Chapter 5: The Harvest Girl
The French Quarter hummed with tourists and jazz at midnight. I walked through it like a ghost, hood up, hands in pockets, just another nobody in a city full of them.
I'd been tracking the church for three days now. St. Anne's. That's where the power signature originated, pulsing like a beacon I couldn't ignore. Every night, I circled closer, trying to understand what the hell was inside. The wards were strong—witch magic, layered and complex—but they weren't meant to keep me out. They were meant to keep something in.
Tonight, that something was leaving.
I felt her before I saw her. The power signature moved, leaving the church and heading east into the narrow streets between buildings. Young. Female. Terrified.
I followed.
The girl was maybe sixteen, seventeen tops. Dark hair pulled back, wearing jeans and a hoodie that had seen better days. She moved fast, glancing over her shoulder every few steps, and her hands sparked with barely-contained magic. Not trained. Raw. Dangerous to herself as much as anyone else.
A witch was following her. Older woman, thirties, moving with purpose. She wasn't trying to hide. She wanted the girl to know she was there.
The girl ducked into an alley. Dead end. Rookie mistake.
I climbed the fire escape on the adjacent building and watched from above.
"Davina," the older witch said, stepping into the alley entrance. Her voice was sharp, impatient. "Enough. You can't hide from this. The Harvest needs to be completed."
The girl—Davina—backed against the wall, power crackling around her like electricity. "Stay away from me, Sophie."
"The ancestors are angry. You were supposed to die with the others. Your power is disrupting the balance—"
"I don't care about the balance! You wanted to slit my throat and call it sacred!"
Sophie raised her hands, magic gathering in her palms. "I'm taking you back. Agnes will finish what she started."
Something in my chest pulled. Not physical. Deeper. The bloodline connection hummed, reacting to the power pouring off Davina, and my compulsion reached for her automatically—instinct, reflex, trying to calm the situation before it exploded.
It slid off her like water on glass.
What?
I blinked. That had never happened before. Every vampire, every human, every supernatural creature I'd ever encountered could be compelled. It was my nature. My power. And this teenage witch had just... ignored it.
Sophie launched her spell. Fire, badly aimed, desperation more than skill.
I dropped into the alley between them.
The blood in my veins responded before I consciously thought about it. Sloppy, weak, but functional. It leaked from a cut I opened on my palm and hardened mid-air, forming a barrier that caught Sophie's fire and snuffed it out.
Sophie froze. Stared at me. Then at the blood shield dissolving back into liquid. "What—"
"Leave," I said. My voice was rough from disuse, barely more than gravel. "Now."
She tried to read me. Figure out what I was. Vampire, obviously, but something about my presence made her pupils dilate with primal fear. Prey recognizing a predator so far above her weight class that fighting would be suicide.
Smart woman.
She turned and ran.
I let the blood drip back onto my palm, absorbing it, and turned to face Davina.
The girl had pressed herself against the wall, magic still crackling around her but contained now. Defensive. She was breathing hard, eyes wide, and her hands were shaking.
"You're welcome," I said.
"What are you?" Her voice was steady despite the fear. Good. Fear with control was useful. Fear without it got people killed.
"Complicated."
"Try me."
I studied her. Defiant. Angry. Powerful beyond anything she understood. The magical signature pouring off her was... wrong wasn't the right word. Unique. Like she was carrying four times the power she should have, and it was burning her alive from the inside out.
Interesting.
"Someone who knows what it's like to be used," I said finally. "That woman—Sophie—she wants to sacrifice you?"
Davina's jaw tightened. "The Harvest. Four girls die, ancestral magic gets restored, witches get their power back. Except Marcel saved me, so now they're all pissed that I'm alive and their ritual is incomplete."
"Marcel." I'd heard that name enough. "The vampire king."
"He's protecting me. Hiding me in the church." She pushed off the wall, magic settling but not disappearing. "Who are you? And what the hell was that?" She gestured at where the blood barrier had been.
"Roy," I said. Then, because lying seemed pointless: "And I'm old. Older than Marcel. Older than the vampires you've heard of."
"You manipulated blood." Her eyes narrowed. "I've never seen that before."
"That's because I'm the only one who can do it."
She processed that. I could see the gears turning—curiosity warring with self-preservation. Smart girl. Most people would have run by now.
Instead, she took a step closer.
"Why did you help me?"
"Why do you think?"
"Everyone wants something. Marcel wants me for my power. The witches want me dead for theirs. What do you want?"
"Nothing," I said. And meant it. "I saw someone about to hurt a kid. I stopped it. That's all."
She didn't believe me. I could see it in her eyes. But she didn't call me a liar either.
"Sophie will tell the others," Davina said after a moment. "They'll come looking for me. For you."
"Let them."
"You don't know what you're dealing with. The witches here—they're connected to something big. The ancestors. They can—"
"I've dealt with witches before." I met her eyes. "And I promise you, whatever they can do, I've survived worse."
Silence stretched between us. She was deciding something. Trust or run. I could see the debate written across her face.
"You can't compel me," she said suddenly. "I felt you try earlier. It didn't work."
My eyebrows raised. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything." She crossed her arms. "Magic protects me. Has since the Harvest was interrupted. No vampire compulsion, no witch control. I'm... free."
Free. The word hung in the air like a bell rung in a church.
"Good," I said quietly. "Stay that way."
She blinked. "You're not upset?"
"Why would I be? You can choose whether to trust me. That makes you valuable."
"Valuable how?"
"Because everyone else I meet, I could make them do what I want. You? You have to decide on your own." I shrugged. "That's rare. Important. Don't give it up."
Davina stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then, slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased. Not gone—she was too smart for that—but reduced.
"I have to go," she said. "Before Marcel's people realize I left the church."
"Be careful."
"You too." She hesitated. "Roy, right?"
I nodded.
"Thank you. For stopping Sophie. I—" She bit her lip. "Not many people help without wanting something."
"I'm not most people."
She almost smiled. Then she was gone, slipping past me and out of the alley, her magical signature fading as she ran back toward the church.
I stood there for a long moment, alone in the dark, and tried to process what had just happened.
Davina Claire. That's what Sophie had called her. A teenage witch with power she shouldn't have, protected by a vampire king, hunted by her own people. And she was immune to my compulsion. Completely, utterly immune.
That's never happened before.
I'd compelled Originals. Ancient vampires. Werewolf alphas. Everyone bent to my will eventually, even if they stayed aware while doing it. But Davina? My power had just... slid off her. Like I'd tried to grab smoke.
Magic. It had to be magic. Something about the incomplete Harvest ritual had changed her, made her resistant. But even then—witch magic didn't usually block vampire compulsion completely. This was different.
This was absolute.
I turned and walked out of the alley, mind racing. Sophie would tell the other witches about me. They'd investigate. That was fine. I wasn't hiding anymore.
But Davina...
She reminded me of myself. Not the broken, tortured version that had spent a millennium drowning. The before version. The one who'd been used as a power source and hadn't understood what was happening until it was too late.
She was powerful. Afraid. Desperate for someone to see her as a person instead of a weapon.
I understood that.
And I'd be damned if I let the witches turn her into another sacrifice.
The warehouse felt colder than usual when I got back. Or maybe that was just my mood.
I sat in the basement, back against the concrete wall, and tried to sleep. Failed. My mind kept circling back to the alley. To Davina's magic. To the way my compulsion had just... stopped.
For the first time since waking up, I'd met someone I couldn't control.
And instead of feeling threatened, I felt relieved.
Because if she chose to trust me—if she decided on her own that I was worth believing in—it would mean something. It would be real.
No compulsion. No manipulation. Just choice.
I closed my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under.
Somewhere in the city, Davina was probably having the same sleepless night.
Tomorrow, I'd figure out how to keep her alive.
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