r.i.p to my youth <<>> mercy mikaelson

thirty-eight

| atychiphobia (n): fear of failure |

MERCY KNEW WHAT to expect—at least, to a certain extent.

She knew how the spell worked—she had probably reviewed it nearly a hundred times before she gave Faeryn the go-ahead—but it didn't make the anticipation any less poignant in the stuffy air of the ruined treehouse they sat in. She was laying on the ground, hoping that the wood below her wouldn't give out and break, sending her down to the ground below. If it did, she didn't think it would hurt her too badly—already, there were about a dozen regular wolves that had followed her out of New Orleans, and the animals were all congregating below the structure, surrounding it like an ocean of fur and loyalty. If she fell, they would soften the blow—but she worried nonetheless, because she didn't want to hurt any of them in the process.

Faeryn had finished grinding the herbs, pouring the rest of the dark liquid into a bowl, mixing the ingredients together. Nearby, a yellow candle sat in a silver, antique holder that Faeryn mentioned was authentic. The spell was simple; Mercy would drink the potion, and the spell would last as long as the candle burned—which, by the height and width of it, should equal to a little over two days. This would leave an extra day for Mercy to return to New Orleans and prepare the wolves—as well as her sister—for the full moon.

But, Faeryn hesitated, hands stiffly wrapped around the stone bowl. "You sure about this?" She asked, shaking her head. "Once the spell starts, not even I can stop it. You won't be able to come back until it's done."

Mercy nodded, staring straight into the witch's eyes. "I know. I'm counting on it," she replied simply, and Faeryn pursed her lips, not liking that answer. Mercy's eyes flickered to the distorted entrance of the treehouse. "The barrier?"

Faeryn followed her gaze. "I'll cast it and connect it to this spell, so that it won't break until you're ready," she explained, and Mercy nodded, her fingers fiddling slightly in her lap. "But... Your family..."

Mercy sighed, biting her lip. "Just..." She took a steadying breath. "Let's get this over with."

Faeryn still had a look in her eyes that emphasized her own skepticism, but she didn't speak on her doubts. Instead, she sighed, coming to bend down in front of the Mikaelson girl, who was currently still sitting on the floor. A circle of salt surrounded her, and Faeryn made sure that she didn't disrupt the line as she reached over and handed Mercy the bowl.

"Drink this," she ushered, and Mercy didn't hesitate. She grabbed the stone bowl, lifting it to her lips and drinking it as fast as she could. The liquid was bitter, and yet, once she finished, there was an incredibly sweet aftertaste, as if she had just eaten an entire bag of Halloween candy. The taste burned at her teeth, and she felt a tingling sensation go through her body. It was a familiar feeling, and she knew it to be the werewolf magic coursing through her veins. Faeryn softly pressed her shoulders, taking the now empty bowl back into her grasp. "Lie down."