❧ ghostly issues pt 1 ❧

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Amalie had been drawing, her fingers stained with charcoal, the smudges trailing up her skin like ink bleeding into paper. She had been doing this more often lately—sketching for hours, letting the act of creating something tangible ground her whenever everything else felt untethered. A cup of tea sat forgotten at her elbow, long gone cold.

A part of her—the part she would never admit aloud—wanted to draw her soulmates. Or at least, the ones she had met so far. Elijah, Klaus...maybe even Rebekah. She still didn't know what Rebekah looked like, but that didn't stop her from wondering, from trying to imagine her. It was foolish. So, instead, she settled on drawing the places they might have known, the kinds of streets that carried their echoes.

Her sketchbook was filled with quiet, empty neighborhoods—the old kind, tucked away in forgotten corners of small European towns. She traced out rows of brick buildings with awnings stretched over doorways, flowerboxes overflowing with untamed vines, lampposts holding up banners that had long since faded. She added benches beneath them, where people might have once sat, lovers whispering promises, strangers sharing fleeting moments before parting forever.

Max had been quiet, watching her, his presence as familiar as the sound of charcoal scraping against paper. She was used to it, the way he lingered, drifting between restless energy and thoughtful silence. But tonight, there was something different about the way he held himself—like he was balancing on the edge of a question, uncertain if he wanted to tip forward.

And then, he spoke.

"Do you ever think about making us tangible?"

Amalie's fingers stilled mid-stroke. The unfinished line on the page suddenly looked too sharp, too final.

She hadn't expected that.

Her mind took a second to catch up, still tangled in the architecture of her drawing. She turned slightly, glancing at Max. He was sitting in the chair near the window—the one she had purposefully placed there for him or Ana to sit in and watch the day pass. The light from outside cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the faint, restless movement of his jaw. His fingers tapped absently against the armrest, betraying a tension he didn't quite let reach his expression.

There was something in his face—hesitation, maybe regret. Like he didn't know why he had asked the question in the first place, or perhaps he didn't really want the answer.

"You know that I don't have the power to do that," she said finally, exhaling the words like a breath she had been holding too long.

She dipped her gaze back down to the page, letting the charcoal move again, dragging it along the paper in slow, deliberate strokes. She blended out the shadows with her fingers, deepening the depth of the doorway, smudging the edges of the awning until it looked worn.

"But if you did..." Max spoke again, his voice quieter this time, like he was treading carefully. He hesitated, then, "Would you?"

The question sat between them, heavier than it had any right to be.

She didn't understand why he was asking. It was hypothetical, and hypotheticals usually had some foundation in reality. This didn't. There was no if—no thread of possibility that could make the question worth considering.

Still, she sighed, shifting slightly, her fingers smearing the charcoal lines she had just finished.

"You know that I wish you were real, right?" She said, like it was obvious, like she had said it a hundred times before. "That you could go out and have a life of your own, without being tied to anyone."

It wasn't really an answer.

She didn't say yes.

Max didn't push her for more.

Instead, he just nodded, slow and mechanical, his eyes flickering back to the window. The light from outside reflected in the glass, muting his expression, turning him into just another shadow in the room.

Amalie watched him, charcoal hovering just above the paper. He didn't seem to notice her stare.

Something was wrong.

It had been wrong for a while now—ever since he had started passing out, ever since he and Ana had started sneaking around. And now this?

She didn't want to let the feeling settle, didn't want to acknowledge the unease curling at the edges of her mind, but it was there. A quiet nagging, a knot tightening in her gut.

Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe Ana and Max had just grown closer to Jeremy and wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe that was all it was.

But even as she told herself that, the feeling didn't go away.

###

It had been two days since that conversation, and that feeling in Amalie's gut hadn't gone away. 

If anything, it had gotten worse.

Max was hovering. More than usual. More than he had in the past ten years.

He was there—constantly. He insisted on coming with her everywhere. Lunch with Jenna at the Grill, dinners at the Gilbert house, which Jenna had invited her to while Elena was off with her friends. He never used to care about things like that.

Before, he drifted in and out at his own pace, appearing when something interested him or when he had nothing better to do. He had never been predictable. That was just how Max was. But now, he was watching her. Tracking her. She could feel it in the way he kept inserting himself into her days without an excuse.

And then there was Rebekah.

Since that phone call, the Original had been texting her, the messages coming through from Klaus' phone because Rebekah didn't have one of her own. That would change soon. Amalie had already decided she was going to buy Rebekah a phone once they met, once they officially met. It was a small thing, insignificant, but it mattered. A phone meant connection. Autonomy. It meant Rebekah wouldn't have to rely on someone else to reach her.

And according to Klaus, they would be meeting soon. She had only just gotten the text—We're driving back tonight.

Apparently, Stefan had been a little cagey with something, and the hybrid had grown suspicious. Amalie knew exactly what it was—Elena was alive. Klaus had been under the impression that the doppelganger had died during the ritual, that her blood had ensured his ability to become a hybrid and create more. But now, he knew something wasn't right.

She should have expected it. She had expected it. And yet, jealousy curled low in her stomach, tightening like an iron vice. It wasn't jealousy of Elena—not in the way it might have been for someone else. Amalie knew better than anyone that Klaus didn't care about the girl beyond what she represented. No, this jealousy was something uglier, something pettier.

Klaus' attention was elsewhere. He wasn't coming back for her. He wasn't returning because he missed her, because he wanted to see her, because he had been thinking about her in the same way she had been thinking about him. He was coming back because Elena was alive, and that changed everything.

That shouldn't have mattered.

But it did.

The sudden vibration of her phone in her palm jolted her from her thoughts, the sound sharp, invasive, an unwelcome intrusion.

She sighed, pulling it from her pocket with one hand, already prepared to ignore whoever it was. But then she saw the name on the screen—Bonnie.

Amalie rolled her eyes.

Bonnie was nice, sure. But she was nice in the way that people could be when they didn't actually trust you. Like holding a blade behind their back, just in case. Amalie had no interest in whatever crisis the Scooby Gang was dealing with today. She had enough on her plate without being dragged into Mystic Falls' latest life-or-death drama.

Still, she answered.

"How'd you get my number?" She asked, skipping past the formalities.

There was a brief pause before Bonnie's voice came through the other end, rushed and breathless. "Damon gave it to me."

Amalie's brows furrowed at the tone of her voice—frantic, like she was moving fast. The faint sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the background, the sharp tap of shoes against pavement, the rustle of fabric shifting with every step. Amalie could hear it all, thanks to her supernatural senses, and none of it made her feel any better.

"What's going on?" She asked, her voice losing its earlier edge.

"Do you know where Jeremy is?" Bonnie demanded, cutting straight to the point. "He's not answering my calls."

Amalie exhaled, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. Jeremy. Right. Of course, this was about him. "I'm not really keeping tabs on teenagers, Bonnie."

"This isn't a joke, Amalie!" Bonnie snapped, and there was something sharp, something desperate in the way she said it. "Do you know where he is or not?"

That made Amalie pause. Bonnie was always serious, but this was different. This wasn't annoyance or frustration—this was fear.

She could ask. She could demand to know why Bonnie was calling her, of all people, why she sounded like she was barely keeping it together. But she doubted Bonnie would tell her, and honestly? Amalie wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions.

"I do not," she answered instead, her voice even, careful.

And it was true. She hadn't heard from Jeremy in a while. Too long, now that she thought about it.

Bonnie let out a frustrated breath, muttering something under her breath that Amalie couldn't quite catch before the call abruptly ended.

Amalie pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen for a beat, watching as the call timer disappeared, replaced by her lock screen.

She hesitated for half a second before tapping on Jeremy's contact, bringing the phone back up to her ear. The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

It went to voicemail.

She exhaled sharply, ending the call and dialing again.

Ringing.

Still no answer.

Her grip tightened around the phone.

"Come on, Jeremy," she muttered, more to herself than anything.

She tried a third time.

Voicemail. Again.

Her jaw clenched as she lowered the phone, staring down at his name on the screen like it might suddenly offer her an explanation.

This wasn't good.

###

This was bad. Like, colossal, end-of-the-world bad. Jeremy had somehow managed to get himself kidnapped by Katherine and Damon, and Ana wasn't even sure she wanted to know how it happened. Knowing would probably just make her angrier. And Max was still being contacted by some witch bitch who wanted Amalie dead—not exactly comforting information. And the worst part? Amalie was getting suspicious. Of course, she was, she wasn't stupid.

Amalie had asked her about Max the other day while he was out doing whatever it was that he did. She hadn't known what to say, so she just said that something was going on in Max's personal life. He never really talked about his family, so it was a good excuse. But, of course, she was horrible at lying—keeping secrets was something she was good at, but lying was different—so that didn't help the situation in the slightest.

Ana was starting to believe her afterlife was cursed. Maybe it was part of the Everhart curse. Maybe she should have taken a cosmic hint the first time a ghost tried to shank her for not passing along their vengeance demands. Whatever the case, she was certain of one thing: this mess was bad.

Jeremy was slumped over a battered picnic table at a random rest stop in the middle of Virginia. His head lolled to the side, unconscious. Katherine stood nearby, leaning against another table with her arms crossed, exuding an air of irritating confidence. Damon paced a few steps away, his face pulled into a scowl as he muttered something about how this plan was a waste of time. Typical.

Ana sat beside Jeremy on the picnic table, her presence unnoticed by the two vampires. She fidgeted with her hands, fingers twisting together as her gaze darted between Katherine and Damon. She didn't like either of them—never had, never would. Katherine had ruined Amalie's life, and Damon was...well, Damon. Ana didn't need to see the future to know this wasn't going to end well.

"Honestly, what are they even doing?" She muttered to herself, her voice a whisper on the wind that only Jeremy could hear when he woke up.

Katherine straightened, her eyes narrowing at Damon. "We need him conscious if this is going to work," she snapped, flicking a perfectly manicured nail toward Jeremy's limp form.

Damon stopped pacing and turned to her, his arms spread wide in exasperation. "And what exactly is 'this'?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because right now, this feels like a very elaborate way to waste my time."

Katherine rolled her eyes, her expression unimpressed. "We're going to get him to contact Anna," she said with the kind of confidence that suggested this was the only logical plan in the world.

Ana stiffened at the mention of Anna's name. Her gut twisted uncomfortably as she realized where this was heading. Katherine knew. Of course, she did. She had probably posed as Elena to manipulate someone into spilling Jeremy's secret—that he could see ghosts.

Jeremy stirred then, letting out a low groan as he slowly blinked awake. His head rose sluggishly, his expression dazed as he glanced around. When his eyes landed on Ana sitting beside him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Jeremy, don't say anything stupid," Ana said quickly, her voice low and warning. She shifted her weight on the table, her fingers still fidgeting nervously.

"We need you to contact Anna," Katherine said, cutting straight to the point. Her voice was sharp, impatient, as she leaned toward Jeremy with a predatory glint in her eyes. "She knows something about a weapon to kill Klaus.

Jeremy frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I haven't seen Anna since she died," he said, his tone defensive.

Damon let out a bark of laughter, throwing his hands up in mock disbelief. "Then what's the point of you seeing the dead if you can't see whoever you want?" He snapped. "Honestly, Gilbert, you've got one job, and you're bad at it."

Ana bristled, her frustration bubbling over. She glared at Damon, though he couldn't see her, and muttered under her breath, "You're lucky I can't shove a ghostly stake through your heart."

Jeremy's attention shifted to Ana, his expression softening as he caught the nervous look on her face. She was twisting her fingers together, her lips pressed into a thin line. She clearly knew something, and she was debating whether to share it.

"I'm not gonna help them," Ana said firmly, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. She shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement.

Jeremy sighed, trying to reason with her. "No, it's okay to help," he said gently.

Katherine and Damon exchanged confused glances at his one-sided conversation.

"I don't care," Ana shot back, her voice rising. Her dark eyes locked onto Jeremy's. "If they kill Klaus, Amalie dies. She can't die." The words came out in a rush, as though saying them would somehow make him understand the weight of her decision.

"What's she saying?" Damon asked, his tone impatient.

"It's not Anna," Jeremy muttered, shaking his head.

"Well then who is it?" Katherine demanded, her eyes narrowing. "And can they help?"

"She doesn't want to help you," Jeremy replied, his voice dripping with defiance as he shot Katherine a glare.

Katherine leaned closer to Damon, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My advice? If you want to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs."

Damon hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he stepped toward Jeremy. "I just want you to know, Jer, it's nothing personal." Then, without warning, he grabbed Jeremy's head and slammed it into the table.

Jeremy cried out, clutching his nose as blood trickled down his face. "Ow! What the hell?" He yelled, his voice muffled by his hands.

"Hey, Casper," Damon said, glancing around at the empty air. "I know you can hear me. Tell us what you know. The sooner, the better for little Gilbert here."

Ana stared at Jeremy, her mind racing. If she gave them nothing, they might hurt him more—or kill him. But if she told them the truth, it would lead to Mikael, and that would put Amalie in danger. And Amalie didn't need any other threats right now. Her chest tightened as she weighed her options.

Finally, she relented. "They're looking for Mikael," she said quietly.

"Mikael?" He repeated, not understanding.

"Mikael," Damon echoed, his brow furrowing. "Who the hell is Mikael?"

Ana hesitated, her voice steady but grim. "A vampire who hunts vampires. You don't want to wake him. He'll kill all of you."

Jeremy relayed the warning, his voice shaky. "He's a vampire and a Hunter. Waking him would be suicidal." Then he turned to Ana, confused. "What do you mean, wake him?"

###

"I found them," Max announced the moment he flickered back into view inside Amalie's apartment. His tone was light, almost casual, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. "They're at the school."

Amalie barely let him finish before she was moving, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.

Max followed, continuing as they walked. "Klaus and Rebekah are there too," he added, glancing sideways at her like he was gauging her reaction. "Oh, and Tyler? Dead-ish. Bonnie and Matt are trying to find a fix before he stays that way permanently."

She nodded, processing the information as they moved. Klaus and Rebekah. The words sent a strange flutter through her chest, a mixture of anticipation and something deeper.

Ten minutes later, she stepped through the doors of Mystic Falls High.

It was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that came with an empty building, but something heavier, something that pressed against the air and made her ears strain for movement that wasn't there. Jenna had mentioned something earlier about the seniors sneaking in for their annual prank night, but if they were here, they were nowhere to be seen—that was probably the point, though.

Amalie moved quietly, her footsteps light against the tile as she turned down another hallway. She wasn't expecting much. Maybe some overturned desks, a few scattered papers. What she wasn't expecting was to see Caroline and Tyler unconscious in the middle of the hall.

And sitting against a row of lockers beside them, her legs crossed at the ankles as she stretched them out in front of her, scrolling through Caroline's phone, was Rebekah Mikaelson.

For a second, Amalie just stared.

"...Wow," she muttered, not exactly shocked, but still...mildly impressed at the audacity.

Rebekah's head snapped up at the sound of her voice.

For just a moment, she went completely still.

And then, just as quickly as surprise flickered across her features, it was gone. She recovered instantly, gathering herself, smoothing her expression into something unreadable. She thought it was magnificent how fast she was able to gather her wits about herself.

Rebekah stepped over Tyler and Caroline. Not a single glance spread for the, No hesitation in her steps.

She's real. That was Rebekah's first thought, though it was ridiculous. Of course, she was real. Rebekah had spoken to her, had seen her name pop up on the phone screen, had