The French Quarter had always been a hive of activity where tourists flocked in the hundreds looking for a glimpse at a different life. A supernatural one, the odd chance to cross paths with a Witch, drink beside a Werewolf within a local bar, or be stalked by something more sinister at night; when the locals had left the Quarter, retreating to the safety of their homes…
For most, it was all just a myth! It was a fun way to add a little excitement or a thill, to their dull and dreary lives. They never truly believed it was real. They liked the fantasy. The thought of fear while remaining relatively safe. And while they partied hard to the wild notes of tuba, sax, trumpet and trombone; which rattled and hummed out from the doorways of vibrant bars and restaurant’s scattered all throughout the French Quarter, to add a sultry if not secretive seduction to the moist and heavily scented night air…
They never noticed what was hidden in plain sight.
They never noticed the group of French Quarter Witches walking west down along Bourbon street and why should they have. They were not dressed in black with ghoulish attire; if anything, they looked no different to the young couple who strolled hand in hand with the promise of their future strung like stars in their eyes; Or the group of party revellers, clowning around, laughing as they joked and jeered each other and the crowd upon the corner of Bourbon and St Louis Street.
Kol watched the Witches disappear around the bend and up along St Louis Street. He’d been deliberating with a night of fun and feasting, yet as he sat at the bar twisting his glass between his fingers so the dregs of bourbon pushed the melting ice to clink in crescendos against the side of the glass; he decided he suddenly didn’t feel so famished after all. Silently he rested the glass upon the worn wood of bars surface and rose, pushing back the barstool with his leg as he rummaged through his jeans pocket. Producing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill he tossed it onto the bar next to the empty glass and turned making his way to the door.
He’d heard upon the grapevine that the Witches had planned to do a ritual. A basic one meant to promote goodwill and positivity for the coming HexFest. It was something they did every year. But this year was different from every other. This year he was back, and un-daggered in New Orleans! This year, he had every intent on getting on the good side of the Witches. It had been his plan since Davina had brought him back from the dead. To have magic, and feel it course through his body once again. He’d had it for a while, only to have it stripped away just as quick by Finn and his bloody hex. It had felt worse than actually dying... It had only fuelled Kol’s desire, to find a spell; anyway, any loophole possible to restoring the powers he had lost when Ester and Mikeal had turned his Brothers, Sister and him into the monsters they had become. And then, if he was successful, he might be able to bring Davina back from the dead too.
As Kol stepped out onto the corner of Bourbon and St Louis, the Witches were no longer anywhere to be seen, but it didn’t take a genius to know exactly where they were headed! Kol’s lips curved into the beginnings of a smirk, and he set forth in a brisk walk along St Louis Street, towards N Rampart Street, from there it was a hop and jump to the St Louis 1st Cemetery. And by the time he got there… With any luck, they’d be just about ready to begin their Ceremony and he intended to have a front-row seat.
But that all changed, within minutes…
He’d barely made it to ‘N Rampart’ when a shrill scream cut through the sounds of the surging traffic ahead. Before the next scream had even the chance to resonate within the thick humid air; Kol had disappeared. Propelling himself forward, faster than the naked eye could fathom; he crossed the busy N Rampart street, dodging the oncoming traffic in both directions as if it was barely moving. And as the ball of his right foot pressed hard upon the dirty bitumen curb, he launched his body upwards into the air: propelling himself forward to scale the decaying brick wall that bordered the cemetery in a single bound.
Nimbly he landed in a crouch, upon the top of a crumbling mausoleum and gazed out across dark and formidable cemetery. It looked like a war zone! Random eruptions of mud and dirt exploding up and outwards into the air, followed by the blood-curdling screams, of the witches as the dirt and debris pelted back down like a torrential rain of mud upon them. It encased them instantly. Halting any possible escape! It was as if the dirt, the mud was gifted with a life, a force of its own.
He watched repulsed, as the dirt and debris then gathered forming tendrils of mud that creped and slithered like vines down across the decaying tombs. It pooled around the trapped witches’ feet and legs before slithering in circles upwards like a python; wrapping its body around its intended prey. He watched as the creature, the Golem slowly, intently began to swallow one after another of the witches whole…He watched as each of the witches were lined head to toe to become a part of a giant anaconda’s body and he knew he knew there was no way he could stop it. Not unless he knew who was controlling the Golem. Not unless he knew the reason that they had summoned it!
----Half an hour later in Algiers----
The old warehouse on Bouny Street seemed deserted at first glance. But Kol knew better! He knew that Marcel Gerald had an army of new Vampires, most of which he kept close by, just in case something should ever happen that he would need them; his loyal followers to be at his beck and call. He could feel their eyes upon him as he pulled the solid steel roller door of the warehouse open. And he ignored their angry whispers as he entered and made his way to the stairwell to take the steps leading up in twos.
“Marcel! I know you’re in here! I can hear you bloody breathing!” Kol yelled impatiently as he got to the top of the landing and let his gaze travel across the sparsely decorated common room. “If you’re responsible for what happened to the Witches, then I want to why! And if it’s not you… then we’ve got big trouble!” Irritated he glared at the newly turned woman lounging sullenly across the couch and smirked, tilting his head coldly, “You best clear off love! This might get a little bit nasty.” But before he could continue he heard the familiar footsteps of Marcel appearing at the top of the narrow set of stairs in the far end of the room, which led to his private quarters….
