A/N: Would you believe me if I said I've been sitting on this update for two years? Probably. It certainly doesn't feel like it's been two years since I touched this, but alas, it has been. My deepest apologies. I've been in this strange holding pattern with my work, where I'll write, write, and write some more and then as soon as I edit, I hate everything. I just didn't want to jump the gun and post something unsure of where the next chapter might take me, nor if I was feeling iffy about the characterization. But I definitely have to give a shout-out to Tracy Deonn and her Legendborn series. Through that it's made me view the Bennetts in a different light, a light I want to explore like I've never done before. Hope you enjoy.


"What is sacrifice?" Sheila Bennett stood poised between two towering oak trees with a fist concealed behind her back.

Fifty yards away her granddaughter waited with feet braced apart, tense, and ready for anything. "Love," she answered.

Sheila smirked and flung her fist forward.

Red-orange swirls of aether—the substance in the in-between made corporeal—flung outward in ripples aimed right for Bonnie who wouldn't know what was headed her way until it was almost too late. The girl hadn't quite mastered slowing matter to where she might be able to stop time. That would take centuries worth of practice and skill, and after such only then a truly gifted mage might be able to stop time for a few seconds. Just seconds! But the distinct shape of the aether Sheila hurled at Bonnie finally became clear. They were arrows. Three of them.

Child's play.

She stopped the first set but in her peripheral she saw Grams flinging her arm left, right, down, up, pressing her hands together, right palm to the back of her left hand and thrusting forward from her chest. Before Bonnie knew it, she was surrounded on all sides.

Thrusting her arms down buoying herself in the air, most of the conjurations smashed into one another, leaving behind acrid smoke. She landed on the balls of her feet, dodged to the right, but hadn't been quick enough. An arrow grazed her cheek. Pain exploded as the muscle beneath bubbled, pulsed, and her skin split open. The arrows flipped direction, chasing after her. Gritting her teeth, Bonnie cursed, spun, hair flying, as she drew the rune for 'weapon' on the palm of her right hand creating a lasso to bat the remaining arrows away, disintegrating them into smoke.

Bonnie whirled to face her opponent once more. Grams, like she suspected, was nowhere to be found. Green eyes darted left and right as blood oozed from her wound.

"You think love is sacrifice?" Came her grandmother's disembodied voice.

"Sacrifice is a selfless act. What else drives a selfless act besides love?" Bonnie replied glibly.

"So you'd give every last drop of your power away if it meant saving the life of let's say, the child of a close friend?"

Bonnie hesitated, breath heaving out of her chest from exertion. "I don't know about giving every last drop of my power to save the life of one kid."

"Ah, but I thought sacrifice is love."

A thick, blue mist began rolling across the ground. It was odorless yet irritating because it made seeing hard, made it difficult to feel where Grams might be hiding. Bonnie looked up expecting the next attack to come from above. It's what she would do. Get the higher ground, get the advantage.

"I wouldn't give all of my power away to save one person…I'd try to find another way to save the hypothetical kid. Why go with the nuclear option when there's always more than one solution to a problem. Mom would never do that."

"And you are not your mother."

"I'm not you either, Grams."

"No. You're not."

Bonnie waved a hand to clear the mist out of her way. It swirled and thickened to a point she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her. "Dammit."

The whiz of movement caught her ear and she spun, not sure what to expect.

A fist came flying at her face. She leaned backwards ultimately saving her nose from the blow, but compromised her footing as her legs were swept from under her.

Bonnie crashed to the ground, saw white balls of light burst behind her eyes. Her teeth sank into her tongue, she tasted blood. Shaking the blow off, she rolled, but the heat of a powerful presence made her go still. She peeked at her grandmother. The old woman's arm was straight and unflinching while rays of sunlight beamed off her vambrace cuff and the tip of her infamous Damascus blade. The blade which was pointed between Bonnie's eyes.

"Some say marriage is a sacrifice. Do you agree?"

Bonnie swallowed before frowning. "Marriage? We're talking about marriage now?"

"Answer the question."

Bonnie breathed deeply, looked off to her left, and just as Sheila figured she would answer, instead the little chit snapped her right leg out, foot aimed for her abdomen.

Sheila, with decades of fighting under her belt, held up two fingers freezing Bonnie's leg in place. She tried futilely to pull away but couldn't undo Sheila's stasis spell. Annoyance was so easy to read in her granddaughter's pretty green eyes for Bonnie carried the same competitive streak all Bennett women carried, and hated to lose, to be bested. Sheila was positive Bonnie would do something to get back at her for this defeat. Nevertheless, this lesson would serve two purposes. The first had already been accomplished. Now it was time to address the second.

"You're right in that sacrifice is love but sacrifice is also suffering. Are you prepared to suffer for this family, Bonnie?"

Sheila moved her fingers in a figure eight splitting Bonnie's sneaker open down the middle, followed by her ankle sock. Her fingers danced in the air once more.

Bonnie was awestruck and horrified as she watched her skin peeling away like a banana, the muscles as well until nothing but the bones of her foot were revealed to the open elements. The really insane thing about it—she couldn't feel an ounce of pain. Only because Sheila willed it so. If she dropped her hand even for a nanosecond, the flood of agony would come rushing in.

Sheila was well aware of what a truly frightening sorceress she was.

"I'll ask you again, Bonnie. Are you prepared to suffer for this family?"

"Within reason," she panted nervously. "Grams…"

"You have obligations."

"I know."

"You have obligations," Sheila reiterated. "If you're to take my place one day, you have to be prepared to make not just hard choices but sacrifices. I need to know if you can do that."

"Sacrifices within reason." Was Bonnie's one and only offer.

That wasn't good enough to Sheila who let her hand slip and allowed the first wave of pain to hit her granddaughter. She saw it the second Bonnie's lips tightened against her teeth. She didn't relish this, but this was the way to make it plain so Bonnie would learn. Sacrifice was painful, and varied by degrees.

Sheila's hand lowered another few inches. Bonnie groaned and gave a short cry.

"What will you endure?"

"Not any more of this!" Bonnie grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it in Sheila's eyes.

The older witch stopped the debris in mid-air, but the distraction was enough for Bonnie to break the spell. Her foot dropped like an anvil but luckily her skin, muscle, blood vessels, sock, and shoe were returned to their original state.

Bonnie climbed to her feet and wiped the dirt off her yoga pants. "You keep pushing me like this and I won't have anything to do with this family." She turned to walk away.

"Bonnie…Bonnie we're not done."

"Yes, we are."

"Little girl," Sheila reprimanded sternly.

Bonnie dispelled a terse breath before leveling a glare at her grandmother.

"I'm pushing you for a reason."

"And that is?"

"Legacy. Your tomorrow is right now. What you do and learn and accomplish will impact the next generation that follows after you, but I have to make sure it does indeed follow. That means an alliance. Some of us have nothing but generational poverty and lack to leave behind. That can't be the case with us. We each have a part to play."

"Grams will you please tell me what you want me to do? You want me to be the Arch Witch, okay, I'll be the Arch Witch, and I know there's a condition attached to it. So what is it?"

"Marriage."

Bonnie blinked. Then blinked again. "What?" she laughed. "All right, Grams let's get you into bed."

"I'm not playing, little girl. I'm being absolutely serious."

Visibly swallowing, Bonnie switched her weight on her feet. "What I'm hearing is you want me to be a child bride."

Sheila sauntered toward her granddaughter. "Bonnie—"

"Vow of fealty, I'm fine with. Blood oaths…I'll consider. Marriage to a total stranger—no. Hard no," Bonnie finished and walked away.

"We're only as strong as the alliances we form," Sheila called out halting Bonnie in her tracks. "Feel however you want about it, it's tradition in this family…I'm throwing a party. Some potential candidates will be in attendance, and I expect you to be there. Disobey me, and it won't be pretty. Katalavaineis?"

Bonnie remained stubbornly mute for five seconds before answering, "Katalavaino."

In the present, Sheila sighed as her head fell back against the head rest. Maybe she should have broached the topic with Bonnie over a nice meal and bribed her with a gift from her favorite boutique. Maybe that might have softened the blow of the subject. But as it was said: Reflection came after revelation.

Now having word her granddaughter, her heir had been injured and labored in a coma for five days before anyone thought to tell her, Sheila felt a sliver of weariness slice through her belly. Had she painted a target on Bonnie's back? A bigger target? She was making moves and those moves were catching on.

Swaying with the car's movements as she was transported from Tangier Island to Mystic Falls, she asked Levi, "How much longer before we're there?"

"We're about forty minutes out."

"Make it twenty-five."


Fear and some emotion she couldn't name seared deep in her belly. Maybe her instincts were wrong, maybe she was misinterpreting things, or experienced a small stroke just now that made her hallucinate Damon kissing her with the kind of force and passion he reserved for doppelgangers. Yet, unfortunately, there was no denying the look in his piercing gaze directed at the only other occupant in this room—her. Bonnie's mouth moved but sound didn't follow. She had no idea what to say, what to do…

A stinging pain sliced at Bonnie's temple making her double over and cry out.

"Bonnie…" Damon reached for her.

She held up a hand while her fingers massaged the area which throbbed. "N-no. I'm fine."

"You're not," he bit out through clenched teeth. It took everything within him not to sweep her up into his arms and march back to his bedroom where he'd order her to stay in his bed until she was better. But he couldn't defy the Arch Witch. That would be a guaranteed death sentence.

And seducing her granddaughter will earn you what? Front row tickets to the concert of your favorite band? Damon mused sarcastically.

"I just…" Bonnie panted and waited for the pain to subside, which it did. Little by little. "I just need to get out of here."

"Get away from me, you mean."

She blinked up at him. "Take that however you want. I just…" Without finishing her thought, Bonnie turned and bolted as smoothly as possible.

Damon, squinting, watched the unconscious sway of her hips as she barreled from the library. Unease swept through him making the immortal crack and twist his neck a little. His mind raced on what and how much he would report to the Arch Witch if she didn't sniff out the truth herself, which she would. Her granddaughter was changed, different, and Damon was uncertain if her change in personality was the full result of being in a coma or something more nefarious. The Spathi daimons were brainless creatures that acted off impulse. Although lately their attacks seemed more coordinated, and organized. There was more to them than what they wanted their enemies to know. Nevertheless, he needed to trap one and find out if they had evolved.

Damon called his best tracker. "What's your location?" he asked the millisecond their lines were connected.

"I'm three hours out in Calvert county."

"I know you're proficient in killing Spathi, but I need you to capture one."

"Ha, funny."

"I'm being dead serious."

There was a weighty pregnant pause over the phone. "You know those things disintegrate into fairy dust the moment you stake them, and they combust in sunlight. How do you suppose I keep one alive long enough for an interrogation?"

"You'll think of something," Damon retorted, and made his way through the house, through the foyer, and eventually outside.

Muffled cursing tickled his eardrum before the gruff voice came back on the line. "You always give me the shitty assignments."

"Because that's where you thrive. In shit. Call me when you have my order." Hanging up, Damon pocketed his phone and once again found himself staring at Bonnie.

His gaze darted to Elena who purposely made her face go blank, which for her wasn't terribly hard. If she was smart she'd pretend she hadn't heard a word of their conversation. Damon knew he needed to be more discreet, but sometimes being around Bonnie he forgot that people had ears, and what they heard they rarely kept to themselves. If he wasn't the commander of Bonnie's guard, he would have been an expelled vampire a long time ago. As it stood, he had privileges, but those privileges could be revoked in the snap of the fingers.

He had to be careful. But above that, he had to be smart.

For Bonnie, nothing had jumped out at her once she crossed the threshold leaving the familiar, if not confusing, confines of the Salvatore boardinghouse. She glanced around uncertain at what she would see, find, discover, but so far the bricks were the same, the numbers on the door—the same, even the smell was the same: old pine, leather, money.

Idling in the circular driveway was a black Yukon Denali, the rear passenger side door already opened. Elena walked a little ahead of her and halted at the open door, wrapping her hand around the handle waiting for Bonnie to climb in.

The young witch hesitated just before doing so to watch Damon round the trunk and settle behind the wheel. He turned seemingly without moving to stare at her, his face silhouetted in the darkness to where she could only make out the outline of his cheek and jaw, but light conveniently caught the glacial blue glow of his irises.

That uncomfortable, pulling sensation returned to the pit of her belly.

She scrambled into the SUV with the intent of keeping quiet until she could talk to Grams, but an idea popped into her head.

"Before you take me to…Grams…can we head to the cemetery?"

Blue eyes flicked toward her in the rearview mirror, squinting at the odd request. "Why?"

"Please. I want to go to the Salvatore crypt specifically."

Damon and Elena traded looks.

"We're on a tight schedule," Damon reminded carefully but firmly.

"I understand that, but I just need to see it. Please. I'll take full responsibility if Grams gives you a hard time about being late."

Damon tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He put the truck in drive but didn't give an answer as to whether or not he'd fulfil her request.

Painful relief swept through Bonnie as they rolled through the gates of the cemetery and parked fifteen minutes later. She was out of the truck before the door could be opened for her.

Anticipation had her nearly jogging. Bonnie wasn't sure what she hoped to find or even gain by coming here. Maybe a last shred of hope that she might be able to go back to her world where things made…as much sense as they could. Maybe she was still the anchor and could pop back into the other side and see her friends still lingering, searching for her in the cemetery. Maybe they might be able to pull her out.

Maybe…

They had passed the tree stump that had served as her tiny shrine. There was nothing there but the weeds which had claimed the stump as its home. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, a little relieved and a little disappointed. Relieved she had quasi-proof she never died in this world, and disappointed that she really was in a totally different dimension. She kept going, propelling herself past the uncertainty and the rising negativity. Bonnie tripped a few times. Cold fingers were right there at her elbow to help her back to her feet, the scent of bergamot and sandalwood wafting up her nose. She merely peeked at Damon unable to look above the line of his jaw and lower lip. If their eyes connected, he might take it the wrong way.

Wiggling her arm free after the second time it happened, Bonnie continued through the forest. Headstones eventually came into view, then a few other family crypts. Bonnie's footsteps quickened as she swept past the gate that sectioned off the Salvatore family plot.

The doors to the Salvatore crypt were sealed shut. Though the windows were covered with a film of mildew, Bonnie peered inside hoping against hope she might catch a flicker of light, a moving shadow, hear the sound of Liv or Luke, or the both of them trying to reach out to her.

She was met with crushing, deafening silence. No one had been here for years.

Damon and Elena hung back, questions burning on the tips of their tongues. This was the first time Bonnie had ever asked to come here. What had she hoped to find? But more importantly, their worry for her mental stability quadrupled.

The Arch Witch, if she didn't kill them on the spot, would certainly draw out their torture.

Knowing this had been a long shot but having that confirmed made her shoulders droop. Her nose tingled as she backed away from the crypt, head tilting up, eyes on the night sky.

Bonnie carefully strolled over to a bench and sat down. The wind blew making her new, long hair dance and tickle her arms.

"I died before graduation, Jeremy…the rest of this has been a gift. I'm glad I didn't waste a second of it and I choose to be grateful….so… Take care of Elena…I love you."

"That was the last thing I said to him," Bonnie whispered brokenly.

A whisper Damon Salvatore heard clear as day. "Last thing you said to who?"

Bonnie brushed a few pieces of detritus off the stone bench, her eyes misting over. "It…" She couldn't reply "no one" because the one she had spoken those words to, he still meant something to her. She wondered what her relationship was like with this world's Jeremy. If she knew him at all.

"Elena…?"

"Yes, Duchessina?"

That title, Bonnie shook her head. "You have a brother…Jeremy, right?"

Elena gave Damon a brief sidelong glance before carefully replying, "I do."

"How is he?"

"Dead," Damon replied sharply.

Bonnie jerked at the news, at the coldness in his voice. Her head snapped towards Damon. "H-he's," she swallowed, "dead?"

Damon certainly didn't like hearing the surprise and was that panic in Bonnie's voice.

Elena stepped forward a little, "He's not dead."

"He will be if he ever shows his gotdamn face in this town again. Look, I don't know why you wanted to come to my family's crypt, but you've seen it and the Arch Witch is waiting. You might be a little confused right now but here's a word of advice, never keep the Arch Witch waiting. Let's go."

Without another word, Damon turned on his heel and marched back toward the SUV. The two young women exchanged a look to which Elena shook her head. It was painfully obvious that the Duchessina wanted details—details she was already abreast of, but considering she'd went through a traumatic event and was dealing with some amnesia, she would fill Bonnie in as much as she was allowed. Besides, talking about Jeremy wasn't a topic Elena relished any more than Bonnie being in the dark about events that occurred in her own life.

"What did he do, Elena?"

The vampire in question pressed a finger to her mouth. "Not here." She pointed her chin at Damon's retreating back. "Later. I promise."

Back in the SUV, Bonnie watched the world blur past with an expression that volleyed between confusion, fear, and something that bordered on fascination. Like a tourist in a new city.

Damon watched her. Seeing her reaction was forcing him to look at Mystic Falls through her confused eyes. He had always been ambivalent about Mystic Falls. It was a small town that certainly didn't have a cruelty-free past. It wasn't just the witches, vampires, werewolves, and daimons you had to watch out for, but also the ghosts of chattel slavery. The trees in certain parts of the town had once bared strange fruit Billie Holiday had sung about. If you listened hard and carefully enough, when the wind blew, you'd hear the songs, the music-less hymns of the enslaved plotting escape, perhaps revenge, or the promise of a future for their children they'd been brutally separated from.

When thunder boomed it was akin to the sound of gun and cannon fire as Union and confederate soldiers clashed during the Battle of Willow Creek. A small skirmish compared to the bloodier, deadlier battles of Gettysburg and Spotsylvania. Mystic Falls had survived, had not been burned down, and the reason for that could be attributed to the family he now served.

A hundred years later, a supernatural war for territory sprung up between two families: the Bennetts and the Orees. Mystic Falls, Virginia was too small a territory to fight over like vultures. However, it wasn't the square footage that witches from both houses fought over, manipulated, and schemed to get but the magic that resided in the soil, in the dirt, in the earth that flowed like a natural, untapped spring. Each claimed rights to it, tracing family origins to this obscure town back to the sixteenth century. For the Bennetts—history went farther and deeper, crossing the Atlantic to the Mediterranean and Ionian Seas and back to the time of Augustus and Jesus Christ.

In the end, the Bennetts had been victorious.

How Damon became embroiled with the Bennetts was a period of his long, 500 year history he chose not to think about.

As he remembered the past, Bonnie absorbed her present surroundings.

The street signs were different. So where the names. Neighborhoods she knew like the back of her hand were…not gone but renamed. Most had plant-based names: Dionaea Village, Pinguicula Estates, and Echeveria Yard. She didn't know what that was about, but it did nothing to make Bonnie feel any better about her situation. It was one thing to exist in the wrong time continuum, it was quite another when the place she spent the last twenty years of her life to be completely unrecognizable.

Gone were the usual streetlights of the downtown area having been replaced with gas lamps. Old school, but Bonnie had the answer for why that may have been. It would be easier for a witch to harness fire magic if fire was already available. Who would have time to look for a source of water to create fire during a fight? Ingenious, but it made the usually well-illuminated area look like the set of a horror film. It was dark, moody. You weren't quite sure what might be standing or living in the shadows. Effective in warning away outsiders, but welcoming to those of the nocturnal.

The truck turned a corner and traveled east for about two miles. She felt it. A ripple of energy sluicing down her spine. Home, that's what she felt. But it wasn't her home. Nevertheless, it made Bonnie sit up straighter. Made her clear her throat. It reminded her of the first time she felt Lucy but magnetized by a trillion. That sense of familiarity, an innate knowing. Bonnie nervously scratched behind her ear, feeling her muscles tense. Her knees began bouncing up and down because part of her wanted to jump out of the truck whereas the other part of her wanted to tell Damon to stomp his foot on the gas. To hurry up.

They rolled to an idling stop outside of a security gate. An actual security gate. In bumblefuck Mystic Falls? Bonnie's mind was blown. The guard on duty strolled up the driver side window that Damon rolled down letting the man see his face. He spoke to Damon in a mishmash of Italian and English, his dark brown eyes peering at Bonnie longer than what would be considered polite. Could he tell she wasn't this famed Duchessina everyone kept referring to her as? Would he be able to tell she was an imposter and point his gun—if he had one—at her and order her out of the truck? Would Damon and Elena finally believe she wasn't who they thought she was?

Bonnie didn't move a muscle.

Damon hated the way Jacopo was staring at Bonnie. He didn't need his sharp nose to smell the lust pouring from the man as it was plainly written for anyone to see. He snapped.

"Stop gawking and open the gotdamn gates!"

Jacopo jumped. "Ah, right. Sorry, sir. Welcome home, Duchessina."

The wrought iron gates creaked open. Damon floored past.

Her grandmother's house, or perhaps she should call it the Arch Witch's seat was more than an estate or a mansion, or even a compound, but seemed to be a village of its own. For the first half a mile there was nothing but forest, but then the roof of a boutique cottage would be spotted, tucked away like a bird's nest.

Gas lampposts lit the way, washing the cobblestone streets in soft, golden light. There were even tiny street signs, but Bonnie was unable to make out the names of those. They branched off from the main thoroughfare, which they continued to head on.

The SUV came to a roundabout where in the center was a large, stone fountain that resembled a pineapple. No, not a pineapple but a pinecone. Vaguely Bonnie recalled the significance of a pinecone. The Celts used them as fertility charms; the Romans associated it with the goddess of love—Venus; Egyptians revered it as a symbol of enlightenment and immortality, and to mystics, it could open up one's third eye. Grams had kept them around the house during the fall and winter, and she remembered seeing sketches of them in the margins of Emily's grimoire. It made Bonnie wonder if it was the sigil of the Bennett family.

The tires rumbled over a bridge and hit smooth pavement once more. They drove another three hundred feet or so, turned left and drove along the west side of a lake. An actual lake! Bonnie couldn't believe what she was seeing, but she was seeing it with her own two eyes. Maybe it had been naïve of her to think that the house her Grams had lived in, in her world or time stream, or whatever this existence was, was the same house Bonnie had grown up in her whole life. A modest, single family home with pale blue siding and a wide front porch. Not so in this reality. Nothing could have prepared her for what came into view, which could only be described as a stone paradise.

Lit outside and within, the lights created an illusory effect making the slate tile driveway look like still water. The SUV stopped at the front door of a cream colored, 3-story L-shaped contemporary style home perched on a minor hill cushioned on a bed of shamrock green grass.

The house was three times the size of the Salvatore boardinghouse; it even looked larger than Klaus' place if Bonnie was remembering it correctly. She got the sense the place was fairly new, probably no older than ten years. Or maybe it had been renovated. In any case, it was gorgeous.

The rear passenger door opened.

"Duchessina." Elena beckoned her out of the truck.

Bonnie hesitated before dropping one foot on the ground followed by the other. The protective wards of the estate shot through the soles of her feet, which almost had Bonnie convulsing. She got herself under control, adjusting the feedback as best she could. She glanced at the vampires flanking her and noticed their jaws were pressed tightly together. So it wasn't just her.

Damon led her forward where the heavy, wood and glass door seemingly opened automatically.

She was ushered through the foyer of travertine stone where she glanced at the resin artwork on the walls. In the rotunda, beneath a breathtakingly beautiful chandelier was a life-size statue carved out of mahogany of a stout woman, wearing a traditional headdress, loincloth, and beaded necklaces that stacked from her chin to her breasts. On her feet were anklets, and in her hand was a staff. Through her sightless eyes, Bonnie could sense her intuitiveness, intelligence, and pride.

"Who is she?" Bonnie asked, her voice echoing along the walls.

Damon looked at Bonnie then the statue, and back to Bonnie. He answered, "Luanda, the matriarch progenitor of the Bennett line."

A strange dichotomy happened within Bonnie. The gravity of that pushed down on her shoulders, while her head felt weightless at the same time. "I thought Qetsiyah was the…first."

"Qetsiyah is the first witch of your line. But Luanda, she is the first, period."

"How did…?"

"You have a few mediums in the family. One of them touched based with Luanda. Based on that encounter and description of her, your grandmother had this statue commissioned."

"I can't believe it," Bonnie intoned in wonder. "This place is…this place is blowing my mind."

"Then get ready for more."

They moved around the statute, heading to the left where Bonnie's jaw dropped for the second time.

In a house this size one might expect to come across fine crystal, marble, precious metals, and gemstones decorating everything from the walls, the floor, to the doorknobs. What she found instead was opulence in a rustic fashion. Dark woodwork, and flat stone, recessed lighting that added warmth to a cavernous space. Fabrics in vibrant sunset colors decorated well-made furniture, and the area rug beneath a large coffee table in the sunken living room. Her gaze traveled up along the 9 meter tall ceiling where dangling from it was a spiral chandelier. There was no shortage of plant life, the bulk of it located in a tropical garden just beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room. What Bonnie couldn't see was that the tropical garden separated the main house from the guest suites that provided each room with its own private terrace.

She turned in a circle, unable to see everything at once, as everything at once seemed to leap out at her wanting to be seen. Artwork and sculptures, personal photos in gilded, silver frames, books. Bonnie wanted to inspect everything, touch everything, but she inhaled and caught hints of freshly baked bread, cookies, and underneath that olibanum.

Bonnie started a bit at seeing a little girl with box braids sitting lotus style next to the massive fireplace…floating feathers. She couldn't help the smile that slowly spread across her face. Her green eyes wandered to Elena, but the doppelganger's attention was focused straight ahead. Elena wouldn't have made the connection even if their eyes had met, because Bonnie had never consoled this Elena by making feathers float. The pang of what she lost hit the young witch again, but she wasn't given the time to wallow as she spotted someone else. A woman probably in her mid-thirties, seated in a reading nook had her nose stuffed in a book but lifted her head enough to take a bite out of the apple that hovered within chomping distance of her teeth.

The woman and child acknowledged her with a quick bow of their head, but they didn't resume their activities. They stared. Bonnie resisted ducking and held their scrutiny. Their faces were familiar unfortunately she couldn't place their names. Yet it wasn't hard to tell they were kin.

Then it hit her. Bonnie stopped to take a second look.

"Ohmygod," she whispered.

Briona—the little girl, and a distant cousin had been struck by a car when she was six and died from her injuries. The woman—Chrysina, another cousin had died from leukemia. Bonnie had learned about their deaths while going through a photo album when she had been eleven or twelve. The fact they were alive in this existence made the hair on the back of her arms stand on end.

"I don't…" she said drawing not only their curious gazes but those of her guards.

"Duchessina?"

They should be older. If they were alive, they should be older, Bonnie wanted to say but pressed her lips together.

"Never mind." Bonnie let it go. For now. If she tried to make sense of the impossible she would give herself a headache. However, feeling their eyes on her was the equivalent of ghosts walking behind her.

More faces popped up. More members of her family under one roof. It wasn't long before Bonnie began anticipating seeing the one face she had only become acquainted with in the last two years.

Her mother's.

Bonnie's stomach dropped as she saw no sign of her, yet a vein of relief fluttered through her because she wasn't quite sure what she would say, or should say, or how this Bonnie's relationship with Abby was like. So she had a little more time to prepare.

She ran into the back of Damon who had stopped suddenly. Cursing softly, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, and frowned up at him, annoyed.

She was about to ask why he stopped when that pulse of familiarity seized her again. She peeked around Damon and her eyes enlarged.

It was her. Her grandmother. In the flesh. Exactly as she had always been right down to the cardigan. Bonnie bit into her lip to stifle a laugh as she felt her eyes turn misty. The only noticeable difference between the Grams of her world and the one she was gaping at, was the length of her curls. This Grams' curls stopped mid-chest.

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Shelia Bennett questioned with a wryly smile.

Bonnie stood there uncertain because she didn't know what the protocol was. Should she bow, curtsy, kiss her grandmother's ring? She didn't know but her feet were propelling her forward and the next thing she felt were her arms going around her true mother. The one who raised her, who taught her what it meant to be a woman, a Bennett, a survivor. She hugged Grams fiercely, burying her wet cheeks into her grandmother's neck, inhaling her all-too-familiar scent of jasmine and palo santo.

Shelia, bemused, hugged her granddaughter back. After a minute passed, she gently peeled her shaking grandbaby off of her. She eyed her looking for a lump on her head as an indication that she was suffering from a traumatic head injury because Bonnie hadn't initiated any kind of PDA since she was informed of her pending nuptials. The girl had always had a defiant streak, and in protest of what was required of her, she had vowed she would only speak to Sheila when she was required, but outside of that, she had wanted little contact with her.

"Grams," Bonnie nearly wailed.

Shelia shushed her, feeling her heart fill up. "None of that right now, you hear me. You look tired. Gone on up to your room. We'll talk tomorrow."

Bonnie shook her head. There was too much she needed to say, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to get a wink of sleep until she got everything out. Against her will, she yawned.

"See, you're exhausted. You'll feel better in the morning. I promise and don't I keep my promises?"

"Yes, but I really need to talk to you. It's important."

"You're right it is, but there's something else I need to deal with first." Sheila looked directly at Damon and Elena. The former stood there expressionless while the latter swallowed nervously. "Odetta, come take my granddaughter up to her room. Make sure she gets into bed. Have you eaten something?"

"No—"

"I'll have something brought up. Odetta."

Bonnie glanced at the woman in question. Odetta, a 50 year old woman from Mobile, Alabama who had served in the Bennett household from the age of 22 got her start as a maid, then worked her way up through the ranks and was now the personal secretary of the Arch Witch. Not only was she proficient in running the household when Sheila was away, she was a trained hunter, archer, and dabbled in rootcraft from time to time. Her dark brown eyes assessed the Duchessina with a scrutinizing shrewdness that made Bonnie feel simultaneously defensive and naked.

Odetta lightly took Bonnie by the elbow to lead her away. The younger woman tried to dig her heels in, yet found Odetta was stronger and toted Bonnie behind her like she was an errant child.

As hard as it was for Damon not to look behind him, he did so. To his pleasure, Bonnie had done the same, looking back at him, a question he couldn't decipher in her gaze. When he could, he'd see her before leaving the premises.

"The two of you meet me in my office." Came Sheila's sharp command. She made a detour to the kitchen.


A tuxedo black sedan was parked and idling beneath an overpass that separated Virginia from North Carolina. The person waiting assessed the night looking for moving shadows, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was a quiet night. A hunter's night, a night to do severe damage. If he let his mind wander, blood-red rage would take over.

Up above cars raced across the bridge, horns blared. No cars or trucks were flying down this street in the five minutes he had been parked. The stoplights directed traffic that was nowhere to be found. It was eerie despite the loudness happening above his head.

Finally a car did approach, whipping around a corner and stopping on the other side of the road. Its engine purred like a mechanical cat.

Marcel Gerard climbed out of his rented luxury sedan at the same time the driver of the other sports car got of their own.

"You need to find a way to get me out of this fucking contract. She wants a yes in two days." He held up two fingers to emphasize his point. "Two days!"

"Hello, to you, too." The person sniffed.

Marcel pressed his lips together. He didn't have patience for pleasantries. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Loud and clear. Two days. Well, that certainly doesn't give us much time to find a suitable replacement."

He snorted rudely. "Yeah, obviously. Oh, but that's not the best part. The best part is she's also demanding that I knock her bratty grandchild up. Look, I was willing to date the girl, get her on our side to where she'd practically be begging to…" He trailed off. "Damn that. Not if it means I have to give up my freedom and become a father!"

"All right. Shit. Calm down."

Marcel jabbed a finger in the person's direction. "You calm down. Shit is out of control and going off the rails and we've barely gotten started." He started to pace. "I was willing to do my part to carry out this charade, but even I have limits. Deception is part of who we are, but to deceive and enter into a covenant," Marcel shook his head, "I'm not risking it. We need to find another way to handle this."

"I heard there was a Spathi attack in Mystic Falls five nights ago. I also heard your child bride may have been involved. The daimons hate witches. If they're targeting her, she might not be around long enough for you to have to go through with the contract."

"I can't bank on that. She's protected up to her eyeballs. We need to think of something and fast."