(CHAPTER TWO :
THE CURSE)

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WITH GREAT RELUCTANCE, KOL and I visited a witch in Tapolca. It was a small town in Hungary and it was where he offered his healing abilities to a wounded nineteen year old in the eighteenth century. Since then, the line of 'Dobos' witches — of whom the boy he saved was descended from — had been indebted to him. In truth, I didn't want to visit the witch. I encountered a handful of witches in my time and they had left me with a vendetta. Of course, Bonnie Bennett was an exception, but even she had her moments I was not fond of. During the majority of the car ride, I argued against the visit, to the Original's disapproval. He didn't know why I didn't like witches and thought I was being difficult on purpose.

Her name was Amira Dobos, according to Kol. He pestered me to behave because the feeling of distaste between vampires and witches tended to be mutual in most cases. Naturally, he was excluded from that narrative because he admired witches and had connected with many covens over the years. For the most untrustworthy being, he was respected by most of the witch species.

"I think we should do dear Amira a favour and redecorate her house. Maybe paint it a lovely shade of red." I proposed, glaring at the woman's home. Both of us were stood outside and I, for one, was unimpressed. In front of me was a quaint looking home — it was too picturesque, too perfect. It had a white picket fence surrounding a well-maintained flower bed, red bricked walls that didn't contain a single scratch and an array of uplifting quotes hanging on her door. The entire house was terribly cute and I had the urge to ruin that.

"Witches can be touchy little things." Kol warned. "I'd recommend being nice."

"Shame, I'm in the mood to kill somebody." I informed him with a casual tone that was misplaced by the dark words. "I'm not sure I can play pretend after you locked me in the car for two hours. Witches may be touchy, but I have fangs." I recalled ominously.

"You're stellar at pretending to abhor me — channel those acting skills here." The Original advised, confident in his claim. I would even admit that it took me by surprise that he detected deeper emotions on my end. 

I rubbed my lips together in annoyance, he knew me too well. "I do abhor you." I corrected. "But, I'll . . . behave . . . because the thrill of the hunt doesn't sustain my lifestyle, unfortunately." I backed down in defeat. I didn't know a witch other than Bonnie Bennett — whom I had put behind me alongside that wretched town — and I was curious as to why I couldn't keep blood down. As a vampire, blood was a necessity and that meant I would have to tolerate Amira Dobos if I wanted to survive. Although I never experienced the process desiccation, it didn't appear pleasant.

"Good girl." He praised, condescending as ever. Content with my obedience, he hooked his hand around my wrist and pulled me towards the door, knocking on the door twice with his free hand. Perhaps the most annoying limitation of being vampire was the invitation required to enter homes. In another set of circumstances, I would have the stormed the household and threatened the witch.

On the other side of the door, the sound of locks unclicking could be heard as the door was edged open with caution. To begin, a pair of eyes peaked out the crack before the door was opened further. With a lazy cock of my head, I scrutinised the witch. She had treacle coloured skin, raven hair that had rusted to a dull black with age and the most interesting almond-shape eyes — one a faded blue like a dreary day's skyline, the other the colour of a green meadow. I tried not to gawk, but it was hard to avoid her stare. Her gaze was filled with fear and courage  — a complete oxymoron in itself — and I loved how weak that made a person. The most idiotic people are the cowards and heroes — spoiler, they both die in the end — and that's why it was better to be the villain.

She folded her arms over her chest. "Vampires." Lined with disgust, her eyes darkened.

"Original Vampire." Kol pointed to himself with pride, his entire demeanour had shifted and he took on the persona from the tales shared amongst the supernatural community. He was smart, really. I knew the man from the infamous tales of the Original family was different underneath the layers of bronze he encased his heart in.

"Kol Mikaelson, I knew this day would come." Her head fell in realisation, leaving me unsure if her words were staggered because of her thick accent or disappointment. "What do you want?" Clearing her throat, she did her best to radiate confidence but I noted the anxiety that surrounded her like a smoke cloud.

I rested my elbow against the door. "We have a favour to ask." I told her, lowering my voice in warning. "And by favour, I mean the kind that isn't optional." I added, resisting the urge to sound too threatening. This was my best behaviour, per promised.

"If I refuse?" Amira challenged us, that was her first mistake.

"Then I'd consider making a list of funeral songs." Kol didn't miss a beat, his irritation shining through with the woman. "You are indebted to me. I saved Dominik's life because I have tremendous respect for your kind, but the service of your family was also my insurance. Not all witches have the same esteem for me, you see." Harshly, he reminded the witch of her worth and her place as the man reminisced on how he saved her distant relative.

She looked — dare I say it — innocent (for a witch) as she knotted her hands through her corkscrew curls with uncertainty. "I don't invite vampires into my house." She remarked, fooling herself into thinking that such statement would make us surrender.

I performed a satirical bow. "I'm honoured to be one of the first then because we are coming in. Or, you won't ever come out."  I felt my control slip and my annoyance grow. Amira was testing my patience — if she dropped the stubborn trait that was seemingly inherited by all witches, the two of us would have been long gone by now. Unfortunately, Kol was correct implying the species were incredibly temperamental and headstrong.

There was a pause, then the invitation floated through the air like our saving grace. "You may enter." She permitted with little conviction, not daring to mask her grimace.

"Ah, thank you, darling." Although he didn't vocalise his relief, I knew Kol wouldn't have wanted to kill her. He admired witches and was satisfied that his, likely empty, threats worked in our favour. "Now, be a good hostess. Lottie takes her coffee black." He smirked, falling back onto a small leather sofa.

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"I thought you said play nice." I hissed under my breath when the witch disappeared to the kitchen. The living room was small, small enough to force me to squeeze beside my friend on the leather sofa to the point that our hands were overlapped. It wasn't uncomfortable like one would think, he was rather stiff when I shivered at the initial contact with his cold skin, but we were okay around each other. We weren't on egg shells around each other when I couldn't care and he didn't have the energy to be nearly as mean as usual — after all, my life was on the line.

"This is nice." He insisted. "My methods work, trust me. Yours, on the other hand, leave you going blind in a back alleyway." Kol provoked, causing me to dig my sharp nails into his side as a form of retaliation.

I chewed on the inside my cheek in disbelief. "Now, that wasn't very nice." I seethed, using my sharp nails to puncture skin further.

He didn't feel pain of such a small volume — of course — but humoured me with a mocking 'ow' nonetheless. Before he could respond with an equal amount of petty violence, Amira had returned and slammed a steaming coffee mug onto the table in front of us. "Children, please." She scolded, pursing her lips to resist losing control of her expert restraint.

"Children?" I giggled — a vibrant, childish giggle at that. "I'm older than your grandma."

Bemused, the corner of my partner's lips tilted upwards. "And I'm older than her great great great grandma." He pointed towards me, but the proximity of our bodies made it resemble an unfriendly poke. "Who are you calling a child, child?" The Original narrowed his eyes at her in disscontempt.

Turning her nose up, the woman moved away from the two of us. "Watch your tone, vampire." She advised, the venom in her voice not going amiss by either of us. "You need me, I believe. Not many witches would take kindly to you bringing a cursed one near." There was a forbidding knowingness in her tone that coerced me into having the desire to snap her pretty little neck.

"Cursed one?" I repeated, bolting up from my position where I was on lazing on the sofa.

Amira nodded. "You are cursed, my dear." She confirmed, if not a little gleefully. "I could sense it immediately and do not need a spell to know. Your aura is dark and your soul is hanging on by a thread." She continued under the intense gaze of Kol Mikaelson. "It's centuries of fact mixed with fiction, but the witches have had reason to believe for a long time now . . ." For a moment, the witch hesitated, whispering a silent prayer under her breath. "That Mary-Alice Claire tampered with an unexplored type of magic. Claire witches are strong and she had secrets beyond what you knew, Kol." Upon elaborating, I focused my attention of Kol's micro-expressions. I didn't know who this Mary-Alice Claire was and was searching for an emotion on his face. If I wasn't mistaken, he was concerned, which was unusual for him. I found that the furrowed brow and jutted lip didn't suit his beautiful face.

"Mary-Alice was insane, but harmless." He declared, certain. "She was infatuated with me and I never even breathed a word of Charlotte — why would she curse her?" My muscles tightened when I realised we resorted back to 'Charlotte,' but I managed to morph my oncoming frown into a straight, emotionless line.

"She didn't curse Charlotte, per see." Amira amended, the wisdom she garnered due to her long-time witch heritage being highlighted. "In order to protect who she thought to be the love of her life, she placed a protection spell on your blood." Her attention was locked on Kol and I deflated back into my seat. The Dobos witch was acting as if I was not even in the room. "Your blood — or rather, Original blood — is a potent binding agent. Mary-Alice was paranoid as well as insane, she feared of what your blood could be used for. As a result, she created a spell. If your blood was taken unwillingly, the attacker would be cursed." The air of calmness that surrounded her felt like a knife in my gut. Not only was I being ignored, but she was being rather complacent about my situation.

From the corner of his eyes, Kol observed the way my body was subtly shaking with a building anger. "What's the curse?" He asked through gritted his teeth, the words escaping him before I did something bloody.

Unsure, her voice teetered. "It's unclear, the legend has varied over the years and the documents we——" Amira began, looking at the ground as if holding back information.

"What's the curse?" I applied pressure to my words, verging on screaming.

"Nobody knows how it ends." She claimed mysteriously. "The spell wasn't in her Grimoire, she made it only accessible to those of her heritage. Some say the curse is the addiction to an Original's blood, but I think that's just one of the side effects." Amira Dobos conspired.

"Side effects?" Kol quirked his brow.

Amira pondered, in thought for a moment. "Heightened sex drive, temporary blindness, immobility . . ." She listed what she knew from the tales Astrid Malchance passed down to the Dobos family. Not only was Astrid a family friend, she was a talented witch, a friend to Mary-Alice and had kept the Claire legend alive until her death.

"Oh, I do hate witches." I growled.

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DALLAS, TEXAS [1975]

I wanted to feel sad, but my lack of emotions didn't allow for it. Instead, I stood outside in the cold of November, wearing a black dress that didn't nearly offer the warmth needed in such tremulous weather. However, if I couldn't feel sad, I wanted to feel cold. It was a hard feat for a vampire feel cold, but not an impossible one. That was exactly why I stood blank-faced in an inappropriate strappy number at the funeral of my sister. Albeit, she wasn't a sister of mine by blood, but she was more than friend to me. Grace Campbell was family.

"Would you like to speak at the service, Charlie?" Helen enquired politely — if not a little tentatively. She convinced herself that I was accountable for her daughter's death, in denial over the outdated fashion of her coven. Consequently, Helen avoided me around town and I wouldn't have even been invited to Grace's funeral if I hadn't resorted to threats. How dare the witches try to prevent from finding peace in a teenager's death?

"Lottie, actually." I rectified. Only Grace was allowed to call me Charlie and even then, she only did it to irk me. "But, I would love to speak in front of all these important witches about Gracie's death." I used my own nickname for the sweet girl. "About how it was an unjust death, about how I will seek retribution on her behalf, about how I will hold a vendetta for the duration of my immortal life . . . " I trailed off, holding a finger to the physically older woman's lips. She was easy to read, I could tell her half-parted lips was a sign she was about to project her own guilt onto me. "About how they are supposed to keep the balance, yet murdered a fifteen year old girl in front of my eyes." I expressed my distaste through the horror that pooled into my marble eyes. "There's more than one cold blooded killer in this room, Helen, and I seem to be the only one embracing who I am." I finished, crossing my arms over my chest, expectant of a defensive response.

Helen didn't object to my statements, which took my by surprise. "I know." She accepted in defeat. "I know they killed her, Cha——Lottie." She fixed her mistake quickly. "But, you can't run from responsibility all the time. You may be stuck in the body of a seventeen year old, but it's time you grow up." Grace's Mother spoke softly, in a way that felt unfamiliar because I wasn't used to such kind treatment from parental figures. "You turned her into a vampire and the law of our coven was clea——" I intercepted before I heard another excuse.

"Don't put the blame on me."  I snapped. "If I didn't turn her into a vampire, she would be dead. Not that it matters now." I mentioned spitefully.

"And if you didn't manipulate her into doing magic for you, she would never have been punished." Helen argued, yet still refused to raise her voice. "The Hearthstone Coven is as prejudiced as the rest of Texas, just in a different way to the humans." She laughed through the oncoming tears. "In their eyes, she was an abomination that needed to be eradicated." Her eyes drifted from mine, she couldn't look at me.

I scowled. "She was your daughter, you should have fought for her!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "I never manipulated her for her magic. I adored her like a little sister, she offered to do the spell for me. I would never have asked her to tap into dark magic if I had known what it would cause." I didn't know what I was pleading for — forgiveness? — but the desperation was prominent in my voice. "She promised me the spell wouldn't kill her, she promised. My blood was a precaution." I cried out, dry tears running down my cheek. I couldn't feel them, but I hoped they were there.

"I couldn't fight for a monster." Helen seemed regretful of talking about her daughter in such manner. "Being fifteen once is bad enough, I couldn't have condemned her to an eternity of it. And the bloodlust would have ruined her, her and all her youthful innocence." The woman expanded upon registering my hard glare.

"I would have taught her control." I testified
meekly.

"An emotionless vampire with control issues teaching control? I think that ends our conversation, dear." Helen affirmed. "She was a powerful witch for her age, but not powerful enough to break the compulsion of a vampire who could compel other vampires." She told me, rehashing what was still a fresh wound for me. All I wanted was to have my memories back and it killed her. "Now, put on a jacket and move to the front of the service." She ordered, leaning forward to fix my smudged lipstick.

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Kol realised I had disconnected from reality, placing his hand on my shoulder in comfort. "Fix her." The Original ordered firmly. "I don't want this spell on me. Get rid of the bloody thing." He sounded urgent, but minacious too.

Amira's expression shifted grimly. "I'm not a Claire." She sighed. "And, as far as I'm aware, the spell was thorough. It was years in the making and was intended to be an inescapable, scornful form of torture." Her voice remained steady whilst her heartbeat did not. Both Kol and I were the picture of murderous.

Suspecting I was prepared to pounce, Kol gripped my forearm. "Every spell has a loophole." He reminded the woman, his endurance thinning.

"Not necessarily. This kind of magic is different to wh ——" She failed to provide a reason for me to spare her, spewing pointless facts.

"Listen, Sabrina The Elderly Witch, I've been itching for a kill and you've admitted you're useless." I smiled when Kol released me from his hold. "So, have you had time to pick those funeral songs  or should we just play 'The Witch Is Dead?'" I blurred over to the unhelpful witch and imagined all the ways I could murder her —  strangling, burning, drowning, suffocation . . . I was spoiled for choice.

As I was about to rip out her intestines and hang her with the organs, Kol ripped into the woman's neck with his fangs. "It's unladylike to play with your food." He mused, wiping the blood from his mouth with his shirtsleeve. 

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A.N: I struggled to write this chapter for some reason, but at least we now know the situation with Lottie. For those who may be unaware, Mary-Alice was a witch from Kol's past, seen on the Originals.

I was at a Taylor Swift concert last night and had the best time. What's your favourite concert you've ever been to?