I Like the Way You Die

With the Abattoir tainted and the city taken over, she had heard Klaus had taken a residence at a hotel in town, the bayou becomes her home. Perhaps not in comfort, but in all ways that matter. She feels safe here. Prowling through the cypress and leaving impressive footprints in the mud. A great, backwoods beast that no one can touch.

There's a preference for her body in this way. When she puts on the skin and she looks down to see claws where hands used to be, she's protected. Occupying this great lumbering space to become a creature that was fearsome. It makes her wonder. Would Klaus fear her too if he saw her in the night? Would she scare him like he scared her?

She relishes the thought of becoming something that could scare him.

When she's halfway to Eve's home with the sutures, gauze, and clotting sponges to sustain her trauma kit, half a dozen witches melt away from the trees. Two men and four women. The oldest of them breaks away from the group and holds out his hand, muttering a spell in Latin. Elena doubles over and falls to her hands and knees. The pain lancing from her spine through to her head.

They're overly confident as they advance on her. Three witches on one side and two on the other while the older man stays in front of her. He reaches out as if to touch her. If he does, she won't stand a chance. Her heart will burst before they even find out what's underneath the skin.

His hands never get close.

Jackson leaps between them and bites down on the witch's hand. The bones crack and crunch like a symphony in Elena's ear. The chanting is replaced with screams and the pain is gone. She gets to her feet and looks around wildly. Two other wolves that she doesn't recognize have joined the fray. She's certain under Jackson's orders.

A younger witch, a woman with a messy ponytail, tries to run past Elena. She takes a swipe at her and her claws catch in her hair. She slams the woman down to the ground by the back of her head. She screams as Elena's sharp maw descends on her. Savagely taking out her neck. The screams turn to a sick gurgling noise. The three other wolves have descended on the witches. Ripping at their bowels and tugging at their corpses.

A yelp catches her attention. While his accolades bleed out around him, the witch that started the attack gets the upper hand on Jackson. Throws him back against a tree. Jackson lay uncomfortably still and Elena sees red. Launches her body recklessly toward the witch. Galloping on all fours and springing into him. Knocking him down and rolling in the mud with him. Pining him by the chest.

At first, he seems shocked but that quickly turns into fury. He sneers and begins to chant but Elena shoves her claws down his throat and in a swift motion she drags her hand down. His joint splits and his jawbone hinges off. Blood spurts and his eyes roll back into his head.

Elena stumbles back, unbothered that her hand is covered in blood. The other wolves whine and lope in varying circles around Jackson. She finds the edge of the skin and lets it fall to the ground as she races to Jackson's side. The wolves back away but keep a careful eye on her. She doesn't pay them any attention. She leans against the tree to cradle Jackson's head in her lap. Stroking a reassuring line down his head until he blinks his eyes open.

"You scared me." His massive paw is in her lap pushing up until his snout is next to her face. Whining low and licking the blood off her cheek. "Yeah, you."

A deep rumble erupts from his throat that she ignores. If he were human, she's sure she would get some kind of a lecture. She's grateful for the crescent moon shining among the stars. Continues to absently pet Jackson as he settles in her lap. The two wolves have gone running through the bayou with their howls chasing after them.

Once her anxiety has waned, Elena trudges over to the wolf skin laying on the ground. Gathers it and the trauma kit in her arms and finishes the rest of the walk to Eve's house with Jackson at her side. Occasionally, he brushes against her with the thick, course fur around his neck. When she looks down at him, their eyes meet and his ears perk to attention.

The kit is left on Eve's doorstep with no note. They don't need one. She sits on the front steps for a second and kisses the part of Jackson's forehead where the color of his fur changes. "I'll see you on the next full moon. Maybe we can actually have fun instead of whatever tonight was." She leans into him, rubbing her cheek against his fur to soothe the both of them. "Thank you for saving me."

No one, not even the vampires, had ever followed her so deeply into the bayou before now. Tonight was clearly a coordinated attack. An ambush. They hadn't anticipated that the wolves would have been trailing her. Neither had she.

It was troubling that it should be the witches.

Returning to Sophie's apartment is out of the question now. She can't go to her with accusations against the witches. Marcel would be more than happy to hear about the attack and all she'd have to do is change a few details. He'd use it as an excuse to punish them. But she wants answers not retribution.

That she's already gotten.

Vincent answers the door in grey sweatpants and a comfortable maroon jersey shirt. She's noticed so far that he favors muted tones and fabric that breathes. His expression doesn't change when he sees her, but she's growing used to it. He's like the air; passively observant until it stirs.

"I didn't think I could bring this to anyone else." It was close to midnight when she reached out to him. Called twice before he picked up. He still looks half-asleep. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Not at all. Come in." He waves her into his apartment, no games, no teasing, just an invite. The living room and kitchen are a single open space with windows that are like huge portals to the streets below. Vincent looks down to the wolf-skin covered in blood and mud. "The bathroom is this way."

While she runs water and soap over the skin in the sink, Vincent leans against the doorway waiting for her explanation. "I was out in the bayou to bring some things to Eve. It was quiet until it wasn't. Witches. They were using magic, but I guess it doesn't matter that far out."

"What happened next?"

The last thing she wants to tell him is the truth. Wishes she could blame it on someone else, but looking into his discerning eyes she knows she can't. "I killed them. I used my claws and fangs on them until there was nothing left."

She waits for his disapproval but is shocked instead.

"Good." He reaches out to take the wolf-skin from her and hangs it over his shower. Heads back into the living room without another word until she joins him on the couch. "You seem surprised."

"I thought you might be upset."

"And you still came to me?" She nods and he leans forward on his knees, considering his next words. "Witches are only really loyal to their own covens. With nine in New Orleans, that makes the situation a little more complicated. And even within covens, friction over the path forward can make that loyalty tenuous. Witches are sometimes as individualistic as vampires."

"You're not mad?"

"You were in the bayou, not the Cauldron." Vincent is concise in his distinctions. "The witches were in wolf territory trying to attack their protector. You only did what your name suggests. And what do mothers do if not protect their children?"

Vincent reaches out and lays his palm on top of her hand. She stares at it for a moment, surprised that he would touch her when he's been so careful to avoid it. "You should stay tonight. We can talk more in the morning." When she eyes the massive windows, he smirks. "Don't worry about that."

After he darkens the room with curtains, Vincent disappears into his bedroom. Elena unpacks her bag and plugs her phone into the wall by the television. She takes a step back and admires the words etched into the paint. A white wall scratched out to reveal the black paint underneath. Curved lettering of words she doesn't understand.

"Spells," he explains as he reemerges into the living. "In Latin. Some of my favorites. A few that protect this place. Plus, I thought it would look good next to the brick."

"It does." He hands her a pair of his own sweatpants and an oversized shirt along with blankets for the couch. "Goodnight."

Soon she can hear him sleeping. Notating the way his breathing deepens and his heart rate slows down. She turns to her side to stare at the spells etched into the wall, trying to guess what they might be. She used to have difficulty sleeping in a strange bed. It took her awhile to get used to her friends' homes when she was a kid. The anxiety of not remembering where she was when she woke up. The emptiness in her chest came when she realized her mom wasn't the one in the kitchen. The emptiness that persisted with the fact that her mom would never be in the kitchen again.

It's her mom she dreams of when she sleeps. Her mom and a desire for home.

In the morning, Vincent walks around the kitchen to fix a bowl of cereal and coffee like her presence is a normal occurrence. When he grabs a bowl and spoon, he leaves out extra for her but sits at the kitchen table without waiting for her to join him.

"I wasn't sure how you felt about food," he explains as she holds up the box. She pours a cup of coffee, laces it with vervain to choke down, and sits at the table opposite him.

"It's not bad. But not needed."

After breakfast, the blinds stay shut and Vincent hands Elena some training mitts while he wraps his own hands in grey athletic tape. "What are these for?"

"I like to do things while I talk. Plus it might help you."

"I'm a vampire, Vincent."

"You're not only a vampire though." His eyes shine with a wry humor. "Do you mean you're too strong to bother knowing how to fight? Do you think witches only rely on their magic?"

She thinks about Katie and Monique with their stakes. Threats but only to weaker vampires. The moment Katie took one to Marcel, she died. "Don't they?"

"Only the foolish ones." Vincent taps Elena's elbows to hold her hands up. He begins warming up and getting in the motion with her. "Witches are more than their magic. We are all elements of our humanity equally. To deny one shows a lack of foresight. The body must be in alignment with the mind and those with the spirit."

"And the same for vampires?" His blows begin to land harder and Elena has to steady her posture. Adjusting to the right strength to match.

"It's the same for all creatures." The muscles in Vincent's shoulder jump with every jab. "Vampires that only rely on their strength are as limited as witches who only rely on their magic."

"And werewolves too?" she asks, concentrating on the pace and rhythm of his combinations. She's beginning to predict and meet him where he lands.

"You love your wolves." Vincent's eyebrow raises slightly when Elena stumbles and his fist connect with her shoulder. The blow glances off and for a moment dark veins creep under her eyes. Vincent drops his hands and sets his shoulders back. "Would you deny it? That they aren't what propels you? What about Jackson?"

"What about him?"

"You know how he feels about you, right?"

"I never thought you were a gossip." Elena eyes Vincent unwrapping the bandages from his hands. Rolling them up and setting them on the console. He doesn't take the bait so she relents. "Fine. Yes. I know. He's mentioned it."

"And?"

It's infuriating how short he is with her when he wants her to talk. "And what? I'm a vampire. He's a werewolf. Is there anything else to say about it? In what world would we make sense?"

"You're lying," he tells her simply.

"Jackson is a good person."

"And you?" He leans against the arm of the couch and motions for her to come closer so he can pull off the sparring mitts. Elena gives him one hand at a time while she contemplates her reasons for not acknowledging her feelings for Jackson.

"Shit, hold on." Her pocket buzzes and she tries to take back her hand but Vincent isn't done taking the mitt off yet. She's impatient but Vincent is precise with his movements. Slows down time. She almost forgets about her phone until it buzzes again. "Sophie texted. Klaus and Rebekah kidnapped her. They're holding her outside of the city. Questioning her about the Harvest."

"It's not that much of a surprise. Klaus wants to take control of the city from Marcel. He needs to know what's been happening here in order to do that. You can't control what you don't know."

"She's asking me to come save her." She's a little more than irritated. Hasn't spoken with Sophie since the night she kicked her out of the apartment. But her fear spikes and the draw to make sure Sophie is safe is stronger than any frustration. She eyes the blinds and sees the sun still peeking through the edges. "I can't do anything until sunset."

"Then your witch will have to wait." Vincent digs around in the bin and throws her a pair of wraps. "Or be clever."

They switch roles and Vincent holds up his hands for her. Coaches her stance and follow through. Guiding her arm. Twisting her hips to explain where her power comes from even though she's certain her strength comes from vampirism. She has to be mindful of her control and soon her punches flow. She knows when to pull back and when to land with a kick.

Hours pass. They rest when Vincent calls for one, which isn't as often as Elena would have assumed. Switch positions to keep engaged until the light behind the curtains begins to dim and her phone buzzes again. "Klaus is gone. Marcel called him to some bar. He knows about the dead witches. Rebekah is taking her to the bayou to get them before Marcel can find them."

"They need to consecrate them or risk losing their power forever." Vincent dabs at his neck with a hand towel, soaking up the sweat on his skin. "Marcel would burn the bodies rather than allow the witches retain any power."

She paces through his living room, building a path from the couch into the kitchen and around the island. "I feel so useless."

"Come here." Vincent tosses his equipment into the bin and motions for her to join him in his office. Books line shelves from floor to ceiling and she spots a well-loved chair in the corner where she can imagine him spending hours reading into the night. He leans over a table spread from end to end with grimoires and hand-written notes. His fingers spread out as he highlights important documentation. "I've been looking into how the curse on the Crescent wolves was created. It's important to learn how things were put together before you can attempt to take them apart."

"You've been researching this?"

"That and if there was any history of witches in the French Quarter Coven that were buried outside the cemetery." He hands her a ledger of births and deaths within the coven. Elena scans the page and quickly finds Brynne's name. Died and consecrated shortly after cursing the wolves. "Only an elder can make another elder. Even in death. I was hoping we'd get lucky and find one that went unconsecrated. In case Agnes tries to make her own grab for power. I don't want the Tremé being cut out of this and Sophie seems reasonable enough."

"You're doing both?" The fact that he is including the wolves in his research hits her in the chest and doesn't let go. That he hasn't set them aside but prioritizes them the same. She could cry. "Have you had any luck?"

"Unfortunately no." Vincent pulls back the desk chair to sit. His hands fall in his lap and she can see the irritation in his lips when he leans back. "It's tough to guess what or how another witch approached their magic without insight. I'm creating it based on how I'd craft the curse, but Brynne Deveraux and I are two different witches. There are too many variables to factor."

"It all hinges on her." Elena takes the ledger to the chair and curls her legs under her body to look through the names.

"At some point, yes. But maybe if we can offer a way to make Sophie an elder, then she'll be more apt to hand over her cousin's grimoire? It's a big ask so we have to come to her with an even bigger gift in exchange."

Vincent returns to the desk to continue crafting the curse while Elena scans the pages to look for witches who died without consecration. She ticks off names as she gets to them. The list is small. Witches were keen to keep their power. As she wades through centuries of life and death, Elena can't help but notice a recurring tragedy that seems to be a silent generational curse. Young witches who all died around the same age. It makes sense given that supernatural beings tend not to live to old age but she notices one common theme in the deaths.

They are all self-inflicted.

Finally, night has fallen and Elena checks her phone for updates from Sophie. The only helpful information she can give is that they found the witches and are headed back to the house, but even she doesn't know where the house is. Vincent looks up at her, the desk lamp framing the curiosity in his eyes.

"Are you going to her?"

"She doesn't even know where she is?" Elena bites at her lower lip until she draws blood. Licks at it until it heals. "How am I supposed to know where to go?"

"You have that bond with her. Use that." Her nose wrinkles as she tries to understand what he's telling her. Vincent seems more amused than annoyed that she doesn't get it. "You share a bond with the witch and the wolf. Don't you ever wonder how Jackson always finds you when you need help? He can sense you in the bayou. He's in tune with his deeper senses and that bond he shares with you."

"Do you know everything?" she sighs and drops the paperwork on his desk, leans against the edge with her arms crossed.

"Not in the slightest. You had been gone for three months and I've been curious," he laughs and she realizes that today is the most relaxed she's ever seen Vincent. He reaches out and touches her silver chain, wraps it around his fingers and admires it. "What you are and what you're capable of."

"Is that what you mean by not just a vampire?" She tilts her head, watching him stroke the chain delicately. "Because I'm a doppelganger too?"

"In a way." He drops the chain and it dangles between them. "You should go. She needs you."

She bolts out of Vincent's apartment and through the city. Uses what she practiced first with Lucy and slows down to check in with her body. Strangely, she does feel subtle differences. It sits on her skin and extends out from her nails. She feels it like electricity down her spine and she knows she's heading in the right direction. Out of the city, but not into the bayou. At the edge of both. Elena follows the sensation as it takes her from the lights of the city to the quiet of the country, all the way out to an old plantation house.

The dirt road is long and Elena approaches the home cautiously, not sure what she'll find there other than Sophie. Of that, she is certain. She can hear the sound of the bodies sliding against the truck bed as Rebekah and Sophie load them in. Can hear Sophie reveal a dirty secret she hadn't trusted with Elena. The truth about what happened to Sean O'Connell and the massacre. It pours so freely from her mouth that it makes Elena want to bite down on those lips to keep the secrets where they belong. It disgusts her to know now that Marcel wasn't off about the witches. Bastianna had hexed an innocent man to get back at Father Kiernan for his refusal to support their cause.

It makes her wonder what else he might have been right about.

"It was horrible hearing what happened afterward at the church." Sophie's head jerks when Elena purposefully kicks a rock to alert them of her presence. Rebekah smiles, having been aware of it for much longer than the witch. "Elena?"

This, she worries, justifies Marcel's paranoia that the witches were also behind the mass deaths months ago that took out a third of his vampires. "I came as soon as I could."

She wants Sophie to acknowledge what Elena overheard but she doesn't. It strengthens Elena's resolve to not tell her about the wolf-skin. She's not sure she can trust her if this is a secret that she could hide without breaking.

"Of course you called in help. Too bad she's shackled by the sun." Rebekah brushes past Elena on her way into the house, shoving her to the side in dismissal. "Best to find someone more useful in the future, dear."

They drive from the plantation house to the Lafayette Cemetery in silence. She waits for Sophie to acknowledge what she overheard but she never does. Doesn't want to bring it up herself either. Part of her is relieved. Sophie's lies make it all the easier for Elena to justify her own. To alleviate any guilt she may feel about hiding the wolf skin from her. To keep her alliances with Vincent and Jackson a secret even from her.

As she parks the truck next to the cemetery, she clears her throat to explain that they closed it off after the Harvest at Jane-Anne's insistence. Sophie stands across the barrier and invites Elena in without looking her in the eye. They make quick work of all the bodies, keeping them wrapped in sheets and leaving them in the mausoleum.

"Sabine will help me with the consecration tomorrow," Sophie explains adding in the unnecessary detail of who is helping to overcompensate for the anxiety Elena can hear in her throat.

"How did they die?" It's cruel, teasing her like this. Pretending she doesn't know. Lashing out and using ignorance as subterfuge.

"Sabine means well but she claims she had a vision about the Wolf Mother." Sophie takes a seat on the ground and fiddles with her bracelets. "It's clear whatever it is, it is for the wolves and not the witches. Anyway, she said that it held great power and was sent as a challenge to call us out for our part in cursing the wolves. The rest heard that and immediately blamed my family. They went out to deal with it. Maybe kill it and consecrate its blood into the ground to see if it would help restore some of our power."

"Do you believe that?"

"I think the Harvest is the only path." Elena stays by the doorway and Sophie looks up to her. The distance between them waning. "I think what they did was foolish but I can't blame them. I can feel our connection to the Ancestors fading. Our link to nature is getting weaker by the day. It makes people desperate."

"And Sabine? Do you think she's playing on that desperation?"

"No," Sophie shakes her head definitively. "She can be dramatic at times, but she's a good person. Her talent is in premonition and who am I to say what she sees or doesn't see. But I do know that she would never lie about one."

It feels like Sophie is grasping at straws trying to divine the truth and Elena is skeptical of her ability to judge character. Her mouth opens slowly and her eyes begin to shine, but whatever she's about to say is interrupted by a sudden rumbling in the earth. Dust falls from the roof and Elena is quick to use her body to block anything from falling on Sophie. It only lasts for a few moments and stops just as quickly. Elena extends a hand to help Sophie stand. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?" Sophie's eyes are wide, panicked. "Earthquake?"

"In New Orleans?" Elena raises an eyebrow. She's not familiar with earthquakes and where they can or cannot occur, but it does seem strange. She looks around, waiting for the aftershock that never comes.

"Elena," Sophie begins. The thought from earlier is not so easily quelled by a natural disaster. "How long – how did you find me?"

In the absence of a natural explanation, what was left was always supernatural. She has an inkling of what it might be and wants to get there before Marcel can cover it up. She would stay with Sophie and dig around in this conversation until they got to the real issue, but she doesn't have the time. "Get home. Stay inside. Text me when you've made it back to the Cauldron safely."

She leaves Sophie to finish her business in the cemetery and heads toward St. Anne's on her own. Thoughts of Vincent being right nip at her heels, wondering if the earthquake might be a sign that Davina can't control all that power.

From the frantic way Marcel is walking through the confused crowds, Elena assumes her hypothesis is correct. She's quick to cut a line between a family of tourists to appear at his side. "What was that Marcel? Magic or nature?"

"You felt that?"

They round the corner through the open doors of the Abattoir and into the courtyard, Elena doing her best to keep up with Marcel's long strides. She takes a few steps past him when he stops. Follows his gaze to Klaus leaning against the wall and perched on top of the railing. Anything he can do to stand out as if he doesn't already.

"Distracting me with stories and false pretenses? Pathetic." Klaus walks along the railing in an impressive display of stability. "I'd thought I'd taught you better than that. A shame my prodigy couldn't live up to expectations."

"No, you taught me to protect what's mine." Marcel steps in front of her, partially blocking her from view. His shoulders are squared back like he's ready for a fight. "You will not take Davina from me, you will not hurt Elena, and you will not steal the city back. Nothing else needs to be said."

"The intrinsic nature of the strong and weak is that the latter does not inherit the Earth. If I want New Orleans or Davina or even my doppelganger, then all I need to do is execute on that desire for it to be so." Klaus is relaxed in comparison, feigning as though he were examining his nailbed. "I am the king while you remain a pretender to the throne."

"If you were so strong, you wouldn't have run like you did. Like a little bitch." Marcel's lip pulls back in disgust. And she sees the way his body tenses before he looks back to her. Just now recalling the secret he told her before he even knew her name.

Klaus capitalizes on the distraction. Leaps down and his fist connects with Marcel's jaw in a loud crack. He goes sliding ten feet across the courtyard. Her eyes are on him prone on the ground when Klaus grabs her. Holds her close to his chest with his arm across her stomach to pin her down. "You've been playing at royalty with a bunch of children, Marcel. Don't make the mistake of treating me like one of your lackeys clamoring for your approval. It would be a grave mistake. I can take either of them any time I like."

His free hand is on the side of her neck, bending it at an angle and ripping off the necklace that obscures her scar. He's careful to trace the line of his own imprint against the base of her neck. Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see his fangs bared and stills to not provoke him. Marcel scrambles to his feet and launches at the two of them, but before he can he's knocked back.

"Do forgive my intrusion, but if anyone is to teach Niklaus a lesson then it should be me." Elijah stares at her, trapped in his brother's arms. Sparing a glance to Marcel. "Leave us."

"This is my home now, Elijah."

"I said leave us." Elijah gestures dismissively and Marcel looks from him to Elena. The tension leaks from the room and the fear she felt in Klaus's arms has been replaced by discomfort. Klaus holds her closer, around the waist like a lover to show off in front of his brother. Marcel shakes his head but leaves begrudgingly. "You can let her go now, Niklaus. Marcel is gone and with him your embarrassing need to prove yourself."

The wind moves the loose hairs on the back of her neck and Klaus is gone. Elijah picks up the necklace and hands it to her, dangling between his fingers. A simple gesture like he hasn't just banished her living nightmare. "Walk with me?" They leave the Abattoir and venture back into the city. Elijah parts the crowds without even trying. Men instinctually move out of his way and women are left staring in his wake that such a man could exist. She sympathizes. Sometimes, Elena doesn't believe he's real either. "Whose clothes are you wearing?"

She'd forgotten she was still wearing Vincent's sweatpants. So big that she'd had to roll up at the ankle to keep them from dragging on the ground. Her hair had been in a ponytail but most of it had since fallen out. She must look like a walk of shame interrupted. "You didn't want privacy to discuss my fashion choices."

Elijah pauses while she pulls out the hair tie to run her fingers through until it looks acceptable. He licks his lips and looks at her like he wants to say something but drops it. She wishes he hadn't. "Do you know anything about this letter? Katerina's involvement in it?"

"It was Jane-Anne. She wanted to add fire to the flames of the war between Marcel and the witches."

"Well, bringing my brother here certainly accomplishes that." She glances up at him to catch that wry smile of his that exists only in the corners of his eyes. "Is it true, that the witches desire Davina only to sacrifice her in this archaic ritual?"

"Elijah, do you have a problem with killing an innocent young girl in a ritual for power?" She raises her eyebrow at him, willing him to take the bait. But he's smarter than that. Waits her out until she shakes her head. "The Harvest was interrupted. They need Davina to finish it before the Reaping or Monique and the other girls won't be able to come back."

"That's why Jane-Anne forged the letter. To bring her child back." Elijah reaches up to adjust his collar, straightening out his tie. "And that's why Sophie is so hell bent on achieving the same. For family."

"It's always comes down to family, doesn't it?"

When they've made a lap around the compound, Elijah turns to her as they arrive back to the front door. "And whose side do you come down on, Elena? Would you choose to save the young Claire girl or slaughter her?"

"You should know better." Being this close to him has her feeling untethered. Like she could float away if she's not careful. "It was our deal after all that taught me a valuable lesson. To always be on my own side."

"Elena." Her body warms where his hand touches her. His fingers are light at the back of her arm.

It annoys her that he sees Davina as a young girl who should be protected. That he even has an opinion on the matter. Angry that he even cares when he saw her as a means to an end with Klaus. His lips part and she shrugs off all that he offers. "You should go back to that big, white house outside city limits. Rebekah misses you. And I'm sure your brother is skulking somewhere plotting his next upheaval of the status quo."

"He did seem a tad on the unhinged side when he left." Elijah clasps his hands together like he could hold onto the memory of her touch. They fall to his side and she wonders where it went. He glances around the street, but whatever he's looking for he doesn't find. "I wonder if we aren't overdue for a social engagement. Something for us all to get acquainted or re-acquainted. I'll send an invitation once I ensure our household is in order."

The noble brother is gone before she can answer.

It's ridiculous and she wants to tell him as much. But Elijah had insisted on the opera. She cranes her neck to look back at the vampires behind them. Mercy seems pleased and dressed for the occasion. She still favors red even if her hair has changed. Diego strikes an uncomfortable image next to his girlfriend, clutching her hand in his lap to put his insecurity at ease. On their other side, Rebekah stretches out in a beautiful canary gown. Somehow the length from her the crown of her head to her toes seems longer than Elena had remembered. Next to her is Marcel whose mouth had been set in a dour expression from the moment he heard about the plans.

Sitting next to his former flame doesn't seem to help matters.

Elijah had held out his arm for Elena to help her out of the car and she hadn't dropped it since. Walking through the elegant Marigny, she's keenly aware of how many enemies she can count among the party. Too many not to use Elijah to elevate her status among them. She drops his arm when they arrive at the box seats and he guides her to the row of chairs at the front.

She notices that he doesn't look at Marcel or Diego but glances more than once at Mercy. When she crosses her legs, the slit parts and exposes her thigh. Only then does he look back at her. Elena smooths out her dress and adjusts the high collar. A beautiful applique around her neck that extends down to the sleeves, connecting in the back like a cape. Preening and pretending not to note how he can't take his eyes off her.

When Klaus takes the free seat next to her, she's suddenly glad of the collar to hide the flush, though nothing can hide her displeasure.

"Die Tote Stadt." He leans across her to hand Elijah a champagne flute, red and thick. His arm brushes her stomach and she knows its intentional when he looks at her. A man in an ill-fitting suit smiles absently and holds out a tray of drinks. Warm blood spiked with champagne. Klaus hands her a glass, holding more of it than necessary to force her to touch him. "The Dead City. Have you seen it?"

"Of course not." She takes it from him, not bothering to avoid his hands. Letting her fingers slip across his like she's unbothered. Doesn't want to afford him the satisfaction that he might be able to get under her skin. "What is it about?"

"A man grieving for the love of his life. But she'd died terribly young and now he taints that love by gifting it to a lesser version."

His green eyes track her carefully. To see if she catches on. That he's talking about Elijah. Must be with the way his expression lights up in cruel mirth. She turns to Elijah, but his focus is once again on Mercy who seems determined to avoid him.

The velvet curtains are drawn, Klaus hands her a pair of antique binoculars, and immediately Elena is plunged into the drama of Paul and Marie's beautiful life together. Simple moments of a happy couple until illness takes her from him. Her nails trace light circles through the gauzy fabric at her chest as she watches this man grieve his love. Relates as he shuts out his friends and turns inward. Memorializes his wife in a beautiful painting that looms over his home and his life.

Elena brings the opera glasses to her face. To block out Klaus. To continue falling into the drama on stage.

She takes it as a betrayal when Paul finds the equally beautiful Mariette and announces that his love has returned to him. They dance across the stage until their movements become frantic and chaotic. He wraps Mariette in his dead wife's scarf and spins her until she falls into the wall. The cloth hiding the great painting falls and reveals the truth.

The poor replacement flees and leaves him alone with his delusions.

Marie comes to life and steps gracefully out of the painting. She cradles Paul in her arms as he weeps and tells him that she will always be watching.

The curtains fall again so the stage may change. She can feel Klaus's eyes on her, prodding for a reaction. She looks to Elijah only to realize that he's gone. She catches a glimpse of him disappearing into the hallway. Diego leans across Mercy's empty chair to whisper something to Marcel much to Rebekah's irritation.

No one important is paying attention so Elena leaves the box without even offering an excuse. The artificial light in the hall is more vibrant than she thought and it takes her a moment to register the dark forms in the corner. Elijah has his arm planted firmly against the wall. His head leans down. It makes sense. Mercy is significantly shorter than he is. She smirks and holds her chin at an angle.

Elena takes a step forward, trying to catch words through their whispers but she only catches their attention. Elijah straightens out his shoulders and walks away casually like she hadn't caught him in a secret.

"Don't wait too long." As he passes her, he reaches for her hand. His thumb circles her wrist briefly. As quickly as he caught her, he releases her. "The final act is extraordinary to behold."

After he's gone, Elena rounds on Mercy. "What was that? Do you two know each other?"

"You should watch him." Mercy doesn't answer. No one in this city ever speaks plainly. "Elijah is clearly a man who stays ten steps ahead at all times. Without Thierry, he sees an opportunity to ingratiate himself with one of Marcel's inner circle. He's ten times more clever than that brother of his."

Mercy tries to pass by Elena to get back to the box, but she is quick to strike without thinking. Elena grabs her arms and shoves her back. She's shocked, but Mercy finds her balance easily. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You forget yourself." Mercy twists her arm until she's out of Elena's grasp. Flips the power between them. Her fingers squeeze until she draws blood from Elena's forearm. No one's strength has matched. Not even Marcel's. And Mercy wields it with ease as her grip tightens until bones crack and Elena is dragged down to meet her face to face. "You're still a useful tool and I don't have to tell you anything."

The curtain swishes behind Mercy as she returns to the box, leaving Elena out in the hallway. She rolls up her sleeve and examines the little red half-moons around her wrist. She can hear the opera resuming in a few short minutes as the stage is set. Elena leans against the wall, licking the blood off her skin to keep it from ruining her dress.

She paces the hallway, biting her nailbed. Mulling over and cataloguing everything she's observed about Mercy and Elijah. Enough time passes that she's certain she's missed most of the opera. Not that she minds. Klaus was having too much fun taunting her over the similarities between her and Mariette. No one seemed to care much for her presence, the lack of which having gone unnoticed.

When Klaus storms into the hallway, she'd already decided on leaving to go to Vincent's before sunrise.

"Are you so disdained by our presence?" he seethes, his appearance alone surprising her. Let alone his vitriol that she should have abandoned the evening. "Already done with our company?"

"If you want me to go back, I'll go back." She tries to walk past him, but he blocks her every time she tries. His lips curl back over his fangs. They're thicker than she recalls. His canines now doubled. The scar on her neck only shows one set. While she's distracted, Klaus pins her against the wall. His thumb circling her the hollow at her collarbone. His long, slender fingers slide underneath the fabric.

Searching for her scar. For the smooth half circles and tiny raised indentations of his own teeth on her. His mark.

It's a trick of the light, she thinks, the way the hallway grows darker. The only light she can discern coming from his eyes as he maps out her face. She wants to ask what it is he sees, but every time she tries to talk he squeezes her trachea on either side of her throat. It's not quite painful. The pressure builds underneath his hands. It's a heady feeling to be at the focus of so much scrutinization.

The skin on her arms raise up. Tingling. Klaus cuts the space between them. She can feel his hip bone digging into the low swell of her stomach. His eyes dilate, black taking over the soft green. An unfair color on him. The way he looks at her is like driving after dark.

Hypnotic.

He's trying to compel her. She can feel it licking across her skin. Lips lightly brushing against her temple. A whisper in the back of her mind that is difficult to ignore even with the vervain burning in her veins.

"How long have you been here?" he asks her, his voice deep and melodic. She understands now why compulsion is so effective.

She drops her shoulders and lets her face go slack. Staring at the dimple in his check when he smiles and looks through him. "Since last fall."

His eyebrow raises and it feels good to surprise him. And then his eyes darken curiously. "What do you have over Marcel to make him want to protect you?"

"Nothing." Even though the act works, he doesn't like her answer. His hand tightens on her throat and she sputters out a different answer. Claws her hands against the wall without anywhere else to go. "He feels bad. Finding out the truth after he put me in the Garden. Wants to make it up to me."

Klaus licks his lips, glancing back towards the box seats. His voice deepens in a hushed tone. "How much do you know about this Wolf Mother?"

"The vampires are afraid of her." She has to fight to keep the smile off her face. It's curious to see Klaus truly intrigued. "She stalks the city and the bayou, killing vampires and witches alike."

"Do you admire her?"

"I do."

"Have you seen her?"

"No. Marcel kept too close an eye on me for that."

"Interesting." He drags his fingers down from her neck, catching briefly on the high neckline of her dress before he happens on her silver chain necklace. His eyes wander down and she's careful to keep hers glazed over. "You will forget this conversation. You will return with me to our seats and enjoy the rest of the opera and only remember that I came out to retrieve you."

Klaus holds out his arm for her, mirroring the way Elijah had done the same at the beginning of the evening. She takes it without looking at him, hoping it's enough to keep him convinced that his compulsion worked. He guides her back to her seat and she can feel four pairs of eyes boring holes in the back of her head.

Once again she's stuck in between two brothers.

On stage, a procession begins. Paul is distraught, moaning about the fear that people may judge him should he be caught with Marietta. In her absence, the situation has deteriorated. Guilt-ridden, he prays at the altar he'd built for his wife. Ignoring his upset lover until, so disgusted, Paul attacks her.

With a long braid of his dead wife's hair, he strangles her on the stairs. And then another Marietta runs down the stairs and another Paul chases her. Killing her. A half-dozen copies erupt onto the stage. Each Marietta meets the same terrible fate. The actors replay her death over and over again.

She's terrified.

At some point, the Pauls melt away into the shadows and one by one all the Mariettas stand up to unite in a group on the staircase. They walk out in unison and leave the original Paul alone to mourn the real Marietta. When his friends return to his home, they find him alone. Marietta is no longer on the floor dead but standing amongst the group.

An illusion the entire time.

They exit the stage and Paul is illuminated in a single light. He approaches the portrait of Marie and realizes that his time with Mariette was an omen. A warning of his future if he couldn't find closure. If he insisted on mourning her to the detriment of his life. Paul's voice booms from below. "When the hour comes you must go. You will rise again, I know. Fare you well, my faithful love. Life and death must part."

The actors bow and curtains fall. As artificial light floods the room, the audience stands in waves to clap. Elijah is the first among them to stand. Then Klaus. Elena rises to meet them.

"It was Elijah's idea to return to the opera, but the selection was mine own." Klaus tells her, his shoulder nudges her as he crowds her. His smile is broad. Clearly pleased with himself. It's an easy parallel to find between her and Marietta. "I hope you enjoyed it, love."

She's not sure who it says more about; Klaus or herself.