The morning sun cut through the stained-glass windows of the old church, painting the dusty air in shafts of fractured color. It did little to warm the place. Marcel moved through the quiet pews, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He nodded once at Father Kieran, who stood near the altar. The priest met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them—a recognition of the fragile peace that was rapidly crumbling. Then Marcel moved on, descending the worn steps into the cellar.
The air changed instantly. It was cooler down here, thick with the scent of old books, dried herbs, and the sharp, ozone tang of potent magic. Davina was waiting for him, arms crossed, a deep frown etched on her young face.
"They're here," she said, not as a greeting, but as an accusation. "All of them. I can feel them. The air's been buzzing since they arrived. It's like… static before a lightning strike."
She paced in front of her worktable, cluttered with grimoires and candles. "And the magic! It's everywhere. A severing spell powerful enough to shake the ancestral plane, a massacre at The Rusty Nail that felt like a bomb going off… and you're just walking around like it's another day in the Quarter."
Marcel leaned against a heavy wooden support beam, his expression carefully neutral. "I know they're here, D."
"Knowing and doing something are two different things!" she shot back, stopping to face him. "This isn't just Klaus anymore. It's his whole damn family. The ones the stories are about. What's the plan, Marcel? Wait for them to get comfortable? Throw them a welcome party?"
"The plan," Marcel said, his voice low and steady, "is to not do anything stupid. Running at them head-on is what they want. It's what Klaus always wants. A messy fight. It's how he proves he's the biggest monster in the room."
He pushed off the beam and took a step toward her. "We're not doing that. We're smarter."
"Smarter feels a lot like slower," Davina countered, her frustration bubbling over. "And slower gets people killed. Your people.You. How long do we wait? Until they've turned the whole city against you?"
A muscle twitched in Marcel's jaw. "It's not about waiting. It's about picking the fight. Their strength is brute force. Ours is this city. We know it. We built the rules it runs on. They're going to break those rules, and when they do, that's when everyone who's loyal to us will see them for what they are: invaders. Destroyers. That's when we hit them."
Davina shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips. "That's a political plan. This isn't a election, Marcel. This is a war. And you're fighting with speeches while they have an army of immortals." She stepped right up to him, her eyes blazing with a power that far exceeded her years. "Let me handle them. My magic–"
"Your magic is what keeps you safe in this church," Marcel interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's what keeps you hidden from them. The moment you step out and throw the first punch, you become target number one. You think Kol Mikaelson, the Original Heretic, wouldn't love to get his hands on a witch as powerful as you? He'd siphon you dry just for the fun of it."
He placed his hands on her shoulders, his tone softening just a fraction. "I need you safe, D. You're my secret weapon. But a secret weapon you only use when you have no other choice. We're not there yet."
Davina searched his face, looking for a crack in his resolve, but found none. He believed in his strategy, in his control. She saw only a king trying to manage a crisis, blind to the tsunami about to wipe his kingdom off the map.
She pulled away from him, turning her back to stare at a flickering candle. "Fine," she said, the word clipped and cold. "Run your plays. But when your plan takes too long and this all blows up in our faces, don't say I didn't warn you."
Marcel watched her for a long moment, the weight of the city heavy on his shoulders. He knew she was partly right. But speed here was a trap. Klaus fed on chaos. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
"Just be ready," he said finally, and turned to climb the stairs back to the light, leaving the most powerful weapon he had simmering in the dark, frustrated and ready to ignite.
The morning sun felt harsh on Marcel's shoulders as he left the church, the conversation with Davina a sour taste in his mouth. He was so wrapped in his thoughts that the commotion at the gates of the Abattoir snapped him back to the present.
Two of his newer recruits, a man and a woman, had their backs to him, blocking the entrance. Standing before them, looking utterly unimpressed, was Lexi.
"And what, exactly, do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice cool and laced with amusement, as if watching children play at being soldiers.
"This is private property. You need to leave," the female vampire snapped, puffing out her chest.
Lexi actually chuckled, a soft, dangerous sound. "Oh, sweetheart. I was causing trouble in this city before your great-great-grandparents were a twinkle in anyone's eye. Now, you can get out of my way," she said, her tone dropping from amused to deadly serious in a heartbeat, "or I can move you. Your choice."
The two vampires shifted, ready for a fight they were too young to understand.
"Stand down!" Marcel's voice cut through the tension. He moved quickly, placing himself between his people and Lexi. He gave a sharp, dismissing jerk of his head to the two guards. They hesitated, then backed away, confusion and resentment on their faces.
Marcel turned to Lexi, his expression a carefully crafted mask of calm. "Lexi. Didn't expect to see you here."
"I bet you didn't," she replied, her eyes scanning the imposing facade of the Abattoir. "Look what you have done to the place. A little grim for my tastes, but you've clearly made yourself at home." Her gaze returned to him, sharp and knowing. "I'm here to see my brother. I assume you know where he is."
Marcel held her stare for a moment. This was it. The first direct move. Denying her would be a declaration of war, and he wasn't ready for that. Not here, not now. Appeasement. It was a bitter strategy, but it was the only one he had.
He forced a tight smile. "Of course. Family's important." He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter his home. "He's inside. Try not to break anything."
Lexi's smile was all teeth as she swept past him. "No promises, Marcel. It's been a very long time."
He watched her go, the heavy door closing behind her, sealing his fortress—and one of his deepest secrets—inside with a ghost from his past.