Klaus knew Alejandra’s cloak as soon as the laundress uncovered it. It was midnight-blue velvet, embroidered with tiny silver stars that danced into all kinds of fanciful constellations as the fabric moved. The collar was set with glass cut to look like gemstones, and there was a faint, familiar smell on it: the suggestion of the Southern Spot permeating the rich folds. But after a moment Klaus was able to discern another layer: a smoky scent that could only belong to Alejandra herself.

“That’s it,” he announced shortly, ignoring the confused look the laundresses exchanged with each other. “You ladies have my undying gratitude,” he added over his shoulder, as he caught Rebekah just coming off the staircase and spun her around toward the front door. “This way, dear sister,” he told her. “I know what we’re tracking now.”

Boot prints crisscrossed the mud where the wolves had lost the trail. “Your wolves have made a mess of this,” Klaus observed as Sampson joined him and Rebekah.

“We got this far.” The muscular werewolf shrugged. “If you’re able to carry on the search from here without us, we’ll accept your heartfelt gratitude and fall back.”

Rebekah laughed at the pack leader’s brazenness, and Sampson flashed a grin at her before stepping away. The wolves were in high spirits as their leader called them off the hunt. They had cobbled together a crude but sturdy raft, and Klaus saw Rebekah usher the last of the werewolves away from it. She took one of the long oars for herself and pushed into the shallow water.

Klaus stepped into the slow river and cast about for any hint of Alejandra’s scent. When he caught a trace of her perfume a dozen yards downstream, he pushed off to pursue it, waving vaguely to catch his sister’s attention as he went.

Rebekah caught up to him after a few moments, steering her raft through the sluggish water. “Come aboard, and help me keep this thing on course,” she ordered. “The wolves didn’t build it with ease of navigation in mind, although I’ll give them credit for keeping me out of that brackish mess you’re floundering in.”

Klaus hauled himself out of the sucking mud and crouched on the rough logs that made up the raft. “Head west for now,” he said, “but there’s no such thing as a steady bearing out here.” The overgrown swamp was all twists and switchbacks, defying any ordinary attempt at navigation. But Klaus could almost see Alejandra’s scent, beckoning him from deep in the bayou. Hours passed as Klaus and Rebekah floated down the river. He’d never been this deep into the marshes before—nothing good ever happened out here.

“It’s gone,” Klaus said suddenly. The faint trace of Alejandra had dissipated, and farther downstream there was nothing but the ordinary stench of the bayou.

Rebekah stuck her oar into the mud at the bottom of the river, then pushed them toward the muddy bank. “It must pick up there,” she said, jerking her chin toward an opening along the bank. It was a big enough gap for a boat to let passengers ashore.

- The Originals: The Resurrection, Chapter 16