a/n: as we enter TOS4, some house keeping;

1) if you are only going to obsessively moan about Hayley/a character, don't comment. It's already gotten old, and we're not even into the season yet.

2) if you are only going to comment about when/how MJ's getting revenge, also do not comment. It's really stressing me - just *trust the process*

Some violent revenge is the most boring/least fulfilling outcome; I am willing to post on Discord explaining why, but I'm sick of having to read about it here

Beyond that...I like hearing what people like. That's what being a fan of something is.
Complaining all the time is so dull, and kills my motivation, because, why write for a crowd that's just going to boo at the characters every time they enter a room?

Anyway, house keeping over,
I enjoy this chapter quite a bit so hopefully you all will too - Remember to vote
Bea <3

MAY 2018

Klaus couldn't help but flinch as the tunnel gate swung open. No one used that gate. Marcel barely checked on him, the few times he had more about MJ's coffin than anything else, always coming through the main door, while no one else in the city knew where he was. Supposedly, they didn't, anyway.

...

No one else permanently in the city.

Kol held his older brother's look, a large grimoire tucked under his arm, eyes red, but not in the way Klaus would've recognised. His younger brother wasn't hungry – he wasn't high on blood. He was just standing, in the shadowed entrance to his prison, like he was trying to catch his breath, watching as Klaus tried to move forward.

His lips managed to part.

Only a groan spilled out.

"Oh my," Kol waved a hand as he bowed, "The great and powerful Klaus Mikaelson."

It was the easiest mock in the world, and yet his lips didn't even manage a smile while saying it.

"Trapped! Alone!"

Flat Tone.

"Crying in the dark!"

Klaus tried to speak, throat entirely dry, whether from the lack of water, or blood, their delayed desiccation a new form of punishment. The paler his skin got, the easier it was to see the strain of the chains around his throat. Every time Klaus thrashed, the metal would grate his skin, the slight trace of blood in the air, the purpling of the bruises barely fading.

Kol's lips twisted down, forcing his body to turn.

He needed to see the coffin.

He needed to step towards it.

Completely unaware of how Mira Jung Floare-Ruiz's ghost scrambled to her feet, just behind Klaus's body, in the circle.

"I'm so sorry."

Her lips fell open, taking in the puffing of his features as much as Klaus was.

"I didn't realise you'd be able to see anything," He stumbled closer, "I don't understand how you're seeing anything – "

Clang.

His body jolted back, an invisible line around the coffin.

"Kol..."

The Nwa was in his hand, MJ's brain desperate to look at it, heart keeping her eyes pinned on him.

"I got your voicemail," His voice cracked, "Mira..."

"It's okay."

"...Let me in."

Something had changed.

It wasn't the same spell he'd left behind, four years prior.

It wasn't his spell –

"Please."

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"I – I – "

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"You're meant to be in pieces," He shrunk to his knees, staring at the coffin he couldn't reach, "I – I've been trying to pull you back together."

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"I promise!" He looked up, "I didn't just leave you here."

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

MJ didn't understand why she could suddenly do so much magic in her little realm, yet couldn't touch the living... Well, she did understand. Her realm wasn't connected to the real one. Not properly. There was enough of a crack to keep MJ with her body, and, well, with Hope, but she couldn't just skip on about – but she could!

She'd somehow ended up in freaking Hades!

If she could do that, she should be able to help her boyfriend hold her!

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"MARCEL!" Kol slammed The Nwa into the line, "Drop the spell!"

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"Kitsune magic is stronger!"

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"It was safer!"

"Phagen I Barye Slobodisar."

"I need to see her!" Kol's final slap at thin air was almost feeble, the book slipping from his hold to slam into the floor, "She wants to see me."

"I do."

"She needs me."

"I promise, this isn't me."

God, she'd wanted his humanity to come back on, but this?

Forced to watch him crouch next to her coffin.

Holding a book that should've had a piece of her soul in it, yet wasn't giving her any room to breathe?

"We M Byen Kle."

"Mira," His head hung, "I got your message."

"Dikh Mirame Mishto."

Klaus knees scratched against the dirty stone, trying to drag himself closer as a new hunger filled his eyes.

"Mwen Arakh Jwenn Man."

"I'm here."

He was trying to reach the body too.

"I want to hold you – I'm – I'm trying to figure it out," He pleaded, "I didn't mean to let you down."

"You haven't," MJ promised, "I was just lonely."

"I am only ever thinking of you."

"I was desperate, and scared, and I missed you."

"I..." He forced himself to turn, letting his back hit the barrier, clutching The Nwa against his chest, legs pulling up, "I love you."

"There has to be a spell."

"I promise," He was crying, "I still love you."

"Encuentrame."

Her Kol Mikaelson was crying.

"Shuden Rixe O Velo."

MJ didn't want to make him cry – she was never meant to be the reason he was crying, but she'd gotten cocky, and she'd tried to play God, and then fucking Elijah and Freya –

"Shuden Rixe O Velo."

Klaus had slung his way to the edge, hunched forward, staring as Kol just looked to the ceiling of Marcel's gardens, letting the tears run down his face.

"Shuden Rixe O Velo."

The elder was too weak to press any closer as his baby brother's head smacked back, hitting the barrier; again, and again, and again.

He settled at three.

He let his eyes shut.

They snapped back open, biting into his cheeks as The Nwa just sat at his feet, spouts of green prickling up beneath it, the slight buds of flowers pointing towards Kol, like it meant to cheer him up.

"Shuden Rixe O Velo."

Klaus's body leant back, allowing them to sit opposite each other as MJ sunk down too, her legs crossed, desperately begging any combination of spells to work. Even if it was just for a second.

"Hope's fine," Kol barely whispered, "I'd never actually tell Katerina about her."

Klaus's eyes lurched to his face.

"She's actually dead now, by the way...Katherine, that is."

"Please tell me you've spoken to Caroline or Bonnie."

"She died when Mira did."

"I'll take that to mean no."

"Hope's learning magic," He let his head dip back once more, smacking into the barrier, "Finn must've finally learnt how to communicate with children. Or, at least, offer spell pages."

"Strazce Almas Dusi Revelar."

Klaus's eyes started to glisten as Kol's dried up.

"Odhalit El Ducha Espiritu."

"Mira had a foothold."

"Ven El Forte Ed Cufe."

Klaus was managing to hold himself up, just to make sure he didn't miss a minute of Kol's face. Or maybe it was to ensure he heard everything. Maybe he needed to look, to check that Kol wasn't lying...Kol would've preferred that option over the first.

"Moartea Devine Tu."

"Her spirit must've reformed," Kol couldn't stop the cycle of sobering up, only to fall right back into tears, "She found a foothold, and..."

"Dǎkāi Dàmén, Abrir La Puerta."

"And – "

"Strazce Almas Dusi Revelar."

"I'm sorry," Klaus croaked, holding his look, "Kol."

"Odhalit El Ducha Espiritu."

His younger brother just swallowed, hands starting to feel the flower buds around him. Spots of orange and yellow desperate to burst to life. The book had magic. Kol Mikaelson had lost the ability to practise, but some stupid book could pop out flowers like it was nothing – like – like...like the flowers MJ had grown in his hand, as they lay in bed...

"Ven El Forte Ed Cufe."

"I'm..." Klaus's voice turned into a grating moan, folding into himself to stay upright, "I – "

"Moartea Devine Tu."

Kol had no idea if MJ lived in that dungeon permanently. He had no idea what she meant by 'new white abyss,' and what that meant for if she'd have any idea he'd answered her call.

But the book carrying a piece of her soul was growing flowers for him.

She'd left him a voicemail.

"Dǎkāi Dàmén, Abrir La Puerta."

Kol carefully leant towards the line, surprised to see that Klaus's barrier didn't keep him out.

He had told Marcel to protect MJ, and the younger had altered some of the magic; it made sense. But this? A spell to keep Klaus in, but not necessarily keep others out? Was it in case Marcel wanted to kick him while he was down? Kol wouldn't blame him for that...Or, maybe it was all an elaborate scheme to trap Kol down there to so they could torture his humanity back on. That would make just as much sense. Sam was probably in on it. God, Ryan would've done anything to help that type of a scheme against him –

Klaus screamed as Kol's hand plunged into his chest.

He stepped back.

Out of the circle.

...no scheme in place...

Just, Papa Tunde's enchanted blade in his palm, blood across his hands.

Kol sunk back to the floor, staring at his face in the red-coated metal, leaving Klaus, dropped on his back, eyes on that salt line keeping him in, hands on the chains holding him back, still too weak to do anything to them: panting, and breathing, and choking.

He could breathe.

He could finally feel his lungs open, and hold, and out, and...He could sit, one knee bent up, one stretched forward, about two metres between them.

Klaus's body trembled, "I'm sorry."

Papa Tunde's blade dropped with the twinge of metal on stone, Kol's eyes still on his brother's. Forcing himself to watch the agony flash through them. They'd hurt each other a million times. Klaus had hurt him more. Klaus had always hurt them more. But there they were, staring at the same coffin, unable to do anything but cry together.

"Kol – she – "

Kol unintentionally cut him off as the sob broke free, like that stake had stabbed into his heart all over again, the burning of fire and vervain across every inch of skin, no desire to make it end. He didn't want to lose the agony. He wanted it to consume him entirely until his death provided the power needed to bring her back.

They'd been planning their lives.

She'd found them a holiday home, they'd picked a name for their child – her family had started crocheting them a blanket, and Kol had gotten his hopes up that Klaus's weeping apology to them both meant life might finally get close to good again, and –

"I mourned all of you more than you ever mourned me," He spat, "I let myself come home; I played your games; I brushed everything off, again and again."

They always attributed his patience for them to MJ, seeming to forget how quickly Kol bounced back from their fights throughout history. Laughing it off like it was a game. Sure, they'd assumed his indifference was because he didn't care, completely missing that his humanity had gone, returned, and left him bleeding for anything close to a real bond.

"You promised me."

Papa Tunde's blade may be gone, but Kol wasn't there to release him.

MJ's message may have told him to, but how was he meant to? Releasing Klaus would only lead to Elijah. But, what if it didn't? Maybe Kol was assuming the worst of his brother's loyalty, but he'd only ever been proved right! So, what else were they to do?

Two brothers, sitting in a dungeon, a coffin behind them.

They couldn't see MJ's spirit, no longer in the middle, instead shifting into Kol's side. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the other brushing over his knees, wondering if he could feel even a hint of the familiarity she'd sensed after his passing.

Why wasn't Klaus looking at her?

He'd spent years managing to look her dead in the eye, through a goddamn hallucination, but now that Kol could've used that type of insanity, he tuned her out?

Could Samedi not sense The Verite Nwa, and spring into existence, telling Kol he was close?

"Louvri Pou Mwen."

Her mouth started to move.

The book was literally a part of her!

Surely, she could make it react.

"Louvri Pou Mwen."

It was meant to be a path out!

"Louvri Pou Mwen."

But nothing.

"Revel Tet Ou."

Meaning MJ couldn't do anything other than hold the love of her life, as one of her best friend sobbed opposite him.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
Gather Up The Killers

MARCH 2019

Hayley forced herself to look at the coffins in their attic. They'd managed to use it as a safehouse for a full year, their longest ever layover, and...well, Hayley had her assumptions as to why everything had calmed down, and...well, said assumption was on its way to see them.

Elijah's door was open.

Her lips curled in.

His skin was a mix of grey and green, and if she succeeded today, he'd end up back on two feet, and, well...Hayley Marshall was going to have to actually confront that fact she'd almost left the coffins behind. The fact she hadn't asked for Whit's help hunting down wolf venom; how she'd abandoned them in a warehouse until Hope had started to ask questions...She'd asked Klaus to run with her.

But now, they'd been handed a way to save them.

"Mum?" Hope's voice came from the living room, staring out the front window, "Is that them?"

"Let me check," She appeared, placing a gentle hand on Hope's shoulder, "Stay inside."

Rolling down the sleet drive was a shining navy car, freshly polished, a familiar face in the passenger seat, two others sitting on the porch, watching it park up, coffee mugs in hands, filled with a liquid that definitely wasn't coffee.

"Well, now," Mary Dumas stepped out, "Aren't you a sight?"

Hayley didn't let herself smile yet, even as the old lady greeted her with a hug, Whit popping out from the driver's side, pulling a satchel bag from the back seat.

"No one followed you?"

"Come on now, sweetie," She smiled, releasing her back, "I've been avoiding trouble for a lot longer than you."

The car locked, headlights flashing towards the front of the house, almost out of place among the woodlands encasing the home.

"Whit," Hayley shifted her weight forward, "Are you sure?"

"It's a Malraux," Sam Carlin spoke up from his seat on the porch steps, "Fully fact checked."

"Keelin Ponzio," Whit came to Hayley's side, "Everything matches up with MJ's intel."

She held his look, Mary stepping back, her lips in a thin line.

"I got The Mora to Finn," Cami was perched next to Sam, turning the mug in her hand, "It's nearly drained all of Rebekah's Curse, and the spells are ready to get Klaus out of Marcel's Garden."

Sam breathed in, "Which leaves MJ's notes on the venom."

Silence spread between them all.

"Cure 'em," Mary knew the plan, "Then wake 'em up."

Cami took a very long sip, leaving a red shadow on her lips.

"You really don't think that Hope might be better off without them?"

Hayley's brows lifted, "I made a promise."

"To whom?" Mary called out, "Elijah – "

"My daughter."

There was something 'funny' in how everyone else still reduced Hayley's choices to a man. Like they could never view her as anything more than an attachment, let alone a person in her own right, with individual priorities, and standards she was now determined to hold herself too.

"I promised her a home," She glanced back at the house, "Where she would feel safe."

The only place they hadn't been attacked.

"And protected."

The first place, in five years.

"By the people that love her."

Sam and Whit shared a look as the human let his bag drop to the floor, Cami staring towards the woodlands.

"She's a Mikaelson, too."

"She's also a Crescent," Sam reminded her, "We'd keep her safe."

"From all of the enemies she inherited?" Hayley's only reason for restarting her hunt for a cure, "I thought your new stance was no more wolves dying for wars they didn't start."

Sam's lips twitched up at the call out.

In a way, he was part of the reason Hayley felt the need to bring them all back.

They weren't her pack to command anymore.

"Which doesn't even get into the power she has, that I don't understand."

No matter how hard she tried to.

"She needs someone to teach her to control it," Hayley let herself look at Cami, the woman managing to look back at her too, "I can't do this on my own."

"Can I point out the obvious?" Mary's slightly croaking tone was oddly comforting, "We've all been looking into this stuff for five years."

March was the anniversary of it all.

"Suddenly, we have our answer?"

"MJ handed it to us," Sam shrugged, "We're the ones that have taken a year to finalise it."

"And fact-checking pretty-boy over here?" Mary nodded to Whit, awkwardly itching his neck, "He just pulls a location out of his – "

"MJ asked for me to find her," He reminded them, "Years back; and Keelin wanted info too, but, once that was over and done with, she vanished, and that's none of my business."

The reason they'd even been introduced to the man was because MJ had needed him to find Keelin during the Lucien debacle. Information on her hadn't been his to give away though, and it certainly hadn't been information he'd wanted documented anywhere. And Hayley had never actually asked him for information about anything other than Kol.

But MJ had told Finn.

Mary shook her head, "It's a trap."

"It's a risk," Hayley rephrased, "I'm willing to take."

For Hope.

For Klaus.

And, for MJ.

1991

Marcel Gerard was pouring himself a careful drink in the centre of the courtyard he'd learnt to call home. He'd rather call it home than the plantation a drive away from the city, but it still came with its own baggage, the stone crest hanging on the wall like a surveillance camera. They'd left and never looked back. It was his house. His city. His messes to clean up.

"Where is she?" The man he'd been waiting for stormed in, Marcel just taking a long swig, "We know – "

"You know something?" He mused, "Well, that's a first."

The footsteps stilled.

Not just one set of them, but five, the man glaring Marcel down surrounded by back-up – like they actually thought they could take him in a fight. It shouldn't have been that surprising, the wolves had been tearing their way through the entire city, but still...Marcel hadn't thought they were that stupid.

"Marcel," His gruff voice forced the vampire to turn, facing them, "Hand her over."

He scoffed, "What are you talking about, Richard?"

The werewolf scoffed.

"You march into my house," Marcel gestured out, "To demand things from me?"

He swished the glass.

"And they don't even make sense?"

"Don't play dumb," Richard Xavier-Dumas growled, "You took the kid."

Marcel laughed, "What kid?"

"The Labonair," Richard crept closer, "The house was abandoned, and I know damn well some toddler didn't just break out of a crib on their own."

"If you'd actually spent time with your own kid," Marcel lifted his chin, and the man paused directly in front of him, "You'd realise how wrong that is."

Silence.

"The baby's missing?"

Richard's nostrils flared.

"Well, now," Marcel sucked in dramatically, "That's a bit awkward for you."

He pushed past Richard, letting their shoulders smack as he approached the little gaggle behind him. They were all so ready to jump, fists clenched, scanning every wall, waiting for the vampires to appear. They should've questioned that more. The Abattoir was the home to a fanged army, so many freshly turned as the wolves tried to murder their way into power, yet Marcel didn't have a single one with him?

"A true heir – "

"I'm the true heir," Richard's eyes were bugging, "This is my power – "

"You're a half-baked has-been," Marcel faced each man, "Followed by people who just helped you tear your own alpha apart."

The silence was almost scraping.

"What's to stop them from doing it to you?"

"Hand her over, Marcel," Richard turned slowly, too, "This isn't a fight you wanna start."

"I don't have her."

"Bullshit."

"Why, the hell, would I?" He put his hands out, "In case you haven't noticed, I don't get involved in wolf politics."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

"I'm not dumb enough."

Richard walked right back into his face, "Damn right."

He pushed up to try and give himself anything even close to Marcel's height, his brown hairline receding, arms thick, bordering on tree-trunks, flannel shirt wrapped tightly around them. He was stocky, in the way a rugby prop was stocky – but he was also old. He had a grandchild. And he really knew how to piss Marcel off.

"You little fanged freaks," His words were laced with a level of spit, "Marching through The Quarter."

Marcel stepped closer, reminding the world who was actually looking down on the other.

"Like I couldn't end your life in one night."

"I dare you to try – "

"MARCEL!" A female screech burst through the musk of war, "Marcellus Gerard!"

He let his head fall back, pretending to roll his eyes, turning to face the foyer as Ana Ruiz waltzed in. She was in a deep red top, and just the top, long enough to fall around her thighs, some black print across it, the cover of an album. There was a braided belt in the centre, brown leather carefully woven to the thickness of a hand, wrapped around her waist, a matching jacket over her shoulders, hair half pinned back, her delicate ears, brightly coloured flowers hanging among the waterfall of curls.

The gentle features should never have been taken as that, arms swinging out, hands shoving two of the wolves aside as she barrelled towards him. 

"How," Her hands smacked into Marcel's chest, "Dare you!"

She forced them both past Richard, like no one else was even in the room.

"I have given everything to keep – "

Richard's hand found the back of her jacket, yanking her into his chest, thick arm wrapped around her throat, "The girl, or she dies."

Marcel held his look.

Then, his eyes met the brown of Ana's, seeing how the light always managed to catch in them as her hands clawed into the forearm. What started as a feeble scramble, the wolves beginning to laugh at her 'panic,' quickly became something else entirely as air refused to refill their lungs.

Brown eyes turned to glowing orange.

Crack.

An explosion of light slashed through the courtyard, sparked out of the sky into a single line of blue, or white, or – how did Marcel describe seeing lightning so up close?

Smacking into the freshly 'appointed' alpha of The Crescent Wolves.

Ana stepped forward as he collapsed back, tilting her head innocently while turning to face the choking men. She blinked, offering an innocent smile as it was their turn to grab at their own throats, like they could fight the magic off – like that was ever how it worked.

It didn't matter if they knew better; human instinct was to fight.

There was something Ana almost respected in their willingness to grapple with air, clawing towards their smoking and singed leader, eyes suddenly so pinned on her. They'd come to fight Marcel – they'd thought they were ready to fight a vampire, but this woman? This stranger? This person they'd taken one look at and dubbed, current blood-bag date?

"An," Marcel licked his lip, "You've made your point."

She didn't fake rolling her eyes, crossing her arms while letting one hip settle higher than the other, just watching them gasp. She needed them to see her smile. Her clear disobedience. It was what made the entire ordeal believable.

"Ana."

Her hand lifted with a sigh, everyone flopping to their knees, finally able to feel oxygen again.

"Thank you," Marcel sauntered to the middle of his wolf enemies, "Sorry about her, she doesn't like to be interrupted."

"I like to get to the point," Ana corrected, "They were interrupting me!"

"We were here first," One stupidly spoke.

"You hide behind witchcraft," Another hissed, "The covens will never – "

"The covens do not control me," Ana almost laughed, "If they did, you'd know my face, but you never will."

She let herself take a step to the left, a step towards Richard's body.

"Or..." She pressed into her ankle as his eyes jumped to it, "...Maybe you always will."

He was moving slowly, like a snake in the grass, his eyes entirely dazed, breathing in so deeply it shook through the earth, and into the very power that had already planted itself in his mind.

"Maybe I'm the last face you'll ever see."

"Come on, now," Marcel sent her a smile, "We're all friends here."

Ana managed to smile back at him, like the word was the punchline to a joke.

"You're all making terrible first impressions," He rubbed his hands together, "Let me correct that."

"Give us the girl," Richard pushed, not to standing, but all fours, "You are not allowed to interfere with wolf business."

"Werewolves!" Ana clapped, then pointed up, "That explains the smell!"

Marcel couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't like wolves."

She went from playful to threatening, so quickly, he couldn't help but admire it.

"And I have business to address with Marcel," She looked at Richard as he was bent over by her feet, "Real business. Not some deluded rants about some 'girl' – "

His hands may have been human, but he lunged like he had claws, going straight for her –

Richard Xavier-Dumas was frozen, half-hiked up, arms at slightly strange angles, ready for a throat, held by Ana's flat expression. By the wave released in her eyes. As his men returned to their feet, about to charge after him, their eyes were forced to go wide, watching yellow fill his.

Marcel couldn't help but step back.

Snap.

Every part of his body lurched.

sNaP.

It hit back into the floor, hunched forward, the deep scream something the wolves recognised. Something Marcel had come to know too. The centre of the city changed hands every decade or so, and while he still lived in The French Quarter, this had been the era of the wolves. The Labonair family had stood strong, and he'd liked them, and he'd walked into their home to find it soaked with blood, a very different scream filling his ears.

SNAP.

Richard's scream became a roar as fur raced across his body like a psychiatric wrap.

It wasn't beautiful, or willing, or a familiar blanket a child might adore – it was a prison, Ana's step towards him making it tighter. It made him squirm. It trapped every inch of his being beneath fur as her hand held a bracelet Marcel had slowly become familiar with.

"I do not like," She leant towards the wolf's face, "To be interrupted."

A real wolf.

There wasn't a full moon in the sky, but what had once been a slightly elderly, incredibly blood-thirsty man, was now a rabid animal.

Who needed the moon when the waxing colour of her eyes could control them.

"Run."

It was a clear instruction as her hand pointed back, the bottle Marcel had used flying into her hold as she went to smack the creature through the skull –

It ran.

Through Marcel's foyer, a white furred wolf burst into the city, screams and howls on every street, the men unable to do anything but stare.

"Do not misunderstand me," She flipped the bottle carefully, staring at the crowd, utterly frozen in surprise, "I can put you down, and I will keep you down, and I will ensure you never come after anyone ever again."

Each word was filled with a level of vindication to let them know she wasn't bluffing.

"If you wish to question the rules of The Quarter?"

Marcel had led many a fight for the soul of city through the decades, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being the instigator of the bloodshed.

"If you wish to misbehave?"

He quite enjoyed having someone to help him shut it all down.

"You will suffer the consequences of it."

Marcel wasn't sure he'd even seen wolves flee to quickly, even if they were still on two feet.

Leaving the pair alone.

Ana popped the lid off the bottle, pulling a face at the bourbon, but letting herself take a long drink...

"For someone who likes to stay under the radar," Marcel mused, "You didn't need to go that hard."

She just took another swig.

"An..." He vamped to her side, "You good?"

"Dandy," She lifted it, "You're welcome."

Marcel snorted, "If they – "

"They won't."

"You don't know what I was gonna say."

"I always know what you're going to say," She tapped his chest as he stepped closer to her side, "Your instinct to worry about me is an affliction."

"Richard isn't a guy to mess with."

"And now, he'll never be a 'guy' again," She winced, "Well, not entirely true – my magic will wear off, but once you get this spell to Brynne Deveraux?"

With the wave of a hand, Ana was holding a grimoire page.

"She can rewrite it into Quarter magic, and you will never tell a soul where you got it from."

"Never."

She held his look, "You need to mean it, Marcel."

"If I wanted to tell the covens about you," He lowered his voice, "I already would've."

Her lips twitched up a little.

"Now, where's the kid?"

"Is Kieran definitely ready to take her?"

"Got a family all lined up," Marcel couldn't help but notice the way Ana's eyes softened at the confirmation, "She'll have a good life."

"Far from this war," Ana bobbed her head, "Good."

There was a way she said the word 'war' that Marcel recognised, but he wasn't about to push his luck, and poke for why.

Instead, he just smiled as Ana lifted her hand, revealing a stroller in the foyer. The very child the wolves had been screaming over had been right under their noses, protected by a witch that the city didn't even realise it homed. A woman who'd owed him one, debt officially paid.

"What you just did," Marcel let himself drift to the stroller, "How'd you learn spells like that?"

"I'm a shifter too," Ana shrugged, "Wolves aren't the only kind."

His head couldn't help but snap back to face her, like he expected to see her burst into fur.

"Native Americans? You'd think someone as old as you would've heard those stories."

"You're not Native American."

"No, but if they exist alongside wolves, you think America is the only place for it?"

Marcel's lips parted, "I've never really thought about it."

"Some say wolves originated with the Natives too," She pondered, "I'm not sure I fully believe it isn't a racist stereotype, but who am I to comment. My family line likes to shift, so, funnily enough, when I'm mad enough, I can tap into that."

His head just shook, "What are you?"

"Now, now," Ana teased, "We're not here to talk about me."

He gave her a pointed look.

"I'm only here because these silly little leaders wanted to drag a child into a war," She'd been keeping tabs on the wolves, "Now, she's free, and so am I."

Their fountain deal complete.

"Tyrant stopped."

A chill spread down Marcel's spine, as he couldn't stop himself from frowning, something in Ana's face changing in a way he didn't remember.

"I," She stepped closer, taking his hand, "Could never let a power contest ruin the world."

She never would've done that.

"You could never let a power contest ruin the world."

"...Ana – "

"Do you think I'd be proud of who you've become?"

MARCH 2019

Marcel sat up in a rush, gasping for air as her eyes seemed pressed into his mind. His hands carefully patted his bed, white sheets freshly changed, wishing this was the first morning he'd woken up with her voice in his ear. Wishing it was just a memory. It had to be. Maybe Marcel was wrong to think she wouldn't take his hand – they'd been friends, hell, they'd been –

Memory was a fickle thing.

He'd been jumping through memories every time he closed his eyes, but that wasn't just a memory, even if he wished he could explain it away. She'd looked at him. She'd spoken. How the hell had Ana spoken to him?

...

"This is pathetic," He pushed his legs to the side, standing up, "Today is not the day."

Because it couldn't be Ana.

Marcel had been dreaming about her on a loop, and it wasn't because she was somehow haunting him despite finding peace, it was because he...It was almost funny the way your mind tried to teach you a lesson. Like he needed any other reminder that it was officially the fifth anniversary of MJ Floare-Ruiz's death.

~***~

Beneath Josh's apartment, the gallery was overflowing with people, midday sun casting the slightly dirty sidewalks in an almost white glow. Grey dust followed the different walking tours, free roaming tourists, and general locals. It was hard to miss the fact the city was full of strangers, a new festival on the calendar, marked by beads on balconies, hanging pieces of rope drenched in fake blood, and 'smiling man' specials on every ad board.

Suddenly, shops were dangling feathers like fairy lights across doors and windows.

Almost every art viewer carried one, either on a hat, or pinned to a jacket.

As for the supernatural?

Vincent had begun the day with a speech.

Not just to the witches, but inviting the wolves, and the vampires, to remind them that the week was...a holiday was the wrong word, no matter how much the fanged tourists liked to act like it was. And, well, the vampires were still invited to his talk, because they knew it wasn't all of them. Plenty of other members of the undead would arrive, walking to the cemetery, and, occasionally even The Bayou, to pay tribute.

The wolves guarded The Bayou grove more than ever, during that week.

The glistening gem in the forest, its river water clearer that the swamp would have ever allowed, flowers carefully grown around the base of a thick tree. Trinkets were still added to the piles, or hung from the nails, the painting preserved in the middle of it. People liked to pretend they didn't know who the artist was. Some witches would claim it was Davina.

They all knew the truth.

Leaving Josh to exist St Anne's and walk back to the business he'd unintentionally inherited.

One, he refused to let die.

Even if it meant stomaching the questions about MiMi Pasare and the serial killer who'd spent months trying to kill her. Their city was not meant to represent death anymore, but a very specific crowd liked to treat it like Spring Break, tearing through their citizens like never before. Out of town vampires didn't care about their rules, or their sides, meaning there couldn't be sides anymore...they all knew they didn't have sides anymore...

MJ had died, and they'd all be damned if they forgot how much she hated sides.

But –

The brass band on the corner made it easy for Josh to smile as he found the bar on the second floor of her gallery. MJ had started it as a café, able to morph into alcohol for evening openings, but he wasn't against mixing the occasional brunch cocktail to the right clients, watching a small family in the corner giggle, having bought the patterned notebooks and colouring pencils he'd started to sell, drinking coffee, and eating biscuits as the two kids scribbled away.

"They're nice prints," Vincent accepted the drink Josh handed him, "Colourful."

"Don't worry," Josh smiled, "I'm not gonna pretend I know the art lingo either."

Vincent smiled, lifting the drink, about to speak when they heard the jingle downstairs.

Maybe, Josh should've closed for the day, but he also knew that wouldn't have stopped anything. In fact, it would've brought even more attention to their meeting, strangers desperate to get a picture of 'where he used blood to draw a grave!'

"Your royal highness," Josh made sure to flitter his hand as he bowed to Marcel, "To what do I owe this great honour?"

Marcel's lips twitched up, "All right, all right."

The expression faltered as his eyes hit the frames behind the server's table. While half of the café upstairs was like a bar top, it wasn't built for people to sit by, it was for paying, and for displaying sweet treats. Anything meant to stay fresh was under the glass half to Josh's left, carefully potted plants lining the top, a golden glow cast over each snack thanks to carefully placed lights among them. Behind the bar would change, depending on the artists on display downstairs.

Most of the time, the people who came upstairs, were people who'd buy something. Even if it wasn't a full canvas, it'd be a postcard, or a larger print, seeing how the designs fit around a room that wasn't built for displays, and realising they could take it home.

Then, among the favourites were personal pictures. Past artists. Past openings. Davina's old lockscreen, her Fete dress, next to MJ's, both grinning, seeming so innocent, trapped in the year before...everything else. Then, a photo of Cami, Josh, and MJ from an opening that final summer. A photo of MJ herself, a small golden name card next to it, explaining who she was to anyone lingering long enough to read it.

"Take it down a notch," Marcel tried to focus on Josh's bow, then Vincent, "I'm happy you came."

"Your awesome punctuality," Vincent's phone was on the counter, "Definitely gave me that impression."

Josh snorted.

Marcel glanced around again, "It's nice."

"It's a nice break from Rousseau's," Josh admitted.

"Passed through earlier," Marcel admitted, "Saw the witches and the vampires all getting along."

Josh and Vincent shared an almost look.

"You've hired more wolves."

"They had great CV's," Josh decided to shift, grabbing a small plate, and reaching for one of the cupcakes, "Can't be Switzerland without inviting everyone."

"Exactly what MJ would've wanted."

They couldn't help but tense at the comment, glancing to the family in the corner like they might've been eavesdropping.

"Though she probably pictured Cami doing it."

"Cami wouldn't be as good at the record spinning," Josh mimed DJing, making slight sounds with his mouth, "I keep it going all week."

Marcel grinned, happier at the glimpse of casual banter. They hadn't had any surprise bursts of magic, and while that meant they weren't any closer to MJ...it meant there was nothing to add anymore tension to them. Though, if Marcel hadn't wanted tension, he shouldn't have brought up Cami's name.

"Can we cut to the chase?" Vincent was less upbeat, "Don't you have a city to run?"

"A job that'd be a lot easier if I knew the witches were in check."

"The Cauldron will stay in line," He picked up his phone, gesturing with it, "Provided you keep the vampires out."

"Then why am I hearing about secret conclaves?" Marcel had info from Sofya, "And sigils scribbled on the walls?"

Josh paused his attempt to offer them cake.

"Sounds like someone's stirring trouble."

"Marcel," Vincent glanced to the family again, slipping his phone away, "These out-of-town vampires got you a little bit paranoid, man."

"All right," The vampire scanned his features for any sign of a lie, "Look..."

His voice softened.

"I'm asking you, especially this week, handle your community."

"Am I gonna get a personal meeting?" Sam interrupted their trio, his arrival incredibly swift, enough to almost come from nowhere, "Or do you not worry about wolves anymore?"

Marcel glanced to Vincent, only to see him just as surprised.

"What are we talking about?"

Neither answered.

"Are you serious?" Sam almost laughed, "If the pair of you are having a private meeting – "

"We always do check-ins," Vincent meant to assure him.

"You'd know that if you bothered to communicate," Marcel didn't, "If you wanna talk, we can talk, but you've made it perfectly clear you want nothing to do with my version of The Quarter."

Sam opened his mouth in mock offence, "Sorry, that I'm too busy to play warlord."

Vincent couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the almost joke.

"It's not my fault I'm the only one here with a job."

Josh coughed.

"The only one in charge, with a job."

The vampire grinned at his friend.

"Thought you'd be impressed by my work ethic," He teased, "And peace-making abilities."

Marcel rolled his eyes. "Because you wanna impress me?"

"I am dating your 'daughter,'" Sam continued before anyone could linger on that reminder, "I heard about some weird sigil-based rituals, wanted to ask about it, and found you two talking about them. What are the chances!"

Marcel straightened up, "You know about that?"

"My siblings are witches," He pulled out his phone, "Funnily enough I pay attention to this stuff."

Vincent curled his bottom lip in, letting his head nod, "There's actually something?"

"I got sent this," Sam showed them a photo, "And, well...beyond my family, it's the anniversary."

He knew that his suddenly determination to be involved could be taken as a red flag.

"We've gotten lucky with the past few years," He lowered his voice, "The only people dumb enough to try looking for MJ's remains are vampires; if we finally have a rogue witch?"

Vincent tapped on Sam's screen, forwarding himself the picture.

"Nothing's allowed to happen to her grove."

"We won't let it," Vincent agreed.

"Just gotta find who's stirring up trouble," Marcel agreed, "Then stop 'em."

Vincent let his eyes meet Sam's, as the downstairs door opened again, letting the rush of footfall reappear in their ears. The reminder of their visitors. The usual problem children.

"As far as our out-of-town friends go," Marcel nodded, "If they act up, I'll handle 'em."

The trio tried to nod.

To breathe out.

Josh pushed the plate of cake forward again, not exactly sure why he'd agreed to let the pair meet in the gallery to begin with. It had been Marcel's idea. Maybe it was to get in Vincent's good graces, picking a place that could've been viewed as witch territory to give The Regent the high-ground, but...MJ had been a heretic. Anything that was hers, was both.

That was why Marcel had picked it.

"How is Davina?" Marcel tried to make normal conversation, "She hasn't called in a while."

Sam winced, "She's trying out one of the spirit dive comas at the moment."

Everyone tensed.

"I thought she was told not to," Josh murmured, "She hadn't passed enough of the tests – "

"Name one time Davina's ever done what she's told," Sam's entire body was tense, "She's not dead; Lavali is giving me updates, so, maybe they were wrong when they said Davina wasn't going to complete the 'transition.'"

"We don't want her to complete it."

He just shrugged, making a half-sigh as an explanation.

"Sam."

"Obviously I don't want her to," He put his hands up, "We've gotten so lucky with The Pethane."

Vincent finally let himself pick at a bit of the cake.

"I don't know if it's MJ-Clio guilt, but they've barely pushed with her training – like they might not even make her finish the tests, meaning she'll never become a Floare, but she'll also never become a mummified corpse for however many centuries."

"And," Josh shifted, "She won't die."

"If she becomes the mummy, she won't die either," Sam was trying to seem calm, "She only dies if she fails."

"And the sleep coma is one of the tests?" Marcel re-clarified, "And she's doing it?"

Sam's eyes shut, "It kills ninety-three per cent of the people who try to become a Floare."

Vincent's froze as he picked up his piece of cake, "What?"

"You think that's bad?" Josh was slightly more up to date than everyone other than Sam, "They basically told Davina she didn't owe them anymore – her deal was with Clio, and Clio died, so she was free to go, despite having started the training."

A life with them to sever her bond to The Sisters, and The Ancestors.

"And she decided to go through with it anyway!"

"She's looking for MJ," Sam shook his head, "She'll be fine."

Marcel's eyes were bugging.

"When she completes these dives, she'll have two more tests left, Astral Fire, and form shifting," He explained, "She's promised me she's not even going to touch the animal stuff, which kills like ninety-nine percent of remaining applicants, so that's when she'll finally back out."

"And they're just letting her?" Marcel paused, "For people who can see the future, they're just letting a witch use them?"

Sam bit into his cheek.

"She's gonna be made to finish it."

"The only reason she'd need to finish it, was if we still haven't found MJ's spirit," Sam tried to focus, "And, even if she does do all of them, she'll have to retake a bunch of the earlier ones she passed only on power level, but failed on the skills and technique front."

He really didn't want his girlfriend to end up trapped in some coma, hidden in some monument around the world.

"And, maybe she can use those failures to avoid finishing any of it," He pulled his phone back, their eyes able to catch as he opened his texts, "They keep reminding her she doesn't have to go through with it, so, like..."

He was really holding on to the idea The Pethane could actually be trusted.

"Not the time," He glanced at Marcel, "Actually trying out the 'diving' was a very impromptu decision, and I told her to tell you."

"She knew I would've talked her out of it," Marcel grimaced.

"If I couldn't, you couldn't," Sam promised, "I mean..."

"...It's about MJ."

"She's not about to stop."

~***~

MJ sat at a desk carved out of her little cherry tree, facing the river, a wine glass on her left, Samedi just behind it. Seeing Kol had helped. Seeing Kol sob into an abyss until he'd eventually retreated into the shadows, leaving Tunde's blade in his wake, had not. Though, it did work as brilliant motivation.

"Next!"

She'd caved to summoning more spirits out of the river, and, while, at first, there'd been a slight fight about answering to her? Two bodies hung behind her, apples in their mouths as the tree held them up. Maybe it was a bit dramatic, but MJ thought she deserved to be dramatic.

"Name?"

"Evelin Audubon," The woman recited clearly, "I was not involved with the possession, or the hunt, or the magic."

MJ tilted her head, scanning the slightly tan skin, and 20s style dress. She wasn't a young woman like most of the other people MJ had yanked out of the nothingness, more in her fifties, but it still felt young. Yes, life expectancy was a lot longer in MJ's era, and maybe that was an issue with her mind, but...why was everyone young?

The city was eating its witches.

Well, it had been.

"I was in The Bayou when you called us out," She admitted more willingly than some of the others, "And you were right."

MJ took a long sip of her drink, only for Samedi's finger to lift, the red reforming the minute it touched the wooden table.

She hadn't just created a table, she'd created an incredibly high seat, as well as a gavel, desperate for anything to make the situation slightly more entertaining. MJ might've fundamentally hated the law, but she could hate the institutions creating laws while still admitting they had a little bit of pizzazz to them. Add in a magical apple tree, and ever expanding after life, and a screaming spirit river?

MJ couldn't help but think she was on the brink of a sitcom.

It would've been funny to watch her judge souls, if not for the fact she needed information.

Hopefully, the information was within reach.

The two witches behind her both wore distinct animal masks, the sides seemingly welded into their flesh, and they'd instantly jumped for MJ's throat, forcing her to string them up. She didn't mean to be a dictator to the dead, but these women had literally chased her through the forest with an axe! If they still wanted a fight, MJ would leave them there until they explained themselves. Or, well, until she found someone who knew enough to snitch.

They were older than the other spirits, they had to know the truth.

"I cannot tell you much," The spirits had clearly been able to talk about her suddenly urge to summon them, "But I ask you to spare me."

MJ paused, "You guys know I'm not murdering you, right?"

Samedi started to laugh.

"Like, you're already dead?" She stressed, "I can't kill you."

"You're sending us away," Evelin pointed out, "I know it's to peace, or hell, or wherever – "

"Honestly," MJ winced, "Some of y'all I'm just kicking back into the water."

The spirit froze.

"But most are going to peace."

Herself, still refusing to accept that light, instead focusing on her drink, pausing after the first taste.

"This isn't wine?"

"I'm the god of parties," Samedi had unbuttoned his shirt, words almost slurred, "I do more than one drink."

MJ could taste fruit, so she let herself sip, "Why don't you want peace?"

"I want to help."

MJ couldn't help but choke a little on the drink.

She put her glass down.

Well, that was a first.

"You shouldn't be so surprised," Evelin crossed her arms, "Some of us have been helping you for a while."

MJ pulled a face, "I guess that's true."

"I wish I could explain the power in our earth, but I saw the fear it created, and I heard some stories," She pitched herself, "I believe your method may be more appropriate. Rather than letting our minds be corrupted by it, we hunt out the real origin, teach it to the living, then work together to destroy it."

The entire thing was spoken like world changing information, MJ forcing herself to not make a jab about it being the logical and obvious thing to do.

"If the dead were enough to trap it, surely living and dead, together, can destroy it?"

MJ narrowed her eyes.

She lifted her glass towards the woman, looking to the side, "Is she lying?"

"No," Samedi confirmed.

"Well..." MJ looked about, "Enjoy?"

Evelin paused, "Enjoy?"

"If you're here to help, I can't kick you back into the river, or send you to peace, so I guess I'll just leave you here?" MJ shrugged, "I control it all, so don't think you can pull one over on me, but if you end up having any suggestions, or, like, managing to make contact with the living?"

She was old enough to have descendants.

"Please let me know!"

Evelin's eyes were wide, like she hadn't expected her plea to work.

"I'm not here to damn you all!" MJ yelled out to anyone listening, "I'm reasonable."

She always had been.

"Once I've got through today's 'summoning's,'" MJ pitched it, "We'll talk about the stories you heard?"

"Yes," Evelin breathed out in relief, "Please."

She was rushing towards the table, holding on to its front to look MJ dead in the eye, reaching like she wanted to shake her hand.

"Thank you."

"Wow," MJ rested back, "You're the first one to just be honest with me, by the way."

"I can't wait to help!"

Her heart softened, "Happy to have you on side, Evelin."

The pair shared a smile, MJ almost enjoying her little self-imposed job.

Then;

"NEXT!"

Samedi just started to laugh all over again as a new face crawled out of the river, the earth dug into a magic circle thanks to MJ's fingernails, forcing people to just keep coming through until she grew tired of it. Which was incredibly easy to do. A lot of the spirits were not friendly, though, most were just desperate to take in the sun, and find peace.

None of them knew a goddamn thing about the supposed dark power in the soil.

Well, nothing other than the fact they should fear it.

"You know what," MJ sipped as she watched a man shake water from his hair, "I get why you're a party god."

"Hm?"

"If I had to do this every day, I'd also be a drunk."

He properly laughed, "This is why I have a house around me."

A term for other spirits, who'd do some of the work.

"And I think we both know you enjoy a good revel without motivation."

MJ hated that she was smiling at him.

She couldn't wait to get drunk again.

Yes, she was pregnant, so it'd be at least nine months post-resurrection, but the idea of being back on the dance floor, taking in pumping beats and flashing lights as bodies found freedom, some luminescent shot racing through her system?

It was almost funny to remember her pre-senior year 'summer of fun' (and fear of Klaus). She'd packed in so many nights out, only for Elijah to find her post-turning birthday 'out of character.' Sure, he was talking more about the dead body, but...she'd liked it!

It was easier to act like his stance was evidence he never really knew her.

Rather that, than acknowledge it was out of some protective attachment he'd once had for her.

Whatever, MJ didn't want to think about him.

"We will celebrate your return with one," He promised, "My wife will adore your potty thoughts."

"You found Kol again yet?" She retorted, "Now we know he still has The Nwa."

"He left the city," Samedi frowned, "Though, there seems to be a plot to bring him back."

MJ relaxed, "I can work with that."

"We just need the book to end up in Tia's hands, then I can reach out."

"Please set me free," The man before them finally raised to his feet, "This – this..."

His eyes seemed to blur as he took in MJ's realm of the dead.

"This is what they promised."

MJ swished her drink, trying to remind herself it wasn't real, and she was dead; she could drink alcohol for a bit longer.

"This – you," His eyes filled with light, "You found it?"

"I found it?" MJ nodded, "Sure, let's go with that."

"I knew there had to be a mistake," He fell to his knees, "I knew they couldn't have lied."

"Okay, I take it back," MJ winced, "I did not find it, it spawned out of me – what are you talking about?"

The man's head shot up to stare at her, "You made this?"

"Yeah."

He ran his hands over the grass, MJ leaning up to check he didn't unintentionally break her magic circle.

"Why?"

"This is what they told us it was like," He was staring at the grass with envy, "Not darkness."

MJ let her shoulders sag.

"Not the cold."

The blue patchwork of the city's history that had once trapped their souls, never able to truly rest.

"Please let me stay."

"Do you actually want that?" MJ kept her voice soft, "Or do you want peace?"

He met her eyes.

His skin was dark, brown eyes somehow deeper in colour, modern braids pulled into a topknot, implying he'd probably died around the time she had. It must've been before, but MJ was sure she knew the faces of everyone the ghosts sacrificed, so how didn't she know him?

"I was in the French Quarter Coven," He read her confused expression, "...I should've stopped it."

MJ sat up, "The Harvest?"

He managed a tight nod.

"You were involved in The Harvest..." She let out an exhausted sigh at the dilemma, "...I'm so sorry."

Marcel and his vampires had killed almost everyone in The Cemetery, and they'd had every right to, but The Harvest had then worked. Davina and the girls had come back, and the magic had spread through the city like a wave of power. It was wrong. It was fundamentally wrong. But everyone involved was technically brain washed to think the ancestors did no wrong.

The first thing this man had said was 'please set me free.'

MJ had heard the stories of the shining ancestral realm, and she'd known it to be a lie. Davina had not come back with any stories of light, or joy, and witches embracing each other; neither had Monique, even though she'd seemingly been worshipped by the spirits. The city lied, so it's witches would want to be consecrated there...

"Do you know why we need The Harvest?"

He was in his mid-twenties, if she had to guess.

"Were you given a reason why it mattered?"

"We'd lose magic without it."

"And you never questioned that?"

"Why would the spirits lie about that?"

"Why would they lie about their afterlife?"

His eye began to water, at the reality of that point. It was clear...even when he'd been in the blue realm, he'd held out hope for a better one. He'd clearly believed he'd just been sent to the bad place, because of course he had – he'd died while watching four sixteen-year-olds get their throats slit.

"You can practise magic without an ancestral realm," She forced herself to say it, "Most of the world lives that way."

"They said the city needed it."

"The other covens don't do it."

"They were beneath us," He reasoned, "They came after – "

"We are one city," MJ pushed her drink to the side, "We stand together. The French Quarter may have bound us into place, but we cannot be reborn that way."

One coven, forced to just let it member's die, because of some story of evil?

MJ knew better than to doubt stories.

She fully believed that some dark spirit must be out there, driving them all mad, but...why didn't anyone have any real answers?

"Be free," MJ lifted her hand, "Find peace."

"But – " He paused, like he expected to be cut off, only to see her nod for him to keep talking, "If everything you say is true – if all of that was a lie – "

"It's not necessarily a lie," MJ rephrased, "We probably need The Harvest for something, it's just not what you've been told."

Unnecessary lies were the bane of her existence.

Incredibly rich coming from a woman who'd hidden her father from her best friend, but –

That was necessary.

She'd been through too much pain, and Klaus –

Nope! Not the time to think about The Mikaelson's!

"The murder of four..." MJ let herself ponder, "There are four horsemen to the apocalypse, four seasons, four 'classic' elements."

"Some say the human mind can only process four pieces of information at a time," Samedi mused.

"Yeah, yeah, higher being, remind me, how long have you been failing to save your wife?"

"How long has your husband been failing to save you?"

"He's not my husband," MJ pointed, "But touché."

She paused.

"There's also four cardinal points; north, east, south, and west."

"Ah yes," Samedi mocked, "Let's defeat a great evil chewing through after lives with a map."

"Or a compass," MJ grinned, "Maybe it's allergic to bronze or something."

"I don't want to go back to the bad place," The man interrupted their rambling, "Let me stay."

The world he was supposedly promise.

"I, I – I can make amends! I can find out the truth of The Harvest."

"Are you sure?" MJ sobered up, forcing herself to be serious as she picked up the gavel, "You can change your mind at any moment, and find the real peace – "

"If this world becomes the city," He found firmness, "I wish to return to the city."

"...Like," MJ had to check, "Alive?"

"We're meant to power the living," He repeated the belief he managed to hold on to, "Allow me to not have died in vain."

MJ clanged the gavel, "He stays!"

"Didn't even check with me," Samedi huffed, "For all you know, he's a trickster."

"You would've just pushed him back in the river yourself."

"Oh, entirely."

In front of them, this man had returned to the floor, basking in the grass just as she once had. The excitement she'd felt, that first step in the Mystic Falls forest, before she'd realised Kai was the one to summon her.

...Why were the spirits winning her over?

They were all miserable...

"Is this my child's future?" MJ murmured, "Having to make these calls."

"Who knows," Samedi slowly refilled her drink, with a look, "There is no point fearing for her future."

MJ really watched the joy on the spirits face, then turned to see Evelin exploring the woodland.

The Bayou hadn't existed in the afterlife, until MJ's grove.

They'd been stuck with the city, and while MJ did adore it, she couldn't imagine it without the green edges. Without the music on the corner. There hadn't been any music or art, just blue, and chanting, and cliques, seemingly at war with each other, and the living.

"The future should only ever be embraced."

"Of course you'd think that," She shifted, "You want her here."

"We have no proof which side she'll sit," He reasoned, "The living – "

"Where she'll feel the death of everyone she anchors."

"You do not know that," He sounded so done with her, "Your child is entirely new. How she forms, and who she is, is up to you."

MJ's own argument, when everyone had tried to demonise visions of Hope.

"My house feel no pain when our followers die."

"I guess that's true," MJ couldn't assume her kid would have Bonnie's experience, Bonnie hadn't been born as an anchor, "I don't want to worry."

Samedi's sly smile didn't help her feel settled.

"I want the kid to enjoy whatever powers they're born to wield."

It was why MJ couldn't commit to a plan that would move all that power into a new Floare stone. Maybe, once she'd talked about it with Kol, they could find a way for their kid to still access all the power, just without the weight of holding the realms of the dead together with her immortal life, but...still. It felt wrong.

"It's just..."

The dead.

"NEXT!" She smacked the gavel again.

~***~

There was always something slightly ironic about the witches taking over the churches in the city. It made sense. So much of their original power had been about the dead, and the city was full of spirits who'd died in duels, deliberately picking their fights on holy ground in the hope's it'd land them in heaven. Sure, it'd been passed to Marcel, then to Kieran O'Connell – then, under his watch, to the wolves, back to the vampires, back to the witches.

The front of the building was filled with fold out tables, not really matching the intricate wooden designs around them, the air uniquely clean following The Floare Rituals. Most of the people manning the stools were teenaged wolves, Sam sending them each a proud nod as they handed out bags to a whole mix of people.

Once upon a time, Kieran had done this for their families.

Even if Sam wasn't religious, he wasn't about to turn down helping Vincent with his mission to protect, meaning wolves were wondering the pews just as much as witches were.

"Am I meant to tell Marcel every time Davina does something she doesn't want him to know about?" Sam pondered, "Because I feel like I shouldn't, but, also, like...if something happens?"

"You wouldn't let it," Josh was reorganising one of the tables, "And I don't think she'd do anything that dangerous without telling him herself."

"Pethane rituals don't count as 'that' dangerous?" Vincent was folding deep blue bags.

"I mean," Sam shifted, "They're led by people with centuries of experience, and it's clear they don't want her to die, so like..."

"You're able to stomach thinking about it," Vincent bobbed his head.

"Yeah," He was trying, "We have a rule; she has to call me, and if I don't answer, she can't do it until I do, and then we usually spend like a day on the phone, or she tries to wait for me to fly out, if we have the time for that type of thing."

Davina knew why Sam couldn't just vanish during the anniversary.

"She's so good at magic."

She'd been chosen for The Harvest for a reason.

"When I'm there, I get why she's not even hesitating; everything's just rolling off her tongue like she was born to say it," He shook his head in awe, "Like, I can feel it."

His eyes drifted to the sunlight in the stained glass.

"I know MJ always said wolves could feel magic, but I finally get it."

Josh pursed his lips, nodding his head, "You're disgustingly in love."

"This is the first time I've not been able to fly out," He pouted, "If I'm not there for the start, I'm meant to be there for the end – "

"Were you in Greece?" Vincent paused his work.

Sam straightened up, "What do you know about Greece?"

"Bonnie caught me up."

"Oh," Sam gleamed, "Did she?"

"Don't do that," Vincent scolded, "We're friends."

"Friends," Josh followed Sam's lead, "So what happened in Greece?"

"They tried breaking into Bonnie's psychic plane," Vincent gave them a bored look, "You know, the place where she keeps the vampire boyfriend she's also trying to resurrect?"

"No offence, Vincent," Sam patted his shoulder, "But I think we know red flags are part of your type?"

"Yeah, yeah, my ex-wife," Vincent used the word like it was a defence, "Funny."

"I was thinking about Ryos," Josh joked.

Vincent just glanced to the doorway, breathing out.

Josh frowned, blinking slowly at the strange reaction and lack of rolling eyes, or correction, or fake laugh, or literally anything that would stop him from tensing. He'd literally made the joke! Why was he tense?

"If you were trying to imply, you're too old for her," The hybrid tried to work out why the pair suddenly seemed awkward, "She's twenty-six. And, a witch, not a vampire."

It was her actual age.

"Davina said Bonnie told her about letting Enzo go."

"To access her family line," Vincent corrected, "He came back."

Sam just shrugged, "She's nice."

"She is," He perked up, "And you youngsters are annoying."

"You're only thirty-four – "

"Adam!" A woman's voice called, "Where are you going?"

As Josh turned, ready to contribute something to the conversation again, he leant back, just before a young boy could crash into him, lifting the blue bag he'd grabbed up.

"What's up," He put on a smile, "Little witch dude?"

"Whoa," He stared up in awe, "You're a vampire?"

"I know," Josh beamed, "I got the teeth and everything – "

Something in the boy jumped, the bag in Josh's hand giving out as fruit crashed to the floor.

"Adam!" His mother appeared, in an orange and brown flower-print top, eyes wide at the slight mess, "Say you're sorry!"

The boy looked up at Josh, clearly not afraid or anything, just...

"Now."

"Sorry," He pleaded.

"It's okay," Josh laughed it off as Adam took back off, racing around the church, carrying the energy only kids under the age of ten seemed to embrace.

"I'm sorry," His mother repeated, bending down to pick the semi-mess up.

"Honestly, it's fine."

"Maxine," Vincent dropped down too, as Sam's mouth went to open, "Let me help you with that."

"He doesn't listen," She couldn't help but smile over her shoulder at her son, "Maybe I should stick him in a boundary spell."

"He'll grow out of it," Vincent grinned, glancing to Josh for a second, the vampire quickly turning a way to shoot Sam a pointed look, "Just give him a couple decades."

"That's optimistic," She laughed as Vincent finished collecting the oranges, "Anyway, uh..."

Around her neck, Maxine was wearing two necklaces, tight to the throat, mainly wooden brown beads with carefully places blue and white ones among it.

Then, a feather charm.

Sam grimaced.

"Thank you," She returned to her feet, slinging her own bag over her shoulder, "For all of this."

"Oh, well," Vincent rubbed his hands together, "Just trying to make sure everybody's stocked up, ready to stay out of The Quarter."

His eyes once again jumped to their observers, Josh spinning, hand moving like he'd meant to polish the table while Sam whistled innocently.

"...At least for the next week or so," He glared at them, "You know."

"Yeah," Josh turned his head back, unable to stop himself from interjecting, "Just, until the, uh Eurotrash vampires are done Eurotrashing the city."

"Don't forget the True Crime Pasare Podcast fanatics!" Sam started to cackle, "They love the blood bag cocktails."

"At least they bring gifts," Maxine mused, "You should see The Cemetery."

Josh sighed, "The tourists stacked it?"

"Pasare Bird plushie's for miles," She focused back on Vincent, "Makes this stuff mean even more."

She leant closer.

"Real looking out for the covens."

"Just doing what MJ wanted," Vincent hadn't wanted to be Regent, "Happy you're happy."

She gave him one final smile, then turned away, glancing through the pews to try and stop Adam, racing towards the sound of footsteps knowing it was her best bet.

"Um, hey," Sam pushed his shoulders back, "Vincent?"

"Casanova," Josh corrected.

"She's into you."

"You two really don't know when to quit," Vincent tutted.

"But he's right," Josh's mood was lighter, "She was totally into you."

He crossed his arms, "Why are you suddenly invested in my love life?"

"Since it started including fun, cool, ridiculously gorgeous," Josh listed, "Single mums."

"I'm still kinda invested in the Bonnie option," Sam pulled a face, "He can't stop himself from bringing her up."

"I'm," Vincent put his hands to his chest, "Going to get back to work."

"Hey," Josh put his hands up, "If you'd rather be a monk for the rest of your life?"

"You're one to talk."

"Excuse you," He defended, "I've got a boyfriend."

Sam made a sound.

"I do!"

"You have a recurring hook-up," Sam pointed, "That you're yet to put a label on."

"Yeah, well," Josh pointed his bag of food at him, "Just labelled it."

Sam grinned, "That mean I can meet him?"

"I'll let you meet him," Josh returned to looking at Vincent, "If Vincent asks Maxine out."

The elder man glared at them both.

"Come on," The vampire teased, "Gonna make me hide my maybe boyfriend? Awfully homophobic of you."

"Or," Sam pointed, "More evidence it's because his heart wouldn't be in it."

He picked up an orange himself, voice becoming overdramatic.

"Because his heart belongs to Bonnie."

"The pair of you," Vincent side, repeating, "Bonnie's trying to resurrect her boyfriend."

"That's not a denial!"

"Fine," Vincent put his arms out, "You two aren't gonna let this drop?"

"Nope."

"No chance."

"Maxine," He turned, sauntering down the pews, only to realise what he was actually about to do, only just able to stutter out the question as the two eavesdroppers giggled.

It had been a while.

Sam glanced at Josh's listening ears, "You good?"

"Great."

Sam's phone pinged, but he didn't look at it.

"Are you?" Josh lowered his voice, "The magic stuff..."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You usually go straight to T or Abi if you're worried."

"I can't be mad at Marcel for not including wolves," Sam reasoned, "If I don't even try to be included. We're finally strong enough to actually help with this stuff."

Josh almost accepted that answer, "And not flying out to Davina?"

Sam shifted.

"What's that about?"

"Like I could leave right now?"

"We can handle the stranger-danger vamps," Josh assured him, "You can go."

"It's not the strangers I'm worried about."

~***~

The Mississippi River ran through St Louis, creating a stretch of blue that weaved through the land, almost familiar to its watchers. The water was born in the mountains, cutting down to trail its way through the south, eventually reaching the sea in Louisianna. Not every drop would make it to the end of the journey, then again, what was the end for a body of water? The ocean? The sky? The cycle it lived would always reset, so maybe, the first specs to fly up into the puff clouds overhead were the real winners.

Kol Mikaelson certainly thought so.

Better to be a cloud, than to face New Orleans soil.

...Well, okay, he had grown to like the city, and MJ was technically in the soil, so those poor evaporations would never get to know her, but he wasn't getting to know her very much anymore either, so, why should the water get to?

The Verite Nwa was sitting in the palm of his hand, open, as his eyes carefully moved between it, the shelves before him, and his phone. He was standing in a train station, just by the river, having walked through an old styled green door that didn't seem to go anywhere. To the mortals, they probably assumed it was some staff-only cleaning closet, but, to him?

Behind the dark green was an impossible space, stairs to a second floor, masked from sight, filled with bookshelves, and windows, sunlight streaming in, dust coating the large table in the centre of the room.

He was wearing jeans, hair slightly shorter than normal, freshly cut, and clean shaven, like it was worth trying to look good. MJ could see him. He'd visited New Orleans, and he chose to believe she'd seen it, and if she was suddenly able to see him, he wanted to look good – not that she'd care. She wouldn't care, right? She'd never really cared. She'd tease him endlessly about bad haircuts, but she'd still kiss his cheek, and offer to do it herself, and run her fingers through his hair –

Kol let his fingers tap the top of the book's spine, "You'd hate this."

He had a text message from Sam Carlin.

Ryan had given out his new number :(

Then again, maybe that was a good thing. Sam had news that some witch rituals had taken place, sending a picture of symbols to Kol in the hope's he'd recognise it, or, at least, be interested enough to pay them a visit. Kol wasn't. And Kol didn't entirely recognise it. something was tugging at his mind, some detail that seemed to ring a bell, but he couldn't place it, and now he was stuck, staring at it, trying to remind himself he was in an abandoned library for an entirely different task.

An abandoned witch library.

Kol carefully closed the book, his phone trapped on the pages he'd been scanning, glancing around.

When he'd first arrived, he hadn't thought to question it.

Why hadn't they taken the books with them?

Sure, maybe some fight had broken out, and people had died, but even then? No other magical being in St Louis had arrived, jumped off a train, felt a strange tug in their gut, then thought to investigate? The dust wasn't deeply layered – too fresh to be some decade old fight, and modern covens were far harder to erase.

"You can drop the cloaking charm!" He called out, "This isn't a fight you want to start."

His eyes scanned, turning to murmur.

"No matter how powerful you think you are..."

There was a creak.

Like a window had been opened.

Or a step had been made.

Kol tuned in, having assumed any heartbeats were just from the train station beneath them –

He spun, catching Cami by the throat, hoisting her up, just as her hands reached for his neck.

"Camille."

"I'm not – "

"Trying to snap my neck?" He squeezed, cutting her off, "Well, now, I'd say your actions say otherwise."

"Put – me – "

"See," Kol shook his head, walking away from the shelf, "Just because I appear chattier does not mean I actually want to talk."

Her body was tossed across the room, lungs gasping in, as he sped to a different shelf, yanking a book from it and turning to run.

Cami was in the doorway, body masking the exit, just before he could.

Kol's eyes narrowed, "Cami."

"Running from a fight?" She was still catching her breath, "I thought you were meant to laugh in the face of danger?"

Kol did laugh at that, "Because you're dangerous?"

She didn't move, hands pressed into the wooden edges of the frame, holding his look.

"We both know that you are walking on an incredibly thin line," He loomed up, "Do not bait me into taking your life."

"You'd never do it."

Kol just raised an eyebrow.

Cami swallowed.

The statement was incredibly rouge, and they both knew it. They didn't know how much his humanity switch had shifted, they had no proof he wouldn't lash out violently, and, well...he was Kol Mikaelson. To imply that he wouldn't just kill someone was incredibly stupid.

But...

"Killing me," She slowed her words, arms dropping, "Would be letting the bad voices in your head win."

Kol narrowed his eyes.

"Something inside of you is holding on," She took a step closer, poking his chest, "And, as long as it is, you're not going to kill me."

His arm swung, fist going to collide with her temple, Cami just about managing to dodge, kicking up to try and force him back, only to wince as the strength of an Original smacked into her. Kol twisted her leg, flipping her to the floor, only for her to grab his ankle, yanking up to crash him down to.

That move wasn't about who was stronger, just about the ability to surprise, and he clearly hadn't thought her reflexes would be that quick.

Cami moved, Kol back on his feet, reaching to catch her, only for nothing to come his way, her body almost curling in to zoom past his left, freeing up the exit, but grabbing The Verite Nwa from the floor.

Kol's entire body went rigid.

"This is Vincent's."

"That is mine," He flashed after her, going to shove, Cami faking a move to the left, only to turn right, then move forward, Kol having been ready to catch the change to the right, forced to turn after her, "Drop it."

"No."

"Camille."

"Kol – "

His hand was on the back of her head, stomach shoved into his knee as he moved with the force to crack, the book smacking into the floor, about to pull her apart –

Pages flicked, like they were on a timer, spinning through every spell , resetting, flipping back to the beginning with a smack that forced Kol to move. He dropped Cami, catching herself before racing right after him as he cradled the book back into his arms, moving to open it.

"Don't you – " Cami was forced to flee to the side as flames burst out, pointed directly at her, Kol's smile clear, "Playing dirty?"

"Playing with magic," He scanned her unphased body.

Cami O'Connell, still standing, barely bruised, no longer winded, having bounced back from every attack, clearly bracing for them, rolling with his punches to keep herself light and ready...almost like she was used to fighting. Funny that. Strength suited her still short hair, green eyes as piercing as ever, arms crossing as she shook her head in annoyance.

Kol gave her a reward, "Can't believe I thought I was being watched by a witch."

She tried to understand why he wasn't just bolting.

"How'd you find me?"

"We've been leading you here all year," Cami saw a hint of panic in his eye, "Since you visited the body."

His arms tensed, and she forced herself to stay incredibly still.

The level of control she was able to have over her body also almost had Kol smiling.

Then, he remembered what she was saying.

"There's a book in this library that might help us, but we don't want to do this without you," She rushed her point out, not sure how long his opening would last, "So we wanted you to think you found it on your own, since you wouldn't take our calls."

"We?"

Cami's turn to smile, as Kol lurched out, hands on his temples as he groaned back, falling to his knees.

"You were right the first time," Bonnie Bennett dropped the cloaking charm, "It was a witch."

Kol's hands snapped from his head to the floor, pressing into The Nwa.

"And I don't just 'think' I'm powerful," She walked towards him, "I am."

Kol couldn't fight off that smile.

"You ready to talk?"

His eyes turned red, looking up at them, black veins pushing through the pain, turning the scream into a grunt, as he powered back to his feet.

Bonnie didn't flinch in surprise, "My magic's back."

How much blood had he drunk to make himself that strong?

"I'm here to talk," Her feet begged her to move as he managed to step closer, her hand raising to try and regain control of him, "We're getting MJ back."

Along Kol's arms, his veins were thick, torn between caving back to the magic, and proving that no one would ever control him again. It didn't matter how powerful she was, he would drink enough blood – he'd get enough of his own power – he'd –

His power.

His eyes jumped to Cami, "Let me go."

Bonnie frowned, glancing between the two.

"Or her daylight ring comes off."

The entire invisible floor was flooded with sunlight, Cami's hand lifting, her eyes widening in familiar panic as the silver band seemed to gleam.

"Camille," He couldn't move through Bonnie's spell, but he could talk, "Take it off."

"Kol," Bonnie didn't drop the magic, refusing to watch as Cami's second hand moved, "We're here to talk."

"Drop your spell."

"This isn't fair," Cami refused to give him the satisfaction of trembling, "I take vervain – "

"This isn't something vervain can stop," He watched as her own fingers pulled up, excruciatingly slow, mind fighting for control, "Thought you would've read up on spawns by now."

"You don't want my help?" Bonnie called his bluff, "Fighting us is committing to going in alone."

Her hand was still up.

Cami's fingers were still pulling, skin beginning to crack.

Kol's voice was still low.

"I spent two days with MJ," Bonnie got to her point, "She gave me my magic back."

Cami's hand stilled, his eyes returning to the witches.

"If that's not a connection worth tapping into?"

Cami shoved the ring back to the base of the finger, swallowing in relief.

He could've made her do it instantly, and while the spell might've been slowing him down, or weakening whatever gave him the power to do that, she still believed in her point. Kol could've killed her. He could've let her catch up a million times, and ripped out her heart, or drained her dry, or locked her in a basement, but he hadn't. Something was holding on.

"Good," Bonnie dropped her hand.

Kol's eyes returned to human, lips a thin line at the team up.

"We want to help," She was firm, "But if we're actually on the same team, we have to trust each other."

The vampire scoffed.

"Come on, Kol," Cami rubbed her arms, "Are you really this shaken up about trust?"

His mouth dropped, "My family sacrificed – "

"I thought you never needed your family?"

Silence.

"You never trusted them, so that's not an excuse you get to use on me," Cami let herself push his buttons, "Unless that was always a lie?"

They needed him to be reactive.

"Their actions really seem to have hurt you?" She played dumb, "Maybe you should talk to someone about it."

Kol scoffed, "Camille – "

"Better to get the therapy in now," She forced herself to sound okay with it, or proud of it, "Hayley found the final Malraux and is on her way to New Orleans, right now."

His entire body locked once more.

"We tried to talk to her about coming to you and leaving Elijah, but when the choice is 'man hunting her people' versus 'man who keeps her safe?'"

Before either could react, Kol was gone, with both The Nwa and the second book they'd been using as their bait, Bonnie sighing.

"You sure you don't need my help with him?" She offered, "I can go to New Orleans."

"You can stay as far from the Mikaelson Family Feud as possible," She shook her head, "If he thinks he's lost me and Sam to Hayley, he might just come running to you as the only one who 'stayed loyal.'"

There was a slight pause, Bonnie curling her lip in, hand drifting up, then down, glancing to the empty walls. The library hadn't been abandoned when she'd found it, investigating long forgotten resurrection magic, but they'd gotten the coven to evacuate for a few weeks to avoid any unnecessary casualties when Kol finally showed up.

"I'll let you know how it all goes."

"You shouldn't let Hayley wake Elijah."

Cami shifted, "I'm not sure she's going to."

Bonnie let her hand run against one of the shelves, glancing back in surprise.

"But it also doesn't matter if she doesn't, when she needs a witch to break Klaus out, and you won't do it."

"Obviously I won't do it."

"Not asking," Cami put her hands up, "Know better."

Bonnie smiled.

"But that means it's up to Finn, and Finn will want Freya, and Elijah and Rebekah know where Freya is."

"Rebekah can tell you without him."

"But if Finn gets Freya, she'll wake Elijah."

Bonnie bit her cheek.

"I've thought about hiding the coffin," Cami admitted, "But I can't stop tracking magic, and, sure, the ocean's an option, but they got Rebekah out of it once already, so..."

"MJ gave them a cure," Bonnie hated it, "She can decide what happens to them after."

They shared a lingering look.

"I'm gonna see what else I can learn here," She decided, "Then I'll head to the city."

Cami softened, "You really don't have to."

"If MJ's spirit's there," Bonnie shot down, "And Kol's gonna be there?"

"Maybe wait a few days," Cami reasoned, "See how 'Plan One' pans out first."

~***~

Keelin Malraux, though she went by a different last name, woke up in a warehouse, unable to stop her groggy head from swinging from left to right as a pounding beat through her temples. The grated metal pretending to be walls was all different, some letting in the slight remaining glow of the setting sun, a small yellow light overhead the only source in the room.

Her eyes landed on a man she didn't know, standing over a nearby table, covered in tools.

She instantly yanked up, only to find chains holding her to the chair.

"Relax," Hayley was on her left, perched on another seat, "We're not your enemy."

Hayley had followed the woman to a bar then found the nearest store to make her clothes match the environment; a sheer long-sleeved black shirt, long enough to look like a dress thanks to a thin silver belt, over a thick tank, and tight jeans. Then, she'd managed to get her outside, only for Keelin to put up a fight, knocked out by the arrival of a Mikaelson just as a vampire smashed up the bar behind them.

"If we left you where you were," Finn waved a hand, "You'd be dead."

He was wrapped in a thick, dark red jumper, his hair gelled back, cut just before it would be too heavy to stay up, the lack or curls more in line with Elijah that Klaus. Which, made sense, in a way. Its ashen brown colour matched his eyebrows, a few lines around his eyes, the first wrinkles to grace Mikaelson skin in a millennium.

"Let me guess," Keelin's voice was rushed and strained, a higher pitch than in the bar, panic racing through her body, "We're on the run from vampires?"

"You could phrase it that way," Finn's finger pushed under a glass beaker, a collection of vials around it, all filled with various shades of green or purple, "Though, these bugs are far more your problem than ours."

The candle wick sparked with a flame as his finger tapped the glass above it.

"We're just stuck saving you from them."

Keelin didn't know where to look, "Who are you?"

"Finn – "

"Hayley Kenner," She'd been avoiding her last name, in the hopes it would be forgotten, then safe enough to use once more, "And you're Keelin Malraux."

"Ponzio."

"Your dad was called Scott."

Her fight against the chains simmered, "Why do you know that?"

"We have some well-informed friends," Finn carefully counted the vials, "Mary Porter lived in Los Angeles, home converted into a tourist trap dubbed 'the cannibal basement.'"

The name got the snarl they wanted.

"The news stories gave away some of the victims, leaving out the two children...the police records revealed Ludo Ponzio, as well as the rest of your family."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Hayley tried, "...All of them."

"Your brother was killed by her," Finn was less gentle, "My brother killed her."

Keelin's mind was swinging through emotions at that announcement, trying to settle on one, but settling on one while you were chained to a chair was a lot simple in concept, forcing her head to lean back.

She breathed in, "You."

A look to Hayley.

"Have the same stink vampires do."

"I'm special," Hayley took the opening, "I'm a hybrid. Half-vampire, half-werewolf."

"The vampires that have been hunting your family cannot hurt you here," Finn continued, "Given our desire to keep you alive, you could show a little respect."

"How do I know you weren't the one that led them to me?"

"Because," Hayley glanced to Finn as he pulled a collection of pouches out of his bag, "We know how your parents died."

Her jaw tensed.

"Pasare got you answers," She wanted to be careful, "And he's very firm on confidentiality, which, luckily for you, has kept you from the hunt the past few years."

Finn gave her a look.

"The only reason he could give you an answer was because I was the one who found The Kingmaker Experiments," Hayley wasn't about to let anyone think Pasare wasn't secure, "We're on your side."

Hayley hadn't known that Ponzio was a name she'd end up caring about when collecting those records.

Whit had been surprised she hadn't even thought to go looking for the families in her own files.

Why would she?

Hadn't they suffered enough?

Weren't they all dead?

Finn leant down, where a bag was waiting, under the table, pulling out a collection of papers, both the original text, and his translation of it, then...an altered muzzle. A mess of plastic tubes and leather, creating a portable version of what Hayley had found in Lucien's labs.

"There are people after you," Hayley took her hand, "They want you dead."

"I -  "

"The only way to survive is to do exactly what we tell you."

"You're not coming near me," She pushed her back into the chair, eyes on Finn, words getting faster, "I don't know what pervy stuff you're into, but I am not that kind of girl."

"It will extract your venom," Finn rolled his eyes.

"Without killing you," Hayley clarified, "It will hurt, but you won't die."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Keelin's voice cracked, Hayley's eyes dropping.

"We are trying to save my family," Finn was spreading the papers out.

"Keelin," Hayley stood up, turning to the side, gesturing to two coffins behind them, "The people in there are dying."

She'd been a doctor. Hayley had taken her from celebration drinks, because she was medical staff, finishing a residency, trying to live a normal life. But if she was a doctor, surely, she'd want to help save people.

"The only thing keeping them alive is a spell," Finn's eyes were locked on the recipe he'd spent nearly a year trying to achieve, "And the only thing that can cure them is your venom."

"If you give it to us," Hayley promised, "No one will die."

"And you'll you let me go?"

"You have my word."

When Hayley said the phrase, she intended to mean it.

Finn moved carefully, picking the muzzle back up, stepping towards her, Keelin forcing her shoulders back, breathing out slowly, and finally allowing herself to nod. To put faith in two strangers. She wasn't in a pack, she didn't follow supernatural news anymore, meaning she had no clue who they were, or what she was signing up for, just, that, if they were to be believed, vampires were trying to kill her, and this was a way to survive.

~***~

The Abattoir could only be described as abandoned, and not in the same way it once had been. The furniture wasn't covered in white sheets, nothing had been packed into boxes and hidden, just the natural world reclaiming it over five years. Part of Marcel didn't like looking at it. In only five years, a mix of plants he didn't know the name of had cracked through the stone floors and walls like it was nothing. It wasn't weeds. It was pests. It was something full of energy, sunk into the soil beneath a building he'd forced the city to leave behind.

Somehow, despite all the vegetation, the crest still hung on the wall, cracked stone shining.

Watching over the crowds as they poured through the gate, Vincent finishing up a carefully constructed boundary spell as Sam stood before him. Guarding. Not about to let his friend and his date-night cardigan get mauled alive by the man they were temporarily setting free, or the vampires stupid enough to challenge him.

A date-night cardigan.

Vincent had managed to pull on his fancy grey cardigan and nice shirt, ready to meet Maxine, only to end up at The Mikaelson Compound, Sam meeting him there, as Marcel asked for help.

They were letting Klaus Mikaelson out.

"These guys aren't city vamps, Vincent," Sam murmured as Vincent stood up, "Stay close."

"Marcel's testing you," He reminded the wolf, holding out his hand, slipping a present through a shake.

"Oh," Sam carefully slipped the jewel around his neck, "I know."

They were both incredibly tense as more and more people arrived, one Floare stone on Vincent's wrist, the other now hidden beneath Sam's shirt.

"He wants to see which 'hybrid' king I answer too," Sam spoke the phrase dryly, "I still don't think Marcel counts as a real one."

"They will."

"Do you think the sketchy weirdos know its name translates to 'slaughterhouse?'" Josh joined them, every vampire in town invited to Marcel's showdown, "And, why are you here?"

Vincent almost laughed, "Why do you think?"

"They'll jump you to try and force his hand."

"And what are you gonna do?" The witch didn't mask his bitterness, "You gonna keep me safe?"

"Gonna use you as a shield."

Among all the greenery that they hadn't been able to clean away, were collections of tall candles, creating dots of orange and yellow, the dark sky daring the citizens to paint it red. Grey stone now just looked blue, those lights the only source of warmth and light against any of their skin, allowing groups to form in every corner, feet determined to stomp the green away.

Even if it bent to their weight, nothing had snapped yet.

"Haven't been back here, since..." Josh's eyes were taking in every entrance way, like his body was waiting for something, "...You know."

"It's because of her," Sam stared at where the couch had once been, now entirely covered in vegetation, "Right?"

The entire length of the couch was buried beneath some kind of bush, flower heads among the sharp leaves, all enclosed around the start of what looked like a tree? There were maybe three of them, the bark still too thin to stand particularly tall, but enough to have cut through the material of the sofa, a cheery red colour, branches just about starting to split off their own flower buds just beginning to form at each tip.

"The blood was everywhere."

Its roots were buried into the stone, like that spot was somehow feeding it.

"Bet they didn't mop it up."

The life had grown out of the cracks in the floor, all created by MJ's magic, debris slowly sinking down to be walkable, but not exactly restored.

"I..." Josh was almost trying to say something, eyes on the door to the basement, "...She..."

"Every year," Sam muttered, "MJ died, and every year, sure, enough good people show up to stop me fully losing it, but then these assholes just hold a feed-fight-fest."

"The woman who wanted peace," Vincent spoke it loud enough to sit in Marcel's ear, "And we just let them commiserate her with a bloodbath."

"There were about this many people," Josh's expression was solemn, "The day she properly out-ed herself as a witch to everyone."

Most of Marcel's regulars – most of the people who actually lived in the city, were nowhere to be seen. They didn't like the out-of-towners either. They didn't like having to pause their own feeding habits so the witches and wolves wouldn't dub them as part of the crew tainting the anniversary. They didn't like the way all of Marcel's parties were invaded by people who'd never actually met the woman they were trying to morn.

Who'd call her MiMi, or Pasare, like it was an actual name.

In a way, part of them were grateful for the viral spark that had exploded after the police reports somehow got leaked to the papers. No one had pictures – there was nothing to actually link any of it to MJ herself, and, by focusing the entire world so heavily on 'Mimi Pasare,' they never had to hear anyone truly ruin her real name.

"Just so you know," Sofya leant towards Marcel, on the opposite side of the salt circle, "Alistair's in a mood."

Sam tuned in.

The very first time he'd stepped into The Mikaelson Compound, he'd trained himself to listen. His entire life, his hearing had been better than his human and witch friends, able to find himself catching every breeze change, or bug, or whisper, only to get turned and realise that he hadn't known the half-of it. Wolf senses were heightened, but the things he could hear as a vampire?

It had kept him alive, and he wasn't about to stop using it.

"He has his men positioned all over town awaiting his signal."

"Yellow eyes ready," Sam whispered, knowing the influx of strangers would hear it, but would be too dumb to realise what it meant, or that it was for Marcel, "Let's get this show on the road."

It was spoken to Vincent and Josh.

They both knew it wasn't for them.

Any vampires not in The Compound were being watched by The Crescent Wolves. That was why Marcel had needed Sam when he'd summoned Vincent. The witches wouldn't play guard to fangs that might cut through them, but the pack, still able to shift without a full moon? Whose speed and strength were just that little bit more than the average wolf, five years of training, keeping the lowest profile possible so that no one would start to view them as a threat?

"Greetings, Marcel," Alistair was a blond Scottish man, "I had hoped your decision to meet in this ruin had meant you'd come to your sense."

He looked like he might spit on the place.

"And yet," He glared up at the crest on the wall, "I don't see Klaus's head upon a spike."

Everyone was staring at the pair, Sofya taking a step back to join the crowd, Marcel's focus solely on the man who thought he could just walk into his home with an army of onlookers. Like he hadn't faced so many other people just like that.

Maybe that was why he kept dreaming of Ana.

But Ana wasn't about to walk through the door as an explosion that painted Marcel as the reasonable one.

"Apologies," He let himself smile, "I have been a discourteous host."

He vanished in a flash, leaving everyone to murmur, Alistair's face contorting into a judgemental scowl, turning, briefly pausing at the tree, like he thought Marcel had hidden behind it. As he went to take a step, Sam inched closer to, Vincent's hand just about grabbing his arm to keep him still.

The sound of chains filled their ears as the door to the underground was kicked up.

"You wanted him?" Marcel led Klaus in by the chain on his neck, "You got him."

The metal was used to toss the original hybrid into the salt circle, instantly smacking into the cracked stone, just to the left of the sofa-tree, the edge of its rose-filled bush prickling into the salt. He was grunting in agony, but alive, pushing up against the now flattened debris, taking in the place he'd once called home.

His eyes stared at that now woodland couch.

Then, Alistair's laugh filled the air, the man strolling away from the rest of the crowd, Klaus's panicked breaths following as he looked up, the curls of his hair covered in dust.

"Oh, Niklaus," He lorded, "How the mighty have fallen."

"Pretty pathetic," Marcel agreed, walking around the edge of the circle, back to Alistair's side, "Chained. Beaten."

Slowly, the crowd crept closer, like they couldn't quite believe it was him.

"Half-starved."

Josh stepped back, hand drifting up like he wanted to grab Vincent, only for the witch to still be watching Sam. The youngest person in the room, biologically, and physically. Klaus's eyes slowly meeting each of the onlookers, including them.

"I should just kill him," Marcel declared, "After all, a wise man said!"

Cue the Klaus Mikaelson quote.

"'One cannot be free if one's oppressors continue to live.'"

Klaus lingered on Sam, almost like he was surprised to see him.

Ignoring the way Josh forced himself to move, leaving the safety of his friends to pick up a sword from an almost overgrown table, holding it out, on Marcel's left-hand side.

"And, what I've learned?" Marcel tapped Alistair's chest, "The best way to end your fear is to face it yourself."

Sam and Vincent hadn't been there when Klaus had handed himself over. They'd heard enough about it, and, well, Sam, at the very least, had known it was coming, but still...

"A gift," Marcel drew the sword, twirling it smoothly, "For you."

It was so obviously a trap.

"The sword that you gave me," He'd been issued a public challenge by Alistair, so he was also answering it publicly, "Now laced with my venom."

How did no one think it was a trap?

"One slice will draw Klaus' blood," Marcel technically lied, "And deliver a slow, agonizing death."

They didn't know if the venom worked on him.

They'd never know without testing it.

If his blood didn't heal it, they had to assume it would work, but if MJ had somehow been immune? Even if that came from Ryos's interference? There was a way to be immune, so, for all they knew, Klaus would be too!

"That he so truly deserves."

Alistair stared at the panic on Klaus's face, the bruising and blood around his neck, purpling under his eyes, ignoring every red flag as the hilt was lifted towards him.

"It would be my highest honour."