Hurricane / The Originals

Chapter 2

It took just 35 minutes to close up after the mysterious man left the bar. Cami and I, as was our routine, walked together as we did every night. The city's nocturnal symphony surrounded us—the distant jazz drifting from Bourbon Street, the occasional clatter of a passing streetcar, and the humid embrace of New Orleans' night air.

Once we reached Cami's apartment, nestled in a quieter corner of the French Quarter, we exchanged our customary goodnights before parting ways. I continued my brisk walk, the rhythmic tap of my heels on the cobblestone streets keeping time with the fluttering of my thoughts.

At this point, it wasn't the supernatural creatures that lurked in the shadows that unnerved me; it was the ordinary men, their intentions often hidden behind polite smiles and casual glances. New Orleans had taught me to trust instincts honed by years of navigating its unpredictable alleys and dimly lit corners.

Halfway through my solitary journey, the city seemed to exhale a sigh, its ancient oaks and iron-lace balconies standing sentinel under a canopy of stars. Yet, beneath its storied charm lay layers of secrets and histories as intricate as the filigree wrought into the city's wrought-iron gates.

As I turned a corner, the dim glow of a street lamp revealed witches surrounding a body on the ground. I stopped dead in my tracks, unsure of what to do next, but before I could process, a loud bang was heard, and vampires emerged from the shadows, leaping from roof to cars.

In an instant, I found myself hidden in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. A familiar voice made my heart drop.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? I gotta tell you Soph, this street corner is not proving the luckiest spot for your family tonight. Not half an hour ago, we had to teach your sister a little lesson," Marcel said as he approached Sophie, the witch I had just recognized.

"We're putting her to rest Marcel. Leave us alone," Sophie replied, her voice choked with grief. My hand instinctively covered my mouth in shock.

"I never said you could move the body. Matter of fact, I left her here for a reason: to send a message. If anybody is thinking of joining some kind of rebellion, my rules state that witches can't practice magic in the Quarter and yet a little birdy informed me that Jane-Anne was cooking up something magically delicious. Oh, yeah. While I have you, quick Q&A. My old friend – the hybrid, Klaus – just happened to show up out of the blue asking for, of all people, Jane-Anne. Any idea why?"

"I don't know. Witches don't get involved in vampire business."

"Hmm. That would be pretty stupid, that's for sure. Tell you what, go back to the restaurant, cook up some of that famous gumbo, and keep those tourists happy," Marcel instructed his men. "Take the body."

"What? No! Stop! Stop, Marcel!"

"I'm gonna hold on to your sister's body in case maybe you remember why Klaus is here."

The name Klaus struck a chord in my memory, familiarity nagging at me. I tried to recall where I had heard it before but couldn't place it.

"Marcel, please. Her body won't be at peace."

"Not my problem. I have something else to deal with so if you will," Marcel said dismissively before vanishing. Moments later, he reappeared next to me.

I remained still, refusing to acknowledge his presence directly, keeping my focus on the unfolding scene.

"Well, it seems you stumbled upon quite the commotion tonight Cleo," Marcel remarked casually, his voice smooth and almost amused despite the grim situation unfolding mere feet away. His presence beside me was unsettling, a reminder of his authority and the danger that accompanied it.