has asked he only ever tells her that she's safe. Her only true recourse is to tail him one night and hope that he doesn't catch her. Rebekah's journals prove interesting at first but quickly grow repetitive as she bemoans her misfortune of having a brother like Klaus. She ruminates on the copy of Little Women sitting at the bottom of her bag and thinks to reunite it with at least the words of its owner.

But she's already grown too attached to it and won't. The habits of a vampire already settling into her soul.

Bored, she digs deeper into the dust kept museum and wonders why Marcel hadn't burned everything if he was so angry over being abandoned. She thinks of her own room and wonders if her things were kept as well. If the Gilbert house was sold or if some long distant relative had moved in. Home is on her mind when she stumbles across them.

A wooden box that she breaks apart only to find frame after frame of her own face. Paintings that span the centuries and are kept in varying degrees of preservation. Some have been ruined by the elements and others almost seem fresh. But they are all the same.

A Petrova face.

A girl with braids and an unkempt mane of hair chasing the wind. A face, her face, illuminated only by a fire in the dark. In bed, asleep, surrounded by bloody sheets. Naked in the moonlight.

Elena steps back and nearly knocks over a stack of ledgers, catching herself in time to stop them from crashing into the floor. The horrifying implication of these being here dawns on her. All of Marcel's wringing anxiety and declarations of wanting to keep the truth between them seem performative now. His association with Klaus and Klaus's obsession with women who wear her face. It seems stupid to believe that he could have been close to them without knowing. That Klaus would keep this from his ward. A man he saw as a son.

Everything he has ever said has to be questioned. He could have been lying to her the moment he saw her. Her chest feels tight and her fingers tingle. Elena hides amongst the portraits like if she tried she could become one and escape this nightmare forever. Live as a painting for the rest of her life. She has to remember how to breath over and over because she keeps forgetting.

Tears sting her face and she wants to run back to Sophie's. To take her and leave and abandon everything else. To forget about Jackson and the wolves and this war that feels so damn inevitable. But if she runs, then she'll be exactly like Katherine and she's already felt pieces of herself slipping away. Burned in the Petrova fire. Jealously, she gathers them together and wipes her face. Quietly slips back into Marcel's bed and lets his arm settle across her hip as he shifts in his sleep.

Whatever she does, she can't be like Katherine. If she were, then there'd be no point in living. She might as well be dead because she wouldn't be Elena anymore. And if that happened, then she may as well have joined Damon long ago.

Her dreams are troubling, disjointed images.

Klaus screaming in the night, surrounded by bodies. Blood dripping from their eyes and mouth. He seems frantic. Isolating in a mansion alone. The walls are tall and empty. The hallways are bereft of anything save his pacing. He drinks and smashes the glass until his hand bleeds and uses it to smear shapes onto the canvas. Outlines that those forms into her soft chin and guarded eyes. She watches him like a ghost hovering over him as he digs up a sword and mutters nonsense about how she won't be able to haunt him anymore.

Wherever he is and whatever he's doing, one thing remains consistent. He curses her name. And at the edge of these images, three women study her.

When she wakes up, she feels sick to her stomach like she drank too much. Sweat has her hair matted to her head and her fingers twitch when she tries to push it back. Marcel looks down at her, worried.

The worst part about it is that she still wants to believe it. Believe him.

The next few nights, she pushes her body to the limits of what she can afford. Running for hours with the wolves and exploring the boundaries of the city. Toeing the line to see when the vampires will attack her and when they will run away. Provoking them more than anything. Stalking their streets at night to take the fight to them, risking both humans seeing her and one of the Nightwalkers getting lucky. But it's easy to forget these things when she's still yearning for fear and power over them.

She hears one of them call for Diego and Elena flees into a nearby cemetery. Not the one used by the French Quarter witches, but a new one. New Orleans has more than enough to go around. She's not anxious to face him again or potentially have him call Marcel and Thierry. They would certainly tear her apart.

It's dark enough that this hulking shape can move through the cemetery like a shadow creature. Her fur is dark enough that she can mold her body to the darkness until she spots an open mausoleum and ducks inside. Quickly peeling the wolf skin first from her face and then letting it slide naturally off her shoulders. She'll have to figure out how to get this to Eve later.

"So, you're the wolf the witches pray to so they can absolve their sins?" His voice is deep and there's an edge to it that makes Elena freeze for a second.

She tries to not let the shock play across her face. A man kneels at an altar with eyes so intense that it feels impossible to keep a secret from him. That he'd see through anything she might try. Part of her worries that he already sees through her. "They offer prayers?"

"The French Quarter Coven used their magic at Marcel's request and cursed the Crescent wolves for him." He spits it out. "Years later, their Harvest soured and then suddenly a wolf appears that isn't tied to the moon. A wolf that has been protecting the pack and venturing into the city." The way he speaks is like he's connecting dots for her on a picture she's already seen. "Sightings of you have stirred the rumor mill. Once the connection between you and the curse was made, no one could see any other explanation."

"Are you going to tell them that it isn't true?" She clutches the wolf skin to her chest and corners herself in the room. As strong and wild as she is, she still fears her secrets becoming exposed. It's the only real way she knows how to move these days.

"What would I gain from that?"

"Aren't you a French Quarter witch?"

"No, I'm a Tremé witch." He laughs and bares his teeth a little. The comparison to the coven she knows is more offensive to him than had meant. "Meaner, tougher, and much more powerful."

"I hadn't realized." Red creeps across her cheeks. Embarrassed at how little she knows. She'd need full instruction to understand the history of this city, supernatural or not. "I thought the French Quarter witches were."

"They use their connection to the vampires to speak for the rest of us, but the Nine Covens are not exactly a unified front." The man is still on his knees in front of her but somehow it doesn't make him seem any less powerful. It emanates from his body and she twists the silver chain on her throat anxiously. "Doesn't make them the most powerful, just makes them closer to power. There's a difference."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Grieving." He doesn't say much else and a look passes briefly over his eyes that warns Elena not to dig. His eyes shine with suppressed sorrow. A feeling she understands all too well.

He stands and it makes her realize that the power he exudes is like air. Calm and certain the way the ocean gently laps at the shore until a tsunami erupts and wipes out the coastline. The way the sky can be blue and peaceful before it turns grey. Swirling tornadoes descend destruction from above. He takes slow steps toward her and holds out his hand. "Can I see that skin?"

"It was a gift," she explains, passing it to him because he asked even though it sounded more like a command. Noticing how he's careful not to touch her fingers.

"Some gift," he scoffs as he examines the skin. Turning it over in his hand, impressed and intrigued. Lifting back the pelt and admiring the seam before he hands it back. "Whatever witch gave this to you must have really liked you."

"How did you know it was a witch?" She turns the skin in her hand, looking for whatever it was he saw.

"That is sacrificial magic. Whoever did this had to skin a werewolf alive to imbue the skin with its powers. It takes a certain talent and stomach for death. Not an easy thing to make and even more difficult to give up." He strokes his facial hair and though Elena is keenly aware of how he is watching her, she doesn't remark on it. Too enraptured in his knowledge to mind much. He leans against the wall as far from her as he can manage without leaving the room. "Do you know what they call you? The witches who believe you've come for their reckoning?" She shakes her head and he smirks disdainfully before he answers. "Selene."

She licks her lips. Can already tell that he likes knowing more than she does. That he comfortable in his power. "Who is that?"

"Goddess of the moon. She uses the crescent as her symbol." The way he twists his fingers feels oddly like a threatening gesture even though everything about him is relaxed. "They think you've been sent on her behalf. The more intense ones believe you are her come to earth in this shape to mock them."

"I'm just a vampire."

"If you were just a vampire, I wouldn't still be here. Whatever you are, it isn't just a vampire." He kicks off the wall and straightens out his leather jacket. Extends out a hand that Elena unconsciously accepts. He turns her hand over in his with light touches like he's wary of her. He eyes the silver chain around her neck and for a second she thinks he might reach out to touch it, but retracts his hand before the thought can take root. "You've been marked by the wolves, but there's magic here too. Their mark is stronger, but not by much."

"I haven't been marked by anyone," she insists but in the face of his certainty, she lacks her own conviction.

"It's there whether you want it to be or not." He shrugs before he collects his things. He's halfway out of the mausoleum before he turns back to address her. "Be careful out there, Selene. There are too many people in the city who want to kill you and unlike most, you don't strike me as the kind of vampire who's better off dead."

"That's not my name." She's not sure why she says that when it is better left unsaid. She can't tell him her real name but there's something about him that makes her sure she couldn't get away with lying.

"It isn't? Strange. I could have sworn." He raises a brow at her like he's in on some amusing game. He reaches his hand up to touch his chest and the gesture somehow seems both formal and intimate. "I'm Vincent. It's nice to meet the only terror that could unite both Marcel and the French Quarter witches. I look forward to seeing what you'll do next, Selene."

The Abattoir is loud when she walks through the double doors. The heavy bass of the music and bodies thrumming together like a sea of flesh make it all feel obscene in the best of ways. How different the compound could look depending on the day or the mood or the person. How adaptable it could be. From classical music gala to club music grinding.

It could be anything it wanted. Just like her.

Mercy has her hands clasped behind Diego's neck, swaying her hips to the hypnotic beat. Thierry is to their left looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Every time Diego leans down to kiss his girlfriend, the older vampire crinkles his nose and looks away. It strikes Elena that if she'd stopped digging, stopped asking questions, she'd be in their inner circle right now. Laughing at the way overt affection makes Thierry uncomfortable or sharing someone between the four of them.

They don't notice her as she shakes the party off her shoulders and ascends the stairs. Stops on the second floor when a light catches her attention. Flickering on and off. From her old room. Elena changes her destination, taking a hard right away from the other set of stairs to cling to the wall. To the shadows so she can hide from the party as she investigates the light.

It stays on as she gets closer and when she opens the door, Astrid holds out sheets of paper as she leans against the dresser.

"Dear Diary," she does her best to mock Elena's accent through her own Scandinavian-tinged one. "I took another life today. I keep trying to stop, but I can't. Another town and another woman dead. Another mother. I can't do this on my own. I'm just a silly, lost little girl." Astrid folds the paper crisply. "This is you, Katherine?"

"Give those back."

"Why?" She purses her lips and feigns like she's hurt. "You're such a talented writer. In fact, I think more people should hear your wonderful words."

Astrid kicks off from the dresser and tries to walk past Elena, but she holds her arm out and shoves the taller woman back. "Give them back and I won't have to get Marcel involved."

"I disagree," Astrid sucks her teeth. "I think we should get him involved. See, this passage is my favorite." Astrid rifles through the papers until she gets to the right one. "I don't know how to do this alone. Everything feels too much. All the smells and the sounds. I can't sort through them. Just blood. It's the only smell. And I want it so bad. Sometimes I forget myself. Forget the person I know I am."

"Stop it!" Elena swallows all the fear and anxiety and breathes out her rage.

"Why should I?" Astrid tilts her head like this is all a joke to her. "This is the evidence I need to prove to everyone that you aren't who you say you are. You couldn't be more than a year turned, yet you're masquerading yourself as much older. What else are you hiding?"

"How do you know those are recent?" Elena shakes her head softly, willing this situation to go away in her head. "I could be writing about hundreds of years ago."

"The feelings in this are too fresh." Astrid mock pouts sympathy. "You write about it like they are still on the surface."

"Give my pages back and I won't tell Marcel you trashed my room."

When Astrid laughs in return it forms a rock in Elena's stomach. "Tell him? Sweet thing, he knows. He caught me with that little witch in his arms. Him and that incessant bitch, Mercy. Right as I was digging through your poorly hidden hoard of secrets."

"He caught you?" Her confidence deflates and the room starts to close in on her. She doesn't want to believe Astrid but the thing about her was – she never lied.

"He caught me. Let me take what I wanted and escorted me out of the compound." Astrid smiles like she's won, but Elena knows that you only lose once you stop. "Didn't even punish me for it. Poor Katherine. Finding out that you must not be so important."

"And that's what you took?" The rock is somewhere in her throat right now. One good cough and she'll dislodge it. Her mind is racing, thinking back to the genuine way Marcel seemed worried about her. How he'd acted like she'd been enduring bullying from the older vampire for months. Suffered in silence. Like he had no idea. And if Astrid didn't take the white oak stake, then who did? Her list of suspects expands and shrinks as she thinks through her logic of that night. "My diary pages?"

"What else would I have taken?" Astrid sneers and tries to push past her again. To the party. To expose her to the rest of them. "That smelly dog skin?"

Her entire life here could go up in flames in platinum curls. All that she needs to fix here is so close to ruin. She drops her bag. Can't rely on the wolf skin here. Too risky when she's trying to keep her secrets from the world. She reaches out, desperate to save it all. Grabs Astrid's arm and digs her nails in. Dragging them down the same way she's used to doing as the wolf. Though she doesn't have claws, she does her best. Blood wells up in four jagged lines that heal instantly but the insult is enough to get Astrid to drop the papers.

She screeches, turning on Elena and slashing at her with her own stiletto nails. She throws Elena into the dresser and her spine breaks on the hard wood. Healing by the time she slides to her knees. Astrid launches her body carelessly at Elena. So used to her strength that she never bothered to learn finesse. Elena dives to the side and lets her lunge headfirst into the mirror. She covers her head and rolls as the glass shatters to the ground around them.

Shiny shards reflecting their fight a dozen different ways.

Astrid comes at her again, only Elena is ready. She kicks and lands her blow right on Astrid's jaw and she goes spinning. Elena turns to gather the papers that Astrid had dropped. Her neck bends at a terrible angle when Astrid gathers a handful of her hair and yanks her back. Astrid is a quick study and doesn't make the same mistake twice. Doesn't throw Elena into anything else and keeps her close where Elena can't capitalize on her rage.

Elena's breathe stutters in her throat. Blood blossoms on her shirt. Gurgles up her throat until she coughs it out so she can breathe. Astrid's hand is in her back. She grazes her spine and breaks her ribs to get to her heart. Those stiletto nails digging into her heart.

Astrid is so much stronger. It makes her mad. Having to feel this helpless again. That no matter what she does, she'll always be weaker. Elena closes her eyes as the deep red blood of her split lungs spills onto her neck.

She'd give anything to be strong. So strong that no one could ever touch her.

"Look at you. You fucking baby vampire. You're a child." Astrid is so close to her cheek that the spit hits her face. "Playing in the big leagues trying to make up your own rules. Complete disregard of those already established. Selfish bitch."

Elena's limbs begin to shake and her knees give out. She collapses against Astrid with nowhere to go. She drags her hand out of Elena's chest. Slow and intentional to make it hurt more. Sadistic like she has every right to be.

Tears stream down Elena's face, mixing with the blood on her neck. Her fingers and hands turn grey and it creeps up her arms. The joints stiffen like she's becoming a statue. She can feel it in her legs. Her knees lock and she has minutes before it's over. Tears for the pain but for Jackson and the wolves. For Sophie and her dead family. For a legacy that was over before it began.

Hot liquid spills down her back and she wonders if Astrid finally ripped her heart out. But that can't be right. It's absurd. If that were true, Elena would be dead.

And she's not.

She flexes her fingers, warming the feeling back into them as she watches the grey subside. Her breathing isn't as labored. Her lungs are healing and she can take in deep gulps of air until the sensation becomes normal again.

A gagging sound behind her is followed quickly by more blood soaking the back of her shirt. Elena breaks out of Astrid's arms. The older vampire slumps against her calves, vomiting blood that splashes from the wood onto Elena's feet. She steps back and watches it soak into the hardwood. Her hand is at her mouth, horrified, as she watches Astrid retch helplessly on the floor.

"Help me," she coughs out the words like it hurts. Reaches for Elena before her arm, too shaky to hold up her body, fails her and she thuds to the ground. Astrid's beautiful face frozen into a shocked, grey pallor.

In an instant, the Abattoir is filled with screams.

It's when they finally stop that chills erupt along Elena's entire body.

The door slams open and she's surprised that it's Mercy standing in the doorway, taking in the bloody papers and Astrid curled into herself on the ground. A great grey husk. "I didn't," Elena shakes her head with her fingers hovering over her lips. She's more shocked that she survived. More worried about what Marcel would do if he thought she killed another vampire. "I didn't do this. Mercy, I promise. This wasn't me."

"Hun, calm down. I know. I know." Mercy steps over Astrid like she doesn't matter. Her arms open wide for Elena. Cradling into her body. "I know you didn't kill her. Dozens of vampires have just dropped dead. The same thing. Throwing up blood until they desiccate. They're all gone."

"What?" Elena leans back even as Mercy reaches out to wipe blood off her chin. "Dozens?"

"We did a quick assessment." Mercy lets her go. Steps back to evaluate the scene. "First five bodies were vampires that came to New Orleans on their own. Not ones that Marcel turned." She ignores the glass shattered on the ground and pieces of wood from the dresser that splintered off without Elena noticing. "Of course, they're still collecting the dead. Diego and Thierry are fielding calls all over the city."

Blood mixes and dries on her shirt, clinging to her skin like plaster. She stands there, not knowing what to do.

"You should change shirts, Katherine. Clean up a little and come back." Mercy touches her shoulder, pointedly doesn't mention the hole on the back of her shirt or the blood soaking her on both sides even though her gaze lingers on both. "I'll help you drag Astrid's body downstairs to collect and burn with the others."

Elena is quick about it, returning in a fresh shirt with mostly clean skin. Blood dries in the divots over her collarbone. In her rush to get back downstairs, she wasn't as thorough as she might have been in the past. Not like she was when she scrubbed her hands raw after killing Damon.

She lifts Astrid by the arms while Mercy takes her legs. They attempt, at least, to give her respect as they carry her body awkwardly down the stairs to join the dozens of bodies in the courtyard. Each covered in a sheet with red blossoms where the fabric touches their face. Like poppies blooming through the snow.

They leave her at the end and walk away. Someone else will handle covering Astrid. Account for the dead before they set fire to the bodies. Elena takes a step back, counting the bodies. She's closer to thirty when Marcel rounds the corner just having gotten off the phone.

"All over the city too, T. But they haven't found her yet." Marcel halts in his step when he sees her. His smile is small at first and then grows into a wide, genuine grin. He seems so relieved and his voice sounds so frantic. "Kat! Shit, I was worried when no one could find you."

Mercy melts away, likely off to find Diego, before Marcel makes it across the room to Elena. His hands are so firm on her arms. Anxiety or possessiveness, she's not sure anymore. He reaches up to wipe at the dried blood on her neck with his thumb and she pivots her head to display a wide swath of her throat for his inspection.

"Marcel, I'm fine." Her hands slide to his elbows, getting his attention. She glances at the bodies and then back at him. "What happened here?"

"We don't know." Marcel frowns, crowds her space, and obscures her view from the mass of bodies. Like she didn't just have Astrid's fist deep in her chest with death imminent. Ridiculous that he would try to hide this sanitized version of death from her when she'd witnessed it fresh on her enemy. "It seems that whatever it was hit at the same time. The only thing we know for sure is that it didn't touch any vampires I turned."

"And those not from your line?" Her eyes flick to the movements outside her periphery. Thierry organizes the others, piling the bodies into the center of the room. "Like me?"

"A mystery." His fingers trail a path from her elbow to her hand. "We're still counting the dead."

"You have your suspicions." She's certain he does. Is afraid of what he believes. She sees Diego instructing the flow of incoming vampires, both alive and dead. The entire city floods into the courtyard.

"Magic. What else could it be?" Marcel nods and with each word it becomes truth. "This is retaliation for stopping their Harvest. This is retribution for saving Davina."

Mercy eyes the stairs. She's alone without Thierry or Diego and the door to Elena's old room is still open. Her papers carelessly left on the floor. She squeezes Marcel's hand. "You should talk to them. Give them a speech. Comforting words from their king."

From the balcony, he calls for their attention. The room is packed with the dead and undead, but only the living crane their necks. Anxious to hear from him. Thierry and Diego are on the stairs like guards. Mercy is lost somewhere in the crowd, short enough to hide. Elena is at his side with her hand caressing his back.

The atmosphere is so similar to his warning about the wolves. Fear. Only now is there palpable despair amongst the vampires. For lost friends and lovers.

"Enough is enough!" Marcel's voice echoes through the halls. "No more diplomacy. No more cooperation. No more council." The crowd stirs, whispering breaks out. Marcel stays silent until he regains their full attention. "It is abundantly clear now, there is no room for vampires and witches in the Quarter. I am done talking. I am done trying. What happened tonight is a sign of war." He licks his lips. Let's the silence settle for a long time. Elena has to hand it to him. He knows how to talk. "But let it be known, we did not take first blood in this. We were pushed to this decision and are only defending our own. This is a necessity."

He raises his hands like a benevolent god, regretfully forced to make this decision. "I was prepared to let them use their magic, but not after this mass attack on our people. Witches can't be trusted. No more magic." His hands cut across his chest and elation begins to stir within the crowd. "We have a zero-tolerance policy. Any witch caught doing magic is to be killed on sight. No trial. No explanation needed." The vampires begin to applaud before he cuts them off. "And! Any vampire caught being sympathetic to the witches will be punished as needed."

Elena's hand twitches on his back. Thierry looks up suddenly and she's worried he somehow noticed. Marcel glances back at her as the Abattoir erupts in cheering applause.

The three men descend back into the courtyard as they prepare to burn the bodies. Elena takes the opportunity to sneak back into her old room. Collects all the papers strewn about the floor. Counts them to make sure they are all there. All her stories and thoughts. Stray feelings and worries. All folded into her hands.

As the fire grows in the courtyard, the rest of the vampires are brought in. Tossed on the pile. Elena bends down. Discretely pulls the folded papers tucked into her waistband and hides them in the pockets of one of the dead.

"Want help tossing this one into the fire?" Mercy stares down at her. Her eyes are unreadable.

"Please." Elena takes the legs this time while Mercy grabs the poor man's arms. Together they throw him into the fire along with her secrets.

With no more bodies to burn, vampires begin to disperse from the compound. Marcel finds her and guides her away from the flames. He kisses her softly on her brow. Seems so exhausted when he asks her to come to bed with him.

She follows him to his room. Helps undress him in the early morning light. His body is tense but relaxes under her touch. He pulls her close to him, dragging her down to kiss her. She straddles his body under the covers. Lays her head down on his chest to listen to the sound of his beating heart. Holds him in the comfort of her body as he drifts off to sleep.

It's all too confusing to sleep. Davina has a target on her back from the witches. They are anxious to complete the Harvest. The Deveraux women are on a mission to get Monique back. Power is power, but what they crave for is more personal than that. With Marcel's declaration, she's certain that Jane-Anne won't take it lying down. She's already been on edge. She doesn't have anything else to lose and that makes her more dangerous than ever. The vampires are scared. And as scary as the monsters in the dark could be, there was nothing more terrifying than a monster who feared. It makes them unpredictable. In all this, the wolves are a lost chess piece on a board that Marcel plans to obliterate.

In total, a quarter of Marcel's vampires are dead.

The pyre blazes and war begins in New Orleans.

A/N: The chapters get more and more exciting to write as the action begins to mount. All the players are finally in place before the arrival of the Originals. The board is set and they are about to mess it all up.

In the early days of this fic planning, Mercy was meant to die in this chapter. Taking on more of Astrid's role. But I grew too attached to her and couldn't kill my darling. In doing so, she has become something much much more that I can't wait for everyone to discover.