Bonnie wakes.
From dreams of nothing, nothing at all.
Sunlight welcomes her through curtain-less windows and through the dotted holes in the second floor and the farmhouse roof, warming her face.
She covers her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her tongue is sand-paper and she feels like someone has taken a hammer to the side of her temples.
First time drinking and she had drank too much.
"You will have to learn to hold your alcohol if you are to be my drinking companion."
"But you aren't normal."
"And neither are you."
Flat on her back, she rolls to her side on the sleeping bag with the Walmart price tag brushing up against her apple cheek.
She had slept in a room on the first floor that had once been a library.
Water damage marks the walls, wavy brown lines showing the depth of each flood that ruined the home year after year. The still intact red brick hearth holds memories of fires from long ago and a bayou landscape oil painting half-eaten by white mold hangs from a nail embedded in the cracked wall, and the other two walls are lined with sagging shelves filled with crumbling bloated books.
And the remnants of her makeshift bath are in the corner where the broken bust of some Greek philosopher rests in pieces. She had washed herself off with twelves bottles of water, let four drench the stink of sweat out of her hair, and the other eight to wash and rinse out her underarms and between her legs and the bottoms of her feet.
Lifting up halfway from the rayon bag, she realizes through the hungover fog that she didn't bother to put on any clothes after her hobo bath, and that despite her efforts she still smells earthy and without proper air conditioning she was going to have to get used to being perpetually sticky.
She rises, her pert brown nipples and the soft v of where her thighs meet are in full view of the window and she wonders where Klaus slept and if he slept at all.
"Did we hate each other when I was alive?"
"Hate is a strong word. I would say that we did not know each other enough to truly hate one another. We did get off on the wrong foot, and that bad impression tainted all of our interactions after that. But I'd like to think that if circumstances had been different, if we had met without the interferences then you and I would have been valuable to one another as we are now. But you ran instead, like you did tonight."
"I ran because I was scared of you."
"I agree that you were scared, it just wasn't me that scared you."
So much has transpired for her in two days, and she can't catch her footing.
The only constant in the flux is Klaus.
Last night he told her he was not her enemy and she wants him to prove it, she wants to believe him. Because if this is to be her new life, at this awkward start, smack at the precipice of adulthood, without anyone in the world to lean on as she builds and breaks down into whomever she is becoming, then who better than the hybrid, the one who has rescued her again and again, even from death.
Klaus is all she knows.
She doesn't immediately reach for the bundle of the new clothes in the blue plastic bags, instead she observes her reflection in the window pane and looks herself over. Now that she can command the wind and fire, her hair looks longer, shinier, more like a lion with a crowning mane. And her eyes, the green is deeper, darker, they are a mossy pool of confidence that was not there before. She runs her fingers over her own face, tracing the lines of her cheeks and over the curve of her lips, fingers parting to caress the side of her mouth where Klaus had kissed.
Noticing the grimoire on the floor at the foot of the sleeping bag, she flips the heavy book open to the middle and she rubs the imprint of script and whispers the name Sheila Bennett. And she realizes that Klaus must have come into the room after she passed out from whiskey and exhaustion.
A rock is thrown at the window, and she strides over to the window sill, holding the grimoire to her heart, and she peers outward to see the vampire staring up at her from the back lawn.
"Come out, love. We have a lot of work to do."
BK
Southern Louisiana only has two seasons. Summer and Almost Summer. Summer lasts nine months of the year with a reprieve from the sweltering heat lasting only three months. Almost Summer, that cool part of the year consisting of December, January and February, is when the temperature drops down dramatically to the tepid seventies and people come out their shaded rooms and from under their ceiling fans to engage with one another without fear of heatstroke to picnic and visit their neighbors and sleep on their screened-in porches.
In the middle of September all of this is a distant fantasy.
Mosquitoes bite at the back of Bonnie's legs and the fleshy part of her arms, and she listens to cicadas string a symphony, an ode to heat, and looks out over the entire back yard which is green, green, green. Technicolor green. Green everywhere. Even the pond where Klaus has begun her tutelage and is telling her to walk across is green.
"You can't be serious?" Bonnie says, turning up her lip because even though Klaus calls this grassy hole of water in the back yard a pond, she can't see the bottom.
"If you drown, I will come get you," He smirks, "Now come on with it, Bonnie. Walk across the pond and I will meet you on the other side." He states annoyed with her reluctance.
He leaves her without the encouragement he had shown her previously when it came time for her to display her magic and she feels a little slighted and insecure despite all the growth she had achieved for herself on her own last night.
Pulling at the laces of her boots, she tosses them to the side, bracing herself at the edge of the water in her acid wash shorts and thin t-shirt with the slogan, "Girls Rule, Boys Drool" in bright pink across her bra-less breast.
You set a man on fire, Bonnie, you can do this. You can do this, she repeats in a loop while chiding herself for the childish want she has for Klaus to return and hold her hand.
He yells at her not to take all day.
She closes her eyes, one foot hovering over the water when he bellows from the opposite end for her to open her damn eyes.
"You have to face what is in front of you."
She wonders how the hell he can see her eyes are closed all the way over there. And she wants to tell him to go fuck off, so what if she wants to close her eyes and pretend she is not worried about not being able to accomplish this magical feat.
She breathes in deep and exhales once her right foot touches the warm liquid and it is apparent that she is not sinking, but actually standing on one leg on top of the water.
She jerks her head up in the direction of Klaus, amazed and a little shocked, "Do you see this?"
"I do. Now walk to me."
Cautiously at first, she puts the other foot down on the surface of the water, and then proceeds to cross the pond, one foot in front of the other, small waves of green cresting over her toes and then she walks deliberately, shoulders back and head high, assured that it is her faith in herself that keeps her from drowning.
She nears the bank, and the smug hybrid extends his hand to her, an offer of help, but she pushes his hand away, scrabbling her way up to land. Dusting off the dirt and moss from her knees and elbows as she stands tall to his towering height over her.
"I don't need your help."
And he reaches for the back of her neck, blunt nails embedded in her skin for her insolence, and he pulls her to him and kisses her square on the mouth. And her head bends backward under the force of his kiss and she tries to match his vigor as she realizes it's not the water she should have been concerned about drowning in, and she pushes her small hands against his unmoving chest. Confused by the warmth in her heart and in between her legs. She parts her mouth, and he slides his tongue into her, and she takes his full lip in between her teeth and bites down, tasting metal. He breaks abruptly with a crude laugh, and beams, his white teeth shaded red from his own blood and he snaps his fingers for her to follow him, "You get an 'A' in this lesson."
BK
"Three drops of nightshade into a tea, preferably a strong black tea to mask the taste and your victim will die in their sleep," He says lightly, plucking the purple bud and holding it up for Bonnie to examine, "Or perhaps if you do not have tea available, you could add some droplets to a glass of bourbon neat, and your victim still wouldn't know."
Bonnie observes the poisonous plant, her brow crinkling as she considers yet another way to commit murder.
They had been like this all morning and well into the late afternoon, even after a short break for lunch on the porch he had pulled her back into the woods to look at every number of leaf and plant and tree, stating whether it would kill or heal, and he wanted her to have it memorized and categorized before they returned to New Orleans.
There was not going to be a test, the test would come when it was needed and any mistakes would be too late.
She gives the flower back to Klaus who holds it up to the sunlight, admiring its violet petals, "It is beautiful, isn't it?"
"It is."
He places the nightshade back into her hand and tells her to keep for they will practice with it later and then perches to the ground to pull at some rare roots surrounding the base of an oak tree for her to use for migraines.
"They will come in handy when you have overexerted yourself on a spell."
She gets down on her knees next to him and sticks her fingers into the cool dirt, tugging at the roots tangled into ground, "How come you know so much about magic?"
"My mother was a witch," He states as a matter of fact, "When I was a child, my siblings were not interested in magic so I was her lone pupil," he says without a hint of nostalgia.
Bonnie sits back on her haunches, the roots gathered in her shirt, suddenly saddened by the details of his beginning, imagining a young Klaus following the skirt of his mother, hoping to become a witch one day only to end up a vampire.
And she has a desire to place her soiled hands on each side of his neck and jerk his face to hers, and say the words, 'I'm sorry I ever helped your mother.'
Dizzy with confusion, she stands abruptly, the roots falling at her feet. "I can't stand the heat anymore." She mutters, walking off back towards the farmhouse.
BK
She's been thinking about a bath for two days now.
In a bath tub, deep enough to hold enough hot water to reach her chin, she thinks she will be able to make sense of all the kisses, and the memories of Klaus's mother and all of the death she is to be responsible for, but there isn't any running water or bath tub to speak of.
Besides being well aware of all of this, she twists the kitchen faucet knobs, only to hear a rumble deep in the house and witnessing an explosion of rust-filled air fill the sink.
The thought of washing off with a tee shirt and water bottles again makes her want to crumple to the floor.
She pads into the remnants of the sitting room, ripping cobwebs from a high back chair, plopping down into a cloud of dust, staring at a shirtless Klaus content lying on the floor with her grimoire hovering over his head as he reads.
"How long are we planning to stay out here?"
"Are the accommodations not to your liking?
She closes her eyes and sighs, "I would do anything for a bath."
He laughs and she hears the sudden snap of the grimoire closing.
"You have magic, Bonnie. You can give yourself anything you want."
"What about a cheeseburger?"
'Here," he says pushing the grimoire into her lap, "Look that over and witness the simplicity of what you are asking."
"The Art of Glamouring," She reads aloud and snaps her neck up at Klaus who had moved to be seated in front of her, "Glamouring? Isn't that just an illusion? I want a real bath, Klaus. I don't want to freaking imagine I had one."
"Imagination is the precursor of any desire becoming a reality, "He says walking his fingers lightly over her knee, making her very aware of each finger landing on her skin.
She moves to cross her legs and settles the book on her thigh.
He snorts and pulls her up from the chair with him until she is face to face with his chest, and he bites down on the tender side of his palm, dripping blood over the floor and Bonnie's feet.
"We can even do it together like you like it." He says with a slight smile.
She narrows her eyes at him, even though her mouth is watering to clench her teeth onto his hand and drink his blood. "I thought you wanted me to prove I can do magic by myself. No more handholding is what you said."
"You proved yourself. Now do you want that bath, or not?"
She didn't put up much of a fight.
The heart wants what the heart wants and she wants that bath.
And Klaus's blood.
She moans, forgetting herself as she sucks the blood straight from the puncture wounds, thinking of the fingertips grazing her face that were earlier tip-toeing across her knee and how she wants to start their adventure over, starting at the mound of her knee, traveling up the length of her thigh and over the span of her stomach and in between the valley of her breasts and over the bridge of her throat to settle over the curve of her mouth so she could kiss them and bite into them and enjoy the blood they may contain.
Her eyes are wide open, the dark pupils glassy and dilated to black saucers as Klaus envelops her, his mouth on her ear, "How badly do you wish to take a bath, Bonnie?
There is a guttural sound that escapes from her as she clamps her mouth down, pulling images from the primordial soup of her mind, conjuring up the house's former glory and bits and pieces of imagination that comes up for her when she imagines the word home.
Rag-time jazz lilts in the background of her heart thumping, and she sees the rotten wooden floors disintegrate and then instantaneously refashion themselves, lining up, one by one, gleaming with polish.
Water-stained walls vibrate and fall away, only to fly up again, brand new, fresh with paint and decorated with great oil paintings in gilded gold frames.
The naked warped windows break, each pane shattering onto the floor into jigsaw pieces and then seamlessly fitted back together into each empty square. The tattered cloth that was once hanging over the windows are rewoven into heavy silk curtains, the color of a robin's egg, that drape over each frame and pool onto the hardwood.
And she is faint with his blood, the rush of metallic flowing over her gums, and somewhere inside of her she believes that she really hasn't cast any glamouring spell, but has passed out from an overdose, and is only having a whimsical dream of the decay fleeing the farmhouse.
"Will you be taking all of me, love?"
His question penetrates through the flurry of her imaginings, speeds through any reasoning or rationalizing and goes straight down into the excited swirl in the middle of her.
The gramophone on the delicate antique table skips, the needle bobbing over the end of the song, the soft scratch of the vinyl record hanging in the air.
And she feels tiny bits of ice land and melt in her hair and on her eyelashes and feels the reverberation of Klaus's deep, genuine laughter that makes her smile from ear to ear and remember the hour she was born.
"Snow?"
And as his hand falls from her bloody red mouth, she attempts to speak but the pull of sleep makes her eyelids heavy and she collapses onto the hybrid and whispers that there better be a glorious bath waiting for her.
BK
There are thirteen missed calls and the same number of voicemails for those attempts to reach him. Twelve of them are from Elijah. Klaus listens, message after message, the self-possessed tone of his brother: Was there a plan beyond resurrecting their former enemy? Would their plan have been better served if he had been included on the details? And should they consider the help of their siblings?
The front lawn is aglow with rich warm light from gas-operated Tiffany lamps, that had existed almost a hundred years ago, in each window and Klaus stands grinning at the facade of the home, excited but not surprised that the burnt-out wood and rot has been traded for gleaming pine and fresh blush paint.
He could still feel the weight of her, spent and folded backward over his arm, hair hanging with bits of ice caught in the dark brown strands and in between the miniscule spaces of her eyelashes.
Contradictory to the spectacle of the fallen witch, skin to skin, magic crackled and sparked, electrifying Klaus, the hair on his arms and head stood straight up, his bones grew denser and his eyes beamed fluorescent.
Pure energy.
At that moment, Bonnie could have fueled a small country.
"I did good." She slurred.
He had carried her up the stairs, past the dark paintings of young men, one blonde and one dark- haired, sitting on ornate replicas of thrones, dead animals with open mouths under their leather boots.
Behind the door of bedroom there was a glorious bath waiting for her.
A copper hammered soaking tub positioned in the middle of the bedroom, a tub that was not there in the houses original incarnation, but a possibility now because of her imagination.
He looks up at the second story where he left her, in the master bedroom, and he recalls a time he had stood outside just as he was doing now, looking up at that window, anticipating a silhouette, longing to see the lone dark shadow behind the curtain only to be pulled apart by the discovery that the shadow wasn't alone.
It had marked the beginning of the end.
He dials Elijah.
"How is she?"
"And I thought all of the urgency was because of our slight issue with Marcel," Klaus says, his voice buoyant and his steps agile and free as he walked bare-chested under the moonlight, "You would not recognize her. She is not the lamb I brought home and I think you will be pleasantly surprised to know that our witch has a penchant for savagery."
"No signs of a memory to kill us all then?"
"She isn't whining about a doppelganger, but she has tried to kill me," He laughs heartily, "But let us be frank, what meaningful bond have I ever had with anyone who didn't at some point try to kill me."
His brother sighs on the other end of the call.
"You had a visitor today, Niklaus. An attorney handling the estate of Therese Guidry came this afternoon, she left a notarized copy of the will that explicitly states you are solely responsible for the cost of her funeral and her list of wishes on how to proceed with her passing.
"It was a small price to pay."
"I enclosed a substantial check with a note of our condolences for the attorney to deliver to the family."
"Thank you," Klaus interjected, walking away from the glow.
"I'm not finished, the attorney also informed that a private meeting is being requested with you and one of Mama T's family members, a great grand-niece by the name of Antoinette Guidry."
"The reason being? I agreed to Mama T's terms and she delivered me Bonnie. Our agreement is fulfilled."
"Well, it seems that this Antoinette Guidry is soon to be the replacement of her familial coven, purely in decoration only as Marcel has forbidden her family from practicing magic, but from what I gathered in my meeting with the attorney they are eager to meet you and who their elder has resurrected."
Klaus snorts, "This funeral will be a coming out for the little witch."
"It does seem that there are those of New Orleans who are on tenterhooks to meet her. You mentioned savagery. What has happened that has led you to believe this of Bonnie?"
"Marcel sent his wolves. They tried to kidnap her but she was not one to go lightly."
"That is good to hear. I would hate to think you paid such a large price for nothing."
Klaus smirks, "Elijah you confound me, one minute you are baiting for her well-being and the next you are flippant over her existence."
"'Always and Forever' would be empty if I wasn't concerned over the very thing you have deemed with the charge of keeping this family and that god-forsaken oath safe."
Looking over his shoulder back at the home, he quiets his voice as if she had his hearing, "She has the juice we need and she's gaining confidence by the hour, but even with her rapid developments we are still at a loss from not knowing the capabilities of our opponent."
"I will dig for information on Davina, and perhaps I will meet with this Antoinette and consider if she could be a potential ally for us.
"Perfect, and to bide us more time, I have a plan," Klaus says, smiling into the phone, "I will need you to come here the day before the funeral."
"Here?" Elijah pauses, " I thought you were across state lines in a motel somewhere, I didn't think you would take her to…
"See you Saturday, Elijah." Klaus says hanging up the call before his brother could question his choice of lodging.
Klaus walks the span of the yard, right up to the brim, the black woods inviting him further and he scrolls through his phone, placing a finger over thirteenth voicemail, the last message marked, 'Caroline." He plays Caroline's voicemail again, and again, and then again, and then once more.HELP!Each time he plays the message, he picks up different tones of her voice, the way it starts shrill and frantic and then bereft.HELP!She isn't in danger; the S.O.S. isn't a scream to fly in and save her.HELP!He can see her now, balled up into her self on her twin bed in the dorm room and the imagealmostaffects him.HELP!There is open pain in her voice, making all of her words unintelligible, but he can make out her plea, her purpose for calling when she never calls, he knew the reason of her heartbreak before she even knew there was going to be something to be heartbroken over.
He decides not to go for a kill in the woods; the darkness between the trees does not hold the same allure it had before Caroline, and he's disappointed, because he is still charged from Bonnie, and he thinks only blood will put his feet back onto Earth.
Deleting the voicemail, he turns his face back to the glow, and begins to craft a tale.
BK
She doesn't know how long she has been languishing in the copper tub.
The water has turned tepid twice but she thinks of the sun and her palms tingle, heating the water to her desired temperature.
She closes her eyes; partly from fatigue and partly to see the dream behind the lids and she opens them again, not quite distinguishing the fantasy from reality.
Snow piles melt in the corners of the room, soaking the Persian rugs and staining the draperies; the white gossamer canopy draped over the hand-carved four-poster bed sags, pregnant with icy water, threatening to collapse and deluge the feathery mattress.
Bonnie isn't bothered, she eyes the darkening of the rug from the water, inch by inch, curious to see the room warp as the others once had, to see the floors buckle and walls bloat.
She had helped his mother try to kill him.
Of this revelation she is certain, even though there is no definitive memory to tie this conclusion to, only the feel of a matronly hand on her shoulder, a glimpse of weary blue, and a spatter of a conversation.
"My son is an abomination."
It wasn't farfetched or shocking to her that she would have attempted to kill him; hell, it was only twenty-four hours ago that she tried to end him. She can reconcile whatever reason she had to put him down in her past life it was deserved.
But what mother would kill her son?
Weren't mothers supposed to love you despite you being a murderous psychopath? Sure they wouldn't help you mutilate and conceal the bodies, and they wouldn't lie about your nature and testify to your innocence to the court. They would mourn and wail and they would grieve to the end of their days that you received your just punishment.
But what mother would administer the punishment herself.
What woman could have birthed you and then be the one to line you and pull the trigger.
Bonnie brings her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms protectively around herself, and gently asks the snow to stop falling.
After her bath, she ruminates over mothers and rummages through the large leather trousseau at the foot of the bed. She tosses aside tissue wrapped beaded gowns and glossy blouses, the smell of cedar and musk cologne intoxicating her. She tugs out a green watered-silk kimono, unfolding the slippery robe in her slender hands, revealing a delicate embroidered image of a dragon covering the length of the back.
Wrapping the garment over her wet cures and limbs, she takes a seat at the mirrored vanity and wonders about Abby, her own mother, the name scribbled in cursive on the branch above her on the family tree in her grimoire. Bonnie admires herself in the mirror, imagining an older woman with similar features, a woman who loved her despite her being a murderer, a woman with dewy brown skin who would brush out her curls until they became frizzy waves and tell her to be careful, to watch out, to not let her heart take leap at the delight of danger.
She plays with the glittering jeweled bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes, tries on costume necklaces and rings, caresses the pearl-inlaid hair brushes and hand held mirrors, presses the teeth of combs in her palms until they leave a line of indentions. There is one particular comb that stands out, an ivory hair comb carved into a rose. She gathers her curls and fashions the exquisite comb into her hair and like a kid she opens the drawers to play with other trinkets, and is immediately drawn to a silver case engraved with an inscription of what Bonnie assumes is a poem. She opens the clasp, and is greeted by a pair of sweethearts, the yellowing photographs of the lovers adjoined by the metal frame, one a beautiful cold blonde and the other a dark-skinned man with a mesmerizing smile, a stark contrast to the straight line on the woman's face.
Bonnie smiles back at the photograph until she hears footfall on the stairs and she places the silver picture case back in the velvet-lined drawer and closes it shut.
BK
Everything belongs to him, including her she supposes. There is no allowance for autonomy, and reprimanding him for entering her room without asking is a waste of her breath.
"Looks like Sunday will be your grand debut, love," He says, striding across the room, holding a champagne bottle and the stems of two flutes in one hand and hiding his other arm behind his back.
She feigns disinterest, even though she's intrigued by what's in his other hand.
"Sunday seems pretty soon, don't you think?"
"Not at all. You will be the talk of the town and your magic won't even be required immediately, at least I don't expect it to. Marcel may be a lot of things, but I highly doubt he has reached the low to disgrace a funeral."
"You would," She states, leaning back on her stool to make out what he is holding.
He laughs, filling up the room with the hearty sound, and he leans over her, smelling of dirt and cut lawn. ""Don't worry, love. I don't move pieces for the joy of the game," he says with his blue eyes darkening to ink as he reveals what he has hidden. He lays the bulky linen napkin on the vanity table and uncovers two slices of strawberry cake in the thickest pink icing with piped frosted rosettes. "There is an entire spread waiting for you in the dining room."
She almost forgot that she hasn't had a proper meal; the thought of the cheeseburger she craved earlier was obliterated by the satiation of blood.
The cork pops and the champagne flows and there is a mirth between them as they clink crystal. She giggles from the bubbles, feeling effervescent, lifted by the hybrid's excitement, turned on by his mercurial nature as he kicks off his boots, picking up the fire poker at the hearth and waving it about like a sword.
They talk to each other with ease, finding a rhythm that was not there prior. He lists off what she is to practice in the days to come, what spells he requires her to cast, and that Elijah would be arriving Saturday to assist in the ruse of their formal attack.
And she bobs her head along with the conversation, finishing the bottle, nodding yes and offering up her opinion from her limited toolbox, and she runs a finger into the icing, pinching a piece of the cake into her mouth, savoring the sugar on her tongue, and she is suddenly aware of the hug of the green silk, the friction of her nipples pressed into the lapels, and she looks up into the penetrating blue.
She coyly nods towards the remaining piece of cake, "If you don't get to it, I'm going to finish the other piece."
He aims the iron at her, "Both are for you."
"You're not hungry?" She asks, pondering if hybrids liked strawberry cake.
"Famished."
He drops the poker and picks up a broach from the table, one of the more risqué costume pieces Bonnie had observed earlier, a cameo of a man and a woman coupling, "This used to be my sister's room," He snorts, tossing the piece without the delicacy the material demanded.
"Really," Bonnie quirks a brow, "What's her name?"
"Rebekah," He states as a matter of fact, "This was her home actually, her home away from the Quarter, her own respite from Elijah and myself. " He says as if it were meant to be humorous. He fingers the necklaces on the vanity with his eyes downcast. "Elijah and I would visit, spend time in the country with her but New Orleans held too much to stay away for too long. Her intervals out here were a kind of meditation, a coming to terms with our nature, our intensity she called it, or at least that's what her frequent departures led Elijah to believe."
And you?
She notices his attention suddenly draw to her hair, "It made me question her loyalty." He states, pulling the ivory comb from her hair, letting brown curls cascade over her shoulders. He threads his fingers into the weight of her tresses, brushing his knuckles against her skin, "I prefer your hair down."
"I, " she starts, averting her eyes, her heart quickening to his touch, "Loyalty", She begins, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth as she isn't sure what to say, but she wants to assure him, and to say something that will make him continue to caress her, "I'm sorry I tried to kill you," is what fumbles out despite her best effort.
His hands are still tangled in her hair, "Are you," He snorts, wrapping her hair into his fist and tugging lightly with a threat that he could easily turn darker if spurred , "Why, Bonnie?"
She wants to blurt because you told me I am made of you, and there is no mother here to brush out my curls and warn me of men like you. I'm not sure there ever was. And there is also no mother who will plot against me, no mother who will kill me for dishonoring her for all the death I will bring in your name.
And she pictures another family tree, one without many branches, just two bony boughs.
Flesh of your flesh; blood of your blood.
She reaches for his hands, tenderly stroking them to release her, "I won't betray you." She says with all the vulnerability of a child.
And for a split second the mirth that still lingers in the room enters his eyes, brightens them to a shade she has never seen, the look of surprise is uncommon to the hybrid's face. She is poised to stand, to let him see her how she sees herself but champagne is jumbling her thoughts and before she is able to reveal more, he yanks his hand from her as if she had burned him, and mutters that they will have an early start in the morning. And with the same the ease he entered her room without acknowledging if she even wanted him there, he leaves her, he leaves her dangling and confused, navigating her only to his amusement.
BKBK
After he walked out on her the rest of the week passed without much discussed between them. She did as she was told, performed whatever he wanted and in the evenings they separated. He would go off into the woods to do what hybrids do in the woods and she would stay in scouring the house for clues as to what happened to his sister and her lover.
On the first night of their routine, she walked around with the locket rubbing the metal raw in her hands as she searched around the house.
What she found was a locked room opposite hers. There were only torn canvases strewn about the floor, their colorful images slashed beyond recognition; and a simple wooden armoire that creaked when she opened it. She rummaged through the men's jackets and thick linen and silken shirts, hats and black leather boots that were buffed to mirrors until her fingers hit the bottom panel of the furniture and she heard the hollow thud.
Curiously, she pushed at the edge of the panel and was delighted when it popped up enough for her to slip her fingers and flip it up to reveal a pile of letters.
Dear Niklaus
She read, as many as she could for there were many and some in languages she did not understand.
Letters from Elijah. Letters from Rebekah. Letters from Marcel.
She devoured their lines, she imagined herself as the writers, writing to this Klaus that was being stitched together in her mind with each letter she finished.
Before midnight she would pack up everything to how she found it and lock the door behind her and tip-toe to her room to dream about Nicklaus Mikaelson.
BK
Bonnie didn't believe it could get much hotter than it had been but Louisiana was up for the challenge. She kept the intermittent snowfall in the house but unfortunately for her Klaus demanded that most of her practices be done outside.
It had been a particular grueling day.
"Bring it to life for me."
He wanted her to play God. Pushing seeds into the earth he chided her to make herself useful by making something grow. "Come on with it, Bonnie,"
But she had broke her rule last evening and took one of the letters to bed with her (risking herself to be found out) because in it Elijah was detailing their latest escape from their father, horror after horror, and although she didn't cry, she believes the overwhelming anxiety and fear she read about has exhausted her energy.
She circles her palms over the buried seed and a miniscule leaf of green shoots from the earth.
"A start; but I was hoping for something more like a tree, love."
Taking a break by the swamp's edge, under the shade of ancient oaks she picks at wildflowers aimlessly while he rambles of the weekend to come. The air is so thick that she struggles to breath and makes a comment about it to him.
"The rain will soon come," He smiles, reclining in the sun, closing his eyes.
Restless, she intertwines stems of wildflowers, accosted by scenes of Klaus and his siblings traipsing around Europe to outrun their tormentor, their monster. And she wants to tell him she knows things, she knows these things about him and she will keep them for him. She knots each thin stalk over her thumbs and through her nails. Tiny bows are made and the fresh flowers become a wreath of golden yellow and lilac.
She places the wreath on Klaus's head, "Your crown, Sir."
Opening his eyes, he crinkles his forehead as he holds the wreath in his hand, and he inches up on to his elbows, "Why did you make this?"
"I know how you were able to bring me back."
And Klaus mutters another question but he is tuned into the sound of his own skin prickling and a distant ringing in his ears. Was this fear? He scans her mossy green eyes and sees they are open and vulnerable, exposing her jugular, palms open, arms wide.
She smiles wide, throwing him off, "The resurrection would have only worked if there was a match in the blood. Metaphorically speaking. You and I aren't so different, Klaus. "
Her words take a moment to resonate and the fear fades.
His face crumbles into disgust, "I hate to break this to you, love. But you are wrong, that is not how I was able to bring you back to life." He springs up to his feet, "And now I can see I have misjudged your progress. You are not prepared to take on Marcel's witches, you're not prepared to take on any business of mine, really."
"Wha-" She hops up from the grass to follow him, "What's the matter with you? I thought you'd be doing cartwheels to hear that I'm like you.
"You've gone mad, love."
Her eyes widen, "All the talks and positioning to get me to think and move like you, with your, 'this is how you hide a body, Bonnie', to your 'this is the best poison to make it look like an accident, Bonnie'. Every moment since I took my first freaking breath has been you telling me what I should be more of and it all points to you."
He wants to get as far away from her as possible as he hears her recount instance after instance of his meticulous molding of her.
"Let's rewind a moment, please," She pleads and he forces himself to stop from storming off for her, from running away.
"What I'm trying to say by saying all of this is I know you want me to believe that you're some kind of monster, but I see you," She says, her crooked mouth sliding into a slight smile," You did what you had to do because you were hurt or scared, and…."
She jumbles his thoughts. He should have left her in the sewer. He should drop to his knees and bury his face in her lap, he should; he should; he should. All of the shoulds' dart across the periphery of his sanity. He quickly crowds her, corners her like prey until her back smacks against a tree, "Madness," he spits, " You're nothing like me, Bonnie," he says over and over, bewildered by her admission. He shakes his head, "You think because you killed some wolves that threatened your life that makes you a killer? I thought you were smarter than this, Bonnie."
She reaches for his hand and he jerks it away.
He continues, "I thought my mentoring and coaching would make you understand the machinations of the world you will have to navigate as the great witch I hoped you would become, but a great witch would know the distinction between herself and me. You have no clue what I have done or who I am, you wake up a few days ago and drink my blood and suddenly you believe yourself to have this great insight into my soul, where how's this Bonnie, I don't have one, I kill because I enjoy it."
Bonnie yells over him and in the distance are the voices of children, peals of laughter, interrupting Bonnie's rebuttal, like tiny bells in between her words, "You,"DING, "Can't".DING. "Hide."DING. "From."DING."Me."DING. Bonnie places her hands on either side of his face, wanting him to look at her, relentless that he not dismiss her, and there is the swift rustling of the tall grass as the girl children voices grow nearer and nearer, yelling out for a Sparkles. SPARKLES!SPARLES!SPARKLES! And the Sparkles that the children are yelling after runs up to the sparring couple; it is a little shaggy brown dog. And Klaus quickly demonstrates to his protégé their marked difference. He scoops up the dog and snaps its neck.
Bonnie opens her mouth to scream but two little raven head girls run up between the tall grass to the scene of their dead dog and two scary strangers. They don't speak, but they immediately reach for the hand of the other. Bonnie forces a smile through the water in her eyes, "Is this your dog, sweetie," She asks the older one, putting herself in between them and the dog so they can't see its dead eyes.
"What's wrong with him?" The younger one cries, wiping tears with the back of her arm.
Bonnie looks back over her shoulder at Klaus, his yellow eyes beaming at her and the children, and for a split second she thinks she might have to shield them from Klaus and she hates it. She hates that this is the feeling that she has to have. The girls immediately began to wail for Bonnie to let them see their dog. The tears brimming in Bonnie's lashes slowly roll down her cheeks. "Sparkles is sleeping girls," She says over and over, running her hands over their plaits and ponytails, "But I know how to wake him up."
The girls choke back their sobs as Bonnie tells them to hold each other's hand and to then place their free hand on to either side of her shoulder. They follow her command and she is overwhelmed by the charge of their little broken hearts. "Close your eyes, girls and repeat after me." She chants a rhyme, a silly rhyme that would make them forget this moment, but a powerful enough rhyme for them to hear the jingle of Sparkles collar as he rolled over to nuzzle the youngest tennis shoe.
The girls' eyes flashed open. Awestruck, the eldest bundled up their resurrected dog into the bottom of her t-shirt and grabbed her sister's hand to run home.
Klaus is gone.
He had left when Bonnie became a force field between him and the world.
She finds him sitting in the dark corners of the parlor.
But she turns on the balls of her feet to go get a glass of water from the kitchen. Bringing dead things to life has made her parched.
Looking out the kitchen window, she sees the swollen black clouds threatening to wring out above the house.
He fills the doorway with his silent presence and she takes another sip squaring her shoulders.
"I will not kill innocent beings for you nor will I harm any being who you feel has slighted you or has bruised your fragile ego."
Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he considers her as she blocks the window, drinking her water.
"When I set this house on fire, they were asleep," He starts, his words grabbing her attention, "She couldn't detect me, you see, she couldn't detect me because it is my blood that animates her as a vampire. She perhaps considered me a shadow, a haunting." He smirks as Bonnie takes the seat across from him. "Are you hearing this correctly, Bonnie? I set this house on fire. It was I. I am a being that will set a house on fire while his sister and her lover sleep."
She doesn't flinch or faint. She doesn't call him names or reach for his hand like she had earlier.
He doesn't tell her but she gives him exactly what he needs to proceed. "She wanted to turn him and I had forbade it. But she was in the process. He had swallowed her blood and would soon turn," He snorts, "And the very next week my father mysteriously discovers where my siblings and I are residing and attempts to massacre us all."
"Her lover betrayed her?"
"He had betrayed us all. We fled in the night with the clothes on our backs and traveled the world over until we made our way into Chicago and then another saga began.
She finished her drink and places the empty sweaty glass on the table, "Look at me," She says softly, "You are right. I am not you, " She starts as she remembers the yellow in his eyes from earlier, "But, I am a part of you, and I need you to find some peace with that instead of acting out."
Rain begins to spatter against the windowpanes.
He nods and she pushes herself from the kitchen table, "I'm tired."
And before she makes it to the staircase, his voice booms through the walls, "I made you a promise, Bonnie. That's how I was able to resurrect you."
She stalls on the stairs, thinking of her bed and how heavy she felt from all what he has revealed to her, but she calls back to him, "How'd you get me to come back, Klaus?"
And the walls speak again.
"To give you what you give me."
BK
The rain poured and poured and Bonnie slept soundlessly, exhausted by the day and she dreamed of fire and little girls and wicked mothers and fathers too. She drifted to far away lands, Scandinavia and the Orient and a city named Chicago and she saw herself in the dream, sleeping in a tower only to be awakened by a dragon.
BK
The mint green 1967 Mercedes Pagoda rolls on to the dirt gravel driveway of the Maison Rose and Klaus's mouth downturns.
"What is all that?" He yells out, shaking his head.
Elijah emerges from the vehicle, impeccable and polished in his grey slim cut suit and dark glasses.
"Presents, Niklaus." Elijah slides his glasses into his coat pocket, "You want her to make an entrance," He says cooly, stacking ribboned boxes and bags from the back seat of the Pagoda onto the porch, "Well she will not make one wearing the maid's dress and the junior section of Walmart."
Klaus hops down from the porch and grabs parcels from the mountain of shopping bags and boxes, "I should have thought about this," He states as an admonishment peaking the interest of his brother.
"Tomorrow sets the stage and I want her to feel as confident in her appearance as you have described her to feel with her magic."
Klaus nods, agreeing with his older brother, "What did you think when you first laid eyes on the house?"
"Not surprised. But it did remind me that Rebekah and I do not share the same sensibility of taste."
Klaus snorts. He always loved the pink hued home, he had even hesitated to set it ablaze because of his attachment to its beauty.
"And where is our young witch and what else has she accomplished besides killing young wolves and renovating our sister's former abode," Elijah says, carefully unbuttoning his jacket and draping it over his arm.
"Asleep still, she's exhausted from finally passing my final test yesterday."
Elijah raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He asks amused, "Then I look forward to hearing from you both on how you plan to navigate a war not only with Marcel and his military of supernaturals but also with Therese Guidry's coven of lower riverside.
Klaus's forehead folds, "What the hell, Elijah? I thought you were going to speak with her niece?
"I did and the young woman is very angry," Elijah gravely expresses, feeling for one special little velvet-covered box buried in the breast pocket of his coat, "And your generous donation to her relative's burial and funeral did nothing to squelch the flame of that anger."
Klaus rolls his eyes, "It's not like the woman was a spring chicken. She had one foot in the grave way before I asked for her help," He counters, annoyed, "How did she receive the explanation of Bonnie's resurrection?"
Elijah flashes a genuine smile. "With skepticism and incredulity. Which makes me consider how Marcel is supposed to believe this ruse of yours," He states, extending his hand and opening his palm to present a red velvet ring box to Klaus.
Klaus snatches the box. "I don't see the fantastical in this plan, it's not like I have never had affection for a woman before."
"Affection? Fine." Elijah concedes with a shrug, "But so overcome with your dead witch that you get Therese Guidry to bring her back from the afterlife so you can marry her? I'm not sure if that will sell to Marcel and whomever has ever met you longer than five minutes," Elijah says expecting his brother to laugh and enthusiastically explain how he was to convince everyone that he was in love with Bonnie. And when Klaus doesn't, when he turns the box over in his hands and looks out to the yard and to the forest, Elijah considers that maybe, just maybe, Klaus wouldn't be pretending, and this thought intrigues Elijah more than knowing Klaus's strategy to usurp Marcel.
"I talked to Caroline last night." Klaus says, remembering the sob of her voice when he said hello.
Elijah's curiosity pings on the bubbly blonde and he settles on her being the reason for the flash of vulnerability on Klaus's face. "Was that wise?" He asks, sighing knowing that it wasn't.
"They are looking for her," Klaus informs.
"Good God, Niklaus, it is only a matter of time now."
"That's why this part of the plan has to be solid," Klaus stresses, "And we have to act swiftly." He turns to look his brother in the eyes, "I will announce the engagement after the repass tomorrow and after the engagement party I will travel to Mystic Falls tohelpthem look for Bonnie". Klaus opens the box and protruding from the white satin is a radiant cut canary yellow diamond that Klaus wonders how Elijah was able to fit into the small box. "You couldn't find anything bigger?"
Elijah retorts, "Just because you plan to have a sham engagement does not mean she should not have something stunning. Besides, maybe after she learns of our treachery, she will keep this ring as payment for her services and decide to let us live.
Furrowing his brow, Klaus snaps the box shut as he hears Bonnie finally up and padding around her bedroom, getting herself ready for the day, and he turns on his heels, determined and focused to get Bonnie on board with what is required of her as his witch, but he looks over at his brother and opens his mouth.
"It is unbelievable that I would fall in love and risk it all for a witch, isn't it?"
BK
"May I come in?"
Bonnie lifts her head from pouring over the handwriting in the binding of her grimoire; there were lines of script on the current pages she has been studying that she swears were not there the day before and she has been spending the lazy Saturday morning deciphering their meaning and taking her time to enjoy her solitude before Klaus calls her down to practice.
Her mossy green eyes widen as she is taken aback to see Elijah Mikaelson close the door behind him. There is no Klaus with him and she shuts her book and slides from the comfort of her bed, "I didn't think I would see you until tomorrow," She says with a small smile, "Klaus wanted you to come out here and see what we've been up to?" She asks, proud to show off who she has become since Klaus whisked her bloodied and broken self to the middle of nowhere.
"No," He responds, "I have been hearing glowing reports of your progress and I would love nothing more than to see you work your wonders but that is not the reason of my visit, Bonnie."
She quirks a brow and he quickly points to the vanity seat and she nods that he may sit.
The ancient vampire clears his throat and begins, "I have come here to ask something of you that you may not want to do. And I want you to know, as your friend, I promise you we will find another way to make this plan work if this arrangement makes you uncomfortable." Elijah sets the velvet box onto the vanity table and gently reaches for her wrist and pulls her closer. "Open it, please." Which the words completely stated a request but the way he said it was nothing short of a command.
Bonnie eyes him, that prickly feeling on the back of the neck that she gets when he is near expanding over the span of her body, but also recalling all of the letters from him that she had read late into the early morning. He had the most beautiful penmanship and he was always bolstering Klaus to be better, to be this shining version of his imagination of Klaus. All of Klaus's letters in response to his brother confirmed that he really had no interest on being anything other than what his hunger for power obliged him to be.
Elijah was a dreamer and Bonnie admired him for that, and she uses that slight of admiration to quiet the pit of her stomach.
She opens the box and places it back onto the vanity. Confused she crosses her arms over her t-shirt. Another one of Klaus's picks. This one was neon green with "Cruel Summer" in white block ironed on letters. And Elijah wonders if Bonnie is even old enough to get the reference plastered across her chest.
"You want me to marry you?" She questions, unsure of the very words leaving her mouth.
"I would like for you to be open to acting as my betrothed, Bonnie, "He continues, waving her to come back closer to him and the ring, "Because right now the community of New Orleans sees you as a threat and we don't want them to expect you, we want them to have their defenses down and we think, well really, I think, that having us pose as lovers will give us the time, freedom and the opportunity to take over the city."
It is high noon and the sun beams bright through the sheer curtain and spills all over her face, turning her gold and Elijah catches himself drawn to her youth and naivety. Yes, it was apparent that she wasn't the lamb that appeared barefoot and dirty with his brother over a week ago, he could smell the power of death on her, but there was still an angelic quality about her and Elijah hoped that along with possibly not killing them after it was all said and done that she also able to walk away from his family with that very quality still intact.
She picks up the box and stares at the huge rock, "You want me to be a Mikaelson?" She asks and he responds with a yes but she laughs and looks over at Elijah and asks him the question yet again, thinking this time he would tell her that it was really a joke.
And Elijah flashes a charming smile as he listens to his brother pace the wooden floors raw. "Always and forever."