Whiskey & Blood : The Witch and The Original

Two Souls, Two Centuries

Catherine

The morning light filtered through mason jars of dried herbs lining my kitchen window, casting green and amber shadows across my countertop. I inhaled deeply, letting the mingled scents of rosemary, sage, and eucalyptus fill my lungs. Even after a century of life, these quiet moments still grounded me, connecting me to the earth magic that had sustained generations of Montgomery witches.

My phone buzzed - another text from my cousin in Australia about a troubled young witch who needed guidance. I typed a quick response while my tea steeped, the aromatic blend of native Australian herbs a daily reminder of home. The copper kettle had been my grandmother's, one of the few possessions I'd kept from my life before... before everything changed.

"Not today," I murmured, pushing away memories that threatened to surface. I had work to do.

I moved to my workroom, where crystals caught the morning light and cast rainbow patterns on the walls. A dried branch of eucalyptus from my homeland hung above the door - protection and purification, old magic that never failed. My latest batch of healing potions needed attention before my afternoon appointments.

Working with young witches was rewarding, but it required careful planning these days. Ever since The Brass Coyote had become a supernatural haven, I'd had to be vigilant about my schedule. Brandy was an excellent friend and invaluable ally, but she didn't know everything. Couldn't know everything. Not when *he* might return at any moment.

I checked my calendar while grinding herbs with my mortar and pestle, the steady rhythm therapeutic. Today's clients were all local witches struggling with control. No vampires scheduled, which meant no need to mask my own magic. The thought brought both relief and a familiar ache.

A flash of memory: elegant hands holding mine, teaching me to waltz in a London fog. The mortar slipped, nearly cracking against the marble counter.

"A century of practice," I scolded myself, "and still letting ghosts distract you."

But they weren't all ghosts, were they? He was still out there. Still alive. Still eternal.

I straightened my spine and returned to my work. I had built a life here, helping others navigate their supernatural gifts. I wouldn't let old memories - or fears of future encounters - derail that.

The morning sun climbed higher, and I began bottling the healing potions, each one imbued with centuries of Montgomery family knowledge. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, but my mind wandered to tonight's shift at The Brass Coyote. Brandy had mentioned her vampire was returning soon from his trip to see his sister. Which meant *he* might not be far behind.

I touched the locket hidden beneath my blouse; its metal warm against my skin. Inside, a pressed flower had stayed preserved for over sixty years through magic and memory. Some things, it seemed, were as eternal as we were.

---

Elijah

The New Orleans evening wrapped around me like a familiar coat as I stood on the balcony of our family's French Quarter mansion. Below, tourists and locals alike moved through the streets, their lives brief but bright. Like candles in the wind, I thought, though I would never share such poetic musings with my siblings.

A crystal tumbler of whiskey sat untouched on the wrought iron railing. Behind me, I could hear Niklaus pacing in his study, no doubt plotting some new scheme that would require my intervention. Some things never changed, even after a millennium.

My phone vibrated with another message about vampire territory disputes that required the attention of an Original. I would handle it, of course. I always did. Honor demanded no less.

But tonight, something felt different in the air. Perhaps it was the storm approaching from the Gulf, carrying with it memories of another tempest, decades ago. Or perhaps it was simply that my carefully maintained composure felt thinner than usual.

I adjusted my cuffs, a habit born of centuries of maintaining control through the smallest details. The white oak ash ring on my finger caught the last light of day, a constant reminder of both power and vulnerability. A thousand years of life, and still the smallest things could bring back the sharpest memories.

Like the scent of eucalyptus that had drifted past earlier, carried on the evening breeze. It shouldn't have affected me - I was ancient, controlled, above such mortal sentimentalities. And yet...

"Brother!" Klaus's voice carried from inside. "A word, if you please."

I took a moment to center myself, to push away thoughts of green eyes that had seen too much, of hands that had wielded both healing and harm with equal grace. Of a choice made in desperate circumstances that I had never fully explained.

"A moment, Niklaus," I called back, my voice steady. Always steady.

I lifted the whiskey glass, studying how the amber liquid caught the fading light. Another memory: teaching someone the difference between Scottish and Irish whiskeys, watching delight dance across features that had haunted me for decades.

The glass cracked in my grip.

I set it down carefully, brushing crystal shards from my suit. Even now, after all these years, certain memories could pierce the armor of civilized restraint I'd built around myself. But there was no time for such indulgences. Family needed me. Duty called.

And yet, as I turned to join my brother, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting. Like the air before a storm, when magic gathers and the world holds its breath, waiting for change.

I straightened my tie and went inside. Whatever came, I would face it with the dignity expected of an Original. Even if, somewhere beneath the carefully maintained facade, an old wound still ached with the memory of Australian sunshine and the scent of eucalyptus.

Some choices, I had learned, echo through centuries. And some debts remain unpaid, no matter how long you live.

"Coming, brother," I said, closing the balcony doors on the gathering dark.