Pray For The Wicked : Kol Mikaelson [2]

189: City Beneath The Sea

Kol stormed into St Ann's attic, two candles exploding, forcing his eyes to close.

He couldn't waste energy throwing a tantrum when he had magic to perform – a lot of it.

The summoning charm was easy now he was in the right location, ashes tied to his spirit, the furniture twitching in reaction. It all shifted about seventy degrees, a whoosh flying the silver urn forward.

He caught it and smiled.

Having it back in his hands...

The urn was heavier than Kol expected, his thumb tracing down from the lid to the silver Mikaelson crest pressed into the middle of the curved surface.

"We define ourselves by our family.

While Dahlia stood in a tomb, surrounded by white candles, mixing a cauldron full of blood with her fingers, Kol prepared his own mix in The Abattoir. There was a coffin on the bed, filled with water, soil floating on the surface, candles decorating every piece of furniture.

"The most hypocritical ass in the household!"

Elijah appeared in a flash.

"I need blood," Kol slashed a knife through him instantly, Elijah not amused but letting it happen, "What a shame you heal – I guess I'll have to keep doing it until I have enough familial blood."

From birth, we share their names.

"My blood is currently infected."

Luckily, none of it had gone in the water yet.

"I assume that will influence the magic."

It would.

"Perhaps you know where Mira has hidden her cures."

"The drawer," Kol's jaw was clenched, "The yellow tape...I'll need some too."

Elijah tried to drink as quickly as possible, handing the remaining six of MJ's stash to his younger brother, meaning she'd officially need to restoke.

They were poured into the mix.

"I am sorry."

"I don't care."

"Kol – "

"I. Don't. Care."

"She'll wake up."

"Elijah," Kol's smile was too similar to his original face, "Stop talking."

Though Elijah wanted to argue against the return to vampirism, he simply took his jacket off, rolling up the shirt sleeves.

Attacking MJ had cost him a say.

The hiss of fangs filled the still air, raking up both of his forearms to get as much blood as possible, holding it over the coffin once he'd smelt it, checking the venom was gone.

The trickling sound was not pleasant.

"Rebekah!" Kol watched the way the liquid spread through the water, turning the clear colour red, soil becoming clots among it, "I'm going to need your help."

She took in the sight, body language conflicted, then picked the urn up from the side table.

"Careful," He managed a smile at her, "You're holding gold dust."

We entrust them to protect that which we hold most dear.

Once there was enough blood, Kol snapped his fingers, lighting the candles, dry lavender over the wickers, smoking as it burned.