❧ the witch's plan ❧

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The Lockwood backyard buzzed with restless energy, the kind of warmth and noise that made it feel as though the entire town had gathered in one place. The scent of grilled hot dogs, smoky barbecue, and chili mingled in the humid summer air, carried by a light breeze that whispered through the oak trees. Long picnic tables groaned under the weight of slow cookers, casserole dishes, and disposable trays piled high with brownies and cookies. Children shrieked and laughed as they darted across the lawn, some chasing bubbles while others kicked around a soccer ball.

Amalie moved through the crowd like a shadow slipping between beams of sunlight. She clutched a cold beer bottle loosely in her hand, the condensation dripping lazily onto the dry grass. Her dark jeans, torn at the knees, clung to her frame, and an oversized black sweater—slouchy enough to bare one shoulder—draped comfortably over her.

Her gaze skimmed across the yard, lingering briefly on the potluck tables. The scent of cumin, tomato, and indistinguishable spices wafted toward her, assaulting her senses. Chili, chili, and—oh, look—more chili. Was it possible to die from chili fumes alone? She wouldn't put it past Mystic Falls to try. She scoffed softly under her breath and tipped her beer back, letting the bitter, icy liquid cool the heat rising in her chest.

Her eyes moved again, this time taking in the people around her. Tyler stood near the grill, laughing animatedly at something Caroline said, her expression effortlessly bright. Nearby, Liz Forbes hovered at the edge of the porch, her polite smile firmly in place as she chatted with an older Lockwood family friend. Across the yard, Elena stood with Bonnie near one of the tables, her expression pulled taut with the kind of earnestness that Amalie found exhausting. Bonnie nodded along, her lips pressed together while Elena's hands gestured faintly as she spoke.

Amalie clenched her jaw and turned her gaze away, the bitter taste in her mouth not entirely from the beer. She didn't need to hear the conversation to know the tone. It was always the same with Elena—doe-eyed, determined, and convinced she could save Stefan if she just tried hard enough. There was something admirable about it, sure, but it was exhausting to watch someone so willingly carry the weight of everyone else's problems.

The sound of footsteps nearing made Amalie tense, and before she could think of an escape route, that familiar floral perfume tickled her senses—a soft blend of lavender and something sweet, like jasmine. Of course. Elena had found her.

"Having fun?" Elena's voice was light, pleasant even, as she appeared beside Amalie. But there was something in her tone—a subtle hesitation, an edge of uncertainty that gave her away.

Amalie didn't even glance at her. She kept walking, the beer dangling lazily from her fingers. "Oh, sure. Nothing like the smell of thirty kinds of chili I won't eat and the company of people I can barely tolerate."

Elena let out a soft laugh, though it sounded strained. "You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself."

"I could," Amalie said, tipping her beer back for a long sip.

The two walked in silence for a few moments, the crowd thinning as Amalie subtly steered them toward the far edge of the yard, where the noise softened. She could feel Elena's presence beside her, lingering like a storm cloud about to break. Her breath hitched faintly—just enough for Amalie to know she was building up to something.

"Last night was..." Elena began carefully, choosing her words like someone afraid of breaking fragile glass. "It was tense. I just—I want to be your friend, Amalie."

That made Amalie stop walking. She turned to face Elena, one brow arched high, her lips curving into a smirk that was as cold as it was cutting. "Do you?" She asked, her voice laced with sardonic amusement.

"Yes," Elena said, her voice steady but her shoulders tight. Her brown eyes held steady, even as her hands fidgeted at her sides. "You wanted to be mine once, too."

Amalie's smirk widened, though her eyes gleamed with something colder. "That was back when I was trying to destroy Stefan's life. I'm over that now. He has plenty more to deal with these days anyway."

Elena flinched but stood her ground. "Is that why Klaus is torturing him? To avenge you?"

The question hit harder than Elena could have anticipated. The humor drained from Amalie's face, her smirk vanishing an in instant. "What?"

"You said I was close to figuring out why Klaus wanted you," Elena pressed, her words gaining momentum as her voice grew steadier. "You're connected to him somehow, aren't you? That's why he's doing this—to Stefan, to all of us."

Amalie's expression didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes—something dangerous and cold. She took a slow sip of her beer, her movements calculated and deliberate, before lowering the bottle and speaking in a voice as icy as frost. "Even if we were connected, that would be none of your business." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "And for the record, I'm not looking for friends."

Elena frowned, her frustration bubbling to the surface as she stepped closer. "Why do you always push people away? I'm trying to help you."

Amalie laughed then, a low, bitter sound that sliced through the air like a blade. "Help me?" She repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Don't kid yourself, Elena. The only reason you even told me about the Smoky Mountains was because you knew I was the only one who would let you go. And you were so happy to throw me at Klaus in Chicago, practically tying a bow on my head and calling it bait. So excuse me if I don't exactly buy the whole 'friendship' act."

Elena's face flushed, shame flickering in her wide eyes. "That's not—"

"Don't." Amalie cut her off, her voice sharp and cutting like glass. "You don't want to be my friend. You want a tool. Someone who's convenient, someone who can do the things you're too afraid to do. You don't see me, Elena. You see someone you can use. And the second I stop being useful? You'll forget I exist."

"That's not true," Elena whispered, but her voice wavered, barely audible over the distant laughter of the crowd.

Amalie took a step back, her gaze still piercing but her voice softening into something almost pitying. "That's the worst part. You don't even realize it." She paused, her smirk returning faintly, though it was devoid of humor. "Enjoy the picnic, Elena."

She turned on her heel, leaving Elena standing frozen. Amalie wove through the crowd, her steps steady but her mind a whirl of frustration and lingering heat. She was just about to pop open another beer when she spotted Jenna standing near one of the folding tables, fiddling absentmindedly with a stack of napkins.

Jenna glanced up then, her eyes landing on Amalie with a flicker of recognition. Her lips curled into a faint smile, but the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked...troubled. Guilt, maybe? Amalie tilted her head, watching her carefully as she approached.

"Hey," Jenna greeted, though her voice lacked its usual warmth. She let out a short, self-deprecating laugh and shook her head. "I think I just did something that goes beyond my rights as a guardian."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What did you do?"

Jenna sighed, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear, though it fell right back into place. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze dropping briefly to the grass at their feet. "I told Damon to back off of Elena."

That wasn't what Amalie had been expecting. "Okay," she drawled, "not what I thought you were going to say, but go on."

Jenna's words started spilling out in a rush, like she'd been holding them back and couldn't stop now. "I mean, I know it's Damon," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the house where he was, "and telling him to back off is probably like telling a fire to stop being hot, but I just—I couldn't help it. She's been through so much, and he's always there, hovering around her, making everything ten times more complicated. I just...snapped." She glanced at Amalie, her expression half-pleading, half-uncertain. "Which I think was totally justified, by the way. I just need someone else to tell me that it was."

Amalie couldn't help but let out a light laugh. Her earlier frustration eased slightly, replaced by a flicker of amusement at Jenna's nervous rambling. "You had ever right to, Jenna," she said, her tone softer now. "And as much as I don't like Elena right now..." Her voice dipped, losing some of its sharpness. "She needs someone like you to stand up for her."

Jenna let out a relieved laugh, her shoulders dropping slightly as some of the tension melted away. "God, thank you. I was half expecting you to tell me I overstepped and Damon was going to, I don't know, set my car on fire or something."

Amalie snorted. "Oh, he'll probably do something passive-aggressive, sure, but don't worry. That's just how he shows he cares."

Jenna laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This town," she muttered, more to herself than to Amalie. Then her gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly, studying Amalie's face. "What's going on with you and Elena, anyway?"

Amalie stiffened, her jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before she masked it with a shrug. "I don't want to talk about it."

Jenna frowned but didn't press. "You two always seem to get under each other's skin."

"That's putting it lightly," Amalie muttered, taking a long sip of her beer.

Jenna just gave a soft chuckle and shook her head before grabbing a plate from the table. "Let me know if you see Damon acting weird. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

Amalie watched her walk away, her expression unreadable for a moment before she tipped her beer back again, muttering under her breath. "Join the club."

###

The warehouse was soaked in shadow, its vast, space lit only by the flickering glow of industrial lights. Their faint hum echoed through the silence, interrupted now and then by the distant drip of water from some rusted pipe. The air was heavy with the iron tang of blood. Crates and steel barrels lay scattered in disarray, remnants of whatever purpose this space had once served. Now, it was a hollowed-out sanctuary for something darker.

Klaus lounged on a tattered leather couch, one arm resting lazily across the back, a smirk playing on his lips as he fed from a young woman. Her lifeless body slumped in his arms, and with an absent flick of his wrist, he tossed her limp form onto the floor as if she were nothing more than a discarded toy. Across from him, Stefan sat in a worn armchair, leaning forward as he drank greedily from his own victim, his grip firm on her neck as her blood spilled past his lips, leaving a red trail down his chin.

Rebekah sat perched on a wooden crate nearby, one leg crossed over the other as she toyed with a strand of her hair. Her features twisted into a pout as she swung her foot impatiently, her heels clicking faintly against the wood.

"My girl's dead," Rebekah declared, breaking the silence with a dramatic sigh. "I'm bored."

Klaus didn't bother looking at her. Instead, he turned his head lazily toward Stefan. "You weren't kidding about being hungry," he remarked.

Stefan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips smeared with blood as he tossed the lifeless body onto the floor beside him. "Yeah," he replied, his voice low and hollow. "It's been a long day."

Klaus chuckled. "Try being related to her."

Rebekah's head snapped toward Klaus, her eyes narrowing in indignation. "You're being mean," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And why are you being mean? You used to love me."

Klaus tilted his head, his smirk widening as he finally glanced at her. "It's been ninety years, Rebekah," he said, his voice laced with mock patience. "Give him a minute."

Rebekah's lips parted in exaggerated disbelief. "Why are you taking his side?" She demanded, gesturing toward Stefan with an accusing finger.

Klaus chuckled darkly. "Because, my dear sister, I feel pity for anyone who doesn't give you what you want."

Rebekah let out a frustrated huff, her glare narrowing. "Will you stop making me out to be a brat? I am not a brat!"

Klaus arched a brow, his tone dry as he replied, "A thousand years of life experience says otherwise."

Stefan let out a low, humorless laugh as he leaned back in his chair. His arms dangled loosely over the sides, his blood-smeared hands relaxed as though the body on the floor was already forgotten. "Well," he began, his voice tinged with dark amusement, "you're no picnic, either. I mean, I've only spent one summer with you and already I feel like I want to blow my head off."

For a moment, Rebekah stared at him, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. Then, she laughed—a bright, genuine sound that echoed through the warehouse, breaking through the tension. "Fantastic," she said with a wry grin.

Stefan rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. He brushed off his jeans with exaggerated nonchalance, his expression hardening as he stepped over the body on the floor. "I need to go," he muttered, already heading toward the door.

Rebekah cocked her head, watching him. "Where's he going?" She asked, her curiosity piqued.

Klaus didn't even look up. "To write a name on a wall," he said dismissively. "It's a long story."

Rebekah's smirk vanished, replaced by a pout as she turned her attention back to Klaus. "Speaking of long stories," she began, her tone turning sharper. "When are you going to tell me about her?"

Klaus' brow furrowed, though his expression remained composed. "Her?" He asked, feigning ignorance.

"Don't act coy, Nik," Rebekah said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You know exactly who I mean. Amalie." She straightened her posture, her piercing gaze locking into him. "You've told me next to nothing. You've found her, and yet here we are. What gives?"

Klaus sighed, his irritation flickering to the surface as he rubbed his temple. "Because, Rebekah, I've got far more pressing matters to deal with right than indulging your endless curiosity. Namely, sorting out this blasted hybrid problem."

Rebekah's expression darkened, her voice rising. "That's not a reason, Niklaus—that's an excuse. You've kept her to yourself long enough. I've waited centuries to meet her, and you're acting like she's a secret. Why?"

Klaus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Because," he said sharply, "Amalie is not a novelty for you to fawn over or interrogate."

Rebekah wasn't deterred. "I know that. Irregardless, she's part of our family. And I deserve to meet her."

Klaus groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it with a few quick taps. With an exasperated sigh, he dialed a number and then tossed the phone toward Rebekah. She caught it, startled, her wide eyes snapping to his.

"What's this?" She asked, clutching the phone tightly.

"It's her number," Klaus replied, waving a dismissive hand. "If you're so desperate to speak to her, then by all means, have at it."

Rebekah stared at the phone like it might combust in her hand. She focused on the faint hum of the ringing line—it made her stomach twist. Her fingers tightened around the device, and for a moment, she hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. This was it. After centuries of wondering what her soulmate might be like, if her voice would still sound the same as before—this was how they would meet. Through a phone call Klaus had thrown at her like an afterthought.

The line clicked, and suddenly, Amalie's voice came through, clear and distinct. "Klaus?" There was a note of confusion in her tone, and Rebekah felt her heart lurch.

For a second, Rebekah couldn't find her voice. It was ridiculous—utterly absurd for someone like her to feel nervous, especially when she'd spent lifetimes commanding entire rooms with a single look. But now, hearing Amalie's voice for the first time, she felt small, unsteady. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak.

"N-no," she stammered, hating how weak she sounded. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again, her tone firmer this time. "It's Rebekah."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Amalie chuckled softly. The sound was warm, tinged with curiosity and a faint thread of amusement. "Rebekah," she repeated, drawing out the name as though testing how it felt. "Well, I guess I can cross you off the list of Originals I haven't met yet."

Rebekah's lips twitched into a hesitant smile, though her chest still felt tight. "I...I've waited a long time to meet you," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She winced inwardly, wishing she sounded cooler, less...starstruck.

Amalie's voice softened, a hint of understanding threading through her tone. "And this is how it happens? Over the phone?" There was a teasing lilt to her words, but it wasn't unkind.

Rebekah let out a nervous laugh, the sound awkward even to her own ears. "Believe me, I hate it just as much as you do," she said quickly. Her free hand fidgeted with the hem of her shorts as she glanced sideways at Klaus, who was watching her with poorly disguised amusement.

"Is this Klaus' idea of a grand introduction?" Amalie asked dryly, her voice tinged with playful skepticism.

Rebekah's cheeks flushed faintly. "You know how he is," she replied, shooting a pointed glare at her brother, who only returned the look. "Subtlety has never been his strong suit."

"That, I believe," Amalie said with a chuckle. Her tone shifted slightly, taking on a warmer note. "Still, it's good to finally hear your voice, Rebekah. Klaus has mentioned you. A lot, actually."

Rebekah blinked, her surprise evident. "He has?" She cast another suspicious glance at Klaus, who smirked but didn't deny it.

"Of course," Amalie replied, her tone easy. "He's mentioned all of you. But he tends to talk about you with...well, let's just say he's not as grumpy about you as he pretends to be."

Rebekah snorted, some of her earlier tension easing. "That's debatable," she said, though her voice was lighter now, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips.

Klaus, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his tone dripping with mock impatience. "If you're going to spent the entire night gossiping like schoolgirls, at least do it somewhere I don't have to listen."

Rebekah shot him a withering glare, cupping the phone closer to her ear. "Ignore him," she said to Amalie. "He's just sulking because he's not the center of attention for once."

"I can hear you," Klaus drawled, though he didn't sound particularly offended. If anything, he seemed entertained by the exchange.

Amalie laughed softly on the other end, her voice warm and melodic. "Well, it sounds like you've got your hands full with him."

Rebekah grinned. "You have no idea."

Klaus leaned back against the couch, watching his sister with a smug, satisfied expression. For all his complaints, he was glad to see the faint spark of joy in Rebekah's eyes—the kind of spark that had been missing for far too long. "Finally," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as Rebekah and