VI: December On That Rooftop
December 13 / 1999
They met in the dead of night.
She had her elbows resting on the railing. Smoke curled upwards, courtesy of the blunt stuck between her fingers. She was watching passers-by bustle about the cobble-stoned alleyways, shoes clacking, lit up by the streetlights. After all the turmoil of the day, she could only think of what a fascinating view the mortal world proved to be.
These people, blissful in their ignorance, driven by their dreams. Here to roam the roads of Florence, gaze at the paintings hung up in the Uffizi Gallery and such, click their pictures, and then go back home. Oftentimes it felt like although she could say she'd been to every beautiful place in Europe, she couldn't claim that she'd actually seen it.
Raven business always got in the way.
And from today, it was bound to get worse.
This evening, in the throes of another lush champagne party, Diane Crowley had announced to every sect of their coven the news that Reese Yung and Azalea Crowley were to forge their sacred link with each other. How it would strengthen them. How it would renew their power. How fortunate they were that fate had granted them this opportunity.
For the coven, it was the promise of empowerment.
For Reese and Azzie, it was akin to a death sentence.
It had been a long time coming, anyway, so here Reese was, escaping the celebrations and contemplating life.
How very.
The white evening gown she'd worn — a strapless silk piece — didn't stop the cold, so she'd ruined that perfect aristocratic image with her old purple leather blazer. The material was wearing off on the shoulders, and it practically swallowed her frame, but it was dad's, and she was pretending everything she did, she owed to him.
I bear it so they don't have to, like he used to say.
And here was a man, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, dressed in a simple henley and jeans, who'd joined her a few minutes ago. She'd peered at him and then returned to her silent thinking, occasionally taking drags from her blunt. He was a stranger, probably mortal, and she was a witch.
They had no business with each other.
But he was staring at her, almost shamelessly.
She felt it.
"It feels refreshing, doesn't it?" He asked in a strong English accent, breaking the silence. "Watching them go about their lives, running around, seemingly unburdened by the weight of despair."
She tilted her head to return his stare.
The street lights lit up the lines of his face.
"Seemingly," she said. "Nobody's actually unburdened by the weight of despair, as you say."
"That's quite the dreary outlook on life, love," he replied. She didn't know his name yet. But she liked his voice. It was the kind of voice that could make anything feel poetic. "Where else can one find hope that things get better, if not from the faces of the happy?"
He was awfully dramatic, she decided. To be fair, though, she'd been here for around thirty minutes, looking dreadfully maudlin. That was bound to attract such . . . strange faces.
"How inspiring." Reese puffed out. "Personally, I just like to imagine someone out there is more miserable than I am. Makes me feel better about myself."
That made him smile. "Ah, well, that explains it. You do look miserable."
"Such a way with words."
"I'm glad you agree, then . . .?"
"Reese," she told him.
"So, Reese," he said, "what brings you to Florence?"
Now, how might she go about summing that up?
It was a question she wanted to ask herself. But only one of them wanted an answer, and it wasn't her.
"Visiting the extended family," is what she settled on. That was normal, right? "What about you?"
He moved to rest his elbows against the railings, the same way Reese was. His gaze moved from her to track around the city beneath them. "Simply the sights."
She glanced down at his hands, covered in various shades of paint. "So you're an artist? That explains the weepy prosing, then."
He chuckled. "Does it? They say art is a way of expressing what one cannot put into words."
He sounded so righteous. Part of her wanted to strangle him.
"You must not be very good, then."
"Take a look around you, love, and remember where we are."
Hotel Bernini Palace. There was no doubt — he'd have to be loaded to afford a stay here. There was one technicality, though, that revealed itself to her once she hopped onto this train of thought.
The hotel had been booked full by members of their coven. Part of the reason she'd taken to the roof instead of somewhere more fun, like the poolside, was because the building was crawling with Ravens everywhere.
This man was not supposed to be here.
No one outside of their coven was supposed to be here until New Year's Eve when they would be returning to their respective encampments, after Reese and Azzie began the partner-oriented tasks that led up to the ceremony.
"Hm," she hummed, conceding to his unsaid implications. "How long are you here for?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Planning to bump into me on the rooftop again?"
"I was here first."
That seemed to amuse him. "Of course, Reese."
The way he said her name was gentle, yet she couldn't help but feel the underlying rapaciousness. It was brutal. Like he would sink his teeth into her if he could. The swirling in her stomach, coupled with the light-headedness that came with being high, must have been rendering her useless because there was a danger to him, and she made no move to get away.
Reese, Reese, Reese.
She was condemned to either death or years of prolonged grief.
Guilt.
Guilt she only felt when someone she loved died. When she failed to save them. And she loved Azzie.
If Azzie was going to die, Reese would be the one to kill her.
(When Azzie said her name, she sounded covetous.)
Why was Reese toiling over a stranger?
"New Year's Eve," he answered, finally.
Just like that, she knew he was a liar.
"Then maybe we will meet again," she said. "What's your name?"
This time, he looked her right in the eyes. "Call me Nik."
So began a series of late-night meetings on the rooftop, the streets bustling, cold December air nipping against their skin.
They met the next night, simply talking, and it felt like she knew him more than she knew herself. He was charming, Reese knew, but a liar.
It didn't take a genius to figure out he was a vampire. The blood-red mouth, the arrogance, the agelessness. Marcel had provided an apt description to her parents — Klaus Mikaelson, the ruthless, tortured artist.
On their third meeting, Reese was standing in the middle of the roof.
A canvas stood before her, the ground littered with others like it, streaked with paint and torn apart. The brush moved against it, slow and inexperienced, every stroke a calculated risk. She was practicing. For the first task, she and Az were meant to paint something of meaning to each, then have the other decipher it. Meant to help them get a better understanding of each other's . . . whatever conviction you put in while you paint.
It was supposed to be spontaneous, to capture a genuine essence of their feelings.
Reese was practicing because one, she couldn't paint to save her life, and two, if she couldn't paint to save her life she certainly couldn't paint something of meaning. With another useless stroke of cerulean against the stark white, she groaned in frustration and used the tail end of the brush to poke the cloth, quite violently. She steered it down, tearing a hole right in the middle and threw it to the ground, where it could join all the canvases that had come before it.
There was no scarcity of supplies, after all. Sketchbooks, pencils, paintbrushes, palettes — they were available in a plethora to her.
"I know now to keep my paintings far from your hands." He was standing by the door, an amused smile playing on his mouth. Under the glare of the full moon, he looked enthralling — sandy-haired, blue eyes shining in a way that should not be possible for a creature like him, mouth painted red, voice every bit as indulgent. She did quite enjoy his voice. "Whatever did the poor canvas do to you?"
"You," Reese said, though the word did not hold the playful contempt she usually said it with. She did not possess the energy right now. "Will you ever stop showing up here, like a lost little puppy?"
"How quickly you assume my late night excursions have anything to do with you."
"Why wouldn't they? I'm a delight. I believe you said so yourself."
"A momentary lapse in judgment."
"I digress."
Then a moment of quiet. Reese huffed in frustration, crossing her arms and glaring at the paintbrush. He strode closer; she eyed him.
"Would you care to share the reason behind your sudden interest in painting?" The frame of the canvas stood between them. "Other than, of course, to woo me."
One night in between, and they'd gotten much bolder. She had to admit, it was much more fun when he wasn't trying to play the polite stranger.
Reese was quiet for a moment, contemplating over what explanation she should come up with. He hadn't himself revealed himself to her, so she couldn't either.
"Well, I told you I'm here because of family stuff," she began, two fingers pinching together, concealing the telling skips in her heartbeat. "I'm, er, getting married. And we've got some bizarre pre-marriage rituals. I have to paint something of meaning, and let . . . the other person decipher it. So, I'm practicing."
The other person. Dear god. What the hell was she doing?
"That does not sound like something you should practice for."
"I did not ask for your opinion."
"I assume your painting skills are . . . dubious at best, then?"
"No one said anything about my painting skills."
"No one. Except the dozens of ruined canvases littering the ground."
"I am simply channeling my frustration."
"Because of your dubious painting skills, yes?"
"And you fancy yourself that much better I'd expect?"
"You said it yourself, love. I'm an artist."
"If all you're going to do is stand there and try to make fun of me, you can leave." She picked up a clean canvas from the stack that was kept near the railing and placed it on the easel. "I'm busy."
He stepped closer to her, his stare unwavering. Reese suddenly felt aware of herself — the mismatched silk pyjamas she was wearing; the way her hair was frizzy and strands of it fell over her eyes; the streak of red paint across her neck. It was almost comedic.
"Paint with me," he said, stopping mere inches from her.
Hm. Didn't she tell him she was getting married?
"I don't see how that's going to help," she said softly.
"Painting, for me, is a metaphor for control." He reached for her hand, bringing it up between them. He brushed his fingers against the inside of her wrist — the shiny new tattoo; an inky silhouette of a raven in flight — and then pulled off the hairband around it. "I choose everything from beginning to end. The canvas, the colors . . ."
And why would Klaus Mikaelson need to find control through art, when he was more than capable of taking it through sheer force?
"There you go again, with the weepy prosing," she said, watching his face.
He shifted; put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the canvas. His face was close to hers, when he spoke, "What do you see when you look at that canvas?"
"Nothing," she answered flatly.
"Reese, Reese," he tutted, removing his hands from her shoulders. She felt her hair being brushed behind her ears. His fingers graced the back of her neck. He tied her hair into a loose ponytail with that hair band he'd slipped off her hand. "If the world was empty, what would fill it with?"
"I dunno, alcohol?"
See, it was funny because Reese didn't drink.
He was so tall, looming over her. "What about that new tattoo? A raven, is it?"
"Family sigil," she replied. Her lies were flimsy. But she didn't bother putting in much effort — he probably knew exactly who she was. She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. "Nothing personal."
"Then make it personal." He guided her paintbrush to the canvas. "Have at it, Reese. I'm sure you'll come up with something riveting." He moved away, putting a respectable amount of distance between them. "Go on."
"And what will you be doing?"
He picked up a spare sketchbook and smirked at her. If she'd believed him when he said he was Nik, she would've thought there was mirth hidden in his expressions. "I'll be painting you."
She scrunched up her nose.
Her best guess: Nik was concerned with Esther's history with her mother, and since her mother was dead, he was here for her.
Whatever the truth may be, he was playing her, and privy to that, she decided to play along too.
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Present Day
Note to self: next time Damon ever showed up to her apartment, she'd simply snap his neck, no questions asked.
Perhaps his ire was understandable.
He had just learned that Reese had been keeping from them the truth of her relations with Nik. Although, at this point, she was disappointed they weren't yet in the habit of expecting the unexpected — even the worst — from her.
Their friendship was a fusion of deceit, affection, and perfidy. Reese was a drug and they were all hooked on her. They knew the truth, aching bitterly in their bones — her affections were malleable; subject to change due to the slightest mischance. Revenge was her aphorism and duplicity her penchant. But they'd dug their fingers into the cavity of her chest and refused to let go.
Which was why even now, as Damon clamored on about her betrayals, as Stefan and Elena were awoken by his shouts, as the stench of that box full of severed limbs infected the Salvatore Boarding House, as Reese simply stood by with a bored expression on her face, they did nothing except ask.
Questions, after questions, after questions.
Reese scared them, but Reese not being there scared them more.
(Three years was a long time.)
Elena clambered down the stairs, hair frazzled, eyes alert. She surveyed the scene before her: Damon pacing around the room, enraged; Stefan with his arms crossed, a mix of shock and bewilderment coloring his face; Reese leaning on a wall, hair splayed, watching Damon, completely unbothered.
"What is going on?" She asked.
"Oh, I'm glad you asked, Elena." Damon brandished his arms, gesturing to the stinky wet box. "It seems your foolproof plan to get Reese on our side was actually not that foolproof, because you know, as it turns out, she's known Klaus the whole time."
"To be honest, it's not like I explicitly lied about it," Reese piped up, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Not my fault you're too dense to ask the right questions."
"As if getting in our way to deal with one Original boyfriend wasn't enough, it turns out, she's got another one!" Damon plucked out the notecard that had accompanied the box. "He sends her severed limbs and notecards and apparently she's even got a nickname for him! How cute."
"Oh. Okay." Elena visibly relaxed, the crease between her eyebrows disappearing. "I knew that. It was part of the deal I made with Elijah. Reese would keep you all safe, and I wouldn't spill the beans."
Stefan massaged his temples. "I'm sorry, you knew —"
Reese silenced him with a short raise of her hand. "Again, if I might add, I never explicitly agreed to that deal, and yet, I showed up to save Damon's sorry ass from the werewolves . . . which was quite decent and . . . moral of me. So, I don't know what you've even got to complain about."
"Reese, Klaus is trying to kill Elena," Stefan said, as if she didn't know.
"No, he's trying to sacrifice her," she said. "There's a loophole in there somewhere. You're welcome."
Elena sighed. "The point is—"
"The point is we're doomed," Damon cut in, glowering at Reese. He rushed toward her and wrapped his hand around her neck. "Unless we get rid of her."
"Damon, no," Stefan tried to step in, but Damon vamped them to another corner.
Reese did not appreciate being choked. And by a pathetic vampire, at that — barely two centuries old. She flicked her fingers outwards, sending Damon tumbling into the coffee table. She'd sent him flying toward nearby solid surfaces so many times now, he was used to it. Elena winced obscurely at the loud crash, while Stefan looked torn between whose side to take — his brother's, or his girlfriend's.
"The point is," Elena said, with emphasis. She turned to look at Reese, her doe eyes oddly trusting. "Reese might not be on our side, but she's not on Klaus's side either. She's not going to help him . . . are you?"
"I will," Reese said coldly, "if your attempts to kill him are actually viable."
"So, basically, she's going to make sure we never succeed," Damon said. "I'll repeat myself — let me kill her."
Ugh, as if he could even get close to killing her.
"I'm not going to stop you from trying to save Elena." As she said that, an alien part of her screamed at her to let Elena die. If the sacrifice was inevitable, then Elena should die and remain that way. But Reese wasn't going to voice Esther's thoughts for the Salvatores. They were her puzzle to solve. "Which is what should be your actual priority, since you won't be able to kill him no matter how much magic you harness."
Now that the Martins were dead, there was only one witch who'd be willing to kill Klaus for them — Bonnie Bennet.
"Look at me, being charitable again." Reese sighed with exaggeration. "Giving out all this free advice."
"Well, there's no one we have who can harness—" she cut herself off, frowning, "wait. Bonnie—"
Reese didn't bring up how Bonnie would more than likely die harnessing that much power. While the majority of her knowledge regarding the intricacies of spirit magic were surface level — how spirit magic affected Raven magic; how much of a danger it posed to her being — she knew its limits didn't stretch too far. It was one more disadvantage of spirit magic and one more advantage of Raven magic.
Clearly, Elena hadn't been informed that Bonnie was all juiced up with dead witch magic now. Damon and Stefan were keeping secrets, again.
"Bonnie's channeling the dead witches," Elena said, coming to the realization. "So she can kill Klaus."
Even Reese wouldn't be able to kill Nik without killing herself in the process. Though her plan of action — a backup, if Nik ever managed to leave her with no other choice — was different. It was a useless chunk of knowledge. How to kill Klaus Mikaelson. She would never do it, and Nik was well aware of that.
Besides, it was the magic way.
Not the Mother-Nature-Balance-Keeper way.
"Or, she can bring you back to life," Reese suggested. "Only one of those would be non —"
"Elena isn't dying," Stefan asserted firmly. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself that. "Okay, assuming the worst, Klaus is either already here in Mystic Falls or on his way. We put the deed to the house in Elena's name, so no vampire can enter without being invited in. As long as Elena stays put, we shouldn't have a problem."
"Until the full moon, of course," Reese said. "April 28th. Today's the 10th. Better enjoy these 18 days, Elena."
"She's not dying," Stefan repeated.
"Right." Reese nodded. "She's being sacrificed."
Elena chewed her lip, the frown persistent. "Okay, you don't need to keep repeating it."
On the contrary, Damon and Stefan needed to accept the possibility.
Damon stared at Elena, a contemplative look on his face. Reese's words had stuck with him — it would be comparatively easier to save Elena than to kill Klaus. And the easiest way was one Elena would never go for. Vampirism. But they had eighteen days left. It wasn't a lot, but it would have to be enough to come up with something.
His eyes darted back to Reese. "Can't you do some of your creepy Raven magic to bring her back to life? I've heard about those weird links you guys have. And the sacrifice rituals."
"That's an opportunity exclusive to only Ravens, I'm afraid."
That was supposed to be a fact.
But Esther had proven it wrong. It was a Raven-only opportunity, so Esther hijacked a Raven. In theory, Reese could help Elena do that . . . but it was too much trouble. The difficult way out. And with her unshakeable resolve to let Elena die, Esther wouldn't aid in making it easier.
There were too many technicalities, and Reese wasn't dedicated to that idea at all.
Going off of Damon's conflicted look, she continued, "The most foolproof way, of course, would be vampirism—"
"No," Elena interjected. "I don't . . . I'm not going to be a vampire."
"Mhm. Suit yourself." Reese turned to the door. "And Stefan, be a doll and get rid of that box of body parts for me. I'll see you at school."
─────────────
Reese did not see them at school.
She skipped her classes in favor of scouting out the town. She drove and searched every inch, every nook, every hidden alley for signs of the unsightly — Nik, Raven vampires, or even normal vampires. All three of her minions had been assigned the same task. Constant surveillance.
Nothing was out of sorts yet, but time was running out.
Elijah had been moved to a spare bedroom in her penthouse. He was nicely tucked under the comforter; gray and serene. And while she was certain she wouldn't leave without making sure Nik didn't try anything on Caroline, her bags were packed and ready to go.
Not a need, but a guarantee of leverage would be to contact Esther and learn what it was that had her so intent on letting Elena die. So far, she had no luck. All that was there was Azzie.
She'd taken preventive measures against every expected factor, every outlandish thing that could go wrong.
Every unexpected factor of the situation, it seemed, except one even the wise and sagacious Reese Yung failed to predict: Caroline Forbes.
Two days after Reese skipped school again, she came home to find Caroline sprawled on her couch, tv flickering in the background, as she flipped through a magazine. Without looking up, she said, "Finally. I've been waiting for like, an hour."
"Care," Reese said carefully, throat suddenly dry. "Is everything okay?"
Caroline sat up and slammed her magazine on the coffee table, all the while glaring at Reese. "No, it's not actually."
"What happened?"
"Come here and sit down."
She didn't make a move.
"Reese."
Caroline had given Reese her first taste of friendship.
Reese had spent her five years at the Raven orphanage — not much different from a fancy boarding school — making acquaintances that already had a predefined perspicacity of her character. She was the one they could never trust. The one they could call both an outsider and an insider, according to what was convenient. Azzie had always been more than a friend.
She shuffled over to the couch, taking her time as Caroline scooted to the side to make space for her.
(It was Care that was her first friend, and she continued to be a hindrance.)
"I'm tired of you shutting me out," Caroline said once Reese was comfortably settled down, picking up the remote to mute the tv. "That night, after everything that went down with Tyler, the wolves . . . I wanted you to be there. I needed you to. And you said you'd stay."
She delivered her words with an eerie calmness that made Reese feel like she was trying very hard to hold herself from screaming.
"I was going to," Reese began, feeling like a child caught breaking rules. "But Elena and Bonnie showed up, so I thought—"
"What? That I wouldn't want you around anymore?"
"Caroline, things are changing and it's better if you stay away—"
Reese was aware she was giving her a terrible explanation. She'd learned these particular words from various television shows, and because there was no way she was about to give Care the truth, this was what she settled on.
"No." Her face hardened, a sternness seeping into her eyes. "Reese, do you remember when we first met? The day you moved here?"
"Yes. I don't see what the point is—"
"You know, when I saw you, my first thought was about how dangerous you seemed," Care said. She pursed her lips. "I had this whole plan for how high school was going to go. How I would get everything and everyone I wanted, how I'd make Cheerleading captain, how I'd throw these amazing parties, how I'd be the smartest, the best . . . and then when you showed up, everyone was so . . . so eager to meet you. To talk to you. This rich, pristine, gorgeous new girl.
"And you didn't even care about anything. It's like you had no clue what your presence was doing. You became friends with Bonnie and Elena. You were like this exciting mystery and all everyone wanted to do was figure you out." She paused, letting out a puff of air. "I was . . . I thought if I wasn't better than you, you'd . . ."
"Caroline—"
"No, let me say it," Caroline cut her off. "I hated you. And then . . . then all I remember is crying over this . . . stupid boy whose name I don't even remember and you were there, high, and you offered me that blunt and just . . . made me laugh."
It was Care who had been her first friend, who had taught her to be a girl.
"You made me feel like I wasn't being high-strung or overreacting or . . ." A loud sigh. "You're my friend, Reese. I know I was mad at you and I'm not apologizing for that because I had a right to be mad at you. It was like you had this whole other life that I wasn't part of, that you never trusted me with . . . but you were always there for me."
Reese's stomach had started to hurt sometime during that monologue.
"I don't know what you're doing, but there's a dead Original in your bedroom, and another one is sending you boxes of severed body parts and . . . you're just not letting me help you."
"I don't need you to help me."
"I want to anyway."
Back in New Orleans, Reese had been careless. Irrational. Mom and dad were living lives in halves, separating themselves from magic to keep her safe and hidden from their covens, and not realizing the danger, Reese had gone ahead and ruined it.
At the time, her magic had been flimsy at best. She couldn't save them.
But now she was far too powerful a witch to let it go to waste, to watch the ones she cared about die again. She had once been close to useless, but never again.
And Caroline . . . well, she was Caroline.
"Caroline, I want you to be safe."
There.
Saying it was much easier than she'd thought it would be.
"And you won't be safe if you hang around me. Especially now, with . . . with Klaus on his way and my coven more than likely to follow, too. Look, they don't care what they do to get to me. Who they hurt."
"Right." Caroline scoffed. "Your coven that wants to kill you . . . why? Does Klaus want to kill you too?"
"They don't wanna kill me, they just want me," Reese replied. "Same for Klaus."
Nik, she amended in her mind.
"Why?"
She shrugged indifferently. "I'm elusive and highly desirable."
"Elusive," Caroline parroted. "Yeah, considering that you've already got your bags packed and ready to go."
Of course, she ransacked her apartment.
"I'll only leave after everything's . . . over and done with."
"There's no way you're going to stay?"
"Look, things can go back to normal after this. Hopefully. But not if I'm here."
"We can deal with it," Caroline insisted. "We can deal with it just like we do with everything else."
Reese laughed. "You think you can deal with a coven full of witches like me?"
She hadn't noticed the tears in Caroline's eyes.
The sight of them hit her like a truck.
She flexed her hand, keeping herself from reaching out to brush them away.
"Come to school tomorrow," Caroline said finally, standing up from the sofa. "We've got . . . a couple more days. Please."
"Care—"
"I'll persuade you."
It was Reese's turn to sigh. "I—"
"There's a decade dance tomorrow," Care rushed past, "the 60s. It'll be fun. I promise I won't try to convince you to get drunk or try to set you up with anyone. Just . . . come."
Reese tried to glower.
Keyword: tried.
This was Caroline.
Her first friend.
She taught her friendship. Going shopping together, braiding each other's hair, doing each other's makeup, fighting over a dress, crying over stupid boys, having a hand to hold and shoulder to lean on, a partner in crime. Everything in the context of a small town, living an inconsequential life. Being a girl. Worrying about tests instead of the next person that tries to attack her. Relaxing her shoulders and trusting enough to enjoy a slumber party. Caroline gave Reese the childhood that the Ravens had stolen from her. The childhood magic had invaded and her own fantasies had burned.
She couldn't just . . .
"I don't have anything to wear," Reese said, another flimsy attempt. Deep down she knew she didn't put her heart into it. If she wanted to, she could talk her way out of hell.
A smile slowly spread across Care's face. Suddenly, the tears seemed a million miles away from them.
(In the end, she would always give in.)
(Her first friend.)
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So, Nik was here. He'd confirmed it for her now.
Reese felt strange thinking about it.
Nik was here. In Mystic Falls. In close proximity. Nearby.
She would see him sooner rather than later.
Nik.
She wanted to say his name over and over, until the twist it ignited in her belly disappeared. Until he ceased to have any effect on her.
He'd compelled their classmate Dana to approach Elena during school today.
Dana had ambled up to them during lunch, giddy with excitement. Or so it seemed. This is going to sound freaky, but this totally hot guy just asked me to ask you if you're going to the dance tonight, she'd said. It sounded normal enough, till she went on about how Elena should at least give him a chance. His name is Klaus, she'd beamed, and then left.
Amidst Elena and Bonnie's fear-stricken silence, Reese had scoffed out a laugh, and said, "He compelled her to say he's hot. Desperate little bitch."
Truthfully, she was simply offended he hadn't bothered to compel and send anybody her way.
She'd hurt him enough to earn more than one sinister message, right?
But that was that. They'd ditched school the moment it happened and headed over to the Salvatore Boarding House.
Now Damon was back to circling around her, buzzing about like an irritating mosquito. Since he'd discovered she used to be 'in cahoots' with Nik, he'd taken it upon himself to keep a stern eye on her at all times, as if that would stop her from betraying them if she wanted to.
All she'd heard was Original boyfriend this, Original boyfriend that. And she tried to ignore it, but Reese wasn't one to let things go . . . she'd ended up snapping his neck on multiple accounts, just to shut him up.
He had his arm pressed up against her shoulder even now, as he declared to the rest of them, "So, we'll go to the dance and find him."
"Really?" Stefan asked. "How are we going to do that? We don't even know what he looks like."
Damon made a beeping noise and then prodded her shoulder with his finger. "Incorrect, brother. Reese here knows exactly what he looks like. And something tells me he's not going to be sixteen and pimply."
Reese gave Damon a hard shove. "I'm not going to this stupid dance."
"No," Elena said, affronted. "Reese, you promised Caroline you'd go."
Reese shrugged. "Promises are meant to be broken."
"She's even got a dress picked out for you."
God. Reese crossed her arms, but didn't reply. It represented her accepted defeat. She had promised Caroline, and after that conversation . . . she didn't want to leave her.
Damon rejoiced upon this. He slung his arm around her shoulders and cooed, "Aw, does the cold-blooded snake have a soft spot for Vampire Barbie? Oh, yes she does—"
Reese flicked her hand. Damon's back went rigid, and he started to struggle to get out his next words.
Oh, how she loved magic in these situations.
Stefan sent her a pointed look, which she ignored. He gave up and went on, "Look, the thing is, he could be anywhere at any time. He compelled somebody at school . . ." he turned to look at Bonnie and Elena. "Guess it's not as safe as you thought, huh?"
Why they'd expect that hellhole to be safe in the first place was beyond Reese. Didn't this vampire trouble start because of Stefan joining their class?
There was a knock on the door, promptly followed by it swinging open. Alaric stepped inside, and said, "Sorry I'm late."
Damon grinned. "Oh, you should be. You just missed Reese going all mushy—"
"I'll snap your neck," Reese interrupted. "Shut up."
"Right." Alaric moved forward, eyes fixated on Reese. They were ablaze with some weird, uncharacteristic emotion; she felt like she was being studied. That was unusual in many ways, including the fact that Alaric was a rather pathetic, washed-up history teacher and nothing he did had ever made her feel like she was being jabbed at. "Reese. What is she doing here?"
Damon pulled her close. "She's going to help us kill Original Boyfriend number two, whether she wants to or not."
Reese began, "For the record—"
Alaric rudely horned in, poorly concealed curiosity tainting his question: "Original Boyfriend?"
"Oh, c'mon, Ric," Damon said, "Original Boyfriend number one — Elijah. Original Boyfriend number two — Klaus."
"Right." He nodded, not taking his eyes off Reese, full of suspicion. "Yeah, that checks out."
"Anyways, I need you to put me down as a chaperone at the dance tonight. Klaus made his first move. I'll be keeping an eye on our new and improved, sweet, gushy Reese."
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "What prime character development in such a short time. Hard to believe."
"Oh, so hostile, Ric," Reese said condescendingly. "Are you still upset that Jenna's not talking to you? Drowning your sorrows in alcohol didn't work? But I guess you're used to it by now, I mean, judging by your track record."
Alaric clenched his jaw.
He was acting weird. Weirder than usual.
Sure, he occasionally made snide remarks at Reese, but he never displayed outright rage. As one of the few adults part of their little gang, he had to take on some sort of parental role, even if it only extended to Elena and Jeremy.
And that look . . .
That mistrust. That anger. It was so . . .
"Okay." Elena stepped into the conversation, cutting them off firmly before Alaric could muster up a reply. "So, we find Klaus and then what, hmm? What's our plan of attack?"
"Me," Bonnie spoke up. "I'm the plan. He has no idea how much power I can channel. If you can find him, I can kill him."
Reese cocked her head, watching Bonnie with interest. She admired the confidence. "Just for the record . . . I'm only here because I know this plan won't work."
"This pessimism is unnecessary."
"To be honest, it's actually optimism."
"Yeah, I agree with Reese," Alaric said suddenly. He was still scrutinizing her. "I mean, he is the biggest, baddest vampire around."
Reese snorted. "Sure."
In her expert opinion, Elijah was much scarier.
Alaric frowned.
"They're right," Damon said, finally extracting his arm from around Reese. "What if he—" He rushed toward Bonnie, only to be pushed back with a gust of magic.
Reese nodded proudly. "Nice. Now if you put a bit more force into it, like this—"She demonstrated by thrusting her arm forward. Damon slammed against the wall and then began to slide upwards. He scowled, suspended mid-air, helpless. "Make him squirm around a bit, then maybe you'll manage to give Klaus's ego a nice beating."
Saying Klaus was easier. Less personal.
Nik was someone she would not want to hurt.
"Hm." Stefan inclined his head. "Well, I'm impressed."
Bonnie started moving around the room. "It doesn't matter if he's an Original. I can take down anyone who comes at me." She turned to Elena. "I can kill him, Elena. I know I can."
Damon, still floating, scowled at Reese.
She smiled cheerfully in response.
As the rest of them left to attend to various jobs, Reese remained standing, having a silent conversation with Damon.
Alaric stayed behind too, observing them for several minutes. Finally, clearing his throat, he said, "So. Reese is going to be doing what, exactly?"
"Yeah," Damon looked down at her. "What're you gonna be doing, Brutus? Except being all mushy gushy with Care—"
"I'll be locating Klaus." She turned to face him, letting go of her hold on Damon (who fell to the floor and crashed into the coffee table). Ric was . . . weird and exuded this deep, personal mix of emotions. His arms were pinned stiffly to his sides, as if he was restraining himself from reaching out and . . . "Since I know him, of course."
"Right," Alaric bit out. "Original Boyfriend number two. And why should we just trust you on it?"
"Well," Reese said haughtily. "For one, he sent me a box full of severed limbs. The smell was not appreciated. You know, he's such an attention seeker. I mean, he compelled Dana to say he was this 'totally hot guy', like . . ."
"About that . . . if he knows you, why did he only target Elena?"
"Because the moment I see him, I'm going to—" she stopped herself. She was giving away too much. No, she couldn't afford that. "Ah. No. That's actually none of your business, Alaric."
"So, you won't help kill him?"
She laughed internally. You can't kill him, she wanted to say. But the notion of, for all intents and purposes, praising Nik in front of them — in front of Alaric — suddenly seemed displeasing.
"Bonnie seems confident enough," she said instead. "Don't forget that you don't trust me. And that you're a haggard little history teacher. I'm not in the mood to deal with all your whining if or when I do end up stabbing you in the back."
"Okay." A beat. "Reese."
Reese, Reese, Reese.
Reese and that greedy, rapacious undertone.
Strange that he accepted her blatantly double-edged claims so easily when in the past, he always lingered. Tried to swindle her into being good. Or expressed his disdain.
Alaric wasn't impervious to her threats.
There were only two people who were.
And one of them was lying dead inside her apartment.
"Hm. See you around, Alaric."
─────────────
"You can't wear that to the dance," Caroline exclaimed, horrified. She raked her gaze up and down Reese's figure, pouting. "That's not the 60s."
"Can you prove that, though? Who's to say this isn't an authentic piece, huh?"
Reese was clad in an expensive black dress with the oldest design she could find in her closet. It was not much of a stretch from something she'd choose to wear to an event on her own.
"But what about the dress I picked out?" Caroline asked. "The one from Stefan's collection?"
"No. I will not be wearing one of those swirly synthetic monstrosities that look like a rainbow threw up on it."
"It's identifiable—"
"You're dressed as Jackie O; I'm not gonna wear something that tacky!"
"But. . ." Caroline sighed. "I guess this could pass off for Audrey Hepburn. Wait, I've got some black gloves in my closet! Let me get those—"
"Caroline—"
"No! You're wearing them. That's final."
" . . . fine."
She rushed upstairs to her room and came back a second later holding a pair of elbow-length black gloves. She didn't give Reese another chance to protest, and slid them on her arms herself.
"There," she said, satisfied. "Now you look ready for the dance."
Caroline was wearing a pink blazer and skirt set, a pearl necklace, and a strange type of hat that Reese couldn't properly name. She'd gotten Matt to dress up as JFK (apparently they were talking/dating again) but after convincing Reese to attend the dance, she'd told him to meet her at school instead of picking her up.
She needed to fix Reese's dismal outfit, were the words she'd used.
"Can we go now?" Reese asked, tweaking the gloves. "I want to get this over with as soon as possible. Remember that Klaus—"
Caroline gasped. "Right. Klaus! Reese, you have to tell me about him . . . Damon's been going around calling him your —"
"Care—"
"Original boyfriend, and apparently you've even nicknamed him! I mean, really? Him? Is he hot at least—"
"I really don't think—"
"I mean, he's trying to kill Elena, you know that, right? But I guess whatever it was is in the past, but that doesn't mean you get to keep me in the dark—"
"He was not my boyfriend," Reese said firmly, scowling. "He never was and he never will be. I don't care about him."
"You refuse to help kill him."
"Because I don't want to kill him."
"He sent you a box full of severed limbs."
"Because he wants—"
"Your attention," Caroline finished.
Reese blinked. "Caroline. Let's just go to the dance, yeah?"
─────────────
The dance was too loud for her liking.
Then again, Reese tended to dislike most teenage gatherings as it is. The alcohol, the ear-shaking music, the lack of control . . . it messed with your thoughts. She'd gotten pissed during her first high school party, way back in New Orleans, and depending on who narrated the story, that was where it all went wrong. A content witch family, hidden from their enemies, living out their lives in a place full of culture and magic, destined for a normal but happy lifetime . . . until their daughter got drunk at the wrong place at the wrong time, under the wrong influence.
Seeing as in the past, a few drinks uprooted her entire life, and indirectly got her parents killed . . . it was obvious why she wasn't one to party.
Caroline knew that, of course. She understood it, even though she wasn't in that category herself . . . which was why Reese encouraged her to go dance with Matt once they arrived.
Especially with how tonight was destined to go down, Reese wasn't planning on actually having fun.
There was a nervous thrum in the pit of her stomach, and a voice in the back of her mind constantly going Nik, Nik, Nik.
"Thanks for being here everybody." Dana's voice boomed through the room. She was standing on the stage, smiling down excitedly. "We have a special shout-out tonight. This is for Elena . . . from Klaus."
She was barely able to restrain herself from clenching her jaw and scowling. He was just so . . . so . . . a special shout-out, for Elena?
"This is a lame, cheap shot," Damon scoffed. "He's trying to bait us."
She ended up standing stiffly on the sidelines between Damon and Alaric, observing the faces of the dancers. She wasn't sure why she expected to see Nik's face amongst them. He won't be stupid enough to do that . . .
"Oh?" Alaric stuffed his hands into his pockets. "A special dedication, though . . . this guy's a little twisted. Don't you think, Reese?"
"For once, I agree with Damon," Reese said.
Damon shook his head. "Yeah. I'm not impressed."
Alaric was almost affronted. "No?"
They stood there for a few more minutes, silent.
"Any luck?" Alaric asked, peering down at her.
Not as himself, at least, she thought. That would be too embarrassing and she would never let him live it down.
"No," she answered.
"No attempts of betrayal or back-stabbing yet," Damon said, clapping her shoulder. "This is getting boring, Brutus. Let's go dance."
Reese didn't try to stop him as he pulled her away and led her into the throes of swaying, sweaty teenagers.
"Something's wrong with Alaric," Damon said, as soon as they were deep enough in the crowd to go unheard. "He's acting —"
"More like you," Reese interjected. "Very hostile. Maybe someone stole his bourbon."
"Maybe Klaus did," Damon's eyes were glinting.
"I wouldn't know." Reese gave a half-smirk, half-smile, speaking in a mocking tone.
"So he did."
"Figure it out, Damon. Think of this as your final exam."
They were dancing. Reese was unsure what exactly was happening. Damon pulled her close and pushed her away. The last time she'd danced like this was with Azzie, back in Florence, when they'd announced their 'union' (in the words of Diane) to the rest of the coven. She'd let Azzie lead then, just like she was letting Damon lead now.
It was weird. And too . . . nice for the likes of them.
Not arguing and/or attempting to attack each other, that is.
He twirled her around. "Well, either way, Bonnie's going to kill him."
"Oh, we both know she isn't," she drawled, taking advantage of their close proximity, seizing control in the only way she could, dancing like this. "Not if Alaric's involved . . . I know what you're planning, Damon."
"Enlighten me," he whispered in her ear. "Reese."
"Bonnie's going to die."
"Really?" He pretended to be shocked. "Well, that's unfortunate. I'm sure I'll get over it."
"You know, he's staring at us," she said, tilting her head. "Alaric."
Or Nik, she tacked on in her mind. Whatever feels easier to refer to him as.
"'Course he is." He winked at her. "He's jealous. I'm an amazing dancer."
Damon's plan was clever. Not clever enough, though, if she figured it out so easily. But she was Reese Yung, so . . .
"You can't kill him today."
"Bargaining for your boyfriend's life?"
"Better he thinks Bonnie's dead, huh?"
Damon took some time to look at her. "It's that easy."
"For now." He was admitting defeat. For now. "I miss the no-humanity Damon. Much more my style."
"I think your boyfriend wants to catch up." Damon had directed them back to the sidelines, and with one last twirl, he pushed her out of the crowd, smiling all the while. Before disappearing, he called out, "loosen up, Brutus. You're so very tense."
And she was by Alaric's side again.
"Everything going okay?" He asked.
Reese let out a quiet breath. Her heart was racing so fast, she thought it might stop beating altogether.
"Exactly how you'd expect it to." She gazed up at Alaric's face, at his tell-tale cold eyes. Wishing they were cerulean blue instead of pale blue. "Nik."
There was no shock colouring his face at her revelation. Just a strange, proud smile. "Oh, I was tired of waiting, little dove. Tell me, did you like my gift?"
"Your performance was always quite poor when it came to gift-giving."
"You wouldn't imagine how laborious it was," he said. "Hunting down Ravens. Ruining their minds. Tearing them apart. Limb from limb."
"Doing my work for me, like a loyal little puppy." She smiled wryly. "You haven't changed a bit."
"You were disappointed I didn't send someone your way," he stated, reaching out to brush her hair. "I could sense your jealousy from a mile away."
She swatted his hand. "You look like my washed-up history teacher. If you're going to attempt to seduce me again, at least wait until you look like yourself."
"Oh, I would hate to disappoint you." He took a step closer. "Would you put me back?"
She knew he was indirectly asking if she would help. At this stage, it was clear she wasn't on his side. But he would try one last time because it was her.
"Why don't you use one of your other witches? Or are they not enough to satiate your greed?"
Under normal circumstances, the jealousy she felt when Elijah consulted other witches extended to Nik as well.
"You're not trying to stop me."
"Oh, I would hate to disappoint you."
She wished he'd shown up as himself.
It had been three years since she'd seen him.
He would break the curse and free himself. Set out to make his hybrids. Soon enough, they'd part ways once more. There was a lot to fill in the space between now and then, but . . .
All he made her feel was unsure, like he always did.
Author's Note:
Only one chapter to go now for the end of act 1. I like this chapter a lot. didn't intend for it to be so long tho 😭😭