It didn't take long for Caroline to realise she had been compelled. The nagging sense that her thoughts were not her own seeped into her conscience mind. She glanced at Klaus, sat across from her at the camp side. He had his back to her, his attention fixed on the task of dinner, her first food since arriving in New Orleans.

"I thought I'd get some Cajun cuisine. Not caged rabbit," She scorned, taking in the caged fauna of Bayou, tiny little eyes stared at her. Tiny hearts beat faster.

Wallace, smiling at the quip, looked over his shoulder at her. Resilient was not the word for Caroline Forbes, he had gathered from an exploration of her memories and thoughts. Piecing together the fragments inside her had been akin to a 500 jigsaw puzzle without a box picture. An enigma, a prettily supernaturally prime puzzle. And she could be compelled, so easily. Playing mind games with people was always hit and miss, Wallace reasoned to himself. It depended upon strength of character, resolve, a natural want latent within. And Caroline naturally wanted Klaus. She had said so under the first questioning, but she knew that – deep down – this wasn't her Klaus. Hard for her to fathom at this moment in time. Another doppelganger.

"What gave it away, love?"

She shifted position. Crossed her jean covered legs, smattered with dirt and grime and her own blood. She pushed her hair back, the movement quick enough to catch Wallace off guard, so he tensed. She frowned at the imperceptible change that she had felt. With more bravado than she thought she could muster, she shrugged and replied, "He would never use compulsion on me. Plus, the torture was a bit passé. No flare, y'know?" She cast him a curious look. So who was he, this doppelganger, this...Demon? The word floated before her. It was not her word and she recognised at once it had been planted. Something of her consternation must have showed on her face, "Is that what you are? A demon?" Caroline leaned forward, to catch the glow of firelight on his face – to see if she could imagine the demon within. She couldn't, the firelight glow highlighted only his strong cheekbones, his stubbled sandy jawline. His features so familiar to her, to her memorised touch, "That's impossible." She said flatly. Shaking her head in disbelief.

Wallace tilted his head to one side, and his eyes glowed red embers in the dark, "Any more impossible than what you are? What you've seen? Honestly, Caroline, can you be any more naïve in your thinking?"

Demons had been a myth she had heard of. A myth, she mused, much like everything else that had become real in her life. She had read – she'd had a good 4.0. A keen student – even in death, though with the speed reading abilities it meant that she devoured books more consistently than she had before. Increased patience. Increased attention span and stamina. And what she read about Demons chilled her deeply. Here, in front of her very eyes, was a being whose capacity for...everything – vengeance, hate, love, life – was without measure. She wasn't comfortable with the Demon looking so much Klaus. Not only did it unnerve her, but the irony of the situation hadn't escaped her either.

"Perhaps you're right," She considered her words carefully. That was something the books had mentioned, the power of word play, The power of influence through the wrong words, or the right words. Klaus – the demon – studied her. His expression of deep thought so etched in her mind that she glanced away. Stared down into the flames.

"Now – would you like a drink?" He proffered a glass. The liquid clearly thick and crimson. She wondered about Greek myths; about the underworld and Persephone. Queen of the Underworld.

Wallace placed it on front of her crossed legs and squatted to the ground. Predatory, "I can read you. And you're right, you should be worried." Sighing, he turned from her, back to the caged animals on the edge of the encampment. Dragged his fingers loosely across the front of the pens, "But not about the drink. It isn't cursed. There's no magic in blood that I offer – and animals are pure enough not to be spelled so easily. I haven't the time nor the inclination to. I have a bigger picture in mind." He smiled guardedly, "Your story is just beginning, Miss Forbes, just beginning. Remember that. And stay here." She blinked and he had gone, but the impulse to run had fled and she was rooted to the spot. A statue of patience, glaring at the glass in front of her unable to move.

New Orleans in full festival flare was a sight of magnificence. Streets, narrowed and wide, spilled out life into the deep heat of day and night. The flow of living beings, clustered with warmth and life bit at the heart of every supernatural being – alive and dead. The harnessed phenomena of such a gathering of peoples caused a drunkenness of the spirit. Caused chances to be taken. Klaus wound his way through Bourbon St. There was, for all the lack of space available, a very definite line that he walked. Mardi Gras had begun. Voodoo French influence and superstition. His reckless character loved it. A dancer, sequined up, sashayed into his view and he took the opportunity to fleetingly just watch before, as if a butterfly being pinned by a botanist, he motioned across to her. She did not resist as he turned her palm over and drank deep from the vein. The blood spilled effortlessly down his throat, invigorating it as holy water from a fount invigorates the priest. This connection all vampires felt at the the taste – this knowledge, the knowing of the person, images and thoughts, feelings and dreams gulped down eagerly. That was the price for immortality. That connection, sudden then gone and constantly denied it forever. Living vicariously, day in, day out. He let the wrist drop and walked on. Ignored her confused look; offered no explanation for the moment that had been taken.

God, but what was wrong with him? He had everything. He knew that, he'd ensured it. Everything. Here he was, by far the most infamous of creatures in darkness. Not just mooning but yearning. Fool he said to himself. Romance is dead. Life is dead. You are dead. Now stop feeling, switch it off. Concentrate. There was more important things to attend to. The coven he had uncovered in the Bayou had designs not just on his order but also on something else. They had died before revealing their true purpose. The coven leader had engulfed herself in flames. Cinders before his eyes.

"If you're going to creep up on someone, you should at least attempt to mirror the sound of their steps," Klaus stopped in this tracks and turned to his follower. Marcel, his protege, his surrogate and competitor nodded his head in assent.

"Sure, bon ami, but I am not so foolish as to come alone," Twelve other figures in the crowd looked at Klaus. Tensed muscle – flight or fight. Klaus laughed hollowly.

"Good show, mate, but I hardly think that would be enough. Enough. What would make you so foolish to confront me here? Not only foolish but unsporting too," He chided, his voice lowered to a growl. Klaus assessed his risk of injury. Marginal – they were, without doubt, all new and untrained. I can't believe I trained him so poorly, he internally rebuked himself.

Marcel warily approached. He did not need to shout or talk overly. The words he whispered were heard only by Klaus, "Silas. Silas has not finished."

Klaus' expression hardened, he stalked towards Marcel, his gaze never leaving his, "What did you say?"

"I said: Silas has not finished. If you come for a drink, in less lively surroundings I can explain more. Otherwise," Marcel gave a grimace to indicate it would be Klaus' loss.

"I'm not playing, child. Now leave me. Leave me now." Klaus took another warning step, the wolf inside him readying for a pounce. That was enough for Marcel, he backed away, hands placatingly in front, before immersing himself into the crowd. Klaus spun round slowly to ensure the others had followed. They had and he was alone.

Silas was not finished. Not finished.

That could only mean one thing. Pain.