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Currently, the "Windy City" could be renamed the "Rainy City" due to the buckets of water pouring down on my violet colored umbrella. Its insurance over me is like a shield—comforting and protective in my mere minutes of making it to my destination. While the rhythmic sound of my heeled boots splashing the scattered puddles keeps my steps consistent, I can't help but question the cause of me being here.

A memory washes over me as I pass a familiar alleyway buried somewhere in my past. It's like a daydream, but I can usually still differentiate my thoughts and emotions based off of how strong the recollection is. This time, I see myself back in the 1920's in the same alleyway, my back turned, talking to someone in the shadows. I can feel my present self-stop in the middle of the sidewalk, watching where the piece in history had occurred.

"Do you think he spotted us?" I had asked, my breathing ragged.

The figure stepped out of the darkness, and a wave of sorrow hits me with who it is.

Damon Salvatore shook his head, "Stefan doesn't have a clue, Clara, he was too busy with his new blonde plaything."

We laughed together until Damon held out his arm, gesturing to speed us to our next Chicago adventure. I linked my arm with his, and he sent me his signature smirk before running us out of sight.

The memory is gone in an instant, allowing my thoughts to be cleared again. I haven't experienced a reminiscence so vivid in years, so I'm a little dizzy afterwards, but it doesn't faze me too much.

I'm quick to notice that I had wandered down the alley without thinking. I can only imagine how insane I look with dazed eyes and a blank expression, so I be sure to check around to make sure I haven't drawn any unwanted attention to myself. Thankfully, the rain is a team player yet again as it has driven everyone away from the now empty streets.

Trying my best to look inconspicuous, I head back out onto the puddle-covered sidewalk to continue the journey to wherever I'm going. Something tells me I have less than a block left after I round another corner. The rain is slowing down, but it's still sprinkling to a point that I want to keep the umbrella securely in its place.

Almost as if on cue, my phone begins to ring in my jean's pocket. In my years of experience, I already know a phone call is no coincidence after reliving a memory. The problem is, I'm not sure if I'm ready to handle what's going to happen after I answer it.

"Hello?" I say, putting the cool device to my ear.

"Ya miss me?"

I smile, moving to balance the phone between my shoulder and the side of my head before reaching for the glass door of a building.

Shaking out my umbrella and closing it, I reply, "Me? Miss the Damon Salvatore? Nope."

"Yeah whatever, Clara, we all know you would go to hell before admitting it," I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, "Anyway, I'm in Chicago in need of some back up. It's about my brother."

"It's always about your brother, Damon."

He pauses, and I use the opportunity to randomly press a button on the elevator in an unsystematic way. It definitely was recently added to the building because the interior walls of the lobby look run down while the metal machine is smooth and clean.

"Fine," Damon agrees, "just meet me in his old apartment; I'll send you the address."

The elevator opens, and I automatically pick a random room in the winding hallway. The lock is useless against my abilities as the door becomes ajar with just the thought of needing inside.

Immortals [Klaus Mikaelson]Where stories live. Discover now