Tainted | Finn Mikaelson

Chapter 1

September 2, 2012

Rousseau's was quiet.

"Not bad for a first day on the job, huh?" said the blonde beside her, who was expertly mixing a drink without needing to reference any notes.

The brunette assented, then glanced around at the empty tables. "It's a lot quieter than what I was expecting. I'm assuming it's not always like this?"

The blonde shook her head. "Not always. I admit, part of it is my fault."

"Because of the Guerreras?"

The woman let out a light laugh. "You know, it's gonna be hard to get used to you knowing about all this. Everyone who knows about it is supernatural. You and me... well, we're powerless against any witch, wolf, or vampire who tried to hurt us. But yes, because of the Guerreras. Francesca is such a bitch."

The brunette pursed her lips. "I'll be meeting them today. I'm a little nervous."

"I'll be honest with you, you should have stayed wherever you were before coming here. You shouldn't try and mess with the Guerreras. It's a bad idea."

"I need to get information. They have no clue who I'm acquainted with here other than you, because they've already seen us together. They won't suspect anything. I just need to pick which brother I'm going after."

The blonde waved her over to the side, and pulled out a small notebook with the Guerrera family tree. "This is what my uncle left me, after he died. It lists out too many generations of Guerreras to count. Here, it is listed who Francesca's brothers are. From oldest to youngest: Antonio, thirty. Benito, twenty-nine. Carlos, twenty-six. Domonique, twenty-five. Francesca is the youngest." She lowered her voice. "What exactly is the plan? Klaus told Marcel, but Marcel said he couldn't tell me."

The bell rung at the door, letting them know they had a customer. The blonde shoved the notebook back under the bar, and the brunette moved toward a man, who was coming to sit down. It struck both bartenders as odd that he walked with one hand tucked behind his back, and the other raised as if he were speaking with someone. It seemed so formal, and even a bit ancient.

"Hi," said the brunette, going to stand in front of him and getting a cup. "What can I get you?"

"You're new here," the man observed, eyeing her closely.

She frowned a bit. "I am, yes. What would you like to drink?"

"You're not wearing a nametag."

Her hand slapped over the part of her shirt where her nametag should have been pinned, and she nearly cursed, realizing she hadn't put it on. She glanced at the blonde, who swept in to ask for the man's order instead as the other woman darted to the backroom, digging furiously through her backpack before she found the pin, slapping it on before coming back out, finding her coworker preparing a neat Bourbon for the man.

The man glanced over at her as he watched her cleaning a few glasses behind the bar. "Katya," he said, reading off her nametag. "Greek origin. Meaning 'pure.' Who picked your name for you?"

Katya tried to be respectful in the way she answered him. "My birth mother. Who picked yours?"

"My mother," he said, extending his hand to her. "Vincent Griffith." She shook it, and he asked, "Is Cami your mentor?"

She looked at Cami, who was organizing the bottles that were hidden from view. "Oh, yes, she agreed to mentor me. This is my first time working as a bartender."

"Wow." Vincent raised his brows and looked at Cami. "That's wonderful. Taking some control over your life, giving to others."

"Vincent is my advisor," explained Cami, to a very confused Katya. "For my supervised residency before I can become a psychologist."