Hurricane / The Originals

Chapter 3

"The city of New Orleans... People of all stripes and flavors from all over the country come here to party on our streets. Some are just looking for fun... Some are looking for something a little darker, more dangerous. So, we invite them into my home and we give it to them".

The next day followed the same routine I followed every other day. I woke up early, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains of my modest apartment. After a quick shower, I dressed in my usual attire, the familiar routine grounding me as I moved through the morning. I tidied up the small space, completing the necessary chores with practiced efficiency before preparing to head to work.

Exactly ten minutes into my journey, Cami appeared beside me as she often did. We fell into step together, our easy camaraderie a comfort amidst the bustling streets of New Orleans. Our destination was the bar, a sanctuary of sorts amidst the chaos of the city. By midday, we had arrived, unlocking the doors and preparing the space for another day of serving customers.

The routine continued seamlessly as we went about our tasks, opening chores around the bar and ensuring everything was ready for the patrons who would soon arrive. The ambiance shifted gradually from the quiet of the morning setup to the lively buzz that filled the air as customers began to trickle in, seeking respite or revelry in the heart of the French Quarter.

Throughout the day, I couldn't shake the events of the previous night from my mind—the encounter with Marcel, the cryptic mentions of Klaus, and the unsettling sight of Sophie grieving over her sister's body. Despite the routine of daily life, the undercurrent of supernatural intrigue loomed, a reminder of the precarious balance I navigated between the ordinary and the extraordinary in this city steeped in secrets.

As I moved between tables, taking orders and chatting with regulars, I kept a watchful eye on the door, half-expecting chaos to break out. The events of the previous night had left me on edge, and the appearance of Marcel was the last thing I wanted.

Sure enough, as if summoned by my unease, Marcel walked through the doors of the bar. His presence was commanding, his gaze piercing as it locked onto mine. I tried to keep my composure, focusing on the task at hand despite the tension that crackled in the air between us.

"Good afternoon, Cami, Cleo," Marcel greeted casually, his voice cutting through the ambient chatter of the bar. "Cleo, can you pour me something nice and tall, my regular order."

I hesitated for a moment, my jaw tightening involuntarily. The silent battle of wills continued as I met Marcel's intense stare. Behind the facade of his charm, I sensed the underlying threat, the reminder of his authority over the supernatural realm of New Orleans.

"Of course," I replied evenly, forcing myself to maintain a neutral tone. Turning away, I moved to prepare Marcel's drink, my hands steady despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me. The bar seemed to quiet around us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tension that hung in the air.

As I handed Marcel his drink, our fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt of apprehension through me. His lips curled into a faint smirk, a gesture that hinted at amusement or perhaps something more insidious.

"Thank you, Cleo," Marcel said smoothly, lifting the glass to his lips. "You always deliver."

"That is what I do best," I retorted with a hint of defiance, my words laced with an edge as I swiftly moved away. Even as I turned my back, I couldn't shake the sense that Marcel's presence lingered, his watchful gaze following my every move.

Across the room, I saw him take a seat at the table to the far left, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His eyes, like windows to a tumultuous soul, scanned the bar with a calculated awareness that set me on edge.