A.N.: Just started watching the final episode of season three of The Originals, and my first thought was, STOP TOUCHING HER! WRONG WOMAN! WRONG, JUST WRONG! You are not for obnoxious sluts called Hayley, you are for Giulia!
Dangerous Beauty
32
A Nuisance
They didn't discuss the cave; what was there to say?
They both knew what the glyphs meant, and Elijah had to reconcile the last millennium with this new perspective. The truth about his mother's murder, and just how deeply Niklaus' manipulation truly went. Elijah had believed time had corrupted his brother – time, anger and fear. Anger at their mother's perceived dishonesty about his paternity – fear at being hunted by his mother's husband for being cuckolded. This was not the case: for a thousand years, Elijah had protected the manipulative liar who had murdered his mother from his father, her husband, who had justly sought vengeance.
She couldn't imagine how wounded Mikael's pride was at the accusation, how heart-sore that all of his children had been turned against him by his wife's murderer. That his children fled at the mere mention of his name. No one truly wanted to be feared – especially not a father, by his own children.
Niklaus had not devolved over time into a monster who punished and manipulated; he had started that way, a petulant, bullying coward, untrustworthy, sly, nasty. He had worked his manipulation so thoroughly he had created a shield made of his siblings to protect him from his father.
It was no wonder Klaus was a controlling bully driven mad by paranoia; only he knew the truth about why he was being hunted by Mikael. The moment his lie was revealed, he would lose that precious safety.
All this and more Elijah had to think about. That his brothers and sisters, his daughter, had been killed by Niklaus after he had perceived them to have betrayed him, putting themselves before him; they had been enduring his lie from the very beginning. And he dared to accuse them of treachery. How had it come to this, the youngest-surviving brother, the architect of their family's destruction, dictating their lives?
Fear. Niklaus' fear of discovery – the siblings' fear of Mikael that had manifested itself stronger in them as vampires than the respectful wariness they had showed him as humans. Perhaps it had been so easy to believe Niklaus because they had all feared what Mikael was truly capable of.
He had murdered them, after all.
Elijah was such an introvert it was difficult to gauge his reaction, what was going on behind those warm brown eyes. But she knew; she knew him. He played the piano for hours, creating beautiful music rather than destroy things. As a human, he had always worked; and now that he no longer had to, it was his coping mechanism to be busy, to improve things, to make a contribution. While his world crumbled around him, Elijah fought to create something.
He sat at the piano, or filled the kitchen with glorious scents, introducing her to new things, or sat on the deck overlooking the lake, carving puzzle after puzzle he'd unceremoniously present her with. She had a collection growing on the coffee-table, different woods and designs, even some spinning-tops and dice – a single pair of naughty ones he'd created just for her were in constant use, and her stomach hurt from laughing – a box with ridiculously challenging sliding panels and hidden catches – a nod at her not only having found his hiding-place but being able to free Esther's pendant from another puzzle-box.
Each time she came home, it was to a glorious meal, the sound of a concerto, new hand-carved trinkets; she had to bring new pencils home from the art-supply store by campus because he'd gone through his, filling the pages of his sketchbooks with designs for jewellery and furniture, instruments and puzzles, Easter eggs. She loved his sketches – recently, they had taken the form of his memories.
The Band-Aid had been ripped off by werewolf-venom and his memories leaked out onto the sketchbook pages. Detailed, incredible drawings, sometimes coloured, of Elijah's past. His children, Torvi the day he married her, his daughter Gyda in the 1770s, Lucrezia sitting naked on a chaise with her back to him, gazing thoughtfully into space, Lagertha being healed by Esther, Willem with his glowing amber eyes and flourishing scalp-tattoo full of berserkrage. Beautiful things, too; women's elaborate hairstyles, ships in busy ports, elegant hands, a ballroom, familiar cities, details, a wide avenue of trees draped with Spanish moss, the gardens of Versailles, beautiful slave-girls bathing, botanic greenhouses, portraits of old friends and houses. His favourite subject to sketch seemed to be Gyda. Each time he had met her over the centuries created memories so strong he remembered every detail – the sheen or weave of fabric teh glint of embroidery and jewels, the vibrancy of colours, the flush to her cheek, her first pearl earrings, the stuffed dates and pomegranates she nibbled in Jerusalem, a favourite of the French Queen of Jerusalem who had never seen France, the elaborate embellishment of Muslim armour, medieval musicians and afternoon-teas at the Savoy. Every lifetime he had known his daughter, encapsulated in one large sketch so detailed it could have been a photograph, showing how different each life had been, or glimpses of tiny details Elijah remembered, associated with her.
Each sketch of Gyda showed the same face, but Elijah had the extraordinary talent of showing how much Gyda had matured through her eyes. Like her father, Gyda's eyes poured emotion. Her hairstyles differed vastly, in some sketches she wore rouge, others the gilded Elizabethan collar, beribboned braids, piled curls decorated with jewels, a flirty, naturally curling bob with dramatic makeup and a beautiful dress, beaming at him from a gramophone, a cocktail in her hand. But her fine dark lashes, her warm brown eyes and her beautiful rose-pink lips were the same. He left his sketches lying in piles whenever he meticulously removed them from his sketchbooks, and every afternoon Giulia returned home, she knew what moods he had been in by the content of those drawings. They weren't all of beautiful things; and he burned those ones or shredded them at the end of each day.
He did not draw Niklaus.
There were a couple of his mother, when she was younger, a baby in her arms, beaming with a dark-haired woman with flowers braided into her hair, a simple head-shot of Esther, slightly older, more beautiful. Her resemblance to her daughters was striking: fiercer Lagertha twiddling a knife between her fingers,, the more delicate, more refined beauty of Rebekah, superbly elegant in a powder-blue raw-silk empire gown with fluttering organza petal-sleeves, her face glowing with delight, a parasol in one hand, a duelling sword in the other, her delicate shawl falling from her shoulder as she laughed, her hair piled up in elaborate curls, Spanish moss swaying lazily in the breeze behind her, a beautiful white antebellum mansion in the distance, a sea of wheat shimmering golden in the sunlight, longhorn cattle and slaves dotted around.
Elijah's sketches were raw, natural; they were imperfect and beautiful, emotive, made her wonder what had been happening when that particular moment had been committed to memory. The drawings she liked, he let her keep; he tucked some away, and destroyed the rest. Giulia wanted to frame some of them, they were so beautiful.
He had sketched Elena, wearing his mother's pendant, the afternoon he finally asked about it: "How did Elena come to acquire my sister's necklace?"
"Stefan," Giulia said simply. She smiled, climbing off the chaise, and went to one of her bookcases in the study, searching for the old leather-bound diary. "I thought you'd ask where Elena go the necklace. So, I stole Stefan's journals from the Twenties."
"You stole his journals?" Elijah asked, with a touch of disapproval. Only a touch.
"He keeps them inside a locked armoire," Giulia shrugged, smirking. "How's a girl to resist? It really wasn't wise of Stefan to keep his nefarious misdeeds documented. Some curious upstart relative could use them against him." She smirked, and plucked Stefan's diary from the shelf, the spine embossed with the year.
"What did you find?"
"1922. Chicago," Giulia said, waving the diary. "The Ripper of Monterrey had headed north to enjoy the Prohibition. Everything was forbidden…everything sounded so much fun."
"You would have enjoyed the Twenties," Elijah said thoughtfully. "The refinement, the glamour…the Charleston…"
"The booze," Giulia added, with a smile, folding her leg under her as she sat back down on the chaise, cuddled up to his side, and flicked through the old pages. "Here's a passage I particularly enjoyed: 'March 12, 1922. I've blacked out days. I wake up doused in strangers' blood, in places I don't recognise – with women whose names evade me'." She gasped, glancing at Elijah with wide eyes and her mouth in a perfect O. "Stefan wasn't a virgin when he met Elena? D'you think we should tell her Stefan is not a man of virtue?"
"Giulia," Elijah smirked subtly.
"You're probably right – let's not upset the delicate little flower," she sniffed.
"You were going to tell me how Stefan acquired the pendant," Elijah said, tapping the diary with his fingertip.
"Elijah, it's not like you to skip foreplay," she chided. "Have a little patience; this is the good bit."
"Very well, continue," he sighed, his eyes sparkling, and she shivered away as he taunted her, tracing the side of his pinkie-finger against her nipple-piercing through the fabric of her top.
She cleared her throat, focusing on the page: "'I feel alive again. There are no rules here. Nothing matters anymore. Chicago is a place teeming with life and pulsing with people I have only imagined meeting, drinking with as well as enjoying'. Here we get to the exquisite bits. 'June 14, 1922. Gloria's was in full swing again this evening, offering the very best champagne, music – and appetisers. All other ladies fade in importance, however, when she enters the room. I have spoken of her before, with her shimmering blonde hair and those immaculate lips. The face of an angel, concealing her true nature; that of a monster more devilish than even I. Rebekah. Let me repeat her name for eternity, for I know I shall love her just as long. Instead of shaming me for my actions, my darling Rebekah joins me, often cajoles me to embrace this part of myself that Alexia would have me lock away. We live in a world of macabre hedonism, and revel in it, like our very own demonic fairy-tale of blood, champagne and lust. My small flat, hidden in a respectable part of town, provides sanctuary for us whenever her brother has one of his tempers. Rebekah claims they occur often, just as her brother claims Rebekah will one day forget to love me. Over her centuries, she has loved many – the difference is, of course, that I am already made vampire. She tells me of her brother's protégé and son, Marcellus, her grief palpable; every time I wipe the tears from her cheeks, I regret that Marcel is dead – for causing her pain, I would rip the heart from his chest myself. And rip him limb from limb for choosing immortality over her – her brother made him choose. Eternity without her, or to spend the rest of his human life with her. Three years since his death, Rebekah is only just starting to heal; we began our relationship with my being a distraction for her. Fifty-two years 'in a box' and Rebekah has yet to truly forgive him for it, even in death. Our bond has grown; we are mutually infatuated with each other, making love to her is fierce, insane, and very real. We have broken my bed numerous times, and laugh so hard we cry, our stomachs hurting.
'Rebekah is the only woman I have ever loved, though she is able to compel other vampires, as an Original. We have spent our days tucked away safely in my little apartment, fucking and whispering secrets. Being naked with Rebekah is intimate – all our inhibitions are pared back, we tell each other our secrets, our greatest fears and the most desperate yearnings of our hearts. Rebekah has confessed to me her deepest desire; to be loved unconditionally, and to love fully in return with no fear of betrayal or punishment. Nik has killed all her past lovers – except the slave, his adopted son, Marcel, whom he turned. I would do anything for Rebekah – for Nik, too. It has been too long since I enjoyed having a friend. A brother. He no longer loathes me for my presence in his sister's life, though he still takes issue with my 'funny' hair. Perhaps something about me reminds him of himself, my behaviour and methods continue to impress him. Rebekah claims punishing loved-ones comes naturally to Nik: he killed most of his family; I killed my father. Both of us were spurned by our fathers, abandoned by our elder-brothers – though I believe Nik's behaviour, like mine, was responsible for him leaving. Rebekah told me their brother, her 'good' brother, departed Nik and Rebekah's company when the fires destroyed their home in New Orleans. I have heard whispers that Damon is in Chicago: at least he is learning how to enjoy his immortality. Perhaps now he will understand he shouldn't punish me for the gift I gave him by making him drink. Nik believes this, at least.'
Giulia glanced up from the page, handing Elijah a very old, black and white photograph, a very beautiful girl in glorious jewellery and a floaty, embellished evening-dress, a faux-bob of pinned curls, a disdainful little nose and a glass of champagne, being kissed on the cheek by Stefan in a fine tuxedo. Klaus stood on Stefan's other side, smirking. Elijah stared in surprise. "Stefan knew my brother and sister in the 1920s."
"It's very e.e. cummings the way he pares back his writing as the Ripper," Giulia mused. "You can tell when he's the Ripper; nothing superfluous to distract from the bare facts. When he first references Rebekah, he's still very much the Ripper; I think loving her drew him back to himself. His writing becomes much more romantic, beautiful, even…"
"May I read this?" Elijah asked, gently taking the diary from her.
"You'll want to pay especial attention to his entries around midsummer," she noted. "Everything changes – his tone, his handwriting, he's utterly confused about what he's been up to, he doesn't recognise what he wrote days before, he describes the artefacts he's found in his apartment but can't place why they're there – gowns, a dressing-table, photographs of a beautiful young-woman, lipstick…perfume that evokes a deep emotional response but he has no face to match it to… And he writes about the night police raided Gloria's speakeasy, and he found an antique pewter pendant amongst the broken glass. Look at the photographs."
"My sister…" Elijah sighed, looking over a handful of other small photographs that Giulia had found tucked in the back of the diary. He glanced at the back of some of them, finding a stranger's handwriting, feminine. Giulia turned to her own textbooks, highlighting as Elijah read through Stefan's confused diary-entries. Finally, he sighed, holding his place in the book with his thumb, gazing at the photographs of his entrancing young sister. "June, 1922. Three years. Only three years. I knew Mikael would not chase me for long, when he realised I did not intend to join them… But I confess I had expected Niklaus to last longer than three years before daggering our sister. Undoubtedly her affection for Stefan had a part to play in Rebekah being daggered. I imagine she did not outlast the night of the raid before Niklaus plunged the dagger into her chest."
"Elijah…" Giulia sighed. "Your family makes me think mine is normal."
He gave a soft grunt. "And yet, for all that they are…they are my family, still."
"And we stand by our families," Giulia murmured.
"No matter what," Elijah said, even when they don't deserve us, went unsaid, but they both thought it. Elijah sighed. "I sent Rebekah off with Niklaus the night the opera-house burned, when our father came for us… I gave her to him."
"Would he have let her go?"
"Never," Elijah said with certainty. He sighed. "In a thousand years, it was always Rebekah who stood by him. They never parted, no matter what he did to her."
"He doesn't deserve you."
She glanced up at the familiar noise, a melodic chiming like an alarm. She glanced at her phone, at her laptop – finally she realised the noise was coming from the attic. Hidden amongst the clutter of generations – she was slowly going through it, and Rose, who had taken up residence in Damon's bed, had started trying to organise things, but it was an arduous task – and protected by Sheila's magic to create a new, internal threshold only she could cross, she had set up Slater's computer system out of eyesight, out of reach.
They had been running her searches since she had plugged them in, recovering everything Elijah had wiped from the hard-drive from Slater's remote-server. She managed to navigate to the desk, using an old ottoman as a chair, and climbed on cross-legged.
Smiling, she tapped at the keyboard and the alarm stopped. Her programmes had worked. Of course, she knew they would, but it was satisfying all the same. She had created a programme that would search DMV records and security-cameras; she had found him earlier in the week, his face appearing on a CCTV camera on the street in a small town during a farmers' market on a busy Saturday morning. Like the Seventies, he still had longer hair. But he wore a t-shit with a family-owned farm's name and logo, like the younger-teenage boys around him who all looked startlingly like each other, like him. From that one image, she'd found the website for his farm-shop and café, owned and operated by "Will" and his sons and daughter. All ten of them.
Some of his sons wore Coyotes Athletics t-shirts in a family-photo on the website – mother conspicuously absent – and from there she tracked his contact-info. The DMV gave an address in rural Pennsylvania seventeen miles from where Joshua Salvatore's car had been abandoned, but no phone-number. His farm-shop was open eight a.m. to six p.m. but she didn't want anyone else to know she was trying to contact him. From Fulton High's records, which she'd hacked into yesterday, she'd acquired his personal-email for school newsletters and athletics-teams updates.
Last night, she'd sent him an email. The subject title? 'NIKLAUS IS GOING TO LIFT ESTHER'S SPELL'.
She'd given the number of her dad's ancient Nokia, which she had resuscitated for the purpose. The alarm was to tell her that William Michaels had opened the email. She eyed the Nokia, waiting. After he'd read the brief email, he might take a look at the panoramic photograph attachment. And that would take some time to digest.
She settled in on the ottoman, creating a nest, and had fallen asleep when the old-school Nokia ringtone jerked her back to life, grating her nerves. The grey screen was illuminated in green, flashing; she glanced at the number, and accepted the call.
While Elijah had been scheming with his nefarious Southern witches, Giulia had spent four hours on the phone with his estranged brother, taking notes. She'd only hung up because the Nokia had been beeping angrily at her, before it died. She'd told Elijah she had fallen asleep clearing the attic; and he'd told her he'd gone to bed early.
She fell asleep thinking how similar Willem's rich voice was to Elijah's, though he was completely the opposite in personality, extroverted – a flirt. He had a natural manner, utterly relaxed, good-humoured, feisty. And that was him knowing about what happened to Esther, to Rollo, the lies his brother had told. His younger-brother had murdered their parents. In his words; "That was a thousand years ago. I've created my own family since then."
He wanted no part in Elijah and Niklaus' war.
But he no way wanted Klaus to get off easily for what he'd done.
He had ten kids to think about, nine sons and a daughter between the ages of 21 and six. Giulia got all the gossip; he was proud of his kids. And that was weird; it could've been Dr Gilbert on the other end – a grown-adult, a father proud of the people his children had grown into, involved in their lives, and happily so.
Curiously, she had asked, "Why did you leave your siblings when Marseille was held in siege?"
"I made a promise," Willem said softly. "If Elijah will respect anything about my decision to leave the rest of the family, he will respect that." Giulia nodded, agreeing; Elijah never broke his word either. And she guessed to whom Willem had made the promise.
"It was Lucrezia you made the promise to, wasn't it?" she said softly.
"You know about Lucrezia?"
"Elijah…unintentionally allowed me to see a few memories of Lucrezia," she said, clearing her throat, and Willem's rich laugh rumbled through the connection.
"Mm. I can imagine what those memories were like. Did you need to rehydrate?"
"Yup."
"Lucrezia… She was not a woman whose bed men strayed from," he said fondly.
"You speak as if you know." There was a brief pause, long enough that Giulia raised her eyebrows. "Really?!"
"It was her birthday; I was the gift," Willem said. Giulia grinned lewdly to herself.
"And how did Elijah feel about that?" she asked, wholly surprised.
"We shared a very fervent night," Willem said, and Giulia choked on the drink she had swigged from her sports-bottle. Her mind short-circuited. Elijah and Willem. That lucky bitch!
"That's not even fair – please tell me you're teasing!"
"Not anymore," Willem said, and Giulia shivered. She made a thoughtful noise, sitting back.
"I'd never have thought Elijah would like sharing," she said honestly. She never got that impression from him. Maybe multiple women, but never another man.
"He doesn't," Willem said drily. "Or didn't – luckily our involvement was in fighting for her." She made a disappointed noise.
"Still very scintillating," she sighed lustily. "Lucky girl… All I can say is my birthday-present had better be earth-shatteringly spectacular." Willem laughed. And things started slotting into place. Lucrezia; Willem leaving Marseille before his siblings had realised it was too late to go back for him; a promise. There was only one thing more important than one's siblings; and that was someone's children. Elijah had set Gyda free to let her live the life she deserved, unharmed by Klaus. He had sacrificed his happiness with her to ensure she lived beautifully, even without him.
Parents did anything to protect their children. Esther had turned hers into vampires; Elijah went without seeing his for decades so she could have everything she deserved; she believed Lucrezia had asked Willem to protect her children – who were still alive.
After experiencing Elijah's memories of his human-life, knowing Willem had separated from his siblings in the 1040s A.D. and slipped away from Elijah in the Seventies when they had met purely by chance in Manhattan, for the first time in centuries, she had asked him one last question, purely for Elijah's peace of mind, even if she'd never tell him she'd found and reached out to his brother; "Have you had a good life?"
"I've had many great ones," Willem answered. "Thank you for asking; Elijah doesn't have to worry about me."
"You're his little-brother; he'll always worry about you," Giulia said honestly. "Although his feelings were hurt when you stood him up."
"Shaming me now?" he'd teased. "Picking my brain wasn't enough?"
"Had to get the shot in there, as we're talking," Giulia shrugged.
"I suppose that's fair," Willem sighed. "So he was there to meet Gyda?"
The only person Willem seemed genuinely upset about Niklaus having killed was Gyda. Reading between the lines, he and Gyda had managed to find ways to stay in contact over the centuries; he had spent the Seventies in Manhattan and London, where Gyda lived, with Damon Salvatore. He'd called her due to lingering loyalty to Damon; she'd kept him on the phone for four-hours purely on her own merit.
In a thousand years, no-one had ever confronted him. She had, with such punishing accuracy he had been silent for a good five minutes after she just laid it all out there.
After extracting her vow that she would not draw him into the conflict or put his family in contact with him unless he wished it, he told her everything she wanted to know, confirming a lot of things she had guessed, illuminating other details, surprised she had guessed certain things, and uncomfortable with this knowledge she had.
"So…Elena's actually Jeremy's cousin not his sister, her biological father is her uncle, and her birth-mother is Alaric Saltzman's first wife who Damon turned into a vampire, and Ric is now dating Elena and Jeremy's aunt, who used to sleep with Elena's biological father" Rose said, delicately tracing the curve of her wine-glass stem with her fingertips. "Damon turned Vicki Donovan into a vampire and then killed her; and her brother Matt was Elena's first boyfriend, and is now in an on-and-off thing with Caroline Forbes, who you said Tyler Lockwood has been making eyes at since his first werewolf transformation. Tyler is your ex-boyfriend."
"Just hearing you say all that out-loud, I have the least-complicated personal life ever," Giulia mused over her crab dip. She'd ordered one for herself; it was her favourite starter, and she was famished. Rose chuckled.
"It could only happen in a small town," she said, and Giulia smirked.
"True," she said softly.
"Thank you for telling me all this; I thought I should probably catch up on all the drama so I don't put my foot in it," Rose said, sipping her wine. "And thank you for meeting me, I thought it about time I thanked you properly for giving me houseroom."
"It's no imposition for me," Giulia said honestly, smiling. "How are you settling in?"
"Well. Your library is phenomenal, considering," Rose said warmly. "The water-pressure is unequal, and my housemates are tantalising."
"Yuck." She placed her hands over her ears, a purple nacho sticking out of her mouth. Rose grinned, sipping her wine.
He watched across the room, debating whether to interrupt. He could hear what they were talking about – Giulia was catching up her new friend on the gossip. Not important – Giulia wouldn't mind being interrupted. But something about her pretty friend with her spiky hair and pretty collarbones made his hackles rise.
Tyler was too agitated not to say anything, though; he'd bitten his tongue every time Caroline asked why he was so distracted. But if that legend about werewolves was true Tyler didn't want Caroline involved. He sighed, hitched his gym-bag higher over his shoulder and made his way across the restaurant to Giulia in her dad's favourite booth. He could smell her perfume, her crab-dip, and how tired she was, even though she looked as fierce and beautiful as she always did.
Her friend smelled like death warmed over. It made his nose twitch, he wanted to sneeze. It was the same reaction he got to Caroline, but he was starting to get desensitised to her, he spent so much time with her. They'd never been close before, never hung out; since his transformation she hadn't left him alone – and he hadn't wanted her to. Without Giulia at school, there was only Caroline who knew, and he thought the two girls had made a pact to look after him or something. Caroline always asked how he was doing, if he needed anything – even just to talk. Giulia had implied she'd been sick the night he changed; Caroline had told him at school a couple days later that Giulia had cried.
Giulia never cried. Not even her dad's funeral – and he'd hidden his tears that afternoon. Zach Salvatore hadn't deserved to die, especially not in the way he had – and Giulia deserved to have her dad around still. As much as she looked like she was handling things on her own, Tyler knew her; she was struggling. This going to UV in Richmond, all this supernatural crap, killing vampires, pulling strings – his chilled girlfriend would never have gotten involved. She used to be so laidback she was horizontal. She was Zen; he was a hurricane. They'd worked together because of that. He'd messed that up pretty bad, had hurt them both, and there was no going back; especially because he could scent another guy all over her. He wasn't jealous of the guy; he just hoped he appreciated her more than he had.
When he approached their table, the other girl – a woman, really; even though she looked to be in her mid-twenties, he could tell she was a lot older just by her eyes, mature and depthless – looked up, and smiled warmly. She had an English accent when she spoke; "Hello again. It's lovely to see you on your feet again."
"Uh…thanks," Tyler said uncertainly, glancing at Giulia.
"Tyler, this is Rose," Giulia introduced them informally, crunching a nacho loaded with warm, cheesy crab dip. "Rose, the Teen Wolf."
"Very nice to meet you," Rose smiled, chuckling softly, and shook his hand.
"Hey," Tyler nodded. She really was very pretty. But his nose kind of burned.
"What's up?" Giulia asked, glancing at him with those pale eyes as she scooped more crab-dip up onto a nacho.
"Uh…kinda need some advice," he admitted. Giulia quirked a dramatic eyebrow.
"If this has anything to do with Caroline –"
"What?! No!" Tyler blurted, flushing, and he caught the smirk on Rose's face, and Giulia's.
"Okay. Then what?"
"Look, this…this woman showed up at my house a couple days ago, just rang the bell," he said, agitated. Okay, so the woman had been hot – but he'd gotten this sense that…she was like him. And that put him on the defensive.
"What woman?"
"She said she's a friend of Mason's from Florida," Tyler shrugged. "Apparently he never made it back there."
"Well, of course he didn't," Giulia said, as if this should have been obvious. She tended to forget not everyone was as clever as she was; most of the time, that was okay with a lot of them. Caroline had told him she wouldn't want to be as clever with Giulia; there had to be backlash. Tyler's dad had wondered whether Giulia was on the more subtle end of the autistic spectrum; Tyler had retorted why that should matter. But he could see it, and it had really started showing up since her dad was killed. Her coping mechanisms, her obsessions, the intense bond with Caroline – some people might even call it dependence – and passively letting her friendships with Bonnie and Elena devolve until they no longer existed. Tyler doubted Giulia's dad would've ever gone to a doctor about it; she was who she was, and he had loved her no matter what. He'd never have forced her into behavioural therapy or shove drugs down her throat to change her into what other people said was normal; Giulia was exceptional. If Tyler hadn't known that himself, his mom saying it so often would've drilled into him. She'd been more upset than he'd been at the time when Giulia dumped his ass. When he'd finally confessed to why, his mom had sighed, unhappy, and said, "You're just like your father" in a way he never wanted her to compare them ever again. "Where's this girl now?"
"According to my mom, she's practically been camped out by our house," Tyler said; Giulia could imagine how much that set his mom's teeth on edge. "She's even complained to Caroline's Mom, but this girl went to the cops about opening a missing persons report."
"Why does she care where Mason is?" Giulia frowned. Tyler glanced around the restaurant uneasily.
"I think she's like me," he admitted, and Giulia's eyebrows rose. Otherwise her face was like marble, not showing anything.
"Okay."
"That's it?"
"What –?" Giulia looked startled, glancing from him to Rose and back. "Uh…what else?"
"Well – that's it!" Tyler blurted, confused. He stared at her.
"I don't know what you're asking me, Tyler," Giulia said gently.
"I don't know – do something!"
"What? We can't have her assassinated because she's come looking for your uncle…I suppose," Giulia sighed.
"Look, I just – I don't get a good feeling about her being here, and you said Mason left because of his psycho-ex –"
"You're paraphrasing – but yes, that works," Giulia interrupted, frowning gently.
"I just don't want Mason to get into trouble because of some chick he left behind in Florida when he came back to town," Tyler said, sighing heavily. "If there's something you can do to make sure that chick he's running from doesn't find him…"
"Oh, she's taken care of," Giulia said confidently, waving a hand. "Alright, I'll talk to Liz."
"Why do you need to talk to my mom?"
"Hey, Caroline!" Giulia beamed, as Caroline bounced into the booth next to her, stripping off her jacket.
"Hey. Hi, Tyler," Caroline beamed, and Tyler nodded, feeling flushed and uncomfortable. "So what's going on?"
"Some girl has shown up on Tyler's porch looking for Mason," Giulia told her.
"A guy like that, I'd chase after him if he was mine, too," Caroline smiled, searching the menu. "Hey, wait, wasn't he with Katherine?"
"Tyler thinks this girl is a werewolf," Giulia said quietly.
"Do Stefan and Damon know?" Caroline asked, her eyes wide.
"Let's not send up the WonderTwin hero-hair signal just yet," Giulia said gently, chuckling as she scooped up some more crab-dip. "Oh, I'm glad you're here, Caroline – I wanted you to be there when I gave you this, Tyler."
"What?" Tyler asked curiously. He hadn't seen Giulia in a few days – going to different schools meant he really appreciated the fact that Giulia wasn't around all the time. He couldn't shake Caroline; she was like a golden shadow everywhere he looked. But she was the only one at school, in his life besides Giulia, who knew. She and Giulia had witnessed his transformation; no-one else could possibly understand what he had gone through. The fact that there was someone close by who knew…that meant everything to him right now. Someone he could talk to when he freaked out in the middle of Biology, and was afraid of his training in case he hurt someone – he'd put Giulia in the hospital with concussion and bruised ribs! What if he hurt someone he couldn't explain things to?
Giulia unceremoniously placed a ring in his palm. He hissed; it stung, and he shot Giulia an accusatory look as he hastily dropped the ring on the table.
"What the hell is that?"
"You need to put it on," Giulia said, sighing and rolling her eyes.
"It hurts!"
"It won't," Giulia said coaxingly, offering him the ring again. It was the kind of thing he'd pick out for himself, half sand-coloured stone, half polished wood with a thin band of gold binding them together. He took it on faith, and did what Giulia said. He pushed the ring on his middle-finger where it lodged neatly. And it didn't hurt. He felt – different. Almost relieved, like when he had finished his transformation, a huge weight lifted off his shoulders.
"Your eyes," Caroline murmured, peering curiously at him.
"What about them?" Tyler asked anxiously, glancing over his shoulder; he didn't want anyone in the booths noticing his eyes glowed bright-amber in the dim restaurant.
"They glowed when you put the ring on," Giulia said softly. "It doesn't hurt, does it."
"No," Tyler frowned, glancing down at his hand. "Why did it the first time?"
"The stone was legendarily used to ward off werewolves, sort of the way wolfsbane does," Giulia said quietly. "I found reference to it in Isobel Flemming's and my own research and managed to track some down, it's not very rare."
"Really?" Caroline asked curiously, and Giulia nodded.
"There's an entire cave-system of it here in town," Giulia said. "Centuries ago the Natives who lived on this land used to hide down in the tunnels during the full-moon to be safe from the werewolves. The caves are actually made of feldspar, which refracts moonlight. Moonstones, which are a sodium potassium aluminium silicate, are a form of feldspar."
"You are a freak," Caroline said, with a fond smile. Giulia nodded, not disagreeing.
"I asked a friend to make the ring," she explained softly. "That's why you had to go through the shift at all; Miss Sheila needed the light of the full-moon to spell it. The ring will stop you from having to transform. It should also temper your more aggressive instincts, and your strength."
"I won't have to turn again?" Tyler barely breathed, processing.
"Not if you don't want to," Giulia said, shrugging a shoulder. "And we can play in the ring without you fracturing my skull. So that's another upside."
"Yeah," Tyler grinned; he liked sparring with Giulia, she was fun. Neither of them pulled their punches, and they brought out the competitiveness in each other, in a way Giulia was never competitive with anyone else. He didn't like the idea of putting anyone in the hospital; and he could wear the ring under his gloves.
Caroline beamed at him. Giulia crunched on a crab-loaded nacho and he shifted his bag, said a polite goodbye to Giulia's friend Rose, and wandered off, muttering about practice, amazed. The ring didn't burn anymore, but he knew it was there because it was new.
He didn't have to shift again!
But he noticed that woman, Jules, watching Giulia, Caroline and Rose across the restaurant with a nasty look on her face as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, the black guy she was with glaring too. Knowing he'd get his ass handed to him if he was late to practice again, he took out his phone and sent Giulia a text while he walked to his car, hoping Giulia would know what to do. He didn't like keeping his mother in the dark when he knew why this woman was in town, but he…couldn't imagine having to tell – or worse, show – his mom what he was. What he'd done.
He saw more of them over the next couple days, Jules and her friend who put him on edge. With school and practice he didn't have time to really think about anything else but trying to keep his GPA where he needed to maintain it so he could play; Caroline helped a lot, inviting herself over for impromptu study-sessions. Tyler got the feeling she missed Giulia, who sometimes didn't get home from Richmond until midnight, and was too busy trying to save them all to go shopping with her. Caroline didn't worry she was being left behind; she worried that Giulia was headed for some severe psychological fracture. A quarter-life crisis.
Well, if she did, it was a long time coming. What was it, nine month since her dad was killed? Tyler was only functioning because his dad had been a dick; Giulia had adored her dad.
Tyler had always figured if Giulia went crazy she'd end up some super-epic villain in a superhero movie as empress of the criminal underworld or something. She'd never be able to handle a nine-to-five or taking direction from other people.
He sighed, thinking of the homework he had to do, Caroline insisting he go to the Sixties dance to blow off some steam, and was already drooling over the steak he was going to order, when he frowned, his instincts prickling, and he caught a familiar scent. Ever since he triggered the curse, he had been suffering an onslaught of smells, sounds, even textures of different things felt different to him now. He knew Caroline's scent, and Giulia's, which he was still trying to figure out, he knew his mom and was coming to know Stefan Salvatore's because the guy kept checking in with him about how he was feeling – really just code for whether he and his brother Damon should be worried about having to kill him so he didn't bite them. Neither Caroline nor Giulia had concealed from him the fact that Damon would be more than happy to pluck his heart out of his chest and ram it down his throat if he so much as marked his territory on their begonias.
He knew Jules' scent now. Annoyed, thinking of his dinner, he scowled and turned on his heel, making Jules stop short, flustered at being caught out.
"Why are you following me?" he asked, not mincing his words.
She gave him an apologetic smile. "I, uh – I was actually heading to The Grill to eat, too. But I'm glad I ran into you." He didn't answer, just stared at her. He'd gotten very good at the silent glare that usually prompted people to blurt out what was on their minds. Caroline called it his resting-bitch-face. He'd learned it from his mother.
"I heard the Sheriff's Department won't be opening an investigation into Mason's disappearance," Jules said lightly. There was an accusatory tone to her words, and he didn't like the look on her face. Everything had been thinly-veiled threats and half-truths since she showed up on his porch, and his instincts were telling him that firstly she was like him, and secondly he shouldn't trust her.
"That's because he's not missing," Tyler said belligerently. He got a weird feeling off her, and with everything going on he didn't want anything to do with anyone from Mason's life in Florida. Giulia and Caroline had told him enough to convince him he didn't want anything to do with all this; and with the ring Giulia had given him, he didn't have to. "Why do you care, anyway? Are you his girlfriend?" He knew perfectly well Mason had been dating the evil vampire who'd made things happen to trigger his curse – and Mason's as well, Giulia was sure.
"Just a friend," Jules shrugged, hands in her pockets, looking relaxed.
"Look, you can't keep bugging my mom, okay; my dad just died, she doesn't need you scaring her about Mason," Tyler said. "So whatever it is you're after, just ask for it and leave." One search on Google and people would know Mason was from money; he came from a family of historical mayors in a small town, they had owned the largest plantation and had connections to the first Governor of Virginia. He doubted Mason would really be associated with anyone really bad, but money tended to bring out the worst in people.
"I'm not after anything, Tyler," Jules said gently.
"Really? You drive all the way from Florida with muscle, for no reason," Tyler scowled, indicating Jules' angry friend lurking behind her, who shifted, glaring back.
"We just want to make sure he's okay," Jules assured him, glancing over her shoulder at her friend.
"He's fine. He's trying to keep his head down so his psycho-ex doesn't try and murder him," Tyler said honestly. "If you're really his friend, you'll let him be – and stop freaking out my mom like he's chopped up in Freddie Krueger's backyard. We don't need that."
"You know about Mason's girlfriend? Katherine?" Jules' eyes sparked with recognition.
"Yeah. Mason found out she was using him; he skipped town to blow off some steam. I'm guessing Florida's the first place she'd look for him," Tyler said, as the two shared a look. The weird thing was, he didn't even need to say anything about vampires or werewolves and Mason's relationship drama was actually…normal. It happened. A crazy ex could have been the sum total of Mason's drama, a crazy vindictive ex he needed to get away from. He knew, and if his instincts were right, they'd know, that Mason's problems were a lot more dangerous.
"But you've heard from him?" Jules said.
"Yeah. He's Mason; he's chilled," Tyler shrugged. Mason had left a voicemail on his home-phone last night, telling them he was okay and not to worry; his mother had had Sheriff Forbes listen to the voicemail after panicking about how to go about reporting a missing-person. Since they'd had contact, they could rule out that Mason was missing, and Sheriff Forbes had advised that Mason was a grown man, and if he wanted to stay in contact, that was his prerogative. Tyler's mom knew better than to think regular updates on Mason's life would ever happen, he had always done his own thing, and Tyler got the occasional birthday-card. He just wished Mason didn't need Giulia threatening him to call home; he knew Giulia had called Mason. She'd given him the phone he had used to leave the voicemail.
"Well…I guess I'm sorry we bothered you," Jules smiled, but it wasn't an honest smile. "I'll apologise to your mom for scaring her."
"I'd appreciate that," Tyler told her.
"Just – if Mason calls again, tell him we're in town, and we've been worried about him," Jules said.
"You don't need to be," Tyler told them. He didn't mention that he'd also received an email from Mason telling him he was sorry about his curse being triggered, and that he was coming back to Mystic Falls to help him. But he was making his way carefully, and didn't want too many people to know. "You wasted your time coming here."
"Maybe," Jules shrugged. "Maybe not. We'll see you around, Tyler." He'd prefer if he didn't, but he thought it'd be rude to say so.
This town had way too many secrets and he and his friends didn't need this aggravation too.
A.N.: Introduction to Jules. As Mason is still alive, things will unfold a little differently.
