Shea Butter Baby// D.S

11

Chapter 11: Devious Doppelgänger

         "No," Nala groaned groggily, the brilliant gleams of golden sun peeking through the shades. Laid beside her, previously curled up beside her, hand tucked under his chin with his mouth slightly open—even in sleep he was handsome. It was annoying. Not more annoying than hearing the blaring sounds of his phone ringing, fully pulling him from being Nala's personal heater. "Ignore it."

"It's Stefan."

The duvet slid off her shoulders as she sat up, curly hair unruly and sleep still crusted in the corners of her eyes. The look she gave him nonetheless was enough for him to decline the phone call and slide back into bed. She nestled into the curve of his arm, the cool air conditioning sending goosebumps up her skin that was chased by the warmth of his fingers. "Pretty soon all of your friends are going to hate me."

"Don't worry, they aren't exactly my biggest fans either," His voice was deep, crackly and Nala came to realize that Damon was very child-like when he first woke up. A mix of grabby hands and a low whine in the back of his throat when she wouldn't scratch his back for him—eventually she gave in. "It's been nice though, getting away from it all."

"I don't mind being your escape."

Two blue skies opened up and squinted at the golden-toned woman before him—Damon sneakily checking her ID when she'd excused herself to the bathroom earlier that day. Nala Laveau was twenty years old, friends with teenage girls and one hell of a cuddler. "My escape," He tasted the words on his tongue, liking it more than he anticipated. "All mine."

"Careful there, you might actually start catching feelings for me."

          Averting his gaze to the beauty before him, they were again interrupted by the continuous jingle of Stefan's ringtone. Damon's hand reluctantly grabbed the phone, finger pressing the green button by time it was shoved up to his ear. "What brother—"

          "Mason—fucking—Lockwood," Stefan gritted through his teeth, the distant sound of metal clanking to the floor. "That's what."

          "I don't know if flipping your switch has given you long-term brain damage but I killed Mason Lockwood."

          A humorless laugh passed Stefan's lips, the animalistic growl in his voice still present as his wounds stitched themselves back together and closed up as if it never even happens—the only reminder being a stain and a rip in his shirt. "Save the sarcasm for someone with the patience for it, Damon. I said it was Mason Lockwood, so obviously it's Mason Lockwood. I'm going to find Bonnie, she was supposed to fix this when she sent back Vicki Donovan."

          "Clearly, it didn't work." Damon's voice trailed off when Nala knelt before him in bed, amber eyes peeking up at his as her hands ran down his chest. Neither of them wore anything to bed, partly for comfort and partly for easy access. He was holding strong until she placed a pretty little peck on his tip. "Sorry brother but I'm a bit pre-occupied at the moment. Good luck."

          "Seriously, Damon," He yelled through the receiving end. "Do you not understand how many dead vampires are dead because of us? Because of you?"

          Slightly perturbed at the flippant tone in Stefan's voice even though he was clearly unimpressed with the situation at hand.

          Being Klaus' protection detail was coming to be a greater task than Stefan's emotions were capable of. "I'll watch my back."

          "What's going on?"

          "I'm pretty sure Bonnie screwed up the spell because now all of the dead supernatural are walking the land of the living."

           Nala immediately sprang up from her bed, scrambling over to a little altar she had on a window ledge—he'd learned about what it was when she'd explicitly told him never to touch it—that witches cursed their altars so that if anyone who wasn't them touched anything on it, they'd suffer on their own accord. "Wear this," She came back over with a glasses box, a sleek pair of gold framed glasses—the lenses was dark as hell but Damon didn't mind.

            "Antique voodoo shades, I dig it."

            "Oh shut up, it allows you to see into the spirit realm. I used to use them when I lived in New Orleans—so I could still see my mom and grandmother."

Damon's grip on the sunglasses altered, him suddenly carrying it in his clutches gentler than a baby. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."

Sighing deeply, putting her hair into a low bun, curly ringlets framing her face as neck. "There's a party today in town, I'm supposed to be going with Caroline. Will you be there?"

"Do you want me to be there?"

She nods, eyes going soft almost like she was afraid she'd be asking for too much.

"Then, I'll be there." Finally emerging from her extremely comfortable bed, he made a mental note to check her thread count—he needed one like this at home. "I'm going to head home and change. I'll see you later?"

Nodding again, she simply leaned back as he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and draped his leather jacket over his forearm. A four finger wave was sent her way and then she was alone at last.

Or so she thought.

"Conspiring with vampires," A familiar voice chided from behind her, body going rigid at the voice that definitely shouldn't be here—her remains were in New Orleans, no way. "I thought we taught you better than that, child."

Finally turning around, there she stood in all of her glory. Wrapped in robes and and head wrap, gold jewelry dangling from her wrist and ears, there her grandmother stood. "Sorry, Granny but you and I both know that I've never been very good at following directions."

The Voodoo priestess gliding forward, three footsteps was all it took for her to be before her grandchild, hand reaching forward to caress her cheek. Nala nearly cried when she actually felt her touch, could actually feel warmth radiating from her skin.

"Granny, I can feel you."

"That's why I'm here baby, you've come to this town at the wrong time."

Nala shrugged, finding a more appropriate shirt and some shorts to change into. Grabbing a protective talisman and tying it into the inseam of her jean shorts, she felt pretty confident she'd be safe in the town where—now unveiled matter roamed. "I don't know, I like a little extra spice in my life."

"A little extra spice nearly killed you last time. Are you in control of your magic?"

Nala Laveau cringed at the reminder of her previous actions. When her mother had initially died, she was devistated, partaking in dark rituals and conspiring with even darker souls. She'd even called upon Papa Legba, a Haitian spirit of voodoo who collected souls for hell.

She was denied almost instantly, the master communicator of all languages unsatisfied with taking yet another Leveau's soul. "Yes, Granny. I am in control."

"Well, you better be honey because you'll need it if you're going to keep fooling around with that boy—that demon."

Nala laughed at the word used to describe him. "You know, it's funny because society used to call us the same thing."

Marie Laveau didn't answer, she only hummed, trailing beside her grandbaby as protection all day.