The Fallen Slayer | TVD {1}

Blood On Our Hands

NEW ORLEANS, LOUSIANA

The French Quarter had definitely changed in the past 70 years. The magic that once seemed to jump through the streets had vanished. A city that had at one point appeared to be jumping with magic had turned into a shell of its former self.

All real magic had vanished, replaced by the tourist-friendly kind.

Given how many vampires he could spot wandering around the streets, Damon was officially curious.

He had only stuck around for a few weeks in the 40s and the second he killed 12 people to break the sire bond Charlotte had formed with him he had bolted, but it didn't change the fact that the city felt different.

From what he could remember, real magic used to spin around the city all day, yet, he hadn't seen a single witch even use their power to levitate something since they had climbed out of the car.


Something about New Orleans was different, that was for sure.

Shaking his thoughts away from just how different the once magical city felt, Damon quickly refocused as he spotted the familiar street name.

They were about to reach the old witch's house.

Which hopefully, was still there and unattached from the ancestors.

As Damon turned the corner sharply, Stefan couldn't help but sigh as he continued to watch his brother.

While he was devastated about the prospect of Buffy being pregnant, he still had friends and other people to lean on. Damon didn't have that, he literally only had Buffy now that Ric was gone. And if she was pregnant with a Mikaelson then that friendship was officially at risk.

Sage had literally warned Damon that a friendship with Buffy, given who she was to Klaus and The Originals came with a limited timeline.

"I'm sorry." Stefan finally forced himself to say as they continued to walk through the never-ending partying streets of New Orleans "Buffy's your one friend and I should respect that more."

"Whatever Stefan." Damon huffed as he pulled to a stop, his eyes widening as he took in the unfamiliar building.

It was the same address but time had changed everything about it.

"This is where the witch lived."

Clearly, Valarie's bloodline had moved on from this area since the 40s.

Stefan sighed as they stared at the pretty much-abandoned house, which had been turned into a typical lawyer's office. There was no witch here, that was for sure.

"What, you weren't expecting to find the same exact witch in the same place."

"No, but since I couldn't remember where the store was, figured I'd get us a start."

"Maybe there's another place to start."

At Stefan's suggestion, Damon nodded cursing himself for not thinking of it "The Pizza Parlor Buffy went to. Smart."

Buffy had gone there right after being kidnapped, which meant it at least had to be somewhere near witch central.

And given how hidden the witches in this town were now, it might be the only good lead they had.

The second Damon started down the street, Stefan blocked his path "Not what I meant...do you think Charlotte might be in New Orleans?"

AKA: The girl sired to him.

Damon paused for a moment allowing his mind to drift back to Charlotte. 

He winced slightly as he remembered what her middle name was.

Mary.

Yep, he had some serious issues when it came to the name Mary, that was for certain, not a single doubt about it.


Damn, Xander for being right!


Focusing back on Charlotte and not the whole Xander being right about his issues with the name Mary, Damon forced himself to nod at his brother. In theory, Stefan's suggestion made a lot of sense. Charlotte knew New Orleans better than anyone and loved it to her core.

If anyone could help, why not a woman that used to be sired and madly in love with him?

"Yeah maybe."

"Where's the last place you saw her?"

"Cornor of Bourbon and Dumaine." Damon muttered before pausing, a little bit of guilt sneaking in on him. He had never bothered to check if the sire bond had actually been broken. And given just how literally the hybrid bond was, if this bond wasn't broken, it would mean that when he left, Charlotte had spent almost a century doing what he told her to do.

Nothing but counting bricks.

"Kind of told her to count every brick in every building in New Orleans, and I'd meet her at the corner. I was gone by morning."