Chapter 23: Rumor Has It

Date: August 8, 2020

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: Hey Guys! I hoped to have this chapter up last month but things did not pan out that way. Nevertheless, I'm back with another installment which I hope you all enjoy. Thanks for reading as always!

With as much ferocity as she put into hating her brother, Rebekah loved Niklaus just as much. It was an infuriating relationship. When they were on good terms, Niklaus moved mountains for her. He loved selfishly, yes, but he loved with everything he had. That said, he was easily offended and whenever he felt slighted, he reacted dramatically.

Like placing her in a coffin for ninety some odd years.

Each time she thought about it, she wanted to spit on him. Yes, she was immortal, and yes, in the grand scheme of things, ninety years was merely a fraction of her time on earth, but it was the timing that brought about a bad taste to her mouth. Each time she was close to finding love, he would drive that dreaded dagger into her chest; each time he felt threatened that she would abandon him, he'd retaliate. The moment she was awakened, she put thousands of miles between she and Nik because she knew the moment she got within his orbit, the countdown began on when she'd 'betray' him and subsequently be banished to another coffin for however long.

It angered her to think about it and made her never want to see the bastard again, but for reasons unknown, she always found her way back to him. She felt insane as she listened to her oldest brother, Elijah, plead their brother's case.

"Our brother would like for us to join him in New Orleans. Apparently, he's acquired The Abattoir for us." Elijah paused before continuing. "From what he's told me, Marcellus has been running the city in our absence. It would seem as though he did not perish with the others when we fled." Rebekah froze in her tracks at her brother's words. Marcel's name was a ghost to her. Since fleeing the city from her treacherous father, Rebekah chose to put the past behind her and move on with her life. Unfortunately, her life would only continue for three years before she was neutralized and placed in a box.

"Marcel." It's been at least a century since she's heard that name. Stefan was a beautiful distraction for her during her time in Chicago but Marcel was the love of her life. She never got over him. "That's impossible—father killed him." Even as she said the words, Rebekah doubted herself. The more Elijah spoke, the less inclined she was to hear that while she mourned her one true love, he was alive and well and never thought to look for her.

Rebekah was livid.

It seems she would have to drop in and see how her old flame was getting on without her.

"Hmmm, I'm curious," Rebekah finally spoke after Elijah filled her in on what was happening. "Maybe I ought to drop in for a bit—but not for long. Nik has the propensity to lure us into his schemes and pretty soon, we'll all be in a pine box for another century."

"I assure you, Sister, as long as I breathe, I won't let him harm a hair on your head. You have my word," Elijah promised. Rebekah could only hope that when the rubber meets the road, he would not go back on that.

"I'll hold you to it, Brother."

-X-

Anticipating Klaus's next moves threatened to drive Marcel insane. Day and night, he did what was in his power to build an army around him. Niklaus has been uncharacteristically quiet since Marie's death and from past experiences, Marcel knew better than to get comfortable. Klaus was a shark and just because you couldn't see his fins circling you didn't mean he wasn't just below the surface planning an attack. He was a snake under a rock and Marcel had to steer clear of his strike.

Knowing this made it impossible to relax. Though vampires were much more resilient than humans, stress had a habit of bringing them to their knees since they felt everything on a deeper level. A stressed vampire was a threat to everyone, including themselves.

His stress levels soared as Diego delivered the news that the five vampires he recently turned had just been slaughtered. Hearts pulled from their chests. Marcel growled. Klaus, no doubt. "Where did this happen, D?"

"A few hours ago," Diego shared. "I asked around and no one saw Klaus but they did mention some hot blonde hanging around, said she had an accent," Marcel stood abruptly, causing the vampires closest to him to stir.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath as he came to a grim conclusion. "Don't let anyone leave the loft until I return, got it?" He didn't give Diego a chance to respond before he was out the door in a flash.

Before he could process his actions, Marcel was in his car, driving at full speed until he reached his destination. Thirty minutes of driving led him in front of an abandoned building that never made it past the first phase of construction. Judging by the quality and size of the foundation, the building was on its way to being immaculate. Instead, it became a place where dreams were unrealized—a place that Marcel frequented. The house was to be a gift to someone dear to him but instead, it became a graveyard for those that betrayed him. Vampires that dared to cross him, met their fates here. For in the basement of this would-be home, were the desiccated bodies of his enemies. It was macabre, but he learned from the best. Vampires—if they lived long enough—often welcomed death. In turn, they must be threatened with something far worse than an easy way out. It's what he's done for the past century. Their kind only responded to endless suffering. Klaus taught him that.

"I didn't expect you to find me so quickly." Her voice catapults him to a time he buried deep within his psyche. She remained in the shadows, but Marcel could easily detect her with his heightened senses.

"Your family has always underestimated me," he retorts. He could almost hear her lips stretch into a smile.

"So it seems," she responds. The dark, dank, room fell silent and Marcel could almost hear the proverbial pin drop. "I thought you were dead," she speaks up.

"You didn't bother to check," he sasses. At that moment, she appears from the shadows, and for the first time in almost a hundred years, Marcel is face to face with Rebekah Mikaelson. The light from a hole in the foundation above them shines on her just so, creating a halo effect. Feelings Marcel thought he expelled came rushing to the surface. Rebekah scanned his face but detected no noticeable reaction. His eyes narrowed as she circled him but Marcel stood his ground.

"You came alone," she points out while redirecting the conversation. Marcel turns on his heels as she continues to circle him, eyes locked with hers.

"Given the fact that you murdered five of my men, I thought it best not to involve anyone else," Rebekah smirks, detecting a bit of annoyance in his voice.

"Smart," she tsks. She eyes his attire, admiring the leather jacket he wore along with his all-black ensemble. It reminded her of Niklaus and she couldn't help but smile at the similarities between the two, no matter how much they tried to deny it.

"What do you want?" Marcel didn't have time to go back and forth with her. He had people to bury and a city to run.

"Your attention," she answers immediately.

"You have it, now what?" Unperturbed by his glib responses, Rebekah cuts to the chase.

"What are you and my brother planning?" Marcel's face contorted with irritation as he regarded Rebekah with a scowl.

"We aren't planning anything. He's plotting to gain control of my city," he asserts. Just because the Mikaelsons 'founded' New Orleans didn't mean they could show up and 'Manifest Destiny' a second time.

"And you're willing to fight him on this?" Rebekah lifts a brow out of curiosity. Many have come against her brother but few, if any, lived to tell about it. Marcel had to know what he was up against.

"Over my dead body." Rebekah searches Marcel's face for any signs of false bravado. Instead, she finds tenacity and it concerns her.

"That's a high probability, Marcel—even for you," she warns, but Marcel isn't swayed.

"You let me worry about that," he snips. "Is that all you came here for? To threaten me?" Quite honestly, he was over the dramatics. If Klaus wanted to 'scare' him, he'd have to do a lot better than Rebekah Mikaelson.

Rebekah doesn't answer him for a moment. Instead, she chooses to deflect. "Why didn't you reach out to me; to let me know you were alive?" The question grates at her. One hundred years and no word from the man she loved so deeply once upon a time. Her breath hitches the moment Marcel closes the space between them. Their stare was intense but she didn't waver.

"Would you have returned if I did?" Rebekah glowers at his question. "I was here, picking up the pieces of the city your family destroyed in their wake. New Orleans is my home; I'm never leaving. It's been a century, Rebekah, and you never once looked back to find out what happened to me. Like the rest of your toys, you pushed me to the back of your mind and forgot all about me. Why would I waste my time chasing after something I was never meant to have?" Rebekah is taken aback by his candor. Marcel was always brutally honest, it was what she both loved and hated about him.

"Is that how you see it, then? A waste of your time?" Marcel scoffs. Disgust marred his features as he shook his head to dispute her claims.

"Didn't you see it that way? Wasn't it a waste of your time to look back?" Rebekah didn't have an answer.

"I assumed when I didn't hear word that you were dead," she tried to explain, but Marcel wasn't having it.

"The Rebekah I knew wouldn't have given up that easy. Perhaps you were afraid of what you might find. Or maybe you were afraid of what Klaus would do to you if he discovered your little secret." A chill ran up Rebekah's spine as she thought of the night Mikael came to New Orleans, destroying the harmony they had obtained. If Klaus were to find out that she was the one that led Mikael to their doorsteps, it would be curtains for her. Again.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Rebekah scowled at Marcel's remark but said nothing of the contrary. She had no comeback.

"Even if I wanted to return, I wouldn't have been able to. Just a few years after we left, Klaus shoved that bloody dagger back into my chest and left me to rot for ninety years." If she hoped her words would garner any sympathy from him, she clearly didn't know the man standing before her.

"And not once in the years leading up to that did you bother to find out what my fate had been; not even for closure. You never gave a damn about me! Your family is insidious and so are you. Stay the hell away from me and stop killing my guys." Marcel pulled away when she tried to reach out for him. The look on his face devastated her as she watched him walk away. She waited until he was out of earshot before she allowed her emotions to take control.

-X-

Prudence sat in the middle of the floor of Marie's, staring up at the charred remains of what once was a charming establishment. The smell of soot encompassed her and in some areas, it was still damp from where the fire was doused with gallons of water. It was odd—whenever she heard of a place going up in flames, not once did she consider the damage the water would cause. Only the rage and destruction of the fire were taken into consideration. It was true what they say; unless you've gone through a fire, you couldn't possibly understand the destruction of one.

Nothing was recognizable and in truth, she didn't know what on earth she should be looking for. Marie's estate was vague when it deemed the sole beneficiary as her 'last living heir'. Truthfully, it was a wonder that she even had a will. Marie was selfish, so the fact that she bothered to establish a will was, in a word, odd.

Her estate was meager. Prudence was left one lonely house within the outskirts of the French Quarter and one burnt down restaurant with seemingly no value to it outside of the insurance money Marie would have collected. There was nothing else to be had. Considering the length of her life, Marie didn't have much to her name.

Or so it seemed.

Prudence expected there to be at least some money in the bank or perhaps a few valuable heirlooms left behind, but even if those things did exist, Marie didn't bother to leave instructions on how to access them. After a quick search of some of Marie's belongings, Prudence found nothing of import. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if she was missing something. She had a hard time believing that someone of Marie's caliber didn't have more going for herself. How did she survive for this long without amassing some modicum of wealth?

Prudence remained stumped. Maybe it was a cruel twist of fate. She didn't come looking for anything in particular and that was exactly what fate had given her; nothing. She only hoped to bury her distant family member and move on with the rest of her life. Her life as a front desk clerk and concierge was waiting for her at home in the historic district of downtown Charleston. She was doing just fine before learning about her heritage and she would do just as fine moving forward.

Her musings were interrupted when she stumbled upon a back room that was oddly untouched by the fire and subsequent water damage. If she had discovered the area before the funeral, she would have found the sight bizarre, but knowing what she knew now—that the urban legends surrounding her family were true—she surmised that the room was perhaps spelled. Pandora's box had been opened and there was no closing the lid on it now. She couldn't explain what she was seeing but the room felt oddly out of place. She felt drawn to it and unlike any before her, she crossed the threshold into the room without consequence.

There was a familial essence in the room and a sense of belonging washed over her. She was supposed to be here, welcomed even. Still, she was careful not to disturb any of the items laying around. There was a beautifully decorated altar located along the back wall, along with hundreds of bottles of potions, herbs, tinctures, and stacks of dusty, old books, it seemed. The area was well preserved leading Prudence to believe that this was what Marie held near and dear to her. Upon second glance at the 'dusty old books', Prudence came to realize that they weren't just books, they were grimoires—hundreds of them. Inside were spells for literally everything. A spell for wealth, a spell for health, a spell for invisibility, and hexes you couldn't begin to dream of. Some were translated into English for what looked like studying purposes, however, most were in a different language. Haitian, she recognized mainly, and though she couldn't read Latin, she recognized a few words in several of the spells.

"Holy shit," Prudence muttered as she surveyed everything in the room. Her fingers danced along the shelves that contained the potions. Some had labels, others didn't. She began to feel overwhelmed by the treasure trove and wondered what she should do with everything. The items obviously needed to be packed away but she wondered if she'd be able to safely transport it all. If Marie took the time to spell the room, she was sure that if she moved anything, the results could be catastrophic. The last thing she needed was a hex she couldn't get rid of.

Prudence picked up an empty box and began neatly loading things into it. She would call Sabine to help her transport everything later but for now, she settled on enjoying the findings of her inheritance.

-X-

Rousseau's had become a common dwelling place for Damon. He sat at the bar with a drink in hand, mulling over the details of his virtually nonexistent plan to take down Klaus. In his quest to find allies, he learned more about the city each day. Marie Laveau was dead. He had planned to use the woman to help win Bonnie to his side but apparently, that plan was a bust before he could even think it through. Bonnie had now sided with Klaus and all of the witches in the city apparently hated her which surprised him since he thought all witches stuck together.

As the days passed, he was beginning to lose hope and was now considering the possibility of giving up. However, as smart as that idea probably was, Damon was never one to take the easy road. Raising his hand, he signaled to the bartender to serve him another round and extended his glass as the woman approached him. He sneered to himself when she lingered longer than necessary and reached into his pocket to provide a tip she was obviously waiting for.

"What's a hot bastard like you doing in a miserable bar like this?" Earlier, she attempted to pull a conversation out of him but he was simply too engrossed in his own brooding to engage. He glanced up and took the woman's features in for the first time. She had dark brown hair with equally dark eyes and, if he squinted hard enough, he could almost envision Elena—maybe after a few drinks.

"Not too loud, you may get fired for treason," he quipped back. The girl chuckled.

"Please, we're so short-staffed, I could murder a customer and they'd increase my pay," she exaggerated.

"I wouldn't doubt it," he muttered into his glass before knocking it back. Since the 'Great Witch Massacre' as supernaturals coined it, many locals began migrating outside of the city for their safety, thus creating a surge in unfilled job positions. To save face, the council managed to cook up a great cover story. Those killed were 'eccentric occultists' that participated in a suicide pact, but the supernatural community knew better. Technically, it wasn't a lie whenever Damon thought about it. The people that were killed fucked with the wrong witch and thus, committed mass suicide.

The bartender's hand brushed his as she moved to pour him another glass. Damon felt a spark of energy and looked up, meeting her gaze. "Common ground, remember?" She reminded him that Rousseau's was off-limits in terms of supernatural drama. It was the one place they could all coexist without meeting their demise.

"You can unclench," he assured her. "Were you affected?" It was a question that didn't need to be explained. Judging by the way her eyes darkened, he could surmise that she had been.

"I lost many friends long before the massacre," she admitted grimly. "Family too," she added. Damon finished his glass and turned it upside down, signaling he'd had enough for now. "Some days I don't know whether to thank her or spit on her," the bartender confessed.

Damon found that all he needed to ask was one simple question to get the witches of the city talking. It was how he planned to figure out who was Team Bonnie and who wasn't. "Did you know her? The Bennett Witch?"

The witch shook her head. "No, I only heard of her through others—how she was supposed to 'liberate' us from Marcel but in reality, she only made some of our lives worse. My life was already in shambles before she wreaked havoc so I don't feel any particular way about anything." As she spoke she began to wipe down the bar in front of her.

"I heard Marcel had the witches under some kind of restriction," Damon probed.

"We were in bondage. He kept his foot on our necks while Bonnie ran amuck, unchecked. She doesn't seem to care about any of The Quarter's issues, only herself. She's probably the one that helped Marcel keep tabs on us and now that they're at odds, we're free so hell, maybe she did free us, just not the way we thought." Damon nodded, processing everything.

"Right. I heard she jumped from one evil villain to the next," he commented. Bonnie being with Klaus after everything he's done to them pissed him off beyond reason.

"I don't know much about this Klaus but he's keeping her busy which is more than we can hope for. It's better than her destroying our city and killing our people."

"Klaus isn't good company for anyone. I know that from experience." The bartender looked over at Damon with a thoughtful expression. She seemed to ponder something before shrugging haphazardly. As she moved to restock the bar, she casually continued the conversation.

"I suppose," she muttered. "Not like she has a choice in the matter anyway." At her comment, Damon eyed her for a few seconds before taking the bait.

"What do you mean by that?" The bartender chuckled to herself before turning to face Damon once again.

"What'd you say your name was again?" She wanted to be sure about who she was giving information to that way, if anything was linked back to her, she'd know who to go after.

"I didn't say a name." When she refused to continue, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Damon," he offered. "What did you mean by your comment?" His interest was piqued and he didn't want her to lose focus. The bartender eyed him as if she was debating on if she should continue. Moments later, she closed the distance between them, leaning in so that only he could hear.

"I heard a rumor but I don't know how true it is." She pondered her next words before shaking her head. "It's probably not true." Damon rolled his eyes but kept his cool.

"Don't get shy on me now, toots. Spill." Damon waited silently as his anticipation began to build. He wasn't sure how he knew, but whatever the witch was about to tell him was sure to change everything.

"Well, I heard that Klaus had Marie cast a spell on Bonnie before she died." The look on Damon's face encouraged her to continue. "It was a spell linking Bonnie to him." Damon's heart skipped a beat.

"What the fuck? Like a sire-bond?" He wasn't sure why that was the first place his mind went.

"Sorta, more like a love spell," she clarified. Damon stared in silent shock as he absorbed the information. A sense of dread began to settle, making him sick to his stomach.

"Fuck," he muttered angrily. He grabbed his glass and flipped it back over. "I'm gonna need a few more of these." The bartender obliged before excusing herself from behind the bar. As she made her way towards the back, she smiled to herself as she dialed the last number in her call log. After several rings, a voice came onto the line.

"Hello?"

"Sabine, I'm pretty positive I just bumped into Damon Salvatore." The voice on the other end paused briefly before answering. Based on their research into Bonnie's past, Sabine discovered a wealth of information linking Bonnie to Klaus and other residents of Mystic Falls, including the notorious Salvatore Brothers.

"I'm listening."

"And I may have innocently informed him about the linking spell between Bonnie and Niklaus…" At the news, Sabine smiled to herself as she connected the dots.

"Meaning he's going to tell Bonnie and we won't have to get involved in that shit-show," Sabine noted as the gears in her head began to turn. "Bonnie and Damon's crew can take care of Klaus for us."

"Theoretically, I'll keep feeding him information and hopefully he'll take the bait."

Sabine chuckles. "I'm not entirely sure yet Sophie, but you might be a genius."

"By the time this is all over with, you'll be convinced that I am."