◤ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙: ❛ vengeful spirits ❜ ◢

✧

          SOPHIE, AS IT TURNED OUT, WAS A GREAT DRINKING PARTNER. She knew how to hold her weight, only stumbled a little, and had lots of access to alcohol at the bar. The witch wasn't keen on prying information out of her either, which was wonderful because Marisol had no interest in divulging her every secret.

Still, Marisol knew that a drunk witch was a valuable one. Information was how people ran the world, after all, the secrets that make people bend to your will and the knowledge of how to get everyone on their knees. And Marisol had many questions. It wasn't every day she saw an Original desiccated by a spell – only powerful mages could do that, and it intrigued her.

As she looked at Sophie, some part of her was brought back in time, to when the world was smaller and her main concern wasn't fighting in a supernatural war but being the perfect wife for her betrothed. Sophie had spirit, working with the Mikaelsons and going against her people, like Marisol once had.

Maybe not by choice, either of them, but my circumstances. She remembered that power in her veins as she struck the merchant with her knife, the connection broken from nature and the new unnatural power intoxicating her veins. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before and she wanted it back – so dearly and tenderly, close to her heart and away from everyone else.

"If I were a powerful witch trying to resurrect other witches scorned by the Mikaelsons, who might I chose?" Marisol turned to Sophie, eyes like a predator on her.

Sophie scoffed. "If you want to know their enemies, you should ask them. Not me."

"I could, but Klaus is much more interested in killing Papa Tunde right now instead of looking at the bigger picture. He can't be the only one they've murdered here, and if he's brought back, who knows who else is walking around the streets?" Marisol questioned before leaning closer to her, "But you – you have the perspective of the witches. Surely they must talk. Witches always do."

"What do you know about witches?" Sophie shot back at her, fiery eyes. Marisol smirked at her, that spirit – that same spirit was the reason she lost her magic. She didn't want to submit to the culture, and the vision was awfully powerful, taking her to the meadow, slaughtering a stranger and giving her that weight of power. For a moment, she was drunk, and then that disappeared as well, leaving her with claws and fangs on a full moon.

"Oh, so much. I was one, once upon a time, and I've kept up with them over the years. Witches are as fascinating as they are annoying, but so incredibly useful. Now, any names come to mind?"

Sophie hesitated. Eyes flickering between Marisol and the bottle in front of her. "Celeste Dubois."

Marisol immediately began to straighten in surprise. Elijah's lover scorned? Well, that was as surprising as it was unsurprising. Klaus did kill her, at least from Elijah's account.

"You wanted to take on the magic of a woman scorned?" Marisol asked with a little disbelief, as if Elijah hadn't had his mother buried in New Orleans soil to use her magic.

"I thought it was the only way," Sophie defended herself, shooting a look at the werewolf. "Every coven here knows her story, she was legend. If someone's resurrecting witches using the Harvest magic, I wouldn't be surprised if she was among them."

"Elijah's going to have a field day with this," Marisol muttered to herself, taking another shot. Although, she knew that it wasn't proof. Sophie could be wrong, Celeste could still be dead, but her bones held no magic and a woman scorned was worse than the flames of hell, but the last thing Marisol wanted was to meet Elijah's ex-lover.

The thought burned inside her, coiling hotly in her gut. No, she didn't want that at all.

Placing the shot glass against the counter, Marisol stood. She got her information, and the alcohol was barely having an effect on her. "Thanks for being my drinking buddy. Maybe we can continue this another time."

She took her jacket, putting it on as she left the bar, walking back to the Compound. Though it was quiet there, she wasn't disturbed by it. Sometimes it was the loudest place in the world, especially when Marcel had control of it, but the silence had been taking up more room lately.

Elijah sat alone, book in hand flipping through the pages, when she entered. His eyes peered up to her. "You reek of alcohol."

"Probably because I was drinking it," she answered him briskly, staring at him as she remembered him with Celeste. Those visions in his head of her, them together, in the bath, in the park, such loving gazes...he adored her. He loved her.

It made her wonder how he thought of her. If he held the same fondness for a young wolf who didn't open herself up to love. No, they weren't in love back then. It was captivating adoration, maybe, sickeningly sweet as he lured her in as prey, but it wasn't love.

He could never think of her like that.

If Celeste was back, like Sophie thought, Elijah would fall for her again. She was the one who got away, Marisol was just his prey.

"With Sophie. I wasn't aware the two of you were so close," Elijah commented.

She took a step forward, cautious even though there wasn't an explicit reason to be. "We're not, but it looked like she needed a drink. I needed one too."

Elijah eyed her closely. "You've been drinking a lot lately, ever since Davina's death. I apologize that it affected you so much, I wish she had survived."

She stiffened at the mention of the young deceased witch. So young, so full of life. She died for others, for their mistakes, for their selfish actions – just like Magnus had. Magnus died because of her actions, and Davina died because she was a pawn in a much bigger game. Davina deserved a better life, as did Magnus.

"Me too. But if Sophie's right that someone tampered with the Harvest's resurrections, she should return after we kill everyone who came back."

"Like Papa Tunde. I'm sure that Klaus already has three plans worked out by now."

"But there are others," Marisol insisted, "There has to be. Four girls died which means that four people were brought back, and it's not going to go swimmingly. They're vengeful spirits with the chance to enact their revenge – they shouldn't go down so easily."

"And we will defeat them, like we always do, then Davina will return," Elijah said calmly, so sure as he stared into Marisol's eyes. He took more steps forward until he was directly in front of her, the distance gone with just the two of them. It was almost such an intimate moment. "I promise you that Davina will be brought back."

"Don't promise me what you don't even know," Marisol shook her head, "Even miracles have their consequences."

Magnus got to live, but he lost his magic. Magnus got to live, but as a vampire. The nature that once surrounded him, welcoming him, making him one now casted him out. He was alone without its warm touch, and Marisol knew that pain. It was unbearable. There was a cost for his return, and there would be one for Davina's.

"Marisol –" he reached out, grasping her hand. She flinched for a second and he faltered. She met his eyes – they were the same. Like the day they met, his eyes still looked the same, though aged. Time was always present between them, splitting them apart. "I hope you know that I will do everything in my power to keep my word."

The sincerity, the close proximity...it was almost too much. She wanted to lean in, to grasp him and never let go, but she couldn't. He made it sound like he would do it personally for her, not for Davina. That this promise was solely for her, because she wanted Davina to live, and it took her breath away.

She wanted this. She wanted to lean in and never let go, she wanted him to hold her tightly, to be so sincere that she almost cried, because maybe then everything would be alright. She would be safe forever; they both would.

But vengeful spirits were still roaming the streets and Celeste could be out there. Maybe Celeste hated the Mikaelsons, maybe she wanted Elijah back, and Marisol wasn't sure that Elijah would reject her. Elijah loved Celeste, years ago, and he could do it again.

"I know," she whispered, shaking herself from his grip, "I know."

The silence that followed didn't feel as suffocating.

✧

MARISOL FROWNED, INSPECTING the cold body of Papa Tunde. The witches had laid the body outside the Compound for them during the night, a surprise that was not unwelcomed but suspicious. She tensed as she stared at the corpse – something didn't feel right at all. The death of one of the revived souls she soothe her, but it raised more questions.

She cocked her head at every noise, paranoia clawing at her, hands tucked away but balled in case something came out of the shadows.

It didn't make any sense to her – why would the witches kill who they revived? They wanted Papa Tunde for a reason. Was that reason void, was his death of greater importance than his life...?

Elijah was closest to the body, examining it on his knees while Marisol stood with Klaus and Marcel. Klaus had the most playful expression, as if he enjoyed it. She wasn't sure if it was the truth or yet another mask he played. Marcel was stoic, as he always was around Klaus.

She wished she could ease him, but she herself was not relaxed. Now was not the time to talk about their feelings and braid each other's hair; now was time for war.

"Can I get you anything, brother?" Klaus inquired, a biting sarcasm dripping from his tone, "A magnifying glass? A pipe, perhaps?"

Elijah turned his head to look at the hybrid. "You have a theory you'd like to share with us, Niklaus?" He was always the best at entertaining Klaus' antics but still cutting into his brother.

"Back in the day, the witches wanted to send a threat, they'd just kill a chicken and leave it on your doorstep," Marcel muttered.

"It's rather a large and ominous chicken, wouldn't you say?"

"The bigger, the more eye-catching. You didn't destroy one meal; you decimated their crops and now they're angry," Marisol added.

Klaus took a step forward, positioning himself to be in the center of them. "Pape Tunde defeated Rebekah with ease, almost got the two of us as well. If he was supposed to be the prize fighter, why leave him dead in our front yard?"

"Because he wasn't their prized fighter," Marisol answered, "He's a pawn in a much bigger game. Most probable he was killed so that the witch who called him from the grave can have more power."

Their eyes turned to her.

"Oh, come on? New Orleans witches take their power from the ancestors, and in the Harvest ritual, the magic passed from one witch to another. Davina held the power of the three dead girls along with her own. Why can't that same principle apply now?"

Her question hung in the air and before anyone could add to it, Rebekah entered. She sucked in a breath at the tension present in the room. "Well, don't you look cheery. Listen to this – a girl literally exploded from a grave today as Sabine was giving a tour of the city of the dead. It was Monique Deveraux."

Everyone instinctively leaned forward at the news.

"What?"

"The tourists thought it was part of the show, but the witches are celebrating like it's some kind of bloody miracle," Rebekah continued and Marisol swallowed at the mention of a miracle. They all had consequences, she just didn't know what they were yet.

"Maybe it is," Marcel smiled, looking brighter for the first time since Davina's death, "They think that all hope is lost, but now suddenly a Harvest girl is resurrected. This is how we're gonna get Davina back – kill the witch who took her place."

Marisol almost reached out, wanting to caution him, but refrained. He was hopeful, happy, smiling – he hadn't been that way since she passed. She couldn't ruin his first sign of joy, couldn't crush his spirit because not everything was great as it seemed.

Magnus still tried to do magic sometimes, even after all these years, and the disappointment that hung on his face killed her like nothing else was able to. She would rather die a million times than see that disappointment again.

She heard footsteps on the stairs before Hayley's voice, and all of them turned to the pregnant werewolf. "I have a theory about who one of them could be. Celeste. I mean, it's got to be. Davina was trying to tell us, she was drawing pictures of Celeste," to prove it, she showed the sketch work pieced together Davina created – and it was her; Celeste, "She was warning us that a great evil is coming."

Marisol faltered for a second, she couldn't keep this to herself. "Sophie did say that if any witch was to be resurrected, it would be Celeste."

Elijah turned to her, almost hurt that she didn't tell him last night, but she couldn't look at him for long. It ached. Even knowing that Davina's visions declared her to be evil, that Elijah would go running back to her (she hoped that, craved he wouldn't), she couldn't look at him. She didn't want to feel guilty.

"First, Papa Tunde returns to settle old scores, now your murdered lover is back," Klaus shot a look at Elijah, "This isn't witches attacking vampires. They're declaring war on us."

✧

SHE STUDIED THE drawing on Celeste, legs swinging carelessly as she sat on top of the desk in the study. It was perfect. The woman she had seen in Elijah's memories an exact replica to what she saw on the paper. A witches' premonitions were always perfect, she knew that better than anyone, but it still surprised her.

The door opened and her head snapped up, eyes meeting Elijah's. in a hurry, she let go of the image and placed it beside her. Instantly, his eyes went to it and he picked it up himself, examining the sketched portrait.

"It's...very accurate," Marisol mustered, the awkwardness palpable in the air. She didn't know what to say, to describe what she was doing, but Elijah didn't ask.

He almost smiled, eyes finally tearing away from Davina's sketch to Marisol. "Yes. Terrifyingly, I'll admit," there was a pause, she wanted to run away, "You didn't mention that Celeste came up in your conversation last night."

"I didn't know what to say about it," Marisol admitted, "Besides, it was just Sophie's opinion – nothing was based on any evidence. But this...why would Davina have visions of Celeste otherwise?"

"It still would have been nice to know," Elijah mentioned, and that cut deeper than anything else he could've said.

There was no disappointment, no anger, no sadness. It was a careless mention to the side, probably not thought through at all. It probably meant nothing to him, but it meant the world to her.

A heavy weight came crashing on her chest, and she wanted to run even further away, never looking back. She hurt him. He didn't have to say it; she had seen it, she had heard it in between the lines of his words. She hurt him in her attempt to protect him, she had hurt him. It didn't matter that she knew it was going to hurt, it didn't matter that she felt guilty over it, all that mattered was that he was hurt and it was her fault.

"I'm sorry," the apology felt heavy as well, but still too light. It didn't cover everything, didn't go in depth about why she was sorry, or the weight that was slowly crushing her.

"Rebekah's moving Hayley to the plantation house until this...war is over," Elijah moved along, folding the image of Celeste and putting it in his pocket. Marisol pretended not to notice.

"Does Hayley know that this is happening?" Marisol raised an eyebrow.

"She will," Elijah said easily, as if anything with Hayley would be that easy. "It's for her safety."

"I don't think she'll care about that."

"I do," his eyes then turned to hers, "As I care about yours. I think it would be best if you went with them."

She sat up straighter. "Absolutely not. Elijah, I am safe. The witches can't kill me."

He turned away from her but she forced herself into his area so that he couldn't ignore her. "Magic goes deeper than you would realize. I never thought it possible to desiccate an Original with a spell, but Papa Tunde..."

"If a witch wants to kill me, they'll have to either find a spell to undo a five-hundred year old curse first or know exactly how to break it – which they won't. If it was an easy curse to break, it would be done already. I'm not going to hide away until you deem it safe for me. I'm staying here."

"Marisol, please."

"No. You – You utterly confuse me. You know they can't kill me, so why are you trying to protect me from that?"

"They can still hurt you. I can't watch you be in pain," Elijah admitted, not meeting her gaze as if the confession was shameful.

She frowned at him, more confused than before. "Pain is temporary, and there are ways to make it go away. I'm more useful around here."

Standing up, she moved to leave but he caught her arm. "I care for you, Marisol, I only wish to protect the ones I care about you."

For a moment she couldn't move, frozen from the confession, the whisper, the intimacy of it. But she couldn't stay there forever, looking like a complete fool, and she didn't know what to make of his words, so she tore herself away and left, heart drumming inside her chest.

I care for you.

It felt like it meant so much, with a weight behind it that knocked her over. She wanted it to mean so much, wanted it to mean everything, but she didn't know what to do about it. Maybe it meant nothing and she was distorting its worth for what she wanted.

She wanted him to care for her. She wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted him to kiss her, like he did once, a long time ago. This time she wouldn't break away, though, this time she would return his favor.

But was it favor? Or was it a ploy? Was this even real now?

It all swarmed in her head, the questions, this confusion. Elijah perplexed her, she wished she could figure him out, but there was nothing to grasp onto that would explain anything. He spoke so carefully, so quickly, with little words that always meant too much and she never had the time to pick them apart. He always moved on after, leaving her wondering, repeating his words and how he could possibly mean them. She didn't know, but she wanted to know.

I care for you.

She almost turned back to ask him about it, to hear him say it again, hope that she didn't imagine the weight behind it. No – she had to keep moving forward. Like always did, she had to keep going as if the words were never uttered. They didn't have the time for feelings, for caring, for wondering. A war was brewing; a war had been started, and she had to be prepared for what would inevitably come next.

Moving around the compound, she stopped as she heard a mix of Marcel and Rebekah's voices. She was against eavesdropping, on normal occasions, but she needed something else to focus on, so she stopped and leaned into their words.

"...you need to find Genevieve and end this. End it like we did the last time."

Nothing else was said, but she saw Rebekah exit the compound. When Marcel left the area they were in, Marisol took steps towards him. "So, who's Genevieve?"

A surprised expression came over his features, he grabbed onto her, and soon they were gone from the Compound but in front of the old café they used to frequent together when she was still Mars and he was still king. Her stomach swirled and she took a moment to breathe.

"You were listening to my conversation with Rebekah?" Marcel asked her, getting out through gritted teeth.

"Only the last little bit, but it sounded like Rebekah was ordering you to kill Genevieve...whoever that it. Like you did before."

Marcel looked around, and she understood the paranoia that seeped through him because it ran through her as well. "Genevieve was a witch that Rebekah used to be friends with. With Klaus around, there was no way we could be together, so we decided to bring Mikael back to town so Klaus would leave. Genevieve was the one who sent the message to Mikael.

"But Rebekah regretted it. She killed Genevieve, infecting her with Influenza. I thought I saw Genevieve the church earlier, and if she is, she's coming after Rebekah and I."

"So what I'm hearing is that Genevieve is another resurrected witch who should be dead and has a vendetta against the Mikaelsons. Wonderful," Marisol sighed, eyes then snapping back to Marcel, "I'll hope you kill her."

"You don't have to. I can take on a witch by myself," Marcel tried to dissuade her.

"Well, a warlock just recently desiccated Rebekah with a spell, so I wouldn't be too sure about that. I'll go with you."

Her eyes burned with determination, and Marcel sighed, knowing that there was nothing he could to shake her off. "I'll let you know when I find her."

"Great!" she smiled, cheery as if they weren't just discussing the murder of a vengeful witch coming after them soon enough, "But before that, how about some pancakes?"

Marcel stared at her in disbelief before nodding his head, allowing her to lead the way into the café. It was almost like old times, but in some ways it was better. They were lying to each other before, keeping secrets at every corner. Marisol was playing the role of a knowing human and he was playing the role of the king, high and mighty with a secret weapon in an attic. But now those roles were gone, now it was just them, and it was real.

No, she wouldn't trade this for the world.

✧

HER PHONE BUZZED. She looked down, seeing a call from Elijah, and hesitated, almost taking it, but then she peered up at the full moon above her. She could already feel the beast inside clawing for escape, her eyes turning from doe brown to yellow, she couldn't fight it for long. Not long enough if Elijah needed something from her.

She declined the call, moving to take off her shoes, then her pants, and the rest of her garments. Her arms were shaking, and her mind was slowly fading away. She didn't notice her phone buzzing again as she moved away, bare and ready.

Her bones cracked, hunching her forward, and pain coursed through her veins. It was temporary, she didn't fight back like she used to. On the ground, she allowed herself to be overwhelmed, until wolf replaced woman, and all that mattered was the moon.