Chapter 1

"The banshee also is a predictor of death. If someone is about to enter a situation where it is unlikely they will come out of alive she will warn people by screaming or wailing, giving rise to a banshee also being known as a wailing woman."

(Hope)

Everything hurt.

The ground was surprisingly hard beneath her, at least harder than she anticipated when she made the decision to jump into a seething, black pit of goo. She checked for injuries, finding herself relatively unscathed after such a long fall. Odd.

Stranger yet, she found no trace of the inky sludge on her body or clothes.

She quickly took stock of her surroundings—everything was shrouded in a misty, black fog. It was as if she was looking at everything from beneath a black veil. The rocky ground beneath her was solid enough, but the landscape in the distance shimmered strangely, like a distant mirage. She could make out the skeletal shape of trees and some rock formations in the distance—but everything remained ominously dark and hazy.

How was she ever going to explain this to Landon?

Only minutes before, they had finally reunited and cleared the air between them. She finally told him she loved him—and better yet, he felt the same. She finally opened herself up to being vulnerable and the universe rewarded her for what—ten minutes?

Wonderful.

Groaning, she pushed herself up onto her knees. If this was Malivore, then everyone at home had already forgotten about her. She was truly and utterly alone. There would be no one left on Earth who remembered Hope Mikaelson.

Maybe that's how it should be.

"Erggghhh—" The sound of a male groan brought her instantly back to the present.

Crap.

The weight of throwing herself into oblivion had almost made her forget the fact that she hadn't come here alone.

Agent Clarke was sprawled out on the ground next to her—his back was rigid, fists clenched, breathing in sharp gasps… His indignation was practically palpable.

"When I said I would be rooting for you, I didn't mean I'd be joining you on your little suicide mission!" Agent Clarke spat.

He was now standing over her, his pale face practically glowing in the inky darkness.

"Yeah, well we don't always get what we want," she quipped back at him.

Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure why she had forced him to come along in the first place. She guessed she preferred having him here where she could keep an eye on him. Plus, he was the only person besides Landon who knew anything about this forbidding hell scape.

Landon. Her heart hurt just thinking about how she left him on the floor of Triad, alone and helpless.

Please, Dr. Saltzman, get to him quickly.

"I don't know what you think you're going to gain by bringing me along on this little misadventure," Clarke continued, "But I'm sure as hell not going to help you find my father. If he thinks I'm working with you, he'll destroy me."

"Doesn't seem like my problem," she bit out.

If she was being entirely honest with herself, she was enjoying herself just a little. When she had forced Agent Clarke over the edge of the railing, it made her feel in control of an impossible situation—and she liked feeling in control.

If she could use this man as a means to an end and make him suffer a little in the meantime, she saw no downside.

"You're here to help me defeat Malivore and put the damn universe back in order," she said as she drew herself up to her full height—frustratingly, still significantly shorter than the lanky man before her.

Agent Clarke squinted his dark eyes at her, "You're going to regret this. My father is much more powerful than you realize, little witch." His smile sent a chill down her spine, but she wasn't about to show him any fear.

"Oh, I'm more than just a witch, don't you know?" she asked sweetly, "I'm the cursed tri-brid. The heir of Klaus Mikaelson himself—I'm sure you've heard of me." She batted her eyelashes a few times for effect.

Whether he knew everything or nothing about her, she couldn't tell. He just remained smiling. There was something about that smile that made her feel like he was looking straight into her soul… it was disturbing.

"Tell me how to find Malivore," she said.

"Now, why would I do that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You may think that my declaration of indifference about my father's fate meant I would be willing to help you. Well, I don't make a habit of helping anyone but myself."

"Exactly," she said. "Helping me defeat Malivore helps everyone—that includes you."

He laughed humorlessly, running a hand down his face in frustration.

"You're wrong. No matter which way this goes, I'm screwed. My father is crueler than you can imagine," he said, stepping closer to her.

"If he finds out that I assisted you, I'll be punished. Severely. And if you're somehow any match against him, am I to expect you'll just send me on my merry way?"

He had a point. She knew that even if they managed to get out of here alive, she couldn't just let him go free. He had already proven himself to be too unpredictable, too much of a wildcard. For now, she had no choice but to hope he'd let something useful slip.

"Fine, let's go," she said with purpose, deliberately marching forward, praying the mimic spell would hold out for a while longer.

Stiffly, he followed her lead, his smirk replaced by a clenched jaw.

Good.

The rhythmic crunching of the gravelly ground beneath her shoes jangled her nerves. She had no idea where she was going but moving was better than waiting for something to come crawling out of the shadows.

"I thought Malivore was supposed to be nothingness," she said, sparing a quick glance to Clarke as he trudged beside her.

"It seems Malivore is changing," he said, jaw still tense. "When we threw in the last key, it began to open—It reflects the monsters that were held here."

"Care to elaborate a little more?" she asked.

"I thought you were supposed to be bright?" he mocked. "You're the Salvatore School's little prodigy, are you not?" The smirk returned to his face.

God, he was pissing her off.

"Fine. Keep being unhelpful," she countered, rolling her eyes. "But we're probably not getting out of here alive, so you might as well tell me something useful."

"Doesn't seem like my problem," he said, throwing her words back at her.

She should have known from their first meeting in Kansas that he was going to be a major pain in her ass. Too bad he was Landon's brother, or she would have considered leaving him here to rot.

They had only been walking about half an hour when a strange wailing sound pierced the darkness. She stopped dead in her tracks. She felt magic in her fingertips, warm, electric and comforting. Agent Clarke had stopped as well, compelled to follow her lead. His shoulders were tense, and she detected a slight wobble in his throat.

"Scared?" she hissed at him as her eyes darted across the misty tree line. Something was out there, but everything in Malivore felt wrong—it was hard to tell whether she saw something moving or if it was just this dimension's strange landscape playing tricks on her.

"Be quiet," he shot back. He was scanning the tree line too, but she could tell his senses were as useless as hers. The wailing continued, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere all at once. She tightened her fists, feeling her nails bite into her palms.

Suddenly, there was movement behind them—she spun around with her hands out, ready to defend herself with magic—

"Resistus maledi!"

But there was nothing there… A sharp laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Keep it together, Hope. Now is not the time to lose your cool.

She could tell Clarke was just as rattled… and he was definitely sweating. "Get behind me!" he commanded.

Like Hell.

"Why would I do that?" she asked, hands jumping to her hips.

"Get back to back—we need to see what direction it's coming from," he barked.

She hesitated.

"Hope!"

Fine.

She moved behind him and they began to circle slowly, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The wailing continued, causing them to draw in closer to one another. Abruptly, she bumped into him as they moved. His back was surprisingly solid against hers. For such a wiry man, she had assumed he wouldn't have much in the way of muscles.

Guess she was wrong.

"Do you know what's out there?" she asked, trying to hide the fact that she was definitely freaked out.

"No," he replied tightly. She could tell he wasn't the kind of person who liked surprises.

Well, neither did she.

The wailing continued, sharp and keen. Every cell in her my body vibrated along with the sound, her panic mounting by the second. Just when she thought she couldn't possibly take it a moment longer, the offending noise abruptly ceased.

The silence was deafening. The only sound was their own breathing, which had somehow synced in their close proximity.

In. Out. In. Out. In—

She didn't dare move, and neither did he.

"Is it gone?" she finally asked, now pressed firmly against his back.

"I don't know," he returned. "But I don't think we should stick around to find out."

Agreed.

She finally budged forward; her back feeling immediately chilled where it had been pressed against his. Somehow, the absence of contact made her feel uneasy, despite its source. The suddenness and intensity of the feeling caught her off guard. All she wanted to do was reach out again…

Something must have showed on her face because Clarke said, "It's the nature of Malivore. It's a place where you go to be forgotten. Making physical contact with another being seems to ease the loneliness."

His tone was soft, but not necessarily kind. His eyes met hers, dark, searching, and more than a little calculating.

"Keep moving," was all she managed in reply, breaking eye contact. Her heart was still pounding in anticipation of a fight.

The longer she stayed here, the worse things were going to get. She might as well do what she came here to do.

Or die trying.

Agent Clarke followed her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She shot him a withering look, which he cheerfully ignored.

She may have made a huge mistake.