Michael stood in the center of his bedroom, surveying the wreckage. To say the room had been "lived in" was an understatement; it looked like a high-velocity tornado had been trapped in a small space with two very angry, very libidinous bulldozers. The mahogany headboard was a splintered memory, the West Elm rug was shredded, and there was a Rebekah-shaped dent in the far wall that would definitely require a contractor and a priest.
On one hand, he felt incredible. Centuries of tension had been resolved in a marathon of sex that was, quite frankly, marvelous. On the other hand, his mood had just plummeted directly into the dumpster.
He was currently staring at his phone, having just finished a call with Brandon that had effectively ruined his post-coital glow.
"So," Michael muttered to the empty, ruined room, "while I was busy reinforcing the structural integrity of the floorboards with Rebekah, the local 'Scooby Gang' decided to try a little Ocean's Eleven minus the professional planning and the George Clooney charm. Seriously? A heist? Against Klaus? In this economy?"
He paced over a pile of broken wood. He wouldn't even have been that annoyed by their amateur hour if it hadn't gone sideways in the most catastrophic way possible.
According to Brandon, the "Heist of the Century" had been crashed by the very banshee Mikael was supposed to be hunting. She had slipped back into Mystic Falls like a ghost in the machine, and she hadn't come alone. She brought a "friend."
The description Brandon had relayed from a semi-conscious Tyler was enough to make Michael's skin crawl. Tall, gaunt, movements like a glitching horror movie, and skin like wet parchment. Michael's mental Rolodex of supernatural abominations started spinning. Based on that description, the list of what that thing could be had been narrowed down to four specific horrors and all four of them were things Michael really didn't want to deal with.
But it was the last bit of news that had his stomach doing a slow, cold roll.
The beast had ignored the other three siblings and taken a single coffin. The special one.
"The fourth coffin," Michael whispered, his eyes narrowing. "The one with Esther no less."
He sat on the edge of the only chair in the room that wasn't broken, his mind racing. He knew exactly who was in that box. It wasn't a weapon against Klaus, not in the way the kids thought. It was Esther Mikaelson. The Original Witch. The woman who had started this entire mess a thousand years ago.
The worry wasn't just that she was gone; it was the who and the why.
"Cade," Michael growled, the name tasting like ash. "You don't send a soul-harvester and a Native American nightmare to kidnap a dead witch unless you have a very specific, very fiery plan."
—————
The Lockwood's
Michael's eyes were tracing the jagged skyline of the trees. His mind was a frantic chessboard, trying to anticipate a move that hadn't been played in over a millennium.
He knew Esther's endgame. She didn't just want her children dead; she wanted them erased. Her twisted version of "motherly love" involved stripping them of their immortality, turning them back into the humans they were before the blood and the fangs, and then slaughtering them. It was her grand atonement, a cosmic "undo" button for the sin of creating the vampire race.
'But there's a glitch in her logic,' Michael thought, his brow furrowing.
If the Originals died as humans, they would bypass Cade's jurisdiction. They'd find peace. Cade didn't want peace; he wanted a harvest. Esther, however, was a witch who had cheated death more times than a cat. When she finally fell for good, Cade would have a legal claim on her soul that even the Ancestors couldn't contest. So in essence she wouldn't be able to achieve peace with her family.
So why are they working together?
He began to map out the possibilities, Perhaps Cade isn't looking to destroy the Originals as Esther was. Maybe he wants Esther to use her magic to turn his realm into a physical reality, using the Original bloodline as the ritualistic fuel to bridge Hell and Earth.
Vicki Donovan had been shoved back into the living world. Esther had been the one to push the door open from the Other Side, but Cade had been the one waiting with an offer on the doorstep.
"This isn't a coincidence," Michael hissed under his breath. "It's a joint venture."
"What's that?"
Rebekah's voice sounded beside him. She was leaning against a tree, looking flushed. She had been watching him pace for minutes.
Michael turned, wiping the tactical coldness from his face. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the future and the annoying people who'd like nothing more than to make it a miserable experience for me."
Rebekah walked over, her eyes searching his. "You're a powerful man, Michael. So, what's stopping you from just killing them? Whoever is bothering you, just... make them a memory."
Michael looked at her, a pang of dark irony hitting him. 'If only you knew, Beks. One of them is your insufferable mother, and she's currently drafting your death warrant with the King of Hell.'
"In due time, Beks," Michael said, his voice smooth and deceptive. "In due time. Some things require a scalpel, not a sledgehammer."
Rebekah hummed, moving closer to adjust his collar. "By the way... why are we even here?"
They were standing on the edge of the Lockwood estate, "Oh, nothing much," Michael replied to Rebekah, a razor-thin smile playing on his lips. "Just granting a wish of a sort to a demanding person. Think of me as a very reluctant fairy godfather."
The Lockwood Cellars
Three ornate coffins sat on the floor, looking entirely out of place against the mossy stone.
"What the hell was that thing, Ric?" Caroline hissed, still rubbing her temples as if she could massage the residual ringing out of her brain. "That... thing that took the box? It looked like a walking nightmare made of old paper."
Alaric was checking the chambers of his crossbow, his hands were slightly unsteady. "I have no clue. It wasn't a vampire, and it definitely wasn't a hybrid. If anything it matches what the banshee looks like." He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen before he hit the speed dial for Damon.
"Tell me you're sitting on a pile of Original luggage," Damon's voice crackled through the speaker, dripping with his usual impatient snark.
"We have the coffins, Damon," Alaric said, his voice grim. "But we have a problem. The fourth one, the one we actually went there for is gone."
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, Stefan's voice drifted over the line. "Gone? What do you mean gone? Klaus doesn't just misplace his most prized possession, Ric."
"Oh, brilliant," Damon chimed in, his sarcasm dialing up to an eleven. "Please tell me you're messing with me. Please tell me you just left it in the truck because it was too heavy and you're going back for it now with a dolly and a can-do attitude."
"I wish," Caroline chimed in, leaning toward the phone. "We were ambushed, Damon! Some weird lady screamed so loud I thought my brain was going to leak out of my ears. Everything went black."
Alaric nodded to the empty air. "Yeah. She matches the description Michael gave us a few days ago. The one he warned us to watch out for."
"The banshee," Stefan muttered, the name sounding like a curse.
"And let me guess," Damon said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "The screaming lady wasn't a solo act. Please tell me it wasn't the specific coffin we were after that the roadies took."
Silence stretched between the two groups. Alaric didn't have to say it.
"Dammit!" Damon roared, and the sound of something breaking, likely a glass, echoed over the phone. "That was our leverage! That was the 'Get Out of Jail Free' card!" He took a breath, trying to regain his composure. "Stefan and I had to take a little detour, and now we're literally standing on the doorstep of the Big Bad Wolf. This complicates things."
"And how exactly do you suggest we find a coffin that was stolen by a banshee and a monster?" Caroline asked, throwing her hands up in frustration.
"Bonnie," Damon replied instantly. "She's our supernatural bloodhound. Once she's done reuniting with Dear Old Momma, she's going to track that box. I don't care if she has to light every candle in North Carolina to do it."
He didn't wait for an argument as he hung up.
———-
"Yeah, it's frustrating, isn't it?" a cool, smooth voice drifted through the cellar, dripping with mock sympathy. "Getting hijacked in the middle of your own heist. It's almost like you're playing a game where the rules were written by someone much, much smarter than you. And now you are getting hijacked again"
Caroline and Alaric spun around, their hearts leaping into their throats. Sitting casually atop one of the Original coffins, the one containing Kol, qwas Michael. He was leaning back, his legs crossed, looking as bored as if he were waiting for a bus.
"What the—" Caroline started, her vampire instincts flaring up immediately to respond to the intruder.
She didn't finish the sentence. Michael moved in a blur of motion so fast the human eye couldn't even register a streak. Before she could blink, he was behind her. A sharp, sickening crack echoed through the stone chamber, and Caroline crumpled to the floor, her neck snapped before she could even hiss.
Alaric fumbled for his stake, his eyes wide with adrenaline. "Michael, what the hell are you—"
He never got the chance to finish. Michael was suddenly inches from his face. He placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder, his voice dropping to a low, melodic vibration that bypassed the ears and went straight to the brain.
"Sleep."
Alaric's eyes rolled back in his head. The tension left his body instantly, and he collapsed into a heap next to Caroline.
Rebekah stepped out from the shadows of the staircase, her eyes darting from the unconscious bodies to the coffins. "What the bloody hell is this, Michael?"
Michael looked down at the sleeping professor and the broken vampire, sighing. 'Oh boy,' he thought. Explaining the nuances of tactical suppression to an Original sister is going to be a long night.
The Mikaelson Mansion
Klaus Mikaelson stood by the fireplace, a glass of dark liquid in his hand, his expression one of simmering, quiet rage. He had been dialing Tony for the last ten minutes. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.
"You boys wouldn't happen to know what happened to my hybrids, would you?" Klaus asked, his voice deceptively light. He turned his head slowly to look at the Salvatore brothers, who were standing in the center of his foyer. "They've gone remarkably quiet. It's almost as if someone... deleted them."
Damon leaned against a decorative pillar, his hands in his pockets, affecting his best look of bored innocence. "Gee, Klaus. Maybe they finally realized your dental plan sucks and went on strike? Or maybe they just got tired of the brooding. It's a very contagious vibe in this town."
Klaus moved in front of them in a heartbeat, his face inches from Stefan's. "Oh, is that so? And pray tell... why have you both decided to come to me all of a sudden? Usually, your visits involve white oak or a very poorly executed ambush."
Stefan held Klaus's gaze, "We're here to call a truce, Klaus."
Klaus threw his head back and laughed, "A truce! After plotting my death, you want to shake hands? How very 'Salvatore' of you."
"Yeah, well," Damon chimed in, "you deserve the murder plots. Don't act like you're the victim here."
Klaus's smile didn't fade; it sharpened. "Touché."
In a flash of violence, Klaus's hand moved. He plunged his arm deep into Stefan's chest, his fingers curling around Stefan's heart.
"Stefan!" Damon lunged forward, but he was intercepted. Two hybrids, they emerged from the shadows like ghosts, pinning Damon's arms behind his back and slamming him against the wall.
Stefan gasped, his face contorting in agonizing pain as he instinctively grabbed Klaus's wrist, trying to keep those deadly fingers from clenching and ripping out his heart. His boots scraped against the floor as he struggled to stay upright.
Klaus leaned in, his eyes glowing hybrid-amber, a devious smirk playing on his lips. "Now then... what was that you were saying about a truce? Hmmm? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I'm the one holding all the cards... and your brother's life."