Dispersora | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter 5

September 5, 2011

"Open the door, love."

Yara knew that voice. She knew that smell. Memories from a century prior burst forth, keeping her rooted to the spot while he knocked again.

How did he find me?

For nearly a century, no one had managed to locate her. Not only because she used fake names and bounced around from place to place, changing her appearance often and even speaking different languages with different accents, but because she thought no one knew her well enough to figure out where she would seek refuge at a time like this.

But he'd known her well enough. He just hadn't been calm enough to figure it out until now. When he needed her more than anything.

He'd thought of all the places she'd lived in the past, which ones she'd claimed to love the most, and even the ones she hated. He couldn't rule any of them out, because he knew for certain she'd return to a place that was familiar.

At last, upon returning to New Orleans, he was able to trace her using the Phoenix Sword and a letter she wrote for Marcel that she never sent. He found traces of her in several significant places across the world, homes she'd lived in before she came to live with them.

He checked every single one personally. It brought forth nothing. She hadn't been there in a long time.

He assumed that one of the next targets was either Brazil or Haiti. There was no in between. Haiti, he searched for a week. Nothing.

Brazil was his last option.

It had to be. Yara would never go somewhere truly unfamiliar, she hated it. But how would he find her? She hadn't even known where she was born. Unless, of course, she'd found out.

He hired historians of all types to find out where in Brazil Pedro Álvares-Cabral had been. Another group looked at all the native tribes, which regions they settled in, which had any overlap. He looked for records of Isadora Lopes, of births around the same time as Yara, of any journal entries made by Pedro Álvares-Cabral's men who may have documented the birth of his bastard daughter.

And then, at last, he found it. São Luis, Brazil.

There were more traces of her in a house in Praia Grande, right near Portugal Street. In it he found old clothes, and with them he tracked her scent out into the forest, a small hut detached from civilization. Just the sort of place Yara would have holed up in to evade him.

How he wished he'd found her sooner.

"I can sense you're in there, love," Klaus urged when he heard her faint heartbeat on the other side. "Open the door."

"You evil craven!"

"Spineless bitch!"

"Monster! Useless cunt!"

"Decrepit whore!"

"Hateful bastard!"

"I could say the same thing about you."

She shivered, shaking her head and trying to urge herself to escape through the back door, flee and find a new place to settle down.

But what would be the point? If he heard her leaving, he'd catch her. If she tried to run, he'd end up ahead and lay some sort of trap. Whatever he needed to discuss, it must be important if he was here.

Or maybe he just wanted to rub salt in old wounds.

Her curiosity won her over. For him to have found her here of all places, what she'd expected to be her last ever hiding spot (she was, in all honesty, tired of moving around. This little hut was quaint and peaceful. She'd been hiding in plain sight within busy cities for the past century. It was time for her to go somewhere quieter). She liked it here. She'd recently met individuals of the Terena tribe her mother had been born in, and she'd used her compulsion to give them legal rights to their ancestral lands. Her ancestral lands. This was where she was meant to be.