Forever Original | Alaric Saltzman

Chapter 15

The Mikaelson jet came in handy.

"You're telling me you've had a jet this entire time?" said Hilda as Klaus stopped the car at the airport.

"For special occasions only, sister," the hybrid told her, smirking devilishly as she stared in awe at the smaller plane. "We'll be quite comfortable. Drinks in the sky. A faster trip to my city."

"Technically it doesn't belong to any of us. We weren't born there."

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

But it sort of was their city. Hilda loved New Orleans more than any other place she had stayed in. Being there made her happy. She had felt like she could truly be at home there. She and Kol had had a grand time running around with those witches in the 1900s, and they'd always been highly respected.

The jet landed and a spacious car was hailed to drive them into the French Quarter. Klaus was not indulging in as many drinks as his sister, likely to keep his head more clear if they were to be dealing with an enemy. Hilda didn't mind. After all, she liked fights best when she was drunk because that was a real test to her skill. How levelheaded she could be in order to win while intoxicated.

"Welcome to the dark side of New Orleans," said the human tour guide on the street as they climbed out of the car. "A supernatural playground where the living are easily lost, and the dead stick around to play."

Hilda smirked. "Ooh, scary," she said, the two Originals walking into the milieu, where several card and palm readers had their tables set up. Most were fakes who simply wanted to make money. Some, they knew, were real witches who could give out real remedies and advice based on true readings of the aura and a vague future.

The siblings knew right away how to pinpoint which one was a real witch. The fakes were far too comfortable, overt and asking for attention. The witches were humble and patient. One, in particular, was nervous when she saw them, and began to pack her things quickly. Another thing— real witches would know exactly who they were.

"Good afternoon," said Klaus as they walked up to the woman. "Time for one more?"

She looked away. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Oh, now that's not very amiable, is it?" he said, pretending to be offended. "You don't even know us."

"I know what you are," said the woman. "Half-vampire, half-beast. You're the hybrid."

Klaus smiled smugly. "I'm the Original hybrid, actually, but that's a long story for another time. If you fear me, however, you should probably be more concerned about my little sister here. She's psychotic and she's more impatient than me."

Hilda shoved Klaus aside. "Ignore him, love," she told the witch, bowing her head respectfully to her. "C'est un honneur. J'ai raté le quartier français."

The witch nodded back. "Hilda Mikaelson, I presume," she murmured. "We've heard all about you. You and your brother were friendly with the older witches here."

Hilda nodded. "We're looking for someone. A witch. Perhaps you might be able to help us find her. Jane-Anne Deveraux."

The woman obviously recognized the name. "Sorry, I don't know her," she lied.

Klaus leaned forward. "Well, now that's a fib, isn't it?"

Hilda kicked him. "Piss off," she snapped. "Look, we're not trying to hurt her. We just want information."

She shook her head. "Witches don't talk outta school in the Quarter. The vampire won't allow it. Those are the rules. I don't break Marcel's rules."