CHAPTER 3: MAKING DEALS WITH DEVILS
The standoff stretched like pulled wire, tension humming in the air between drawn weapons and uncertain allies.
Twenty vampires filled Davina's attic, each holding a stake aimed at Kol's chest. They'd moved with preternatural silence, coordinated as wolves in a pack. Marcel stood at their center, authority radiating from him in waves that had nothing to do with supernatural power and everything to do with two centuries of holding New Orleans in an iron grip.
Kol's vampire instincts screamed at him to move—fight or flee, violence or escape, anything but standing still while death pointed at his heart. But Marcus Chen's corporate training whispered different advice: assess the room, identify decision-makers, find leverage points, negotiate from a position of perceived strength even when you have none.
He raised his hands slowly, palms out, unthreatening. "Before we do something everyone regrets, can we talk? Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
Marcel's expression didn't shift. "Give me one reason not to stake you right now."
"Strategic partnership," Kol said, and watched confusion flicker across Marcel's face. "Mutual benefit. Risk mitigation. I know these aren't terms the old Kol would use, but that's rather the point, isn't it?"
Josh, still hovering by the doorway, made a strangled sound that might have been suppressed laughter.
"You trying to sell me something?" Marcel's tone held disbelief. "You sound like you're pitching a business deal."
"Because I am." Kol lowered his hands carefully, watching for any aggressive movement from the ring of vampires. None came. Marcel's control was absolute. "Look, I remember everything—centuries of experimentation, Klaus's betrayals, the dagger, all of it. But something changed during the resurrection. Whatever Davina's spell did, it's made me... different."
"Different how?" Marcel took a step forward. His vampires moved with him, a synchronized ripple.
Careful. One wrong word and this ends with wood through my heart.
"I'm not interested in chaos anymore," Kol said, choosing each word with precision. "The old Kol played games because he was bored. Made enemies for entertainment. Got people killed because he didn't particularly care about collateral damage." He met Marcel's eyes directly. "I care now. And I'm proposing we establish a mutually beneficial arrangement where my skills work to your advantage rather than becoming your next crisis."
Davina watched from beside the shattered window, tension evident in how her fingers curled, magic simmering just beneath her skin. Ready to defend him if this went wrong.
Marcel studied Kol for a long moment. "You're talking like a corporate recruiter, but I'm supposed to believe you're Kol Mikaelson? The same vampire who turned an entire coven into frogs because one witch looked at him wrong?"
"They were toads, actually," Kol corrected automatically, then winced. "Poor example. My point is I have resources you need. Magical knowledge, centuries of experience, and—" He gestured to where the grimoire floated near his shoulder. "Something new that might help with your witch problem."
That got everyone's attention. Twenty pairs of eyes fixed on the black leather book hovering in defiance of physics.
"What is that?" Marcel asked quietly.
"Show them," Davina said suddenly. "Prove you can help."
Kol glanced at her, surprised. She gave him a tiny nod, encouragement and challenge mixed together.
Right. Time to demonstrate value.
He reached for the grimoire, and it drifted into his hands without prompting. The moment his fingers touched the leather, information flooded his awareness—spells indexed and categorized, power reserves measured, new knowledge waiting to be absorbed.
"This," Kol said, opening the book, "is a grimoire that bonds to its wielder. It collects and stores spells, adapting them to my specific magical signature." The pages turned themselves, displaying intricate diagrams that glowed faintly in the dim light. "These are protection spells. Boundary magic. Ward-breaking techniques. Everything I've accumulated over a millennium of magical study."
Marcel leaned closer despite himself, fascination warring with suspicion. "And you're offering to use this for what, exactly?"
"Your Harvest situation." Kol kept his voice steady. "I know the ancestors are demanding the ritual. I know you're protecting Davina from them. I can help fortify her defenses, create wards that ancestral magic can't penetrate easily." He paused, then added, "I can also identify which witches in your Quarter are being influenced by the ancestors versus acting independently."
"How?" Marcel demanded.
The void sense prickled at the edge of Kol's awareness, responding to his focus. He closed his eyes and extended that strange new perception outward, feeling for the threads of magic woven through New Orleans' foundations.
There—ley lines crisscrossing beneath the city like veins of power. And flowing through them, watching, waiting: ancestral magic, hundreds of dead witches maintaining their grip on the living through channels carved into reality itself.
"Ancestral magic," Kol gasped, eyes snapping open. "I can feel them watching through the ley lines. There are focal points throughout the Quarter where their influence is strongest. The cemetery, obviously, but also... three other locations. They're monitoring witch activity, probably preparing to strike against anyone who opposes the Harvest."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Marcel exchanged glances with several of his lieutenants. Josh had stopped texting updates and was staring openly. Even Davina looked shocked.
"That's not possible," Marcel said slowly. "Vampires can't sense ancestral magic. We're cut off from that network."
"I'm not just a vampire anymore." Kol tapped the grimoire. "Whatever happened during my resurrection, it gave me access to magic that shouldn't exist. I can detect things others can't. Track spells. Sense supernatural presences." He met Marcel's eyes. "I can be your early warning system."
Please buy it. Please don't ask too many questions about how or why, just accept that it's useful and move on.
Marcel's jaw worked as he processed the offer. His hand had moved away from the stake at his belt, Kol noticed. That was progress.
"Here's my counter-proposal," Marcel said finally. "You help me with the Harvest situation. Protect my witches, fortify Davina's defenses, give me intelligence on ancestral movements. You do that, prove you're useful and not just a disaster waiting to happen, and I'll keep your resurrection quiet. Klaus doesn't need to know you're back until we're all ready for that particular conversation."
"Deal," Kol said immediately.
"I'm not finished." Marcel's expression hardened. "You step out of line, hurt anyone under my protection, cause unnecessary chaos—I'll stake you myself and explain to Klaus why his brother needed to die. Again."
Kol considered arguing, then decided acceptance was the smarter play. "Fair terms. I agree."
"I'll be your handler," Josh volunteered suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged, managing to look both nervous and determined. "Someone needs to keep tabs on him, report to Marcel if things go sideways. Might as well be me."
"Josh—" Marcel started.
"I'm volunteering," Josh insisted. "Besides, if the old Kol wanted to kill me, he'd have done it by now. New Kol seems marginally less homicidal."
"Marginally," Kol agreed with a faint smile. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
Davina pushed away from the window. "If Josh is involved, so am I. Kol's teaching me magic. I'm not backing off just because you're paranoid, Marcel."
Marcel looked between the three of them—vampire, witch, and whatever Kol had become—and Kol saw the calculation happening behind his eyes. Leverage versus risk. Control versus chaos. How many pieces can I move before the board tips?
"Fine," Marcel said. "But this is a probationary arrangement. You screw up once, the deal's void." He gestured to his vampires, and as one they lowered their stakes. "We clear?"
"Crystal," Kol said.
Marcel and his entourage filed out, boots heavy on the stairs. Josh lingered at the door. "I'll be back tomorrow to set up the whole handler situation. Try not to destroy anything else before then?" He glanced at the broken beam, the shattered windows, the crater in the floor. "Actually, forget I said that. Just try not to destroy anything important."
Then he was gone, and Kol and Davina were alone in the wreckage.
Davina crossed her arms, studying him with an intensity that made Kol want to squirm. "That was impressive. Terrifying, but impressive."
"Which part?"
"All of it. The negotiation, the corporate speak that made Marcel look confused, the way you sensed the ancestral magic." She tilted her head. "But mostly the part where you convinced him you're still Kol Mikaelson when you're obviously not."
Kol's stomach dropped. "I don't—"
"Don't lie," Davina interrupted quietly. "I've known Kol for months. I've studied his magic, learned from his grimoires, listened to his stories. You have his memories, his face, his power." She stepped closer. "But you're not him. Not really. So I'm asking one more time: who are you really?"
Truth or lies? Partial honesty or complete deception? She's already suspicious—one wrong answer and I lose the only genuine ally I have.
Kol met her eyes and made his choice.
"Honestly?" He sank onto the remains of the chair. "I'm still figuring that out."
Davina waited, magic crackling faintly around her hands. Not hostile. Just... ready.
"I have Kol's memories," Kol continued carefully. "All of them. His childhood, his siblings, his experiments, his deaths. But there's something else mixed in. Something from the void between worlds where my consciousness was drifting before you pulled me back." He gestured helplessly. "I don't know if I'm Kol with extra memories, or someone else wearing Kol's identity. The line's blurred."
It was the closest to truth he dared approach. A confession wrapped in ambiguity, honest enough to satisfy her but vague enough to protect his secret.
Davina studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She settled on the floor across from him. "You're honest about being confused. That's more than most people would admit." Her magic dimmed to a faint glow. "And you protected me from the ancestors. You negotiated with Marcel instead of fighting. You're trying to help." She met his eyes. "That's enough for now."
The grimoire, still resting on Kol's lap, emitted a low hum. Not quite a sound—more a vibration that resonated through his chest. Approval, he realized. The book was pleased with how this conversation had gone.
"Your grimoire likes me," Davina observed.
"Apparently." Kol ran his hand over the leather cover. "It has opinions about everything."
"Can I see it?"
Kol hesitated, then offered the book. Davina reached for it, and the moment her fingers brushed the cover, the grimoire snapped shut and drifted back to Kol's shoulder.
They both blinked at it.
"Possessive," Davina muttered.
"Soul-bound," Kol corrected, accessing the knowledge the book had shared. "Only I can use it. Anyone else who tries..." He trailed off, remembering the warning. "Let's just say it has defenses."
Davina's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "We should test that."
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, it'll be—"
"The answer is no, Davina."
She grinned, and for a moment the tension that had gripped them since Marcel's vampires invaded lifted. Just two magic users sitting in a destroyed attic, exhausted and uncertain, finding humor in the impossibility of their situation.
Outside, New Orleans hummed with its usual chaos—tourists in the Quarter, jazz drifting from clubs, vampires and witches and werewolves navigating their separate territories. Somewhere out there, Marcel was reporting to his people. The ancestors were planning their next move. And Klaus, distant but inexorable, was beginning to wonder about the impossible presence he'd sensed.
But for now, in this moment, Kol had bought himself time. An alliance, fragile as spun glass. A chance to figure out what he'd become and what he needed to do about it.
The grimoire hummed again, pages rustling though no wind touched them.
Kol opened the book and found a new message written in elegant script: Well done. First step complete. Now comes the hard part.
"What does it say?" Davina asked.
Kol closed the grimoire. "That we should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."
That, at least, was an understatement.
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