Chapter 1: A Message from Beyond

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He had not returned to Chicago in quite some time. The city didn't hold as much importance as New Orleans, a city which his family had practically built, but Chicago was a place that Elijah Mikaelson certainly enjoyed. He truly saw, for the first time in his long life, how special it was in the year 1893. And like many who had flocked to the city then, he saw how, like a phoenix, Chicago had risen from the ashes after the Great Fire had destroyed much of it just 22 years before.

There was an almost tangible "Chicago spirit," which Elijah felt when he and Rebekah had arrived. 1893 was the year of the Chicago World's Fair. He had never experienced such a thing with New Orleans—perhaps because the southern city's own soul never truly welcomed the Original family.

The World's Fair was held in celebration of the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World. It was probably one of the most memorable events in Elijah's long life. It was hard not to let years fly by, the decades, too. Some centuries moved far faster than others. And more often than not, he'd been busy chasing after his younger brother, Niklaus, trying to yank him back onto the correct path. Or, Elijah was busy just trying to keep his family together in general.

Rebekah had woken up a little over five years earlier. She'd been in her coffin for 52 years, and to say that she was furious with Klaus was an understatement. Which is why Elijah had swooped in to reintegrate her into society himself. The early 19th century was very different than the latter part. There were too many advances to count—in fields like science and art.

And so, in order for her to help keep her mind off of their brother and Marcel, the man whom Rebekah wasn't going to get over any time soon, Elijah stuck by his fair sister's side quite closely. Five years went by more like five days, and wanting to change their scenery, Elijah took his sister north to Chicago.

The Fair was a welcome distraction. Among new inventions like the long-distance telephone, which had transmitted the sounds of a live orchestra all the way from New York City; to things that might seem unimportant now, like the first zipper, or that gum called Juicy Fruit, and that beer, which had won the exposition's top beer award—none other than Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Silly little marvels like the locomotive made of spooled silk, the suspension bridge built out of Kirk's Soap, and the giant map of the United States made of pickles helped improve Rebekah's mood. Besides the Fair, she and her brother even had a chance to visit the hotel, which was later dubbed "Murder Castle," and mess with America's first serial killer—certainly a one of a kind experience.

Since 1893, Elijah had been back to Chicago a few times but never for a prolonged stay. He hadn't had a reason to. Now, present day, he did, and he was in search of a girl.

When he found her, he didn't make himself known immediately. That was not how he did things. He thought his decisions through, step by step, never simply rushed in, not like Niklaus did. The original hybrid had no idea that his older brother was in the Windy City—and it was going to stay that way. For now, at least. This was very important.

This girl was apparently important. How exactly? Elijah had no idea. Why? That too was unknown. And if her importance held any truth behind it? That was uncertain as well, for the person who had told him of this girl was the young, up and coming psychic named Benjamin Henry.

Until a little over a week ago, Elijah had no idea who the kid was. He didn't watch TV. It was the one human invention that had never interested him. Books had always been the type of entertainment he preferred. So Elijah definitely had no idea of the show "Tinseltown Medium," which aired on E!.

Benjamin had called Elijah in the middle of the night on a cell phone that the vampire kept reserved only for callers who were close to him, such as his siblings, or the few people who were probably considered his friends.

So, it was strange that this boy had called Elijah. But even crazier was the fact that Benjamin claimed a ghost had given him Elijah's number and had insisted that the young psychic call this Mr. Mikaelson. As soon as possible.

So Benjamin didn't dillydally.

This hadn't happened to him before.

The legend of the Mikaelsons, the first vampires, particularly Klaus, never passed by Benny's innocent ears. He had had his gift since he was quite small, and he'd always known that there was a dark side to the supernatural world, but he never tried finding it. Benny kept to the light, to the great Spirit, and strove to do good, to help people.

As worried as he was, that's the only thing he sought to do. To deliver a message to this "Elijah."

###

The boy lived in a nice condo with his mother in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. The success of his show was slowly propelling him upward within the industry. He was still a deer in headlights, green as they came, awed by every gift basket and every perk that included free clothes and free passes to that party or that movie premiere.

But Benny was the real deal, despite rumors and conspiracy videos on YouTube about how he might've been a fraud.

He'd given readings to none other than the Kardashians and to other famous names, such as Carmen Electra, Matt Lauer, Chad Michael Murray, Meghan Fox, Kristin Cavallari—the list went on.

He knew that there were a lot of people who thought that his show's episodes were craftily edited, but the kid had a legit sight. It was just that Benny wasn't yet a master of honing his spirit-sensing antenna.

One critic called the kid a "grief vampire." So, it was going to be ironic when later Benny would find out that the spirit, which had woken him up in the middle of the night, had him call an actual vampire.

The best place to meet someone in L.A., someone that you've never met before, was at a coffee shop, a public place. Cafes were a go-to. It made Benny feel marginally more relaxed as opposed to meeting somewhere like a park, or some other place that would have had fewer people. This Elijah guy—who had caught an immediate flight from somewhere else—thankfully hadn't insisted on any other meeting spot.

The boy sat outside on the bustling patio of the Urth Caffé, which was on Melrose. He always sat outside, anyway, and he figured that today it was a good place to bolt from if he had to. No doors that would he'd need to shove his way through.

With black Raybans on, his light red hair catching a ray of sun that slipped past the edge of the green umbrella overhead, Benny waited, his hand around his cold taro smoothie. He couldn't get himself to drink it. His stomach was doing flips. His freckled face was sweating.

His mother had driven him there, and he told her he was meeting a client, a non-celebrity client but an important one. Although his mother was his manager and knew of every appointment he had, insisting that he was going to meet said client there at the cafe was enough for his mother to trust him and drive off, promising to be back whenever he called her.

Benny was a naturally nervous boy, still working on the calm confidence that was expected out of most psychics, but this wasn't a normal client meeting. Ghosts didn't contact him by themselves regularly, especially not about random people across the country. Yet because he knew his ability was true, he knew that this was real. Elijah Mikaelson didn't have any social media, but that didn't mean ghosts usually pranked Benny either.

"Hello."

He heard the voice behind him and jumped, gasping, a hand to his heart. The boy had been expecting to see Elijah come toward the front entrance of the cafe, off of the street, which the boy sat facing. Startled, he watched the man in the crisp, dark gray suit and dark red tie walk around the table to the chair opposite of him. Benny quickly took off his sunglasses and put them down.

He smiled wide in his nervousness and said, "Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Benjamin, I presume?" Elijah said smoothly, extending a hand. Benny took it with his own clammy one, received a brief squeeze, and then the man was sitting down.

Elijah might've been a producer, or a CEO, judging by his appearance. He wore designer from his shiny shoes to his glinting cufflinks. He would've fit right into Beverly Hills, that was for sure. Benny just wore a hip, plaid button-down and skinny jeans, and felt very underdressed.

He tried so hard not to look jittery, but the smile on his pink face was strained. His hand immediately went back to his lap and his other held the taro drink tighter. "Call m-me Benny."

"Benny then," Elijah said. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes especially. "Call me Elijah, please." He was completely unaffected by the anxiety that emanated from the skinny boy. Judging by how he'd sounded on the phone, Elijah already had an idea of what to expect before he'd arrived.

Benny cleared his throat. "Do you want something to drink before—"

"No, thank you," Elijah answered coolly.

"O-OK." The boy finally let go of his smoothie and pushed it aside. The light purple contents were already melting, separating at the bottom of the plastic cup. The man never broke eye contact with him. "Were you, uh, in Chicago?"

"Chicago? No," Elijah said. He shifted slightly to lean forward, one hand, in a weak fist, on the round table. "Why don't you repeat what you told me on the phone? All of the details."

"I, uh—" Benny's blue eyes danced around, paranoid, but no one was paying attention to them.

Slim-bodied, fit actors and actresses gushed about auditions, or bitched about bad ones, over cold press juices; hipsters with handlebar mustaches raved about the new purple diesel strain of weed available in some dispensary, while eating veggie burgers; men, who were casually dressed as the guys with Hollywood connections, bought lunch for green, pretty young girls, new to L.A. The reality was that these men were all talk, and the poor ladies had no idea.

"All right. S-so—" Benny lowered his gaze. Elijah hardly blinked. Benny couldn't look at him while he spoke. His tone was so quiet, he was practically whispering, but Elijah appeared to hear him despite the chatter and the noise from the busy street.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. And-and just did what I was asked to, uh, do—to call you."

"Was the spirit malevolent?" Elijah asked.

"Oh, no. No, no." Benny glanced up at him in a fraction of a second. "Just...persistent. So I couldn't go back to sleep. It gave, um, it gave me your number, I wrote it all down and told me to call you. And then it told me some stuff about your family so that you would believe me if you asked."

Elijah was silent and that prompted the boy to continue. Benny stared at one of the cross hatches in the surface of the table.

"Your younger sister, Rebekah. Your young—younger brother Nik—uh—Nikalus?"

"Niklaus," Elijah corrected.

"Right. Niklaus. And you have a couple of other siblings, but...the spirit said they weren't around... Um, they passed away?" He spoke quicker. The man didn't confirm this. Benny hurried on. "The spirit told me you're from Sweden or—I mean, Norway, and you guys have "been around a long time," or something. I don't know what that means." Another quick glance.

"Just go on," Elijah said. He was patient but didn't want to waste time.

"So, it said I had to call you and tell you something, but I had to tell you in person."

Elijah leaned an inch forward. "What is it?"

Benny instinctively leaned back. But then he was digging in the pocket of his jeans to pull out a piece of paper that was folded neatly several times.

As he unfolded it, the words rushed out of his mouth. "It told me that there was this person, this, uh, girl, I don't know if you know her, but she's in Chicago, and you should find her, because she's got something to do with your family, I don't know what exactly, only that she's, like, OK this is going to sound weird," Benny gestured with a hand, lowering his voice, as Elijah took the paper and looked down at it, "the spirit said that she's got to do with "your family's salvation" or something?" Sounding unsure, Benny narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

The paper had scribbles that were barely legible—the message that Benny had written down:

Elizaveta Belova. Chicago. Salvation. Save—scratched—help the Mikaelson family. Condition. Medical? Disease. Event?

"Or something?" Elijah said, finally some sort of color entering his voice—that of minor exasperation. "That's it? That's all it said?"

"Yes, that's it," Benny insisted, his eyes jumping from the paper to Elijah's face, back and forth, swiftly.

The man started to scoff, and that prompted Benny further.

"Look, it doesn't work like...texting someone, or calling them. Most of the time I don't even get words. It's just feelings, or images. I don't think this spirit was..." A pause.

"What?" Elijah looked at him with such intensity that Benny raised his hands as if to shield his face.

Then he lowered his head to whisper again. "This...spirit was from another country. I'm pretty sure. And spoke in a language I don't understand, so I did my best...to interpret with what I was receiving. I am pretty sure that it said something...was wrong with your family like, uh, like, uh," Benny looked away, lowering his hands and gesturing to himself with a grimace, "like something genetic, or something with your blood. I don't know. Maybe—"

"A health issue?" Elijah offered cryptically.

"Yes!" Benny answered. "That was the feeling I was getting. So, it said that this girl could help, or something. And that's all I got. So, if you want to find her, go ahead. The spirit wanted you to. I only got a name and a location, so that's all I can give you. I really hope this doesn't turn freakier than this already is."

Elijah looked down at the paper once more. It had the name, Elizaveta Belova and Chicago underlined several times, the pen strokes hard.

"I've met many psychics in my life, but none as young as you, Benny," he drawled, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Benny was silent for a moment, holding his breath. "I'm not going to, uh, charge you or anything. But if you...uh, want an actual session..."

There was a stirring from a table nearby. Elijah glanced in that direction and then he was standing up, cutting Benny off.

"I'll be in touch." He put the paper away inside his suit jacket. "Thank you. I would like you to not mention this to anyone, Benjamin. Unless you already have."

Sensing a warning, Benny waved his hands, looking up at him. "Nope. Nope. I swear. My mom just knows I'm with a client. I see clients all the time. Feel, uh, feel free to call me any time—"

"Oh my God, are you Benjamin Henry?" someone called to Benny's right. It was a woman, maybe a tourist, judging how un-L.A. she looked, dressed in an I love Cali t-shirt. She was with three more people, one of them a man with a fanny pack.

"I saw you on TV!" another woman said.

"Uh, y—yeah!" Benny said, unable to recover from the distraction as the group flocked to him, clearly huge fans. It threw him off completely. "But, one second, I'm in the middle of a session with—with a client."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the first woman.

"Wait, what client?" said the second.

Benny looked back at Elijah. Only the man was no longer there. The boy rose in his seat, quickly scanning the cafe's patrons, the people on the sidewalk, the other side of the street. The strange, suited man was nowhere in sight.

The boy couldn't help a chill that ran down his arms, in the form of gooseflesh, and he swallowed hard. He didn't pay attention to one of the women, who asked next: "Do you...think we could get an autograph?"

###

Presently, Elijah was right across from Adagio Teas, much like a stalker, but no one really noticed him, as he watched the girl inside the little shop. She wore an apron and tended to a few customers who were buying said tea. There were locals and tourists. Tourists who had the big pockets. There wasn't a moment of pause in business, not until the day started to wind down.

Elijah had dinner at an Italian place called Osteria via Stato, on its front patio, across the street. The early spring breeze was a bit chilly, but he didn't mind at all, even though the waiter turned on the heat lamp for him.

There was nothing remarkable about the girl, not at first glance, anyway. She was just a girl, who was in her twenties, he hazarded a guess. His sister Rebekah was beautiful and fair. This girl had a different sort of prettiness—of course, she was human. All vampires had a different quality, an unearthly one. Humans had a natural warmth to them because they were, well, alive.

Elizaveta appeared of his sister's height, maybe a bit shorter, had long, light brown hair, which was tied back in a half ponytail, and those slightly round, high cheeks that were a characteristic of eastern European women.

There were other particular features, but Elijah didn't have that great a look despite his superb vampire senses. Cars passed up and down State St, and by the time it neared 7 o'clock, when the shop would close, traffic was in full swing. Cars obscured his sight and honks muffled his hearing.

He watched until the sun started to go down. A homeless man or two meandered past and asked for change, and Elijah ignored them. It was a group of teenaged girls, who were whispering him—staring off like that, vacantly—who jarred him. He heard them quite clearly without having to look, annoyance slipping onto his pale, angular face, and he took it as his cue to finally get the check and make his way across.

The long building had other shops to either side, and Elijah vaguely remembered that the structure had been there in 1893. He was sure that it had shops then too. But instead of bulky cars that drove by now, it was horse-drawn carriages back then.

As much as he missed that old Chicago, he enjoyed the clean lines of the modern era. During the end of the 19th century, there was still gas-powered illumination and a perpetual smog throughout the city. Elijah remembered how the streetlamps made the smoke glow yellow at dusk. Now, there was an electric light bulb as he looked up at a lit lamp.

A jingle sounded upon his arrival.

There was a couple there, shopping for tea. The girl was helping them. An older lady, who was in her 50s, despite her bright attire, was seemingly searching in the stockroom in the back, the door wide open, while a few other customers waited on her to the other side of the shop.

"If you're looking for a gift, these are nice..." he heard the girl say, saw her leading the couple to a display stand that had different tins stacked, each with a different zodiac sign, which had a type of tea. "Do you know what sign your friend is?"

Elijah nonchalantly strode to the closest wall, left of the entrance, where neat packages of tea hung in rows, the orange labels reading Black upon closer inspection. There were dozens upon dozens of black teas. The man busied himself with seeing all the types.

He was most definitely a tea drinker. He did

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