VIII: Corvus Oculum Corvi Non Eruit

30th November / 1995

Mykonos was a pretty place. Reese had watched the scenery rush by, leaning her head against the window of the car. All blues and greens and ochres; white buildings and cobblestoned streets. She had a feeling they were taking the scenic route on purpose — she hadn't exactly been cooperative.

Diane sat next to her in the backseat, content with looking out the window too, although she must have seen this a million times before. She spared Reese a few glances every now and then, as if to make sure she was still there.

Reese was being scrutinized.

She didn't bother keeping track of time, but after what must have been an eternity, Diane peered at her once more, words accompanying.

"How do you feel?" She asked. Neutral. Not cold. Not warm. Not hospitality. Not disdain. A precarious in-between Reese didn't have a word to describe at the time.

"Like my parents just died," Reese answered, voice scratchy. She sounded as wretched as she felt. It would be nice, she thought, to be able to speak like Diane. "How much longer before we get there? Wherever there is."

"Around half an hour," Diane said. "You'll like it. It's the best there is."

The best orphanage.

The best Raven Coven orphanage.

It was no ordinary place.

"My niece is there, too," Diane went on. "She's the same age as you. She'll be showing you around."

Reese didn't think orphanage was an accurate term for where Diane took her.

It was a pair of two huge stone towers, bordering a wide white cement building. The orphanage looked like it had been plucked right out of a fantasy world and placed here, on earth, simply to look at. To visit and tour, but never to live in. Never to call home.

The sky was bright blue; the clouds were non-existent. Sunlight embraced her, gentle and warm, but all Reese could think of was the burning ache of fire on her skin.

She subconsciously rubbed a thumb over the inside of her wrist. Marcel's blood had healed her skin — there were no physical signs of the fire. Not on her, at least. She imagined the floor of her home would be stained with scorch marks for years to come.

They were standing in the courtyard. Behind them, Reese's eyes followed, was what seemed to be a playground, vast and luscious green. It felt more like a forest — there was a natural pull that radiated from places with greenery. Spirit magic. Like a taunt.

There were around fifty or sixty people milling about. Witches.

Still, Reese had to ask. "Are they all witches?"

"Every single one." Diane looked prideful. "Witches from all over the world, from every coven imaginable. Exiles, outcasts, and orphans, of course. All training to one day achieve their place amongst Ravens."

"Sounds delightful," she said wryly. "If not a little cultish."

"I'm not denying it."

Hm. A sense of humor. Rather unexpected. ". . . do they all make it?"

"Eventually. Some take longer than others. Some get frustrated and give up. Leave."

"Do you kill the ones that leave?"

This incited a laugh from Diane. "Dear god, no. We're not Geminis."

"You seemed friendly enough," Reese commented. Bitterness seeped into her words.

"Reese." Diane touched her shoulder, looking at her with a strange confusion swimming in her eyes. "You must know it was never our intention. What happened. We just wanted to uphold our end of the deal. Get our leader back."

"Of course."

It was majorly her fault, though, wasn't it? Didn't they tell her not to mess with Raven magic? To stay away from the settlement? It takes so much to keep the protection spells up, mama had explained to her. You know what our magic is like. Even a second of a slip-up, and we'd be compromised. It's a constant risk, and it would dial up a hundred times if we tried to use the Registry.

"C'mon. I'll take you to the office. Azalea should be waiting there."

The interior was as grand as the exterior. Carpeted floors; ornate frames showcasing famous Ravens; tapestries customized to depict the story of Yung Sun-Hee and Sang Mee-Yon, and the chain of events that led to the formation of their coven from there. Reese's ancestors. The last Yung witch.

The office was not much different from the hallways, covered in rich tapestries and antique furniture. Probably someone from the Crowley family usually sat there, supervising the affairs of this orphanage.

But today, there was a girl about Reese's age.

She had chestnut skin and tight, dark brown curls. Her eyes were a similar shade of brown. She could've been part of any of those antique portraits hanging in the hallway, and Reese would've believed it. She was really pretty, in a timeless sort of way.

Azalea Crowley.

Reese turned that name over and over in her mind. Azalea Crowley, Azalea Crowley, Azalea Crowley.

She stood up when she saw them. Her gaze locked onto Reese, and never left her the whole time they were in that room.

"Hi," she said, extending a warm hand. "I'm Azzie."

She shook her hand. "Reese."

"Show her around, yeah?" Diane said to Azzie. "Come back to the office by 3."

Azzie nodded.

She was sweet. Friendly. As she led Reese around, several people greeted her. Probably because she was with her, they asked about Reese as well. There was not a soul that didn't recognize Harry Yung and Nam Duri's names — the star-crossed lovers; history repeating itself, many would say — and their recent demise. Their orphaned daughter, half-Gemini.

Reese listened to her speak. Her voice was similar to Diane's, deep and silky, but less flat, more fruity. Pleasantly strong.

She only broke her silence once they reached her room. "I get all this to myself?"

The room was big. The walls were white, a fresh breath of air amongst the tapestried hallways, with a window looking out into the playground/forest. The bed was queen-sized, and adorned with fresh sheets. There was a desk and a chair.

"Yeah," Azzie answered, smiling, dimples showing. "One of the privileges only showered upon us."

"Bloodborn Ravens?"

"Yes."

"I thought the coven was supposed to be all about inclusivity."

"It is." Azzie pulled out the chair and sat on it. She beckoned her to the bed. "No coven takes in witches that've been exiled. Or witches born into any other coven, for that matter. We do. But that power imbalance never dies. The founding families created this coven. We're born with the magic they have to learn to use."

"We still have to train."

"Yeah. But our places in the coven are guaranteed."

Reese nodded. "What are the other rooms like, then?"

"They're okay."

It was average, to be honest. "I'd just expected something more—"

"Drab?"

" . . . yeah."

Reese sat on the bed. The mattress was soft.

"Well," Azzie said, "I'm next door. So, if you ever need anything, you know where to go."

The idea that their conversation was ending greatly displeased Reese. "Okay."

"Of course, there's so much you'll have to learn. Other than the classes, you know. Sneaking out, the makeout spots, the parties." Mirth sparkled in her eyes, but her smile remained cordial as ever. "The social groups. I'd suggest keeping with people your age. Some of the older witches are . . . tempestuous."

"'Cuz they haven't graduated?"

"Amongst other things. Being a bloodborn Raven gives you unneeded popularity. Or notoriety, depending on who you are. It's fun, though."

Looking back, fun wasn't the word Reese would use to describe it.

─────────────

Present Day

Reese felt sick.

She was vaguely aware of the steady vibrating thrum that comes with being inside a car traveling across her limbs. There was a pulsating ache on the side of her temple; her throat was parched; a cold, floaty weakness was settled into her bones.

Her head continuously bumped against the window of the car.

She blinked, opening to a view of the side of the road. No sooner had she lifted her head that a voice cut sharply into the atmosphere from right beside her.

"Looks like she's up," it said, distinctly male. Deep and raspy with an American accent. "Hey, Ms Reese Yung. Look, I know you just woke up, but I . . . I gotta say it is an ego boost, really, to be able to just tie you up, and kidnap you 'cross the continent—"

A woman's voice interrupted, predictably from the driver's seat. "Rafe, stop talking to the hostage."

There was a rustle. Rafe sat up straighter; leaned over the front seat. "Yeah, but Jo—"

"No buts," Jo scolded. She began whispering, "Rafe, she's a Yung Raven. You don't know what she can do. She's not like a normal witch."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Yeah. Be smart."

"I know. That's why she's tied up, Jo," Rafe said in a sing-song voice. "And Diane's gonna do that creepy mind thing, anyway. Any minute now."

Reese, who had until now resorted to quietly listening to them, decided their conversation provided no useful information after all. Sure, it was nice to hear she invoked such wariness amongst her fellow Ravens, vampires and witches alike, but . . . she was in a compromising situation here.

It was an unwelcome switch-up from the dynamics.

She was supposed to be the one doing the kidnapping, not the other way around.

Fuck Nik.

Really.

She was going to kill him the moment she got out of here.

(Reese could've been relaxing under the sun in Saint-Tropez by now, sipping on an iced tea, yet she was being driven through the MidWest with a mildly discomforting headache and idiots for kidnappers. All because of him.)

Jo sighed. "Drug her up again. Better safe than sorry."

She would not tell them she kind of wanted to be drugged up right now. Esther awaited, after all.

"Right."

"Well," Reese said, breaking her silence. She managed a feeble attempt to lift her head up from the window. Her arms were stretched, tied behind her back. She offered Rafe — a puppy-eyed brunette — a tight smile; more a stretch of her lips than an expression of delight. "I'll admit, this isn't ideal."

Rafe blinked widely. "Jo, she's up."

"I'm not deaf, you idiot," Jo said. Reese got a peek at Jo—she was pretty. Dark-haired and baby-faced. "Just drug her already."

"Hey now," Reese objected, pushing herself against the windows, and backing up. She spitballed: "What do you want? I can give you money. Lots of money. Like, I have two trust funds and access to Mikaelson bank accounts. What could Diane possibly give you that I couldn't?"

Jo shrugged. "Welcome us to the coven."

Oh.

"Oh," Reese voiced. " . . . that is . . . such an honor . . . for me I mean."

Diane Crowley was basing acceptance into the coven off their success in finding Reese.

She was altering one of the most fundamental rules of the coven, for Reese.

Maybe their situation really has worsened over the years. These seemed to be desperate measures for desperate times.

Why did they need her back so bad?

"I'm sure." A wrangled breath of tiredness floated through Jo. "You stained my fucking car."

As if her words had awakened Reese's senses, she became acutely aware of the stickiness coating her hands. Elijah Mikaelson's blood. With that her original plan came rushing back to her, flashes of Nik, Azzie, and Esther distracting her mind's eye.

Jo and Rafe won't kill her.

Most likely. As long as Diane was planning to do her 'creepy mind thing'.

It was worth a shot, right?

"Right." Reese deliberately made a show of struggling with the ropes. "I guess you should be honored too."

"Rafe," Jo said testily, eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

Something sharp dug into the side of Reese's neck the next second. Almost immediately her vision tunneled, a familiar dizzying lightness infecting her limbs. She felt the ghost of Azzie's hand in hers, all those years ago, when they first started training with the hallucinogens. It was one of the last, hardest classes they had to pass before they went on to be a part of the coven.

A Raven witch's greatest strength was their mind, and so consequently, it was also their greatest weakness.

Their best way out of it was to fall back on the integrity of their respective mind links. Their partners.

Reese's goal currently was to manage a conversation with Esther — not exactly ideal, but it was necessary. After Esther hijacked the ceremony, and everything . . . she jumped in on Azzie and Reese's connection, like a third party that wasn't really a third party.

It was complicated.

She recalled the words of the instructors: relax and let go.

And she could feel her.

Her mind greeted her with the setting of somewhere she hadn't been in a long time. It provided some common ground for all three of them, though, so it made sense . . .

(For all her experience with it, Reese still had trouble grasping the concept of death.)

(She could feel her.)

(She could feel both of them.)

The steady hum of the car engine faded to the back of her mind.

Reese found herself back in her old classroom in Mykonos: a large cluster of occult objects and spellbooks, each corner designed to fit a different purpose. A chalkboard beside the closed wooden door and a large Persian rug where they all sat; the next corner dedicated to plants and herbs — a miniaturized apothecary; a floor-to-ceiling shelf filled to the brim with books, along with half a dozen stacks next to it; and lastly, the games corner: an oak table set on an elevated platform, complete with heaps of board games and a chessboard set in the center.

The walls were a pale pink, and sunlight spilled through white lace curtains. The Ravens always gave great importance to their aesthetic, they did. Reese felt like a witch in a movie every day she spent here, learning.

There was a dream-like quality to it all though, as if everything was glowing from within.

"Welcome back."

Reese jumped, whirling around.

There she sat.

Azzie Crowley, bronze skin glowing, on the games table. She smiled at Reese, but it was reserved — cold, and formal.

Reese's heart threatened to leap out of her chest.

The last time she'd seen Azzie was . . .

"Esther," Reese breathed out, frowning. Eager to distract herself, she began to move around the room, pretending to inspect out. She'd already figured it out, though: "A Chambre de Chasse. Diane's creepy mind thing."

She never learned how to make one of these.

"I'll assume you're here of your own accord, though," Esther replied. "That does seem to be how things go."

"You think too highly of me."

"On the contrary." Esther was a double-edged sword. "I am linked to your mind. I know exactly what to think of you."

"Have you found what represents you yet?"

"I am not interested in that, as such."

It probably didn't make a difference to her. She was stuck on the Other Side, her only link to the real world being through Azzie, and to some extent, Reese. Some face-to-face human interaction could only be refreshing.

"So, Nik broke the curse." Reese made for the other chair, settling down in front of Esther / Azzie. The table between them marked a boundary.

"So he did," Esther returned in the same matter-of-fact tone.

"Well, I felt you — how you didn't want him to break the curse, but once it became clear that it was inevitable, you wanted Elena to die."

Esther didn't reply, opting to stare in silence as Reese went on.

"I was so confused," Reese fiddled with the Queen piece, "Out of all the people I've dealt with, you're the only one who's truly scared me. You're too clever. I've always admired your work."

"Admiration doesn't fix mistakes."

"Right." She put down the queen. "You know, I realized I've been going about this the wrong way. I needed to think like you not just in the present, but in the past, before, as a mother." A pause. "That's why you decided to turn them into vampires. For protection, before you realized you'd turned them into bloodsucking monsters."

It was already a powerful spell. But it had to be irreversible. Invulnerable.

"You must've had some idea they could create more vampires. The magic was infused in their blood . . . and everyone else was less powerful."

The experience was eerily similar to talking to herself. It wouldn't have any consequences unless Esther managed to come back using some new, obscure method.

Reese once again began to pace around the room, fingers trailing the edges of whatever she walked past: old books, plant pots, the blackboard.

"So I asked myself, why did you want Elena to die?" She continued. "You cursed him in the first place. Why would you want him to succeed in breaking the curse?"

Esther broke her silence. "I love my children. But Niklaus —"

"— Wanted to make more hybrids." She reached the stained glass windows, the picturesque green fields beyond them making her heart skip a beat. It was crazy how she missed that place. "Doppelganger blood has something special in it, doesn't it? Even Tatia's wasn't normal. That's why you used it."

"I made use of what I had at my disposal," Esther explained. "My only aim was to protect my children, and then . . . protect the world from them. From Niklaus."

"That's why he couldn't use just anyone from Tatia's bloodline . . . but there is some other reason doppelgangers exist?"

"The work of another witch, I can only presume." Esther moved a pawn on the chessboard. "It didn't matter much to me, as long as it made the process more complex."

Reese glanced back, swallowing at the sight of Azzie. "You must've known he'd inevitably break the curse."

That was the problem; Esther knew everything.

"Special doppelganger blood," Reese repeated to herself. ". . . can he make more hybrids now?"

Esther looked at Reese with Azzie's deep brown eyes. An unusual glint flashed in them — a brief display of pride. At her own work, no doubt; this whole situation that she'd planned out a thousand years ago. "Not without her blood. Human blood."

Amazing.

She can always count on Esther for useful leverage against Nik. Once she got out of here . . . oh, what a fun game awaited. And Reese would be the gamemaster, which is only suitable.

She forced herself to heave a tired sigh. "You don't suppose Diane's gonna let me out of here any time soon?"

Esther voiced the obvious: "Once you fall into her hands, I'm sure she'd be happy to release you."

"Overjoyed," Reese added, careful not to let her mind stray too far down the rabbit hole that is the Crowley family. She picked up a knife from the apothecary table and examined its leather handle. She asked to herself, "What does she think would represent me?"

A knife?

She might see Reese as the girl that cut into the very roots of the Raven Coven. Ruined her family, maimed and murdered, destroyed tradition, etc. The list went on. Reese tried to think like her father — a knife was simply a tool. Reese was a person, not a tool. And Diane knew very well everything she did was of her own accord.

A chess piece?

The queen moves according to her will. Protects the king. From any other perspective, it would make sense. But Diane . . .

Diane, who was in love with her father.

Diane, who hated her and loved her at the same time.

Diane, who could not let her go because of what Reese was; what Reese represented. Her mother, the bane of their existence; the destruction of . . .

Reese took a step toward Esther / Azzie, knife still in hand. She maintained a cool air. "What do you think represents me, Esther?"

"What do you identify with, Reese?"

No doubt Reese missed sitting in this classroom. Simpler times. She made lots of memories here. One of her most treasured ones was kissing Azzie for the first time, right on that table, after hours.

God, it was so easy to live back then.

"I can't even bring myself to look at you," Reese told Esther. Something lodged in her throat. Her voice was close to cracking. ". . . I'm sure Diane knows that."

"She is safe," Esther said. "Physically."

Was it supposed to be a reassurance? A formality? Politeness?

"She'll never be safe as long as you're around."

With that, Reese spurred forward and drove the knife into Azzie's heart.

Esther's heart.

(It was always Azzie, wasn't it? The only one she identified with.)

─────────────

When Reese stirred in the back of the car, it was silent.

The dizziness had faded considerably. She was able to lift her head and peer out the window, realizing that they'd stopped at a gas station. The sun was starting to set . . . how long had she been out?

"Oh," Rafe exclaimed. He was still sitting beside her, feet kicked up, playing games on his phone. "You're awake already. That should've been enough to knock you out for the rest of the week."

Reese raised her eyebrows at him. "Where are we, Rafe?"

He shrugged. "Middle of nowhere. I was really hungry so Jo's out getting supplies."

"Rafe," Reese repeated. "Are you gullible?"

Rafe blinked. "What?"

"Where are we headed? Is Diane in the country?"

"Oh, you mean gullible in that way," Rafe said. "Uh, no. I can't disclose that . . . and I should probably drug you again."

What an interesting boy. Reese wasn't sure if she wanted to kill him just yet . . . but if she was going to steal their car, she'd have to do something to incapacitate him. The obvious course of action was to use her magic, but she was still a little woozy from the hallucinogens. She didn't want to waste her energy if she could figure out something else.

Rafe reached into a bag by his feet and took out a syringe. As he searched for the rest, Reese spotted the distinct ruby red color of blood — blood bags. They seemed to be untouched.

She glanced at Rafe. His skin was unnaturally pale, covered with a very thin sheen of sweat.

It wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

Reese reached past him to the bag, resting half her body on his. She fluttered her lashes at him. "Can I . . . do it myself? I promise I won't try anything."

Rafe tightened his grip on the syringe. "No—"

"Please," Reese begged, "I need it. Otherwise, this journey would be too tortuous . . . I don't like to admit it, but Diane scares me."

He stared at her for a moment.

"A lot," she added.

She made a great show of shuffling with the bag, and accidentally pierced the blood bag with the needle.

"Oops," she hissed. "Is that blood?"

It was already doing its job.

Dark veins appeared under Rafe's eyes. Reese tossed the blood bag on his lap and sat upright. She held it right to his mouth.

"You know you want to . . ."

Rafe gave her a pained look but snatched the blood bag from her hand.

Reese immediately crawled to the driver's seat, ignoring the sudden pulsating pain in her forehead.

The car raced out of there as Rafe keeled over in the backseat. She knew Jo was following them. All Reese knew at that moment was escape, and she pressed down on the accelerator, dimly aware of the trees sprinting by outside.

How long it took for Jo to relent, she wasn't sure. The haze curtained off around 70% of the world around her, and the rest of it was drowned out by Rafe's noises of disgust as he binged on blood bags and hated himself for doing it.

Like Nik said, Raven witches didn't make for good vampires.

It felt strangely cruel to exploit that weakness, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Besides, she had bigger things to worry about.

What did she have? Did she have her wallet? Her credit cards? Her phone? If she didn't, did she remember anyone's number? Where was she? Where would she stay the night? Where would she get fresh clothes? What to do with Rafe? Should she go straight to Mystic Falls? Should she go straight to Nik and kick him in the behind?

Questions, questions, questions.

They drove the entire night, following a straight path. She'd think of something when the sun rose.

─────────────

At around ten the next morning, they came across Booze Up, a lone bar smack in the middle of nowhere. It was a bright red spot against acres and acres of olive green and dull skies; a few cars littered around it and a metal sign, the paint on it weathered. Reese watched it through the warm-tinted lens of Rafe's sunglasses, which she'd nagged off the dashboard some time ago to save herself from the sun.

Speaking of, Rafe was . . . much worse off than he had been a few hours ago.

Statistically, more than fifty percent of raven witches chose not to transition fully. Out of the other half that did transition, seventy percent didn't make it past the first few months. Something always got to them — Reese had expected it would be enemies that did, but more than them, it was just the way a Raven's head worked.

Diane's own words: you feed because you're a vampire and you feel the urge, the craving, but the moment passes soon enough and you remember everything you hate about vampires. It rolls around in your head, how you drank human blood, how you can't feel the magic thrumming in your veins. You're never able to keep it down.

How would a vampire survive if they couldn't even keep the blood down?

And Reese had pushed Rafe into this state; tempted him to take a sip. He wasn't able to quell his hunger and now, she had to stop every ten minutes and listen to him puke out his guts.

"So, you, uh, want something to eat?" Reese asked as she parked in front of Booze Up. "Or drink, I guess. I'm sure there are humans inside."

"You're cruel," Rafe panted. His eyes were glazed over.

Reese felt a twinge of guilt. She shrugged. "I didn't feel like killing you. Neither did I have the energy."

"Why do you want to run away so bad?" Rafe quizzed, spitting the words out too fast, as if he'd been itching to ask. "It's your coven; it's not like anyone else would want to accept you. It's your home."

"Actually, this very coven burned down my home." Reese glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Her hair was frizzy and tangled; her lips were red and bitten. There were deep pink bags under her eyes. Delightful. "I had one reason to stay, and she's gone, so."

"There's like, half a million people in the coven."

And none of them are Azzie. "So what?"

"So what?" Rafe parroted, that light-hearted boyish charm disintegrating completely. "Their magic's dying, and you can literally fix that."

"I only respond to things that affect me personally." Reese smiled. "I guess that just proves I'm a Raven."

It was a comforting thought that no matter how many times she got kidnapped, no matter how deep that pit of guilt in her stomach went, she retained her ability to crush people — to get to their essence and squeeze it between her hands until it became something deformed; something unrecognizable.

Sometimes her own nastiness scared her, so she liked to say she inherited it from her mother.

"Sure," Rafe mumbled, throwing his head against the seat. "How long is your friend gonna take?"

"I'm going inside," Reese said dismissively. "You can join me if you want."

The inside of Booze Up wasn't much better than the outside. The windows were shut and the curtains were drawn close so no light could enter. The walls were a deep rust color, paint skinning off in random spots. Chairs of black metal and torn leather cushions attached to them dotted the room, tucked into wooden tables. The bar was in the middle — typical, with high chairs and storage for drinks.

It had a strange, forced neatness as if everything had been pushed to the corners to make it seem clean. Reese inhaled a pungent odor — the sterile scent of cleaning supplies mixed with something else she wasn't able to identify.

A blond flannel-clad man was mopping the floor. He peered at her before going back to his work. Other than him, there was the bartender, serving a guy with his back turned to her.

The air around her rippled. A flash, and then Damon was beside her. He leaned toward her and whispered in a singsong voice, "I smell blood."

"It's probably me." Reese headed to the bar.

"Yeah, you look terrible." The smugness was audible in his tone. "Trouble in paradise? My guess is an intense lover's spat—"

"Oh, this is nothing," she scathed, sliding into a stool on the edge of the table. "Look, it'll be better for you all if you don't make me regret calling you."

"Right. I'm always up for a bit of Klaus-hunting." He sat down to her right and cocked his head. "I wouldn't mind some hybrid killing either—"

"Great," Reese cut him off before he could go any further. "Leave the planning up to me."

Just then the door to the bar swung open, and in came a stumbling Rafe. Blood glinted off his mouth — fresh blood. He took a moment to orient himself, raking his eyes around the room, before landing on Reese and Damon. He shot a bloodstained smile, "So this is your friend."

"Didn't think you'd be the one to torture your minions," Damon said to Reese.

"Kill him."

Damon arched an eyebrow. "How about, I don't take orders from you—"

"Kill him, or I'll call Klaus up right now and tell him that Elena's alive."

A second later, Rafe's dead body crumpled to the floor, his heart beside it. Damon stood over it, watching Reese with bug eyes. Amused, he asked, "What, have you suddenly grown a conscience? Need other people to do your dirty work?"

(Here's a secret: Reese almost always felt guilty. But she'd felt it for so long it didn't affect her that much. Grief, on the other hand?)

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." She smiled. "Now, buy me some food. Also, did you bring what I asked for?"

She wasn't sure why it was Damon she thought of calling. Caroline would have hampered her with questions upon questions and convinced her to come home; if Elena came, so would the rest of them; Bonnie was too clever, and she wasn't in the mood to listen to Stefan's unsolicited advice.

Now, that crossed off several people from her list for a variety of reasons, but still.

She needed clothes and her stack of Mikaelson credit cards because she was annoyed. Her plan walked at a slower pace, so she decided to settle on blowing outrageous amounts of Nik's money until it came to fruition. Being one step ahead felt amazing, honestly.

Damon ordered her a burger and fries, whilst the cleaner (who'd been staring dejectedly at Rafe's body for a whole five minutes) got to cleaning that up with a series of exhausted sighs. They came to the easy conclusion that Klaus had already been here and compelled these people, which explained why it reeked of blood.

And then Damon dropped this bomb, "At least my sucker brother would be doing his best to make even feeding a miserable experience."

Reese paused mid-chomp into her burger. "Klaus took Stefan?"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. Crazy how you miss so much in two days."

He was taking a dig at her being incapacitated for two days. How very.

"Damon, shut up," she said. "The last time I saw you, you were gonna go save Tyler. I'm guessing he bit you?"

"Just a little nip."

"Well, there goes a treasured piece of leverage." Reese took a long, refreshing sip of her chilled ice tea, and gently smiled. "No mind, 'cause there is a reason I called you here."

There really wasn't a speakable reason till he told her Stefan was with Klaus, but he didn't need to know that.

"You know," she went on, "I think it's time you experienced what it's like being on my side."

"Sorry, I'm not interested in joining a cult and/or participating in satanic rituals."

"Don't you want your brother back?" She asked. "You know, so you can impress Elena with your selflessness and she can finally give you a chance."

"Hm, tempting," Damon sighs exaggeratedly, "but I'm gonna have to say no. I don't work well in teams. I'm more of a, what do they call it, lone wolf."

"I know what Klaus is planning."

"More hybrids?"

"And other stuff. Other . . . technicalities that might or might not lead him back to Mystic Falls, therefore, back to one Elena Gilbert."

Currently, Reese only had about 50% of an idea of what she was trying to achieve here . . . a team-up with Damon Salvatore could elicit nothing but chaos and unplanned hindrances. But she knew it wouldn't be permanent — her revenge was going to be solely hers in the end. The problem was that Elijah wasn't picking up, and right now she needed an ally . . . so Damon it was.

(She had different ideas about where Elijah was because she knew him well enough to know that he would've come for her if he could.)

"The point is, Damon, that I can get to him a lot faster than you can. You'll get a much better outcome if you simply follow my plan instead of becoming a hindrance for me, because you know what I do to hindrances."

A moment of silence. Reese stuffed her mouth with the last of her burger.

He visibly gave in. "What do you need the weed for, then?"

Author's Note:

HMMMMM. I know it's been months and I've probably lost all my readers but..... the first chapter of s3!! so fun!!! 

I KNOW this is kind of boring but TRusT ME!!!! It's gonna get very fun, especially since s3 was like the reason I even decided to write this fic. 

Also this is unedited but WTV.