The heavy oak door of the church swung shut behind Marcel, cutting off the morning light. Inside, the air was cool and still, smelling of old wood and candle wax. He leaned against a pew, catching his breath. Every part of him hurt.
From the shadows across the street, Stefan and Damon watched the door seal.
"Looks like he's home," Damon murmured, pulling out his phone. His thumbs moved quickly.
At the church. He's inside. Banged up pretty bad.
Viktor's reply came seconds later.
Go in. Find what he's hiding.
Stefan read the message over his brother's shoulder. "He never makes it easy, does he?"
"Where's the fun in easy?" Damon slipped the phone back into his pocket. Together, they crossed the street and stepped into the church.
The door creaked open. Father Kieran emerged from the shadows near the altar, his face tight with tension. "You need to leave," he said, blocking their path. "This is holy ground."
Stefan let out a soft, dry laugh. "Is that supposed to mean something to us?"
"You'll leave," Kieran repeated. With a swift, practiced motion, he raised a sawed-off shotgun. The wooden stock was carved with symbols, and the sharp, herbal scent of vervain filled the air around the barrel. "Now."
Damon didn't even flinch. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "You'll let us in."
"I won't." Kieran's finger tightened on the trigger.
"You know," Stefan said, his tone almost conversational, "we're not like the vampires you're used to. We're second generation. Sired by an Original. That thing?" He nodded at the gun. "It can't kill us. A wooden stake is a bad day, not the end."
Kieran's steady grip wavered. The certainty in his eyes flickered. He had built his defenses around Marcel's power. The idea that there were others, perhaps even stronger, was a crack in his foundation.
Damon took another step, closing the distance. "And unless you've mixed a little wolfsbane into your recipe, you can't even put us to sleep. The least you could do is offer a decent nap."
Panic seized Kieran. He drew a sharp breath to shout.
He never got a sound out.
In a blur of motion, Stefan was behind him. One hand clamped over the priest's mouth, silencing him. The other wrenched the shotgun away, the metal groaning as Stefan effortlessly bent the barrel into a U-shape before dropping the useless weapon with a clatter.
"Shhh," Stefan whispered, his voice cold and close to Kieran's ear. "You really don't want to do that."
Kieran struggled, but it was useless.
Stefan looked at his brother over the priest's shoulder. "Damon. Go find our friend. And let's see this 'secret weapon.'"
Damon gave a smirk and melted into the deeper shadows of the church.
Stefan turned his attention back to the trembling priest in his grasp. "Now, Father," he said, a cold smile touching his lips. "Let's you and I have a talk."
---
Damon moved through the church like a ghost. His senses reached out, filtering the sounds: the priest's muffled struggles, the labored, pained breathing coming from below, and... something else. A low, powerful hum of energy. Magic. It pulsed from behind a door at the bottom of a narrow staircase.
He didn't bother with the knob. A single, powerful kick shattered the doorframe, and the door swung inward.
The cellar was a cavern of magic. Candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with shelves of jars and ancient books. Marcel was on one knee, using a table to pull himself up. And standing between Damon and Marcel was a girl. She was young, but the power radiating from her was immense. Her hands were raised, her eyes glowing with an unearthly white light.
"Stay back!" she commanded, her voice layered with a resonance that shook the air.
Damon paused at the threshold, a slow, intrigued smile spreading across his face. "Well, now. Aren't you full of surprises?"
"Davina, no!" Marcel grunted, finally getting to his feet.
But Davina was focused. "I said, stay back!" A wave of invisible force slammed into Damon, strong enough to make him grunt and take a half-step backward. The air crackled with spent energy.
He straightened up, his smile never fading. "Cute trick. But you'll have to do better than that, sweetheart."
Upstairs, Stefan heard the blast of magic. He looked down at the terrified priest. "Sounds like the main event is starting." He drove his fist hard into Kieran's stomach. The priest crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, unable to cry out. Stefan stepped over him and headed for the cellar.
Below, Marcel moved to stand beside Davina, his body battered but his will unbroken. He looked from Damon to Stefan, who now appeared in the ruined doorway, blocking their only exit.
"You shouldn't have come here," Marcel said, his voice raw.
"You keep saying that," Damon replied lightly. "And yet, we never listen."
The four of them were frozen in the candlelight—a wounded king, his powerful witch, and two immortals who had just found the source of his defiance.
Stefan's gaze swept over Davina, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
"So this is the big secret?" he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A witch? You're staking your kingdom on a little girl with party tricks?"
Davina's eyes blazed with fury. "Not just any witch!" she snarled.
She thrust her hands forward again, and a searing, psychic pressure slammed into both Stefan and Damon. It was like a hot needle driven directly into their brains. Damon grunted, clutching his head. Stefan merely blinked, a slow, unimpressed shake of his head.
"Davina, stop!" Marcel grabbed her arm, his voice strained. "We have to go. Now. If they're here, Viktor can't be far."
"I can take him!" she insisted, her power flaring again, the candles guttering wildly.
A low laugh cut through the chaos. It was Stefan.
"No," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "You really won't."
In a movement faster than a thought, he was no longer in front of her. He was behind her. One hand snapped out, locking around her throat like a vice. Her magical aura snuffed out instantly, her choked gasp the only sound.
Marcel roared and lunged, but Damon was already there. He moved with brutal efficiency, intercepting Marcel and driving his hand forward in a sickening crunch. His fingers plunged into Marcel's chest.
Marcel froze, his eyes wide with shock and agony.
"I know, I know," Damon said, almost sympathetically, as his fingers closed around the still-beating organ. "It won't kill you. You're too stubborn for that. But I sure as hell bet the next time you wake up, you'll be having a real awkward family reunion."
With a wet, tearing sound, he ripped Marcel's heart from his chest.
Marcel's body crumpled to the floor, his eyes already glazing over, entering the forced healing sleep of their kind.
Davina screamed, a raw, desperate sound, struggling against Stefan's iron grip.
"What about the girl?" Stefan asked, ignoring her thrashing. "Seems a shame to waste all that power."
As if on cue, Damon's phone buzzed. He pulled it out with his clean hand, Marcel's heart still dripping in the other. He put it on speaker.
"We have the witch," Damon said.
Viktor's voice, cool and absolute, came through the tiny speaker. "Bring her."
The line went dead.
Stefan's grip tightened on Davina's throat, cutting off her struggles. Her eyes, wide with terror and fury, locked on Marcel's motionless form.
"You heard the man," Stefan said, his voice a whisper in her ear. "You're coming with us."
Damon dropped the heart onto the stone floor with a final, wet thud. He looked down at Marcel's dormant body, then at the captured witch.
"Let's go," he said, turning toward the door. "The boss is waiting."