Chapter 6: Unlikely Alliance
The warehouse door creaked open at 10 PM.
I was upstairs in the office, laptop open, researching the Harvest ritual through encrypted witch forums. I'd found references to it dating back decades—four girls sacrificed every few generations to restore ancestral power. The magic was old. Brutal. And apparently, when Marcel had saved Davina, he'd broken the cycle.
The witches wanted to fix that. Davina wanted to stay alive.
Guess which side I was on.
I closed the laptop and stood, senses reaching out. One person. Female. Magical signature that lit up my bloodline connection like a flare.
Davina.
I walked to the railing overlooking the main floor and found her standing in the center of the empty space, fists clenched, power crackling around her like static electricity.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
She didn't flinch. Didn't look surprised that I'd known she was there. "I followed your blood trail from the alley. It's... different. Older. I could sense it."
"Witches can track blood?"
"I'm not a normal witch." She looked around the warehouse, taking in the makeshift furniture, the stolen supplies, the general disaster of my living situation. "This is where you live?"
"For now."
"It's depressing."
"So is being hunted. Want to compare notes?"
That got a ghost of a smile. She walked closer, stopping at the bottom of the stairs leading to the office. "I need to know what you are. For real. Not the vague 'I'm old' bullshit."
I came down the stairs slowly, giving her space. She tracked my movement like a prey animal watching a predator, but she didn't back away.
"Long story," I said. "You want the version that makes sense, or the one that's actually true?"
"True. Always true."
Fair enough.
I gestured to the crates I'd been using as chairs. She hesitated, then sat. I took the crate opposite her, keeping the distance.
"I'm older than the Originals," I said. "Few years, give or take. Esther and Mikael Mikaelson—do you know those names?"
"The Original Witch and her husband. Klaus and Elijah's parents."
"Right. They found me. Used me. Drained my blood over and over to create the spell that made the Original vampires. Then they shoved a silver dagger through my heart and dropped me in the ocean in a sealed coffin."
Davina's eyes widened. "How long were you down there?"
"A thousand years."
"Jesus."
"I woke up a few months ago. Klaus breaking his curse sent a magical ripple through the bloodline. Weakened the dagger enough that I could move. Barely." I leaned back against the wall. "Now I'm here. Recovering. Planning. And apparently, saving witches from their own people."
Davina processed that in silence. I could see her mind working, fitting pieces together, deciding whether to believe me.
"If you're older than the Originals," she said slowly, "that makes you... what? The first vampire?"
"Something like that. They call it a Proto-Original in some of the old texts. I didn't choose it. Just... happened."
"And the blood manipulation thing?"
"Hemokinesis. I can control blood—mine, other vampires', anyone connected to the bloodline. Which is every vampire in existence, since they all trace back to me through the Originals."
Her eyes went impossibly wide. "You can control all vampires?"
"In theory. In practice, I'm still weak. Maybe 35% of what I should be. I can barely make a shield. Detonating someone's blood from a distance? Not happening yet."
"Yet," she repeated. "But you could."
"Eventually."
She leaned back, absorbing that. "So you're the most powerful vampire alive, you're recovering from a thousand years of torture, and you helped me because...?"
"Because I know what it's like to be someone's power source." I met her eyes. "They want to kill you to fuel their magic. Esther and Mikael used me to fuel theirs. We're not so different."
"Except you're ancient and I'm sixteen."
"Seventeen," I corrected, remembering the wiki entries I'd read about her. "Your birthday was last month."
She blinked. "How did you—"
"Research. I'm good at it."
Silence settled between us. She was thinking. Deciding.
"Marcel is protecting me," she said finally. "He saved me during the Harvest. Killed one of the witches who was about to slit my throat. Now he's hiding me in the church, keeping the coven away."
"Why?"
"Because he's a good person. And because my power is useful. I can sense magic, disrupt spells, and if I get mad enough, I can make an entire street of vampires drop dead without touching them."
I whistled softly. "Impressive."
"Terrifying," she corrected. "I don't know how to control it. The Harvest was supposed to give my power to the ancestors, but since it didn't finish, all that magic is stuck inside me. It's burning me up. Some days I think it's going to kill me just from being there."
"And the witches want to complete the ritual."
"Agnes especially. She's the elder who started the whole thing. If she gets her hands on me..." Davina's voice went tight. "She'll finish what she started."
"Over my dead body."
Davina looked at me sharply. "Why do you care?"
"Because I spent a thousand years as someone's prisoner and power source," I said quietly. "I don't like seeing it happen to others."
"That's it? No ulterior motive? No 'I'll protect you but you owe me'?"
"No strings. You want protection, I'll give it. If you don't trust me, that's fine. Walk away. But the offer stands."
She studied my face, searching for the lie. I let her look. There was nothing to hide.
"I can't be compelled," she said after a moment. "You figured that out last night."
"Yeah. How does that work?"
"The Harvest magic protects me. It's like... a shield. No vampire compulsion, no witch control spells. I'm immune."
"That's why you can choose whether to trust me."
"Exactly." She crossed her arms. "Which is weird, because most vampires would be pissed about that. But you seem... relieved?"
"I am. Everyone else I meet, I could make them do what I want. You have to decide on your own. That makes this real."
Davina's expression softened slightly. Not much. But enough that I noticed.
"So what are you proposing?" she asked. "Alliance?"
"Tentative one. I keep the witches off your back. You help me understand New Orleans magic politics. Neither of us owes the other anything beyond that."
"And Marcel?"
"I'm not here to challenge him. His kingdom, his rules. But if anyone tries to hurt you, I don't care who they are or who they work for. They'll answer to me."
"That's going to start a war."
"Let it."
Davina laughed—short, surprised, genuine. "You're insane."
"I've had a lot of time to get there."
She stood, dusting off her jeans. "Okay. Alliance. But I'm keeping my distance for now. I don't know you, and Marcel would lose his shit if he knew I was talking to an ancient vampire without supervision."
"Fair."
"And if you betray me," she added, power flickering in her eyes, "I'll find a way to make you regret it. Magic immunity or not."
"I believe you."
She walked toward the door, stopped, and looked back. "Roy?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For last night. For... seeing me as a person instead of a weapon. Not many people do that."
"You're welcome."
She left without another word, slipping into the night, her magical signature fading as she moved toward the French Quarter.
I stood in the empty warehouse, alone again, and realized something I hadn't expected:
I'd just made a friend.
Maybe. Sort of. A very cautious, potentially explosive, teenage witch friend who could blow up city blocks if she lost her temper.
But still. A friend.
And for the first time since waking up from that nightmare, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I wasn't completely alone anymore.
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