It wasn’t from Sophie that she’d learned of Davina’s death, of the witches’ ritual. It was from Marcel. And even when she’d confronted him in person, she hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d taken her to the graveyard, to the mausoleum marked with her name and still, even with cold dread clutching at her insides, Cami had wanted to deny it. There were so many secrets in New Orleans, so much that wasn’t what it appeared to be - why couldn’t Davina’s death simply have been that? A cover-up, a conspiracy.
Any fate was better than the death of a seventeen year old girl.
Discovering the supernatural had been a high. There was rage, bitterness at how she’d been used, fear even - but the satisfaction of having been able to figure out some of it on her own, to put together a few of the pieces even before Sophie’s intervention had been great. The relief in knowing she was still sane, Chris’ revelation about vervain, her growing interest in the other species that inhabited the city… All of it counted as a high.
Learning Davina was dead, was a low; low enough to sink her into something too close to despair. She’d cried her eyes out, she’d pleaded with Marcel to fix it, to find witches who could. She’d even bridged her subsequent ambivalence towards Sophie in order to ask if anything could be done to bring about the mythical Reaping. Weeks passed.
Weeks of grief and nothing.
And then, one nondescript morning, she got the call that changed everything. Davina and the others had resurrected. No one knew why, not even the witches understood why the Reaping had been delayed, nor why its completion had come seemingly out of the blow, all these months later. The only thing Marcel knew, was that his precious protégé was back, but that she was nothing like the girl whose lifeless body he’d once held in his arms. A shadow of her former self; quiet, sullen - refusing to talk to anyone. And that’s why he’d called Cami.
She’d wasted no time in calling in sick from work and rushing over to St. Anne’s, where Marcel had once again hidden the girl, just in case. She’d seen him upon entering, but he’d promised to give them time and privacy. And so she’d rushed up the stairs two by two, forgetting even a civil knock as she tested the door, found it unlocked, and sprang it open.
“Oh my god… It’s true!” Cami didn’t bother catching her breath as she raced to Davina’s bedside and threw her arms around the teen, squeezing her close. It felt like a dream, to be holding her like this again; a breathing girl of flesh and bones. Dimly, she registered the fact that Davina was limp in her embrace, possibly uncomfortable. Reluctantly, Cami pulled back; relinquishing appreciation to her eyes alone.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t smother you but I’m so-.. Davina, I can’t believe-… We’re all so, so relieved you’re back.” She told her breathlessly, shaking her head. “I’m here to listen, if you’ll let me, if you want to… Tell me everything.”
It’s cold. Everything is cold, and no matter what Davina does she can’t escape it. Making a fire with magic isn’t an option, her magic doesn’t respond the way it should anymore, and Marcel has promised that he’d do something about the heat, but something about the attic...Well, it’s not right.
She hadn’t thought that she’d ever be back here. This attic, where she had spent more than a year hiding, and now that the perceived threat is gone...There still isn’t anywhere else to go. Her family’s cabin is too far away from everything, and well, in a way this feels like home. The dusty walls that have somehow gotten even dustier in her absence.
And Davina knows she can’t go back to the Coven. The witches, they hate her for what she’s done, and the Ancestors had chosen to shun her for the choices she had made. The seventeen-year-old might not be on the run anymore, but she knows that friends in the Coven are non-existent.
She may be able to walk around in the open, but nothing’s changed.
There’s a sort of relief when Marcel leaves again, she’s more comfortable being alone. She doesn’t have to try and find words, doesn’t have to force a conversation that she doesn’t know how to have right now. It isn’t that anything has changed with them- she doesn’t blame Marcel, she’s not mad at him...He’s her family, and that hasn’t changed.
But the feeling of being lost hasn’t disappeared, not since she came back.
The footsteps on the staircase echo, as they always do, and a part of her wonders whether or not the vampire has forgotten something. Davina can’t imagine what it is, their conversation hadn’t been very productive, and had ended just as they always had – with her refusing to go back to the Coven, and him frustrated at the lack of a solution.
Cami. That’s Cami’s voice, and Davina hardly has a second to look up, let alone brace herself, before she’s enveloped in a hug. It feels unnatural, and she’s not used to it – perhaps even more so than she had been when Marcel had rescued her the first time around. She had clutched to the vampire again upon coming back, fear wracking her small frame but now, now the witch is taken by surprise, and she’s just about to weakly pat the blonde’s back before Cami’s off again.
It’s doesn’t make any sense, because if anyone should be apologizing, assuming that Cami has legitimate knowledge of what’s happened, shouldn’t it be Davina? She's lied to her, she had basically tried to make her feel crazy and- and-
The witch blinks, and sucks in a deep breath. “Cami – I,” it’s hard to find the right words, because Cami should hate her, and yet she’s here, she’s here and she wants to talk, and it’s always been so easy to talk to her, but Davina doesn’t know what to say.
At least Marcel had kept his promise, not that Davina had ever expected anything less. Cami is okay, she’s safe – even if she’s back in New Orleans.
“I-” Her throat feels dry again, and Davina’s fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt.
Cami can’t fix this, no one can. The only people who can are the witches, and they hate her.
“You- you’re okay, right?”
