Michael snapped his phone shut, the small click echoing in the high-ceilinged study. He stared out the window, his reflection ghostly against the glass.
"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a low vibration of intrigue. "What the hell did you stumble upon?"
Tamara, standing at the edge of the light, stepped forward. "Any updates, boss?"
"Mikael," Michael said, using his true name with a certain weight. "He found a lead. He followed the entity and the Banshee to an old warehouse on the outskirts of Mystic Falls. They weren't there for blood, Tamara. They were digging. They wanted dirt."
Tamara's brow furrowed. "Dirt? Why would Cade and Esther want soil?"
Michael shrugged, his eyes narrowing. "I have no idea, and that's what bothers me. With Esther awake and Cade pulling the strings from the shadows, everything has become dangerously unpredictable. They aren't just plotting a murder; they're building something. We need to find that witch before she weaves a spell we can't untangle." He turned to her, his gaze sharp. "How is the tracking coming along?"
"It's almost impossible," Tamara admitted, her voice tight with frustration. "We don't have any of Esther's personal effects, nothing to lock onto. To make matters worse, she's shrouding herself. Every time my witches try to find her, it's like hitting a stone wall. She's blocking us at every turn."
Michael sighed, a weary sound. "I guessed as much. She was the Original Witch for a reason. Has Abby returned yet?"
"No, she's still on standby."
"Send two witches and two Death Dealers to her immediately," Michael commanded. "Esther wants a Bennett by proxy of their magic. She'll try to get in contact with the lineage to bolster her power. We can't let her get to Abby."
Tamara nodded, scribbling a mental note. "And what about Miss Bonnie? Who should we assign to her?"
Michael looked at her, a slight, predatory smile playing on his lips. "Well... I am here, aren't I? What better security is there than that?"
Tamara couldn't help but return the smile. It was the absolute truth. Her Lord was, and always had been, the pinnacle of their world. Who would dare try anything while he stood in the way?
The Mikaelson Estate
In the grand parlor of the Mikaelson mansion, Kol was looking refreshed and dangerously bored, leaning against a marble pillar. In the corner, Klaus sat at a mahogany desk, his charcoal pencil scratching aggressively against a sketchbook, while Rebekah swept into the room followed by two compelled girls laden with designer shopping bags.
"Ah, dear sister," Kol said, pushing off the pillar as he eyed the girls. "I see you brought snacks. How thoughtful."
Rebekah didn't even look at him. "Sit back down, you fool. These aren't snacks." She turned to the girls, her voice cold and commanding. "Put those in the drawing room. These are my errand girls for the dinner tonight. I have a thousand years of fashion to catch up on and a table to set."
She shot a venomous look at Kol. "Get your own."
Kol's smile sharpened as he blurred into her personal space, "Why bother when I can just take these? They smell like lavender and fear. My favorite combination."
"Kol," Elijah's voice cut through the tension like a silk ribbon. He was standing by the sideboard, pouring a glass of sherry. "Might I suggest you refrain from traumatizing the help? It is remarkably difficult to find good service these days when one's brother insists on treating every employee like a five-course meal."
Kol turned his predatory gaze to Elijah. "And if I refuse? What exactly are you going to do, big brother? Give me a stern lecture on etiquette?"
Rebekah rolled her eyes, taking a seat on a velvet chaise. "He'll probably just bore you to death, Kol. It's his specialty."
Elijah offered a thin, sarcastic smile. "On the contrary. I find that a quiet, dignified desiccation in the cellar usually does wonders for one's impulse control. Shall we test the theory?"
Kol scoffed, backing off with a theatrical shrug.
Elijah then turned his attention to Klaus, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, his hand moving in fluid, jagged strokes across the paper. A devious, knowing smile was on the hybrid's face after hearing what Elijah had said to Kol.
"And you, Niklaus?" Elijah asked. "What is your input on this sudden family reunion? You've been remarkably quiet."
Klaus didn't look up from his drawing. "Oh, I'm just enjoying the morning, Elijah. It's rare entertainment, seeing my undaggered family bicker like children in a sandbox. It's almost... nostalgic."
Elijah stepped closer, glancing down at the sketch. "Oh yes. And I'm sure your delight has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you're currently imagining how easy it would be to put us all back in the boxes once this 'mother' problem is solved."
Klaus blinked twice, finally looking up. He paused, his pencil hovering over the paper. "You do realize," Klaus said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr, "that nothing about what you just said is completely accurate... to me, of course."
Elijah tilted his head. "Of course, Niklaus. Your lies are always so much more colorful than the truth."
"You know, Nik," Rebekah interjected, lounging back with a bored grace, "Elijah is right. You have that look in your eye. The one where you're measuring the dimensions of our coffins in your head while pretending to be the misunderstood artist."
Klaus's pencil snapped against the paper. He looked up, his expression a mixture of feigned hurt and genuine malice. "I'm hurt, sister. Truly. I've gone to all this trouble to redecorate, to host a lovely dinner, and you treat me like a common villain."
"You are a common villain, Nik," Kol chirped, snatching a silver letter opener from the desk and spinning it between his fingers. "You're just a very well-dressed one with a penchant for dramatics."
Elijah swirled his sherry, his eyes never leaving Klaus. "The problem, Niklaus, is that your 'hospitality' usually comes with a body count. I would prefer it if, for once, the guests left through the front door rather than in the back of a hearse."
The tension was broken by the double doors swinging open. A compelled waiter entered carrying a silver tray laden with crystal glasses of dark red, thick liquid.
"Finally!" Kol exclaimed, blurring across the room. He snatched a glass before the waiter could even stop moving and downed it in a single gulp. He wiped a stray drop of crimson from his lip, his eyes brightening. "God, I've been cooped up in that box for so long I've forgotten what the sun feels like on my skin. I need air. Real air. Not the scent of old paper and Rebekah's expensive perfumes."
He turned his gaze toward one of the chefs peeking through the kitchen door, a young woman, "Maybe I'll go have some fun. A little snack before the main course?"
"For God's sake, brother," Klaus groaned, throwing his sketchbook onto the desk. "Don't eat the cook. She's Italian, she's the best I've found in such a short time, and I'd rather not have the pasta seasoned with her frantic screams."
"Indeed," Elijah added, his voice dry as parchment. "Try not to consume the staff, Kol. It's remarkably difficult to enjoy a four-course meal when the person who prepared it is currently being digested in the foyer."
Rebekah snickered. "Besides, Kol, you look like a bridge troll. Go wash up and try to act like a gentleman for once. We have 'allies' coming, remember?"
Kol scoffed, waving a hand dismissively as he strode toward the entrance. "I'm going out."
He reached the heavy oak doors and swung them open, only to find the doorway blocked by a tall, imposing figure. Michael stood there, his hands tucked into the pockets of a tailored charcoal overcoat.
"And where are you storming off to?" Michael asked, his voice a low, smooth baritone.
Kol stopped inches from him, his chest puffed out. "None of your business. Now move."
Michael tilted his head, a teasing, razor-sharp smile playing on his lips. "Such fire. You always were the most... spirited of the bunch, weren't you, Kol? It's a wonder Niklaus didn't keep you in that box along with Finn for almost a thousand years just for peace and quiet."
Kol's vampire face immediately came up as he heard that, "You think you can talk to me like that? Move, or I'll rip that smug look right off your face."
Michael's eyes didn't change at all at the threat, "I would suggest you stand back, little one," Michael murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Lest we add a barbecued Original to the menu tonight. And I assure you, I'm not talking about your daggered eldest."
Kol stared into Michael's eyes for a heartbeat too long. With a final, bitter scoff, Kol brushed past him and disappeared.
Michael stepped into the parlor, his gaze sweeping over the remaining siblings. "Well," he noted, "you all seem to be getting along just fine. No blood on the wallpaper yet. I'm impressed."
Klaus smirked, leaning back in his chair. "And whose fault is that, brother? You're the one who undragged them all out of their peaceful slumber."
"Aww, come on now," Michael teased, moving toward a chair, "I only want what's best for you, little Niklaus."
The comment made Rebekah smile, and even Elijah's lips twitched upward. Klaus, however, bristled, standing up to his full height. "I am not so 'little' anymore, brother."
Michael looked at him, and for a fleeting second, his eyes softened. He remembered a cute little boy in the woods, looking up at him with a mix of awe and desperation. "Oh yes," Michael whispered fondly. "Of course not."
His face suddenly went hard, the warmth vanishing as if it had never been there. He looked at Elijah and Rebekah, his voice dropping into a serious, tactical tone.
"There are a few things I'd like to share tonight with our 'allies' to be. What I know about your mother and Cade's plan... It's worse than a simple massacre. If it's what I'm thinking, then let's just say it's about to become a war for the very soul of the supernatural world.
————
Damon leaned against Alaric's kitchen counter, nursing a glass of bourbon when Bonnie finally walked through the door, he offered a sharp, lopsided grin.
"Well, hello there, Medusa. Careful, Ric, don't look her in the eye, she's in a mood."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, dropping her bag onto the table with a heavy thud. "What do you want, Damon? I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I've had enough drama to last me three lifetimes."
"Straight to the point. I like it," Damon said, his tone shifting from playful to uncharacteristically serious. "Hypothetically speaking... is there a way to, I don't know, snip the umbilical cord? A way to unbind the sire bond so that if Klaus or his lovely siblings decide to take a permanent nap on a white oak stake, Stefan, Caroline and I don't go poof along with them?"
Bonnie looked from Damon to Alaric, her expression skeptical. "That's not something I've ever heard of. Magic that deep is usually permanent."
"Well, look at the bright side, Bonnie: our lives are currently tethered to a group of people who attract murder like a magnet," Damon said, pacing the small kitchen. "One slip-up, one grumpy hunter, and Stefan and I are collateral damage. We need a way to not die if this whole 'family reunion' goes south. Which it no doubt will."
Alaric leaned back, crossing his arms. "I've spent half my life researching the occult, and I've never seen a whisper of a de-siring spell. I'm not even sure the mechanics for it exist."
"Even if it does," Bonnie added, her brow furrowing, "the amount of raw power required to rewrite an Original spell would be astronomical. It's not just a candle-and-incantation kind of deal." She paused, biting her lip. "But... there is someone I can ask."
"Who?" Damon asked instantly. "Because if it's a ghost, I'm out of salt."
"My mom," Bonnie replied.
Damon's posture softened slightly. "Oh, right. How was the big reunion with Abby? Did she mention why she's been hiding in the sticks for fifteen years?"
There was a genuine note in his voice that made Alaric raise an eyebrow. Bonnie noticed it too. She sighed, leaning against the table. "I'm pissed. I'm angry. I'm mostly just... hurt. She left me. She left Grams. She didn't even show up for the funeral. But at the same time..."
"She's still your mom," Damon finished for her. He looked down at his glass, a flicker of something dark and old crossing his face. "Believe me, I get it. Stefan and I... our mother wasn't exactly winning any 'Parent of the Year' awards. She wasn't great at the whole motherly duties thing."
He took a slow sip with a distant look in his eyes, "She left us to fend for ourselves, but there's a difference. From what you're saying, Abby left to keep you safe from the dark stuff. My mother? She left for her own selfish reasons. Reasons I stopped caring about a long time ago. She's been dead and buried or rotted somewhere long enough for the grass to grow over the resentment."
Bonnie looked at him, surprised by the casual way he disregarded his mother's death, "She did it to protect me," Bonnie whispered, her voice cracking. "And that's what makes me angrier. That she decided for me and is part of Michael's witch cult. But... that's in the past. Back to the spell. I'll see if she knows anything about unbinding bloodlines."
"Good," Damon said, snapping back into his usual snarky persona. "In the meantime, we all have a very awkward formal dinner to prepare for. Hopefully, nobody tries to eat the guests before the salad course."
Alaric scoffed. "With that family? I wouldn't bet on it."
Just then, Bonnie's phone rang. She glanced at the screen. "It's Elena. Excuse me." She stepped out onto the balcony to take the call.
Alaric watched her go, then turned to Damon. "That was unexpected."
"What? Her mom being a part of Michael's groupie witch club?"
"No," Alaric said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "The way you comforted her. About her mother. If I didn't know any better, Damon, I'd say you actually cared enough to be nice to her."
Damon scoffed loudly, swirling his bourbon. "Don't get sentimental on me. We need Bonnie focused. If she's all 'woe-is-me' about her family issues, she won't get the information we need from Abby. I'm just keeping the engine greased, Ric. It was nothing."
Alaric's smile widened just a fraction. "Uh-huh. Whatever makes you feel better, Damon."