Chapter 26: The Prank War Escalates
The opera singers were Kol's idea.
"You need to go bigger," he said, sprawled on my warehouse couch like he owned it. "Klaus expects small pranks now. Time to traumatize him properly."
"Define properly."
"Public humiliation on a scale that makes him question his entire existence."
I grinned. "I'm listening."
Kol had been undaggered three weeks ago—Klaus's decision, apparently, because he wanted "family unity" for Hope. The result was chaos incarnate in a suit, and I loved him immediately.
"Fifty humans," Kol said, gesturing wildly. "Compel them to follow Klaus through the French Quarter. Singing opera. Dramatically."
"That's insane."
"That's the point!"
Rebekah, sitting across from us, laughed. "Nik will lose his mind. Do it."
So I did.
Klaus's POV came to me later through Marcel, who'd watched the entire thing with barely contained glee.
According to Marcel, Klaus had been walking through the French Quarter at sunset—his usual "brooding stroll," as Rebekah called it—when the first singer appeared.
A middle-aged man, stepping out of an alley, launching into "O Sole Mio" at full volume.
Klaus had stopped. Stared. Kept walking.
Then another singer appeared. And another. Within five minutes, Klaus had fifty people following him, all singing different opera pieces in perfect harmony, completely oblivious to the stares from tourists.
Klaus couldn't kill them—too many witnesses, too many cameras. Couldn't compel them to stop without breaking the masquerade. Couldn't even run without looking like he was fleeing from musical theater enthusiasts.
So he endured. An entire hour of walking through New Orleans with a chorus of compelled opera singers following him like deranged groupies.
By the time he reached the compound, Elijah was on the phone with Marcel, trying not to laugh.
"Your brother," Marcel had said between chuckles, "has a parade of singing admirers. It's magnificent."
Klaus's roar had echoed through the French Quarter.
I was at a café when Klaus found me, enjoying coffee I didn't need and watching the street.
He appeared across the table like a thundercloud given human form.
"You," he snarled.
"Me," I agreed, sipping coffee calmly.
"Fifty humans. Opera. Following me for an HOUR."
"Did you enjoy the show?"
"You will PAY for this!"
"Looking forward to it."
He left in a fury. I finished my coffee, paid, and went home grinning like an idiot.
Klaus's revenge came two days later.
I walked into a bar near the warehouse district—one of my usual spots—and froze.
Everyone in the bar had Marcel's face.
Not masks. Not makeup. Actual Marcel faces on different bodies, all staring at me with identical expressions of confusion.
"What the hell?" one Marcel said.
"Is this a vampire thing?" another Marcel asked.
I blinked. Focused my magical senses. Found the illusion spell wrapped around my perception like a blanket.
Klaus hired a witch.
I raised my hand, concentrated, and shattered the illusion with a pulse of tribrid magic. The bar returned to normal—dozen different faces, all equally confused about why I'd been standing in the doorway looking horrified.
"Nice try," I muttered, pulling out my phone.
I called Klaus. He answered on the first ring, laughing.
"How was the bar?" he asked innocently.
"Creative. But I'm a witch now too. Want to compare magic?"
The laughing stopped. "You're insufferable."
"Says the man who compelled an entire opera company."
"That was YOU!"
"Exactly. Escalation, Klaus. You taught me well."
I hung up. Heard something crash in the background before the call disconnected.
Worth it.
Kol and Rebekah ambushed me three days later with a plan so absurd I almost said no.
Almost.
"Drawings," Kol said, barely containing his glee. "Compromising drawings. Of Klaus. Everywhere."
"Everywhere?"
"His studio. His bedroom. The courtyard. The kitchen." Rebekah grinned. "We'll compel artists to draw him in... unfortunate situations. Then plaster them across the compound."
"That's evil."
"That's inspired," Kol corrected. "You're in?"
"Obviously."
We executed the plan at 3 AM. Fifty drawings, all professionally done, all depicting Klaus in situations ranging from embarrassing to outright ridiculous. Klaus the ballet dancer. Klaus cuddling with bunnies. Klaus in a dress. Klaus crying over spilled milk.
We hung them everywhere.
Klaus woke up to artwork covering every surface of the compound.
His roar shook the building.
Elijah found us in the courtyard, trying not to laugh as Klaus tore down drawings with increasing fury.
"Are you twelve-year-olds?" Elijah demanded, though his lips twitched. "Must I separate you?"
"He started it," I said.
"You compelled fifty people to sing opera!" Klaus shouted from inside.
"You made me see thirty Marcels!"
"THAT WAS FUNNY!"
Kol was doubled over laughing. "Oh, I like this new addition to family. He makes Nik wonderfully unhinged!"
I high-fived him. Rebekah joined in, making it a three-way celebration of Klaus's suffering.
Klaus emerged from the compound, holding a particularly unflattering drawing of himself in a tutu. "This. Ends. Now."
"Does it?" I asked innocently.
"Yes. I'm declaring a truce."
"You're surrendering?"
"I'm being the mature one!"
"First time for everything," Rebekah muttered.
Klaus threw the drawing at her. She caught it, laughing.
Elijah massaged his temples. "I've lived a thousand years. Survived wars, plagues, and family drama that would break most people. And yet somehow, watching you three prank my brother is the most exhausting thing I've ever experienced."
"You love it," Kol said.
"I tolerate it. There's a difference."
But he was smiling. Just a little.
Later, after everyone had left and I was back at the warehouse, Marcus cornered me.
"You know you're basically part of their family now, right?" he said.
"What? No. We're just—"
"You prank Klaus with his siblings. You protect Hope like she's your own kid. You have bourbon with Elijah and chaos sessions with Kol. You're family, Roy."
I sat down heavily. "That's not what I planned."
"Plans change. You came here for revenge. You stayed for something better."
"I haven't forgiven Esther and Mikael."
"No. But you've found something worth protecting beyond revenge. That's growth."
Marcus left me alone with that thought.
I sat in the warehouse, thinking about opera singers and illusion spells and drawings of Klaus in tutus. About Hope's tiny hand gripping my finger. About Elijah's bourbon and Kol's chaos and Rebekah's genuine joy when Klaus suffered.
I'd come to New Orleans planning vengeance. Planning to make Esther and Mikael scream the way they'd made me scream.
Instead, I'd accidentally found family.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
Neither was the warmth that came with it.
Maybe revenge could wait a bit longer.
Maybe this—pranks and bourbon and protecting an innocent baby—maybe this was worth more than a thousand years of rage.
We'll see, I told myself.
But I was smiling as I thought it.
And that had to count for something.
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