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New Orleans was a magical city, no matter who you asked. Whether it was the tourists who got off on ghost tours and psychic readings or locals with their affinity to tell those ghost stories and give those tours —it was hard to deny the whispers that echoed through the streets. New Orleans radiated supernatural energy; little did most know it was because it was genuinely packed with supernatural beings.
Witches once ruled the Quarter, protecting one another and living as a community. Vampires came and went, stayed if they found themselves inclined. Werewolves once lived in the city but were driven out by both the witches and vampires. And now the Quarter was in a fierce game of tug of war between those who practiced magic and those who fed on human blood.
Marcel Gerard held the witches hostage in their own home, banning the use of magic unless given explicit permission —or if they were part of his helpers. He ruled the Quarter with an iron fist and made sure to prove that occasionally by executing a witch here or there. Just because he could. The witches of the Quarter loathed him but he had too much power to fight back. Especially with the Harvest ritual incomplete; Marcel knew when magic was practiced with Davina.
Problems arose when the Mikaelson family returned, with Klaus hellbent on taking power back for himself. The power struggle between him and his once protégé was more of a pissing contest, but it distracted Marcel from witches who passed through the city in their own travels. Witches who didn’t belong to the New Orleans coven came and went from the city, most unaware of Marcel’s rules. Some died because of their lack of knowledge, others went unscathed because they were gone before anything could be done.
She was one that wouldn’t go unscathed, though she wouldn’t be one he’d kill. No, no; she didn’t let anyone tell her what she could or could not do with her magic. But she was also not bound to Marcel’s ridiculous laws for the city —after all, she wasn’t part of the New Orleans coven. She wasn’t part of any coven; not anymore.
When she arrived in New Orleans, it was simply supposed to be a pit stop on her way home from a road trip she’d taken. She stopped to pay respects to a family friend who had passed a few years prior, pick up some herbs for a protection spell or two, and then home to Savannah. She never intended to stay longer than a day or two. She didn’t even intend to perform any magic while in the city.
However, at the little shop she’d stopped in to pick up her items, she overheard the girl at the counter talking about a baby, a monster, and a harvest. And gods, did that peak her interest. She lingered in the shop longer than she probably needed to, listening in. The older woman that the shop girl was talking to was whispering about an original family and a man named Marcel —that’s when she decided to check out.
The two dropped their conversation, with the girl at the register asking basic questions about what shehad planned. Vague answers and polite smiles and money exchanged easily. She leaned over the counter a little, though, to whisper.
“You said the original family is here. Does that mean what I think it means?” She asked, sliding her bag into her backpack. The girl looked surprised as the older woman walked back over.
The two exchanged a wary look before nodding some. The older woman was who spoke up. “The Mikaelson family has returned; with a demon child in their mutt stowaway.”
“Grandma,” the girl scolded. She watched the two carefully. The girl continued the explanation. “Rumor is that Klaus Mikaelson got a werewolf girl pregnant. But Marcel is pissed they’re back, so he’s been taking it out on the witches.”
She pulled back some, glancing out the window with narrowed eyes. “Who is this Marcel guy? Why are you so afraid of him?”
The older woman scoffed. “Marcel rules the Quarter with his army of blood suckers. He’s forbid the witches from practicing. He’s the reason we haven’t finished our Harvest Ritual; he has our last girl and she tells him when we perform anything. Then he sends someone to...” The woman sliced her finger across her neck, making a face of disgust.
She raised a brow, slipping her backpack onto her shoulder. “He sounds like a drag. Klaus, though, that sounds like a fun time.”
“You’re either incredibly stupid or have a death wish.”
A smirk found its way to her lips as she shrugged. “I guess it could be both.” She looked between the two, who seemed just as wary as before, if not more now. “Thanks for the supplies; I won’t be sticking around to find out how all that ends,” she motioned to them indistinctly, “But good luck. I’ve heard the originals are a nasty bunch.”
*****
If only life was so easy, though. If only she could have walked out of that shop, gotten into her car and returned home. But she never did like the easy route; and she was a nosy thing too. She wanted to see for herself what was happening in the Quarter. Unfortunately, though, her desire to be nosy took her once pit stop and made it a rather long stay.
The day turned into a week. A week turned into two. And then suddenly she had been there for a month, staying in a hostel just on the outskirts of the Quarter and living off the two weeks of clothes she had for her previous trip. And it didn’t seem like she planned on leaving any time soon.
Now, in the month she’d been in New Orleans, she’d learned quite a bit. She learned of Elijah, who was the noble older brother of Klaus. She had a few run ins with him, though none of them were anything terribly exciting. Elijah had seemed distracted each time, either looking for his brother or looking for Hayley —the werewolf girl who was carrying a hybrid baby. Which was the next very important thing she had learned about: the baby. In an interesting turn of events, Klaus Mikaelson was fully capable of producing children, given his own hybrid nature.
She hadn’t had the pleasure —or, she supposed, displeasure —of meeting him, though. Not yet. She’d seen him several times throughout the Quarter. Even followed him for a little bit, though she tried to be sneaky about it. He had been wandering down the streets, as if he wasn’t hell bent on destroying Marcel and everything in the town, so it was easy to act like she was also just wandering and totally not spying on him.
“I wonder how many women he’s knocked up over the course of a thousand years?” She’d asked Sophie Deveraux, who had been enlisted by both her and Mikaelson family for her help, when she entered the bar one day. Sophie didn’t particularly like that comment.
She needed a local witch to provide her information on the city, as well as someone on the inside of the situation. Honestly, if she wasn’t so nosy, she would have been just fine leaving. But alas, she liked to involve herself. Besides, Sophie wanted a witch that Marcel couldn’t track as easily. It was a win win for the two of them.
Though that was about to bite her in the ass.
She was following Klaus once again, mostly out of boredom today. They were setting up for the music festival that started tomorrow, and the witches had been banned from the Quarter. Sophie had asked her to go grab something for her, and with that errand being done, she needed something to do. It was then that she had found Klaus, whispering with a blonde woman.
She lingered some, window shopping, so she could listen in. There wasn’t anything too exciting. Telling her to help Marcel, explaining compulsion. Perhaps she was under his control; maybe she should have done something about it. But she didn’t, nor did she plan to. After all, she was only there as an observer.
Well, until she suddenly wasn’t. Brief panic overrode her senses as she was pushed into a wall, away from the crowd of people in the streets. The panic was enough to overwhelm her, and she couldn’t focus long enough to provoke a barrier around herself. When she opened her eyes, she was struck by the piercing green eyes of one Klaus Mikaelson.
“I don’t like being followed,” he hissed, holding her against the wall by the base of her throat. There was enough pressure to remind her that he could absolutely kill her, but not enough to prevent her from breathing.
“I-I wasn’t following you,” she insisted, though she was clearly caught.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you now.” He ordered, squeezing tighter and cutting off the jagged breaths she had.
She tried taking a breath, but gasped instead. She managed to stammer out, “I’m...I’m pretty?”
Klaus’s grip loosened some as he gave her an incredulous look. She inhaled sharply, waiting for him to just snap her neck. Instead though, he chuckled. “You’re pretty,” he repeated, dropping his hand from her throat. She reached up and rubbed the spot, trying to soothe the pain and the fear. Klaus continued to laugh though; she wasn’t sure if it was threatening or not. “I shouldn’t kill you because you’re pretty. You know —I’ll give that to you, love. You have a lot of nerve to give such a vain reason.”
Her hand was still lingering on her throat but she finally had her breathing under control. “Is it vain if it’s true?” She asked snidely, looking up at him now that she was able to focus better. “It was a good enough reason for you to let me go.”
Klaus raised a brow, nodding in agreement some. “Perhaps it’s because I’m also a rather vain person.”
“I’ve heard you’re more of an insane person, but I guess vain works too.”
The hybrid seemed to enjoy her quips, since he’d taken to leaning against the alley wall as she spoke. Then he pointed at her, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. “You’re rather brave, aren’t you?”
She shrugged and motioned with her hands to quote the host of the hostel. “Agnes would describe me as ‘reckless, stupid, and suicidal.’”
“Agnes would be correct then. But I’m feeling merciful today,” he motioned for her to follow as he pushed off the wall. “Come have a drink with me, little witch.”
There was clear hesitation as she considered her options. She was the one that was following him; she did want to see how it all unfolded. She didn’t think she’d be directly involved, of course. She also didn’t anticipate Klaus being rather nice —minus the whole almost snapping her neck bit. And that accent was making her weak in the knees...
Any sane person would have said absolutely not. Any decent, smart witch would cast a spell and send him to his knees. But she wasn’t a sane person, apparently, nor was she a smart witch. She was selfish, and a bit lonely, and Klaus Mikaelson was offering her a drink. Who was she to deny him?
“Only if you’re paying,” she finally said, pushing the strap of her bag up her shoulder some. Then she fell into step with him as they left the alleyway together. “And buy me dinner. Agnes is eating up what little money I have already.”
If he was listening, Klaus made no indication that he cared about paying or feeding her. Instead, he simply offered her his arm and she took it without a second thought. If this was her demise, so be it, she decided. At least her demise was hot.
*****
What started as a beer and a burger with Klaus quickly turned into whiskey on ice and shitty bar peanuts. When that had run out, it became shots of tequila and a question game back and forth. Klaus asked her name, she answered. She asked about his baby, he told her it was none of her concern. A lot of her questions were answered with that, though. He asked plenty of mundane questions about her, but never gave an answer for any about him.
It took her finally not asking about his family, or Marcel, or his past for him to start answering questions. By her third round of drinks, she started asking easy things. What were his hobbies? Painting, he had said. Art in general. What was his favorite food? He reminded her that he didn’t need to eat; she reminded him that food was still good, immortal or not.
His favorite food, as it turned out, were beignets from the little shop down the road. She found that to be the most human thing about him.
“Where are you from, little witch?” He asked, sipping his whiskey after.
“You asked that already,” she reminded him, taking a fry from her plate and biting a piece off.
“You said Georgia; that’s not specific.”
“What, you wanna come home with me?” She teased, raising a brow suggestively.
“Perhaps,” he grinned back, then motioned for her to tell him.
She felt a weird flip in her stomach, noting that she was flirting with the man that was cause for such horrible crimes around the city. Every witch hated him; every vampire despised him. She, briefly, wondered if anyone had seen Klaus as more than just a monster. Besides him pinning her to the wall earlier, he hadn’t come off as more than a snarky but kind man. Their banter back and forth was easy and felt normal. Maybe it was the alcohol though.
“Savannah,” she finally admitted, pushing her plate from in front of her. “Born and raised there, right off of Forsyth Park. You ever been there?” It was a silly question, but she knew he’d answer.
He nodded, finishing off his drink. Pushing the glass towards out of the way, he reached over and snagged the bottle from behind the counter. Then he poured himself another. “Not recently, but I did pass through once right before the First World War started. Beautiful, though I hate to tell you that it doesn’t quite compare to New Orleans.”
She lifted her beer to her lips, taking a long drink, as she listened to him speak. But she laughed at his comment about the two places. “Savannah has less drama. Though I’m sure if you were there, it would find its way.”
“You think I ask for all these things to follow me?”
“I think you thrive on chaos, and when there isn’t any, you find a way to make it,” she pointed her beer top at him, “That counts as your question.”
“It absolutely doesn’t; I’d like for us to expand on the psychological knowledge that you suddenly have.” Klaus pushed her beer out of his face and turned to face her fully. There was an amused grin on his face, which reassured her that she wasn’t pushing any buttons that bothered him. “Go on. Analyze me more.”
“Listen,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s not because I know anything about psychology or something. I just...I don’t know. I’m the same way, I guess.” The label edge of her bottle became significantly more interesting as she started peeling it off slowly. Klaus sat patiently, eying her closely. The silence was becoming uncomfortable as she got it about halfway off, then she finally spoke again. “I get bored easily, so I find ways to entertain myself. Following you, for example. I probably shouldn’t have. You definitely could have killed me, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Why is that?”
“I like to say it’s because I’m a nosy motherfucker, and you have a very interesting thing going on with your whole baby hybrid thing.” She peeled the rest of her label off, then started to fold the paper together as she spoke. “But the truth is that I don’t have a lot going for me so I have a bad habit of getting myself into trouble to feel like I’m not wasting my life away.”
“Why do you feel like you’re wasting your life away?” Klaus questioned, leaning against the bar now as he watched her intently.
“This definitely counts as your question and you have to answer an actual question from me after.” She countered, looking up at him. Her fingers played with the paper idly, giving her something to do. Klaus nodded, waiting for her to respond. She shrugged though. “Savannah has —well, had —a decent sized coven for a long time. Most of the younger generation left and the older generation is too stuck in their ways for me. My mom included.
“I was fifteen when my parents split up and my dad moved as far as he could, and ended up in California. I lived with him for a while but my mom wanted me to learn to practice where our ancestral magic was and so I moved back after about three years. Turns out she just wanted to marry me off to the regent’s son when I turned 21.
“When I told her I wouldn’t, she said I had to or else I’d bring dishonor on my family even more. Apparently, when I left, I broke my mom’s family’s line. No one in my family had left Savannah, until I did. This was the best way to restore the coven’s faith in my family.
“I tried. Like, picked out the dress and went out with the guy for a while. The wedding was planned for the winter solstice, which was a few weeks after I turned 21. But the longer I stayed in Savannah, the longer I dated him, the worse I felt but the worse he got. He...well, he ended up being a fucking dick.”
Klaus listened intently to her story, eyes cast down as he processed what she was saying. But his brow furrowed and he looked back at her. “You told me your birthday was last month. I take it you didn’t marry him, then?”
She took a long drink of her beer, polishing it off before setting the empty bottle on the bar. “It was and no, I didn’t. Like I said, he was a dick. He expected me to stop everything I was doing, become a doting little housewife. Every southern stereotype, that’s what he expected. When I didn’t do something he wanted, he’d break something of mine or take my keys and hide them. He’d report back to my mom like I was a child. It became too much, too quick.
“Like a week before my birthday, he got mad that I was going to drive to California for the week to see my dad. It was the whole plan. I’d visit my dad and I’d be back the week before the wedding. But suddenly that wasn’t okay and he smashed my windshield. Just straight up walked out of the house, threw a brick through my windshield and told me if I wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to take me and he wouldn’t do it. So I...hurt him back. I may have reacted poorly, in hindsight, though.
“You killed him, then.”
She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment as she remembered that night. As she thought back on how he screamed as she boiled his blood from the inside, how he begged for his life before his heart gave out and he just...died in their driveway. How she just left him there as she cleared the glass out of her car seat and left.
“I called my dad on the way and told him everything. Ditched my phone, got a new one and a new number. My dad covered for me, swore up and down he no idea where I was. I spent a few weeks in California before I decided to go back a few days after I turned 21, face the consequences. You know. But I stopped here and...well, everything here seemed way more interesting than whatever will happen back home.”
The bartender, at some point during her story, had slid over another beer. And thank god he had; rehashing her plights gave her the need to be as drunk as possible. Killing a man wasn’t something that the heart or soul took lightly. And the mental toll it takes on someone is just as bad. Perhaps Klaus wouldn’t understand, given how easily he killed people. But he had to at least see that anyone else couldn’t just kill without hurting themselves in the process.
Klaus didn’t immediately respond, though. While she nursed her new beer, thinking back on the events that had transpired, Klaus simply stared at his own glass, counting the air bubbles that popped up when he moved the ice. She didn’t mind that he had nothing to say, honestly. It was better that he didn’t, she thought, since any advice he’d give her would probably be less than helpful. It felt good to tell someone, though. Someone besides her dad, at least.
“So...my turn,” she murmured behind her bottle, voice thrown by the slight echo it provided.
Klaus shook his head though. “I think we’ve asked enough questions, little witch. It’s best to get you home, I think.”
“Hostel home or Savannah home?”
But Klaus didn’t answer, setting a few rather large bills on the counter and standing instead. She hesitated for a moment, but stood as well, following close behind as Klaus left the bar and walked them into the streets of New Orleans. She was buzzed enough to feel pretty good, but not drunk enough to handle whatever emotions would crop up from her sharing her tale of murder. Like before, though, Klaus offered her his arm and she took it.
The walk wasn’t uncomfortable, at least. The silence between them was easy and didn’t need to be filled with useless conversation. With the sun going down, though, it was clear that the people coming out into the streets weren’t just those looking to party; some were out looking for a meal. And many of them were looking at the two in both confusion and fear.
It would be a lie to say she didn’t like the attention. It would be an even bigger lie to say that she didn’t like the tinge of power she felt, either. It wasn’t a lot of power. But it was enough for her to get a taste of what Klaus must feel every day of his life.
Though now, she wondered if that meant he was lonely. Given that no one approached them, let alone smiled as they made their way through the crowd, she had to assume he was. The town knew enough about the original family, with three of them in town. But from the stories she’d heard, it didn’t seem like they got along. Or they did, but they fought. It all seemed convoluted.
“Why did you decide to be nice to me, Klaus?” She asked, breaking the silence.
Klaus tensed some as they approached a large, old building that was marked with an iron M outside of it. She’d passed it before, though she thought Marcel lived there. But she didn’t question where they were going. If this was her demise, if this was all a ruse, she’d accept it. Maybe he’d be nice enough to make it quick, at least.
“I told you earlier, I liked your vanity. I also said I was done answering questions.”
“That’s why you didn’t kill me. Not why you decided to take me out and play the question game with me,” she pointed out, looking up at him as they walked. He had an amused grin on his face but it vanished as soon as he caught her looking. “And let me have this one; I told you I killed a guy and you didn’t even blink.”
He didn’t respond though, pulling her alongside him as he pushed open the gates of the building. It was much bigger inside than she anticipated, adorned with decor that was clearly from another time. They stood in the courtyard in the center of the place, though, as Klaus released her from his hold. She took a moment to step away from him and look around, appreciating the architecture of the building.
Klaus tugged on her bag’s strap, pulling her towards the staircase. She looked over her shoulder before quickly following, trailing behind him. She hadn’t forgotten that he hadn’t answered her question, but she wondered if this was, in some way, his response. When he opened a door at the end of the hall, though, her question was answered.
Inside the room were dozens of paintings. Some done, framed and hung up. Some frames and leaning against various pieces of furniture. Supplies were littered throughout the room, with canvases sitting by the windows and sketchbooks tossed onto chairs. Every piece was different but she could tell they were all done by the same person —by him. She was so taken by the room that she hadn’t even noticed that Klaus had shut the door behind them.
It was a long time before She made any attempt to talk to him, to tell him anything. Much of the silence they were sharing was spent admiring each piece of work individually. She examined and analyzed each painting, noting the colors and the brush strokes. Just by looking, she could tell which were painted when he was angry; which were done when he was calm. It was like looking at his emotions laid out before her —she just had to look close enough.
The final painting she stopped at was of the city itself, half done and in front of the window. It sat on the easel, with the brushes and paint clearly untouched in several days based on how dry they were. The city was just as magical in the painting as it was outside the window, but something about his painting was more inviting. Maybe it was because it was done by someone who knew this city better than anyone else; he’d mentioned his family helped build it. Whatever it was, though, she liked it. She liked them all, honestly.
When she finally turned to face Klaus, he was sitting down on the couch, watching her closely. His expression was hard to read, though. Throughout her stay in New Orleans, she’d been able to tell how he felt by just looking at him. Most people could, though. When he was angry, it was pretty obvious. Whatever he was feeling now, though, wasn’t as obvious. She moved to the couch, sitting beside him and pulling her legs to cross them under her.
The two were silent for a few more minutes before she finally spoke. “I think you answered a lot of my questions by showing me all these.”
He nodded some, clasping his hands together in front of him. Though now he wouldn’t look at her and she realized what was going on:
Klaus Mikaelson was nervous.
“You don’t show this off a lot, do you?” She asked, leaning in some. “I think I get why; I can see everything in them.”
It was then that Klaus finally turned and looked at her, a rather soft smile on his face now. “Not many people see me and think of an artist. Most see me as a villain —rightfully so, I suppose. I will not deny that,” he explained, looking around the room now as he took in his works. “You, for some ridiculous reason, saw a villain and decided you were not afraid of him today. Perhaps it’s because you have other things you fear over me, perhaps you just didn’t care. It doesn’t matter. You accepted a drink with me after I almost killed you, followed me willingly, and pestered me with questions that no one has asked me before; trivial things that would otherwise never matter.
“I decided to continue the evening because I happened to enjoy your company, little witch. You are the first person in quite some time that I haven’t had to force to spend time with me. And you were a decent distraction from my own problems.”
“And I’m pretty.” The comment came out before she could control herself, with the moment probably being ruined. She gave him a sheepish smile.
But Klaus only chuckled, nodding in agreement. “And you’re pretty, yes. It certainly helped your case.”
The two watched each other for a moment, both smiling as they enjoyed the moment. It had been a long time since she felt as at ease as she did now, and it felt good. Every story she’d heard about Klaus over the last month seemed exaggerated now, though she knew they weren’t. She knew that he was a wicked man with wicked intentions. But in this moment, he was just a man who was just as fucked up as she was. He was someone who needed someone to willingly listen to him and be with him without being afraid of him.
Maybe she could be that person. One day with him certainly equate to anything special, but it was enough to want it to. She’d gotten herself involved enough to watch, but now that she was sitting in his home with him, she didn’t want to step back into the audience again. She wanted to help, give him that company that he clearly wanted.
It wasn’t clear if Klaus wanted the same at first, and maybe his next move didn’t mean anything, but he had leaned closer. It was enough for her to notice, to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheeks. It was then that she couldn’t take it anymore. The space between them disappeared as she pushed herself to her knees and pulled him into a heated kiss. Klaus didn’t waste any time returning the gesture, pushing her back onto the couch in order to deepen the kiss.
It wasn’t a desperate, lust filled kiss like either were used to. They weren’t tearing at each other’s clothes in order to get them off, but instead his hands roamed down her sides and over her hips, holding her down. Her hands ran down his chest, then back up to run her hands through his hair. The two remained tangled like this for what felt like forever, before she pulled back to breathe and catch her breath.
Klaus rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed as her fingers left his curls and lingered against his collarbone. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.
“Just tonight?” She whispered back, opening her eyes to look up at him.
Klaus returned her gaze, a cheeky grin on his lips as he ran the back of his hand against her flushed cheeks. “We’ll see how you fair tonight before we make that decision, little witch.”