Author's note: I wanted to thank everyone who took the time to leave a review and even those who didn't but continue to read this story. I appreciate your encouragement and support!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing. No copyright infringement intended...blah, blah, blah...does anyone even read these anymore..?

INTERLUDE IV

"She with apples you desired
From Paradise came long ago:
With you I feel that if required,
Such still within my garden grow."

-Shelley

FOUR YEARS EARLIER... ...

They walked through a dense forest near the moor, Bonnie completing her evening chores. The branches of the forest overlapped and intertwined so when the moon rose, on a night like this one, it made white lace through the boughs. It would be beautiful on another night, for another conversation.
Tristan stopped. He crouched down in a patch of earth and plucked a small flowering plant, offering it to her.

"Comfrey. Protection of travellers," she said, noting the yellow flower.

"Tell me how?"

"Blanched and then crushed. Hidden in the left pocket."

He nodded and then tossed the plant into the basket Bonnie carried. They walked in silence until Tristan stopped again, this time to pluck up some roots.

"Mandragora," Bonnie said, "brings sleeping terrors, in the right amounts. Crushed in a cup of branch water," she finished impatiently.

Tristan frowned. "I'm getting a heavy feeling, Bonnie. Is there something you wish to say?"

Her eyes flashed and she blew out an exasperated breath.

"You said you would teach me. But it's been three months and all you've talked about are nightshade botanical and poultices."

"In these parts, away from the city, away from all things like that, we learn such things as we used to know when the Old Gods walked."

"And what does that have to do with me? Or with finding Klaus? I came because I think you can tell me why I am like I am. You can help me become stronger."

Tristan studied her, his grey eyes sharp like a pin. "And how's that?"

"Teach me about magic. Not herbs and healing," she said arrogantly.

"You seem to know such a lot for somebody who knows so very little."

Her fingers tightened around the basket she was holding, knuckles turning white.

Tristan stared at her, sensing, judging. "I have a scar on my back. Tell me how I got it."

Bonnie startled, unsure what to make of the abrupt demand.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"How should I know?"

She flinched as he banged his fingertips to her forehead hard, holding them there.

"Right there. You go right there inside your mind. Close those pretty eyes. And you feel my spine through my fingers. Do this!"

Bonnie took a shaky breath, concentrating hard. Her heart pounded from her skull to her soles. Tristan smiled, he could feel her power.

"You're strong-willed. And agile. Feel around my skull...Behind my eyes. You feel my bones...down my spine. Now feel out to my skin, to my past, to my pain...what do you feel?"

"A woman. Fire on your back..."

"Yes..."

"Burning—searing my skin-branding my soul-"

Bonnie screamed. It felt as though she were being ripped open from the inside.

"Teine diaga," she gasped. Sacred fire.

Tristan removed his fingertips from Bonnie's forehead, gently dragging them down her cheek. She winced as he sharply grabbed her chin, tilting her face, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were crimson, the iris turned to purest gold.

"This isn't like learning a few incantations from your spell book and lighting some candles. If you want a salve for your grief, I can give you that. If you want to poison an unfaithful lover, I can give you that and laugh while I do it," his voice sounded nasty, oily. "But if you want to learn the Old Religion, the magic that mankind forgot and fears, then what I can give you for that is only knowledge you don't want, little girl."

"I do," Bonnie said, pleased when her voice came out reasonably steady.

Tristan released her. "You want to learn?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes," she was resolute.

"You're not frightened?"

"No."

Tristan turned away and they resumed their path through the woods. Soon they came across a rabbit struggling in one of his traps. Its leg had been snared.

"Break its neck," he instructed.

Bonnie looked at him, saw the obvious challenge in his gaze. Another test. Setting the basket down she knelt and took the rabbit. It struggled in her hands. Without warning, a torrent of nausea and fear swept over her. Could Tristan read it from her?

Snap.

The rabbit finally lay still. Tristan said nothing more, simply picked the rabbit's limp body up and started back in the direction of the house, leaving Bonnie to follow him. Later that evening, they sat in front of the 17th century hearth after a supper of rustic stew. Tristan was separating the various herbs and roots she'd collected.

"Who branded you?" Bonnie said suddenly. Tristan stopped, lifted his eyebrows in that cool, arrogant way.

"Who did that to you?" she frowned, growing bolder as she concentrated hard and began to probe at the psychic fibres of his mind. "Someone you loved...someone you trusted...a brother. Your brother."

Tristan looked at her a long time. "We were five siblings, the Apeiroi. Coiled together like adders on the sands of Egypt, like hawks over Golgotha, like all things that join together and find strength as one."

"And then?"

"Our brother Silas followed a different path. And he found his acolyte."

"Esther," Bonnie surmised.

"She became those as walks at night, following the god of shadows, the prince of night, for what he promises."

"And what did he promise her?"

Tristan smiled. "What does everyone seek? Power, youth, beauty, love, to walk alongside such as know the great midnight arts," his sharp gaze focused on Bonnie, "those arts you know."

Bonnie looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I don't know anything about that, not about dark magic."

"Yet before, you knew the Teine Diaga."

"It was instinctive," she shrugged. "I spoke the words, but I did not understand their meaning. Not really."

"You'll learn. When you know the Arcana you can hear the echoes of time in your ear. Only a few initiates ever do - those destined to become the high priestesses, those who are born with the gift. Like you."

"I thought all witches are born with magic," Bonnie said, surprised. "Isn't that what makes them...well, witches?"

"No," Tristan gave a dismissive shrug. "You were born with it. But other witches have to learn it. You are not like others. You've always been like you are. Even as a little thing."

Tristan got up then while Bonnie tried to wrap her head around this revelation. He fetched a box, ornately carved, and removed a stack of cards – each emblazoned with a disquieting blend of man and animal.

"The high priestesses of old served neither good nor evil," he said, fanning the cards out on the table, face down. "Their purpose, their pledge, is to uphold the balance that exists between the two. To see the good in that which is evil, and the evil in that which is good. You see that book?" he gestured to a thick, old book with a pagan symbol on the spine sitting on the bookcase that was filled with old books. "Bring it to me."

Tristan took it from her and set it on the table, almost with a kind of fear. "Of all the texts, of all the spells, this is the most cursed."

"What is it?"

"Forbidden. The poetry of Death. Such things as this I teach you are only for your protection. You must remember such incantations are dangerous. You must never speak the old tongue idly. Do not let this language become easy in your mouth – or soon it will no longer be your mouth. Promise me, Bonnie," he grabbed her hand with an urgency that surprised her. "If the day ever comes when you are crushed and beaten, when all other paths are closed to you, all other aid has deserted you, only then do you open this book. And on that day, you will never be the same."

Tristan looked at her deeply. "You will be tempted in the coming years. Mikael will tempt you. Within you there is an especial gift, sought by many. Sought by him most of all. He'll rob you of it given the smallest chance. But you must hold fast. Hold fast, Bonnie."

"I understand," she whispered, frightened by his fierce tone.

His gaze shifted once more in casual assessment. "I don't quite think you do. Once you take that step, once you open this book and read its terrors, you can never return. One wrong step is all it takes."

"Is that what happened to Esther?"

"Yes," Tristan answered, his tone was cool and even. "She was lost long before she chose to follow the path to him and Silas took advantage of that. He is the prince of unconquerable night, god of dreams. But he was not yet so powerful that he could accomplish everything alone."

"The Teine Diaga," Bonnie murmured in realization, "Silas told Esther how to imprison you. To keep you as her Catha."

"He embraced me. Enfolded my body like a lover..." Tristan's eyes seemed deeper, his attention on something that Bonnie could not see, "...Plenty of flesh on you for burning. Even you can't separate your soul from your soul," the words seemed to come from a long ways away. "You watch yourself close, Bonnie," Tristan looked at her deeply. "I didn't fight hard enough," his expression was almost wistful. "Now put this cursed thing back and look at these cards."

Bonnie did as he asked. Their words hung heavily in the air between them and she appreciated his point. Standing beside Tristan once more, she studied the cards laid out on the table.

"What do they say to you?"

She shrugged. "Nothing."

He smacked her. Hard. Bonnie stumbled back, aghast.

"I said look at them." Tristan was always strangest when something was important. Usually, when he was like this, – this incomprehensible, otherworldly self – Bonnie kept her head down and didn't argue. This time, however, anger was quickly outweighing anything else she might feel.

Two bright pink spots appeared high on her cheeks and the silver veins around her eyes rippled. A tremor seemed to come from the very foundations of the house while the shadows lengthened and darkened around her.

Tristan barely seemed to notice. Or care. "Don't be fresh. Put your hands over the cards like so, just your fingertips. Now, let them move."

Stony-faced, Bonnie did as instructed. Concentrating, she put her hand over the cards, letting them move slowly.

"What do I do now?"

"You'll know," Tristan watched her closely.

Suddenly, Bonnie felt something. Like a jolt within her. She put her finger on a card, turned it over.

A sinister man holding a bat like a lover.

"The prince of night," Tristan did not sound surprised.

"What does it mean?"

Tristan looked at her with those eyes like stars. "What do you think?"

Her blood ran cold. He was like this sometimes. Conversations became riddles with traps in them, and your answers had consequences.

"Evil," she said at last.

He laughed. "Not always the demon from hell or the throat slit at midnight. It can mean other things. They are never always as they seem."

Tristan got up and walked to the shelf of herbs and roots. Bonnie watched in painful silence as he prepared the Mandragora then finally set the cup down in front of her.

"That's enough for today," he said. "Get some sleep."

Bonnie looked between him and the cup. Made her decision. She drank. Tristan squeezed her hand.

That night the dreams started.

She woke gulping breath, hiccupping and sobbing. Neither she nor Tristan spoke of it, though she was certain he must know. On the fourth morning, Tristan finally asked her about the dreams.

"A dark lover approaches, bringing terror. Irresistible, ugly but beautiful. He was...a part of me. But not?"

Tristan nodded slowly. "Some people, Bonnie, have a space inside them perfect for hiding. When Elijah defeated Silas, the safest place to entomb him was inside Elijah's soul. Does any of this strike a chord in you Bonnie?"

"Yes," A memory rose in her, like a vision or a dream. Elijah. A woman. A sacred promise.

You will be transformed. Brought into direct contact with the divine. Bound to the ancients, to him.
But not ruled by him?
No. Your will is the stronger. Always. Can you do this, Elijah? Are you willing to take the oath?
I am willing. Proceed Mistress Ayanna.

"Ayanna never anticipated Elijah's death," Tristan went on. "Old as I am, even I do not understand how it occurred. But when Elijah died, the blood oath he took must have been passed on to you, his only blood heir. And you became the seat of Silas' power. Do you understand, Bonnie?"

"You mean...you're saying...I have this thing, this...god-demon inside me? I am the seal of Silas?" She felt the whole world lurch beneath her feet. "How long have you known?"

"I suspected after Mikael and his shadder witch took you captive."

"Then you don't know for sure."

"Bonnie..."

"You don't know!" Her heart was banging so loudly it made her feel sick. "All of time and space you've lived through, places I can't even imagine. Have you found any references to someone like me?"

"Not yet."

"Then you'll understand I find it difficult to accept something that's so far only demonstrated in a few bad dreams and the gibberish of an impotent god! I'm sorry. No!"

Bonnie turned sharply on her heel, not wanting to speak of it anymore. Tristan was watching her soberly and she could not help but feel a flicker of remorse for the bitter vitriol she had spoken.

"I'm tired, I apologize," she fought down her rising panic.

"No need," Tristan spoke evenly.

She managed a weak smile. "I think I'll go to bed."

Tristan released a slow breath. "Alright. We'll speak again in the morning."

That night the dream was different.

She was in her old bedroom, in Grams' house. The lights were off but the curtains were open. The moon was high in the sky.

"Let's go for a ride."

His face was sculpted and silvered by the moonlight, a familiar gentleness in his cornflower blue eyes and that one unruly lock of blonde hair falling across his forehead. He wore his favourite letterman jacket, the one he got after the Mystic High Wildcats won the state play-offs.

"D'you remember, B? Some nights in the summer were so hot we couldn't sleep. You'd call me, and I'd pick you up in the truck. We'd drive around listening to music. Then go for pancakes at Denny's," Matt smiled. Her heart ached. His smile had always held the warmth of a thousand suns. But now, the familiar mannerism was a mockery.

"Stop it," she bit out, "You are not here," Bonnie closed her eyes against the spectre.

"And yet..."

Bonnie opened her eyes. Her skin was crawling. She felt the familiar prickle of dread, of encroaching enemies. "You're not Matt," she whispered. "Who are you?" In her heart, she already knew the answer.

"You have to name a thing to make it live, don't you?"

"Should I name you?"

"Only if you want me to live."

"I have a choice?"

"Bonnie, please. You always have a choice." Slowly, 'Matt' rose. "You can open the door at any time. You can right now. Will you?" he took a few steps closer to her.

Bonnie had to fight not to step back but she stood her ground. Raised her chin defiantly.

"No." The word was made of iron; there was no compromise in it.

Something changed in his expression then as his eyes crawled over her body. "And give up everything we could have together?" He continued in almost a purr. "We could bring them back you know. Grams, Matt, your parents. You could have what you've always wanted. Family, home, to belong. And so much more..." He reached up to cup her face with a cool hand. "The power; the sight beyond this world."

"I want nothing beyond this world," she sucked in a breath.

"Don't pretend you're not tempted," his hand slipped into her hair, his grip just short of painful. "Every word you ever spoke from the great grimoire, all those times you walked into danger. The blood these delicate hands have spilled..." his eyes held hers with a strange mesmerism. "You've always been drawn to the dark whisper, to life at its fullest. You cannot lie to me, Beloved."

Then he leaned down to kiss her.

Bonnie tore herself away from him. 'Matt' looked briefly surprised.

Her heart began beating with the fierce will to live. "So I see you clearly now," she said. "A god fallen from grace. You want my spirit and body. But I am not in a giving mood. My soul is mine!"

"Who are you to defy me?" he asked her now, in a silky, dangerous voice.

Bonnie pulled whatever she could find deep inside her soul. The fear, the rage, turned into a knot of stubbornness - to confront, to defeat.

"Get out," she rasped.

"Child, you have no sense of the horrors I will bring onto you."

"Then do it."

"No step you take will be safe, no dream untroubled. Battles I shall plan; prophecies I shall unveil."

"Get. Out." she repeated.

He laughed, as scary and disturbing a sound as she had ever heard. "We'll be seeing each other soon, Beloved. I'll make sure of it."

Bonnie woke with a jerk, shuddering, gasping and trying to think what to do. She bounded out of bed and went to find Tristan. He was sitting in the study, reading.

"My dreams-"

"I know," he spoke evenly. "You must learn to protect yourself."

XXXXX

PRESENT DAY

"And then?" Damon said gently.

"I thought I'd won," Bonnie sniffed. "But really, that was just the beginning of my battle," her voice was steady, despite the fact she'd broken out in a cold sweat. "In the coming weeks, he'd come for me. The sickness..." she sucked in a hard breath. "I felt as if I were going mad. Wished I were, in fact. Because at least then a doctor would be able to cut out the madness. Anything to make it end. But inch by painful inch, I started to build my own protections. In my lucid moments, Tristan taught me words of banishment. I learned to brace against the demons, the night whisperers, to lash out at them, even though the contact sickened me," she stiffened her spine, trying not to convey the fear rising in her gut. "Afterwards, I knew that I would never feel safe or loved like I had before."

Damon reached out and cupped her face in his hands, as if he were holding something precious. Gently, his thumbs stroked the skin of her cheeks and only then did Bonnie realize that she was crying; her skin wet with silent tears.

"You're safe here," he murmured.

Bonnie stared at him. Saw the confidence in his eyes. It reminded her so strongly of how he'd looked at her five years ago, that night on her porch after Sybilla's first attack. Instinctively, she leaned into his side. Damon slipped his arm around her, resting his chin on her head as she cried silently on his shoulder for a while. Feeling better, Bonnie looked up at him.

"You're tired, you should rest now," he said. His expression was soft and fond, and it gave Bonnie courage.

"Can you stay with me?" He tensed for a moment, her request clearly catching him off guard and Bonnie faltered. "I know it seems silly..." she tried to backpedal, praying she hadn't just made a fool of herself.

Damon shook his head, "No such thing." He hauled her to her feet, helping her get under the covers. A moment later he'd toed off his boots and slipped in beside her. "Budge up."

Bonnie rolled on her side to face him. They looked at each other and something odd reflected in his gaze. Bonnie was overwhelmed by emotion, by need as she watched him close his eyes and breathe deeply, though he didn't need to. She wanted to embrace him. She wanted to kiss him.

"You should sleep," he said, their eyes meeting once more. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead and the gesture warmed her so much, she reached for him again, taking his hand.

The last thing she was aware of before sleep claimed her was the feel of his fingers interlacing with hers, strong, secure. And she realized he was right.

For now, here beside him, she was safe.

TBC

AN2: Some dialogue and creative credit has to go to John Logan (Penny Dreadful), BBC Merlin Series and Hayao Miyazaki as it relates to technical - for lack of a better word – knowledge of magic, as well as some of the mythology mentioned in this chapter and general inspiration of all things fantastical and macabre. I'm borrowing and blending as I establish my own mythos for this story.

So this interlude ended up being longer than I originally planned and, as a result, took longer for me to post. But hopefully it was worth the wait. And has started to answer some of your questions. I can't keep dangling these things in front of you without a decent payoff, right?

Thanks for reading! But I'm quite greedy, so I'd love a few words from you too – so hit the button and leave a review. Have a great weekend everyone. :)