IV: So Long They Fear

March 25th / 2001

Three days ago, after a good few months of careful consideration, Reese, against all her philosophies, had shaken hands with Elijah Mikaelson and sealed a deal.

She'd been trying to get rid of him for so long, but by the poolside, lit under the moonlight, what he offered had been so tempting. So simple; I help you, you help me; it had the power to guide her in turning the tides of this relentless battle she was fighting.

Of course, before they moved forward with anything, they had to lay themselves bare. Which mostly meant Reese had to stop hiding information that ought to do them good.

Their first step was to work on their best and most powerful weapon: Reese herself.

Raven magic was inherently volatile as it is, and Reese was the product of one of the most powerful witches of the century and a clever, power-hungry Gemini siphoner. Couple that with unfavorable circumstances, and you get a girl with too much power and too little knowledge.

Because sure, she was smart, she was talented, but now that her coven was being infiltrated by vampires, freestyle magic would only get her so far.

Elijah promised he'd be able to convince her he could help.

So far, all he had convinced her of were his exceptional stalking skills.

He'd brought her all the way to Pensacola to sit in a god-awful roadside diner. It was gaudy, with a pink-and-white color scheme and the name, Cupid's Diner. Way below her standards.

From outside, it seemed painful. From inside, it was torturous.

Every surface was coated in a sticky sheen, from the furniture to the utensils. The scent of oil lingered in the air, and flies buzzed about near the counter. Reese sat stiffly inside a booth, scowling, as Elijah ignored the glower she was sending him.

"Remind me again why we're here?" Reese asked tensely, solely for the purpose of berating him with her complaints again.

He claimed Nik was after them, and that sitting in one place for a few hours would encourage his minions to pounce. Cupid's Diner was a suitable place for murder. Maybe a few splatters of red would make it easier on the eyes.

(He was right. Later, she'd begin to associate this place with the memory of how Nik tried to kidnap her. )

"Don't make me repeat myself, Reese," Elijah replied, unbothered. Though Reese didn't fail to notice how he avoided direct contact with the surface of the table. "I expect taking a break from that silver spoon you seem to have stuck to your mouth now and again would do you some good."

What a bitch. "I'm sorry, which one of us here compelled themselves every dime to their name?"

Elijah ignored that comment, pretending to be greatly interested in the diner's greasy laminated menu. "It behooves you to indulge me in whatever Esther-centric secrets you are so keen to keep to yourself."

"Is that why you're torturing me, then?" By forcing her to sit in this third-rate diner with most likely disease-infested food.

He spoke in a pleasant tone, but Reese wasn't stupid enough to look past the underlying grimness. "I assure you, if I was going to torture you it would be much more unpleasant than a few hours spent in this pathetic excuse of a diner."

"Weirdo," she mumbled, knowing he heard her just the same. "You could've just asked. Nicely."

He lowered the menu.

"Please," he said flatly.

She rolled her eyes. "And I thought I was supposed to be the difficult one."

"You must be rubbing off on me. How unfortunate."

God, he was somehow more irritating than Nik. "Fine. What do you wanna know?"

"Simply how my mother managed to rope herself into this," he said, pinning his dark eyes on her, scrutinizing, making certain she wouldn't lie.

"Well, she did that before I was even born," she replied. "She somehow got talking to my mother. Promised her power, or whatever. Esther's goal was, obviously, to murder you. But that ended with the Raven-Gemini war."

The two covens, opposed to each other since they'd come into existence, finally found the one thing they could agree on: Nam Duri must die.

"My father abandoned his leadership of the Ravens once the council agreed to hand her back over to the Geminis. She was a . . . an eccentric witch. Rather off-putting, according to Diane, and crazy for power." Repeating those vile claims about her mother when she'd known her to be gentle and caring (even if she could be tempestuous at times) made her, for the first time in her life, feel like a liar. "So, they ran off together. Once she found out she was pregnant, she decided to let go of magic. But, of course, they died. The covens found us, and, well, here I am."

They burned, Reese thought. It was a brutal word, and perfect to describe what her parents had gone through.

"As for how Esther got herself involved again," she continued. "I don't know how exactly, but she managed to reach Azzie. Pulled the strings with the Viper Murders to start the process of concentrating the power in the hands of the council."

With every Raven that turned into a vampire, the council grew stronger.

"I found out during the ceremony. Kind of freaked out. Then Diane pinned the murders on me. To save Azzie. That's it."

Elijah asked, "How do the coven politics play into this?"

"Well, Esther's obviously trying to get the leadership. Diane would do anything to protect her family. My guess is, she's going to wipe out anyone that's not a blood born Raven from the council first. If she manipulates Diane, that won't be difficult."

The Crowleys were the only ones that could be called a family. Reese was the last Yung, while the Biduris had died out long ago. If push came to shove, Diane Crowley wouldn't have a problem abandoning their coven's beliefs to save her own. So long as they feared her, not much would change.

"And what was your plan against this?"

Reese smiled. "Simple. Esther needs magic. She's using Azzie as a source. Cut off the source."

"You would condemn her to the fate of a vampire?"

"No. Never. Not a vampire. I was thinking something more along the lines of anti-magic."

That was the first time Reese trusted someone since she left New Orleans. She didn't feel the sickening twist of her stomach when she realized it either. Probably because she usually ended up caring for the people she trusted.

Elijah was an Original.

He was durable enough to trust. She wouldn't have to worry constantly about saving him from danger. She wouldn't have to carry around the fear of him dying on her.

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Present Day

When Reese arrived back home, there was a gleaming, ribbon-wrapped car waiting for her in her parking spot. The sight of it snapped her out of her Kat-centric reverie, and she sauntered over to get a better look. It was a black Dodge Viper with thick red stripes running down the middle of it; shiny metal reflecting the street lights.

She was glad to see Elijah made good on both presents before he was incapacitated. That would've been inconvenient — currently, she lacked both the time and the knowledge to go car hunting.

Giving her new car a gentle pat and sparing a small smile, she walked off. Her conversation with Kat had opened up floodgates — she had a few spells on her to-do list, along with enhancing her plan and perhaps invoking her link with Esther . . .

A big perhaps.

But with her new car to erase both the memories and absence of her previous one, she felt rejuvenated. Her plan was moving along smoothly, even if Katerina's words had left her reeling, body and mind. So much to do, so little time . . .

Reese didn't bother with her keys, opting to magically open the lock of her apartment door. She barely had time to take one step inside when there was a loud whoosh of air behind her, and Elijah's voice said: "At last. Step aside, and let us enter."

She turned around, crossing her arms and putting her weight on one leg.

Elijah was accompanied by two others — a dark-skinned boy who looked to be about seventeen, his hair buzzed, and a man with similar features, who she chalked up as his father.

The Martins; Elijah's cronies, for lack of better words. Spirit witches. Call her territorial, but she found it greatly annoyed her when Elijah consulted other, less powerful witches, as if she wasn't enough.

She raked her eyes up and down, examining the two warlocks, unimpressed. She sneered at Elijah, "No, I don't think so."

"Reese," Elijah said placatingly, aware of her plights, "We require your help."

She scoffed. "You think I'm gonna let spirit witches inside my apartment?"

She said spirit witches as if it instigated her upchuck reflex.

"So, she's the Raven," said the older of the two witches in the same tone she'd used. He turned to Elijah. "We're not comfortable associating with —"

"Dad," winced the younger one.

"I'm sorry, what coven do you represent?" Reese asked, well aware that Nik and Elijah took in witches that had been excommunicated.

While she herself had suffered similar circumstances, she hadn't been disowned — she retained her importance as one of the irreplaceable figureheads of the Raven Coven. Of course, the Martins would be privy to that knowledge, because her remark clearly hit a sore spot.

Sometimes, people needed to be reminded that she stood above them.

The older Martin fumed.

"Enough," Elijah stepped in before it could get worse."We require your expertise. Luka here," he gestured to the younger Martin, "has suffered some inexplicable gaps in his memory. He believes the witch Bonnie Bennet had something to do with it."

There wasn't anybody they could go to with this problem who'd be particularly useful.

Except for her, of course.

When it came to the mind, the Ravens knew more than any other coven out there. The magic they used was volatile in nature, officially described as an unconventional branch of Expression, though if you asked Reese, it just depended on the narrative. The children in the orphanages began their training with spells, used as a guideline, until they learned to hone their magic without relying on external sources.

No spells, no occult objects — those were but tools to learn how to anchor your magic.

What they needed was just willpower and bloodshed.

That was why they said a Raven was only as strong as her mind. Extremities like anger clouded their judgment and posed a great threat to the soundness of their magic. Distractions weren't simply weaknesses; they were deadly.

"Ask nicely and maybe I'll consider it."

Luka looked between Reese and his father. "Please."

However, when she didn't relent, Elijah named the final term. "We simply want to gain an idea of what they did to him. Nothing beyond that. You have my word."

Sighing, she stepped back and led them into her living room.

"I hope you brought your own daggers and bowls," she said to Luka, gesturing toward the middle of the room as the center table lifted into the air, tucking into a corner. "Because I'm not providing. Sit down."

Martin handed over an old bronze bowl, along with a small blade, and then sat on the sofa. Elijah occupied his armchair while Reese joined Luka on the carpet.

Luka held out his hand, palm outstretched.

"What were you doing around Bonnie Bennet in the first place?" She asked conversationally, cutting the tip of the blade across his skin. Droplets of blood began to pour into the bowl she'd placed in between them. She cleaned the knife and carved a similar cut on her own palm, letting her blood mix with his. "I'm assuming you knew who she was."

Luka peered at his father, then at her. "I was trying to see if I could get any information out of her."

"Hm. Stupid idea, messing around with a Bennet witch."

"I thought she liked me."

"Boys," Reese muttered under her breath. Once there was a sufficient amount of their blood in the bowl, she said, "Okay, now give me your hand."

He obliged, but not without question. "What's the blood for?"

She grasped her hand around his in a vice grip, ignoring the burn of her slit skin. "It's a medium."

"I didn't expect you'd need one."

"I wouldn't have if Bonnie wasn't a spirit witch," she replied. "I'm kind of allergic to that. The blood helps strengthen the connection."

"You Ravens are kind of morbid."

"You realize I could literally destroy your mind right now if I wanted to?"

Luka closed his eyes with a sigh.

Diving into his mind was a piece of cake.

Judging by the fact it was Bonnie, and that Luka had a memory gap, she guessed it was hypnosis, or at least something similar. During the time they'd experimented with compulsion, research had led them to hypnosis as well — two arts that could be easily mixed up.

The main difference was that hypnosis was more intricate; it needed a lot of power and an impervious state of concentration. Bonnie was a good witch, learning new stuff every day, and getting more powerful, too, but she wasn't at that level yet. Partly, spirit magic held her back, and partly her lack of experience. Reese wouldn't be shocked if morality somehow played into it, too.

This was a gamble of minds, after all.

A trance was the best Bonnie could've done. She made Luka forget whatever it was they wanted him for, but even with magic, it was impossible to truly expel a memory from someone's mind. What they did was isolate the memories; lock them away in a box. Once that was done, it only mattered how impenetrable the walls of that prison were.

Luka's thoughts played in front of Reese like a tape on fast-forward.

Bonnie Bennet's dark brown eyes were smiling up at him one minute, and the next her face hovered over his, smile gone, regarding him with intent. He mumbled something, trying to lift up his head, catching Caroline from the corner of his eye.

Then a heavy darkness took over, and Bonnie's soothing voice asked, " . . . Why are you working with Elijah?"

He was unable to think twice, the answers easily tumbling out of him.

At one point, Caroline's voice washed over. "Ask him about the Ravens."

Jeremy Gilbert's voice. "Caroline—"

"Please."

Luka yielded to that overpowering haziness.

Slowly letting his hand go, Reese rooted herself. Back to reality, back to sitting on the rough carpet in her black and white living room. She had unlocked that door; she wasn't interested in lingering to see why Caroline wished to know about her coven.

"It's done," Reese said, springing to her legs. Luka opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. His father rushed over to him. "You'll remember everything in a few hours. Don't try to force it."

She went into the kitchen and stuck her bleeding hand under the sink. Water turned the blood pink, leaving a stinging ache behind.

Her face unconsciously pulled into a frown.

After leaving last night, she hadn't replied to any of Care's texts, nor called back. Initially, she'd been preoccupied with her feelings and what-not, but soon enough she reverted back to her planning, embracing the distraction with open arms.

Obviously, Caroline was not happy with her.

But why fish for information on her coven? What would that get her? From a guy like Luka Martin, probably a crude mixture of stereotypes and rumors flying about in the supernatural world. That could prove to be problematic . . . if Care believed him. Would she?

No matter what she believed, Reese thought, Caroline persisted to be a hindrance. Reese was going out of her way to avoid, lie, and abandon her — why couldn't she give up?

What was keeping her so fixated on . . .

Reese's frown deepened . . . what was she trying to achieve, again?

"I thought we were past the accidental magic."

She blinked.

The tap water was silent, swirling around as a mini cyclone within the confines of the sink. She straightened her shoulders, closing the tap. The water came to a standstill, and then disappeared down the drain.

"What did you see in his mind?" Elijah asked, handing her a towel.

There was a thin red line winding through the lines of her palm. She wiped her hands with care. "Nothing unexpected."

"Ah. They don't trust me."

"They're scared of you. Can't imagine why."

To be fair, he did have quite the Villain moment when he decided to insert himself into the narrative. He got Elena kidnapped, which was the gravest of crimes in the eyes of the Salvatores, and then proceeded to rip out vampire's hearts and compel them later on.

In retrospect, it was actually hilarious.

She remembered the night Rose and Trevor took Elena. Damon and Stefan had roped her into their rescue mission, but she'd shown up late and been astounded by the sight of Elijah's graying body, pinned to a wooden plank with a stake. She'd reached out to brush his hair away from his face, just to confirm it was him, since the snaky veins made for a gnarly sight. Damon, perturbed, had told her to "stop caressing the creepy dead vampire; you can do better."

"They probably wanted to know how you're planning on killing Nik," she said finally, turning around to lean against the counter. "Which, I hope you're not planning to do with the Martins. Because you're doomed to fail."

Well, he would fail no matter who he used, but still. The Martins?

"I take it this is you offering to do it, then?"

Reese appreciated his gentle sarcasm.

"I'm not above stabbing him a few times," she said. "But killing him? There's this little voice in my head that tells me it's a good idea — and that voice is Esther."

He remained silent for a beat. "Do not think I'm a fool, Reese."

"I never did tell you how she planned on killing you," she reiterated his own words. "There have been plenty of witches beyond powerful. If they could've, they would've. But they didn't." Other than the method Elijah refused to tell her about, there was only one way to kill an Original. "My mother was a siphon. That was the plan. To siphon you all to death, and store the dark magic in this necklace so she didn't die doing it."

She tugged at the chain, letting the purple amulet in sight.

It was useless against the Originals now, without her mother. Just a storehouse of power for Reese to draw on, getting stronger with each kill.

"In Mykonos, you performed magic so vicious it trapped," he paused, "my witch mother in the mind of Azalea Crowley. You cut her off from —"

"No," Reese interjected. "No way. That was a last measure, and we almost died doing it."

"Niklaus," Elijah almost spat his name, "almost died."

At that moment, Reese decided, maybe it would be for the best to subdue Elijah for some time.

She forced herself back into the biting humor, a convincing, light-hearted smirk spreading on her face. With raised brows, she said, "Well, I get why he's always daggering you now."

─────────────

Reese looked like an angel.

In the fantastical sense, she supposed.

Either way, she enjoyed the amplified sense of power it gave her. She looked like her mom more than ever when she wore white. Her features were soft — round eyes, plump lips, and cherubic cheeks. She had her necklace, dark and rich against the soft white material of her sundress. Nam Duri, Gemini siphoner, vampire hunter. Reese Yung, Raven witch, convicted murderer. Both tangled up in Original business, and hunted by their own people — there was something poetic about that.

Years ago, Reese had headed toward Azzie, standing on that stage, similarly dressed in white, and ended the day tearing out Elijah's heart. A few years after that, she drove a silver dagger through his heart and let his body thud to the ground.

They were coming full circle. Almost.

Damon had an elaborate plan to invite Elijah for a dinner party, wrangle information out of him, and if things went right, hopefully kill him. As far as Reese knew, Damon was unaware of two elephantine limitations: 1, he'd die if he used the dagger on Elijah, and 2, in order for Elijah to remain dead, the dagger must stay lodged in his chest. Of course, Reese wasn't going to tell him that.

Just like before, she knew she'd be the one to wake him up this time too.

Damon ambushed her outside the Salvatore house, having picked up on her nearing footsteps. He shut the door behind him and tried to frighten her with his evil glare: eyes widened in the weird way they do, pupils centered and juxtaposing his light blue irises, giving him the distinct look of a demon.

"Something you want to say, Damon?"

"Yes. Don't try anything, or—"

"You'll murder me in my sleep?" Reese smiled. "The more you use that threat, the less scary it gets. Though I'd argue it was more creepy than scary in the first place — I mean, in my sleep? Really?"

They couldn't hurt her if they tried.

"I mean it, Reese," he said. "Elena might tolerate your little cloak-and-dagger act but the moment I so much as get an inkling that you're putting her in danger, I'll gut you alive."

Reese tried very hard not to laugh — he was trying his best — but it was obvious in her voice. "Okay, Damon. Don't forget who saved your life from the werewolves yesterday. One bite, and . . . well, let's say it'd be very difficult to get your hands on the cure without me."

She had been right to be wary of the werewolves. While she was sitting in the tomb, lost in her conversation with Katerina, the wolves attacked from both fronts. They ambushed Damon and Alaric at Salvatore Boarding House and chased after Elena at her cabin. A text from both Jake and Sam had informed her of this.

He blanched. "There's a cure?"

"Of course there is. Don't tell me you actually believed —"

"You let Rose die."

She shrugged. "She wasn't of any use to me. You, on the other hand," she patted his shoulder, "should count yourself lucky."

For now. If his plan went smoothly, he'd be dead by tonight. How fortunate.

She reached for the doorknob, but stopped herself from twisting it when the air zipped around them.

Elijah. Dressed in his usual three-piece.

Damon smirked. He swatted away Reese's hand and swung open the door. "Ah. Good evening. Now that you're both here, please come in."

"Just one moment." Elijah raised a hand. "Can I just say that if you have less-than-honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider."

Damon shook his head. "No. Nothing dishonorable. Just, uh, getting to know you."

"What an amazing first date," Reese commented, getting between the two of them. "Now, I'm going to remove myself from all this, uh . . . tension."

Elijah hummed in response, Reese now beside Damon, inside the house. She found it endearingly symbolic, with how the evening was fated to go down.

"That's good," Elijah said.

"Yeah," Damon agreed.

"Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal . . ." Elijah leaned in near Damon's ear. "If you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Damon responded, the epitome of calmness, and headed off inside the house.

Reese, however, took offense. "I'm in this house. Are you going to kill me too, Elijah?"

They hadn't talked after that . . . disagreement they'd had in her apartment. Or an argument. She wasn't sure what to call it, since they never really fought. They settled their grievances with each other through sardonic remarks and sometimes violent acts of betrayal, but . . . not verbal fights.

Elijah stepped through the doorway. "Do you really want me to answer that question and compromise your . . . goodwill with the people here?"

"What about my goodwill with you?" An indirect way of asking if they were fighting or not.

Elijah gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Intact, as always."

"Perfect. This is going to be a boring as hell dinner."

A boring as hell dinner with an atrocious seating arrangement.

Purely out of spite, Damon had managed to haggle Reese between him and John Gilbert, taking the head of the table for himself, Reese on his side, and John on hers. Next to John was Elijah, Andie at the other end of the table, then Alaric, and finally Jenna.

Well, it was a poor attempt at following table etiquette. Reese had gotten the position of most important female guest.

For another, she was technically the only high school student present, even if her chronological years added up to equal theirs. Damon had been kind enough to relay to them that Reese and Elijah once used to be neighbors, and after a dreadful session of small talk, Andie brought it up.

"So," she said, an amiable smile painted on her glossed lips, addressing Elijah, "Damon told us you and Reese used to be neighbors. . . in New Orleans, was it?"

"Ah," Elijah put down his fork and knife. "Yes, we were. At the French Quarter, no less."

"You know, I've always wondered what Reese would've been like, growing up," Jenna said, a curious tinge in her voice. Jokingly, she added, "She's such a . . . mysterious little kid."

Reese decided she would also have no problem killing everyone in this room. She put up her best imitation of a shy smile. "Oh, c'mon, it's nothing like that."

"Well," Elijah said, "Reese was a destructive little menace."

"No—"

"Always getting into trouble at school."

"Were you close with her parents then?" Andie asked.

As discreetly as possible, Reese took a fork and shoved it into Damon's hand. He bristled in pain but didn't make a sound, wrenching it out. She knew he was behind this. He must have compelled Andie to bring this up beforehand. 

Elijah took it in stride, though, and kept up with the lie. "Oh, yes. To a certain extent."

"What happened then?" Andie went on; Reese was certain it was Damon's doing.

She blanched at that question. What the hell was she supposed to say?

"They died in a fire," Elijah answered. "Tragic accident."

Tragic accident. Sure.

"Oh," Andie said, in that distinct tone that accompanied gestures of pity. "What led you to Mystic Falls then, Reese?"

Murder, mayhem, betrayal. "It's a . . . nice town. My godmother, uh, lives here, on and off. Mostly by myself, but, you know, it's Mystic Falls."

Reese had no godmother.

"You know, Reese is actually the one who suggested I visit," Elijah quickly changed the topic, and god was she grateful, "she introduced me to the fascinating history here."

"Oh, yeah," Jenna exclaimed as she poured some wine into Damon's glass. "I hate to break it to you, Damon, but according to Elijah, your family is so not a founder of this town."

Damon feigned interest. "Hmm, do tell."

"Well, as I mentioned to Jenna earlier," Elijah began, "a faction of settlers migrated from Salem after the witch trials in the 1690s. Over the next hundred years, they developed this community where they could feel safe from persecution."

"Hmm. Because they were witches."

Andie piped up. "Yeah, there's no tangible proof there were witches in Salem."

"Andie's a journalist," Damon boasted. "Big on facts."

"Proof or not, they found women to execute either way," Reese added, just for the sake of participation. It felt oddly disconcerting that they were discussing whether witches were real at all, considering she, herself, was a witch.

"Yes, well, according to the lore there was this wave of anti-witch hysteria. It broke out in the neighboring settlement, so these witches were rounded up. They were tied to stakes in a field together and, uh, burned. Some say you could hear the screams from miles around us. They were consumed by the fire. Could you pass the . . ." Elijah trailed off, gesturing toward the mashed potatoes.

In order to avoid decorating her face with a beautiful scowl, Reese decided to shove spoonfuls of those bland potatoes into her mouth. Damon's smirk grew larger upon noticing this.

"I, uh, wouldn't repeat this to the historical society," Jenna said, chuckling.

John Gilbert then decided it was time for him to break his silence. "It's starting to sound a little like a ghost story to me."

Reese sunk further away from the conversation.

It was obvious why Elijah sought out the site of the witch massacre. He was planning on using witches to kill Nik, and the kind of power required to do that didn't come naturally to spirit magic users. Not that Reese would have agreed to kill Nik, but if he'd asked her, he wouldn't need to go on this useless hunt . . . she could've done it on her own.

Granted, she could have come up with a much better, much more effective plan too.

Damon abruptly stood up. "Would anyone care for some Cognac? I have a bottle that I've been saving for ages."

"None for me, thanks," Alaric declined. "Nine bottles of wine is my limit."

"Haha. None for the underaged, either," Damon said, patting Reese's head. He then shot a meaningful look at Andie.

"The gentlemen should take their drinks in the study," Andie suggested, no doubt spurred on by Damon.

Reese caught Elijah's questioning glance and shrugged.

"I have to say, the food was almost as wonderful as the company," Elijah complimented, back to that weird flirting thing he had going on with Jenna. It gave her the creeps.

Andie's smile grew back. "I like you."

Elijah acknowledged it with a smile of his own, and then followed Damon into the study.

Well, for someone that was, for lack of better words, excited to see Damon dagger Elijah, and then promptly fall dead, Reese was beginning to find this dinner quite unpleasant.

After helping Jenna put away the dishes, John Gilbert rounded on Reese, wearing a sneer. "So, it was quite an enlightening dinner, don't you think, Reese?"

Apparently, the matter of cornering Reese was reason enough for Alaric to momentarily forgo his animosity with John, as he too joined in. "I didn't know your parents were . . . uh, dead."

Reese tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "You've seen how I behave . . . right?"

Parentless behavior turned up to the maximum if she did say so herself.

"It's okay, you can laugh," she went on, noticing the conflicted expression on his face, "I won't gut you. Not today, at least."

The conflict shifted to concern. Probably for himself.

Alaric's phone rang. He answered; speaking into it hurriedly. Reese and John stood by, listening, interpreting his reactions. Once he cut his call, he rushed off to the study.

"So," Reese said to John, putting up a simple muffling charm around them, "looks like your plan to see Damon dead has been thwarted."

John gave her the stink eye.

"Shame. I was looking forward to it, myself."

And so they ended up back at the table. This time, Reese was able to seize the opportunity and sat next to Elijah.

When it happened, Reese was just as surprised as Elijah. She'd expected more small talk. But one moment, Andie was prattling on about questions she wanted to ask Elijah, and the next, Elijah let out a shout of pain. Gray veins crawled up his neck, to his face, and then he slumped over.

Reese's heart raced of its own accord. She reached out to catch Elijah's shoulder, purely out of concern.

Alaric, the culprit, wrenched the dagger out from Elijah's chest and slammed it on the table.

"Now get rid of him before Jenna comes back with dessert," he directed at Damon.

Well . . .

The Mystic Falls gang were in for a couple more surprises as of yet.

─────────────

Reese set the dogs on Stefan and Damon.

By dogs, she meant the minions.

Art waited for Elijah to get out of the Salvatore house and then provide him with the address of Elena's lakehouse. Jake was sent to secure some more blood bags. Sam didn't receive a task because Sam was her favorite, and she wasn't in the mood to endanger his life for a game she had on the tips of her fingers.

A few hours later, texts from Art confirmed the smooth flowing of her plan.

Nothing but a few hours of waiting left to do.

She'd replaced John's silver dagger with a magical replica, not different from the one she'd left in Elijah's hands all those years ago.

They were designed to sustain all of the original dagger's property, except weaker, so they wore off on their own.

It was very tricky magic.

Very tricky spirit magic.

When Reese first had the idea for them, she'd been in a thorny situation. There were multiple reasons why she was keen on keeping the Originals around, but none of it was without the awareness that they were the most powerful supernatural beings on earth.

A thousand years old. A thousand years wise.

No matter how much she trusted them, they fought their squabbles on a different level to mortals. She needed a plan b. Something to fall back on.

Nik revealed those daggers to her and asked her to stab Elijah in the back. She did. And she knew she had to have them.

Had to replicate them.

But as a Raven, she was inherently averse to spirit magic. Her body rejected it. Threw all sorts of tantrums too — the dizziness, fever, nosebleeds, swooning, weakness, lack of appetite, and eventual death. If she attempted it, Nik would notice.

So she did it after the fire, under the pretense of recovery from the brink of death. Which was not a lie.

But of course, spirit magic.

Curse spirit magic.

Her replicas weren't as durable as the original daggers. But she found uses for them either way.

Elijah would have around thirty-six hours before he woke up on his own.

The next morning, as she knelt beside his body, she was intent on taking him back to her apartment. Damon Salvatore would be a nuisance, but nonetheless, a nuisance she could handle.

The real question was whether she wanted him out and about just yet or not.

Author's Note:

Chapter IV!! the regular updates are kind of scary to me . . . but I want to at least finish act 1 (3 more chapters) before I lose motivation. anyways the flashbacks are starting. First Elijah, then gradually moving to Nik, and then my personal favourites -- Diane and Azzie 😋😋