Scion
No answer. Again. Isaac glared at the cellphone in his hand. Now he was seriously worried.
His eyes strayed to the screen of the laptop in front of him. Gottcha, he thought. At least something had gone right tonight. The address he had been searching for stared back at him. His sense of triumph faded as anxiety built, and coiled, and twisted in his gut. He looked at his cellphone and hit redial. His fingers drummed on the desktop as he waited to see if the call would go through this time. Maybe he was worrying needlessly. It might be just poor service. Connections from the castle were notoriously unreliable.
With Scott, Chris and Derek on the scene, what was there to worry about? They could take care of any supernatural threat. Hadn't they taken down the nogitsune and the oni? Isaac's grip tightened on the cellphone. But, not everyone had survived that fight.
He listened impatiently as the phone finally began to ring in California. He was so not going to leave another message. Isaac considered his alternatives if this call did not go through. There was really only one: he would call Scott. Scott was the Alpha. He would know something. It had been his call, after all, that had sent Chris flying back to California. Back to investigate the truth of Scott's incredible story that Chris's sister, Kate, had returned from the dead. Not only returned from the dead but returned as a were. Isaac grimaced at the memory of the black, icy fury that had enveloped Chris as he threw his gear together before leaving.
Isaac actually thought it was grimly appropriate that someone who had never adhered to the Code when it came to determining who was and was not legitimate prey should have ignored that bedrock rule of the Hunter: death before dishonor. That was not, of course, The Rule. Chris had quoted it to him and it had sounded far nobler in French with its references to honneur and devoir. But that was the gist. It was the reason, according to Chris, that his own uncle, after he had been bitten, had killed himself rather than turn. He had died before Allison was born. But the tradition still lived on in the old Hunter families. It had been the same adherence to the Code that had led Allison's mother, only months ago, to kill herself rather than turn from Derek's bite.
Like father, like daughter, Isaac supposed. Gerard had avidly sought to become the very thing he professed to hate in order to escape a painful death from cancer. It was only to be expected that his daughter, who had flouted all the lesser strictures of the Code, would not do the honorable thing if it meant taking her own life. She had, according to Scott, not only embraced but seemed to revel in the power of the beast. Isaac had seen Chris's pain and anger. It was this unforgivable betrayal of the Code, more than the danger she posed to Beacon Hills, that had sent Chris Argent flying across the Atlantic.
Unfortunately for Isaac, Chris could not confide the reason for his sudden departure to America to anyone else. No one had been satisfied with his cryptic excuse of family business, least of all their host, the Doyen of Le Chateau, a scary, old Hunter, Jean Chasseur. A man who Isaac, upon first meeting him, had confided to Chris reminded him of a less cuddly Gerard. The thin, humorless smile this comparison drew from Mr. Argent had done nothing to settle the young werewolf's nerves.
Isaac understood Chris's need for haste. Chris needed to put his sister down before news of her apostasy could spread. Already, to protect the family name, he had kept both Kate's part in the murder of the Hale family and Gerard's role with the kanima from the Hunter community. He knew that not even the most reactionary Hunters, the ones who subscribed to Gerard's "Kill them all. Let God sort them out." philosophy, could overlook or forgive Kate allowing herself to become a ravening beast.
Before Chris left he had warned Isaac to be careful. Isaac needed to be aware that his speed and strength had been noticed and he was already the subject of gossip around the school. Chris had assured him that his secret was still safe. The truth was so outlandish that it would not occur to anyone as a possibility. No one would credit that a werewolf was living in their midst. As long, of course, as he did not wolf-out in front of anyone.
But there were other dangers for the unwary. Isaac needed to stay alert for the traps set in the halls of Le Chateau for the unsuspecting by the envy, suspicion and Hunter politics that swirled within its walls. Chris's abrupt departure would be sure to generate questions that would all be directed at Isaac. He would be the one who would have to deal with them.
When Isaac had protested that he was a terrible liar, his mentor had looked up from his packing and smiled that infuriating smile of his. Chris had replied that lying was a necessary survival skill for werewolf and hunter alike. And, yes, his skills did need improvement. Mr. Argent returned to his packing and very purposefully did not look at the young werewolf as he suggested that Isaac view this as a kind of 'live fire' exercise. Isaac's skills in this area would either have improved greatly by the time he returned or Isaac might be dead. Zipping his case shut Chris had told a speechless Isaac that he was sure he would do fine.
Mr. Argent had not exaggerated the challenges that Isaac would face in his absence. The young werewolf had found the last month exhausting. Everyone seemed to have questions. Questions that Isaac could not answer, at least not truthfully. His solution had been to keep his answers brief and incorporate as much of the truth as he could without betraying Chris.
This strategy had succeeded so far with everyone except the Doyen. His relentless pursuit of information had left Isaac exhausted. He always seemed to happen upon Isaac, with his polite but unending questions, when the young man was at his most vulnerable. Monsieur Chasseur would show up after Isaac had spent hours on the target range trying to master the arsenal of weapons that Hunters used; or brain dead from an all-day French immersion class that Le Chateau required of the non-French speakers. The cat and mouse game Isaac had had to play had given him a deeper appreciation for the delicate balancing act Scott had performed while deceiving Gerard Argent. The worst times, however, had been when the Doyen caught Isaac after hand-to-hand combat. The young wolf always emerged from this class exhausted in body and spirit. The strain of the constant vigilance needed to keep himself from injuring his fellow trainees as they went through their drills sometimes left him shaking at the end of a session.
Eventually Isaac had grown grew tired of this training, which seemed a waste of time to him, and had protested to the instructor at the start of a class the pointlessness of their work. How, he had asked, could humans be expected to fight werewolves without weapons and survive? The instructor, whose face bore a terrible scar that ran from scalp to chin, had shown no irritation at his effrontery. He had considered Isaac's question seriously before replying and had directed his answer not just to Isaac but to the entire class.
"No," he had agreed, "a human cannot go mains dans la main with a werewolf and survive for long. But werewolves are not the only supernatural creatures in the world and most are not as hard to kill as weres. So, learning to fight with only your hands and wits is not pointless, Monsieur. But even if you are up against a werewolf, your ability to survive their initial attack with nothing but bare hands could buy you the few seconds needed to find a weapon or for help to arrive." The instructor's hand went to his scar as he addressed the entire class. "Hunters do not give up."
Isaac's reward for his impertinence had been to be the instructor's opponent for the entire class. The "old man" had held nothing back that day. Chris Argent had been the only human that Isaac had ever seen move so fast until his instructor that day. At the end of class, Isaac's limp, as he left the sparring mat, had been real and unfeigned.
Of course, the Doyen had picked that day to observe the class. After its conclusion he had attached himself to Isaac as he slowly made his way to the locker room. Isaac had dodged and parried the usual barrage of questions until the young man's brain had felt as numb and battered as his body. Monsieur Chasseur had praised his performance. "I've never seen a trainee keep up so well with Monsieur Eveque. Your reflexes, they are almost surhumain."
The werewolf had kept on walking, too weary and too fixed on the thought of a hot shower to acknowledge the compliment or worry about its implication. But the old Hunter had not finished. His final comment had caused Isaac to look back at him.
"I could almost believe that you held back, took it easy on him." The Doyen had chuckled; but Isaac had noted that the older man's eyes were thoughtful as he watched him. "But that would be impossible. Non?"
So far, Isaac has managed to keep both his head attached and their secrets intact. But it has only been Chris's promise to return before the next full moon that has kept him going. Isaac has clung to it as the weeks passed and the pressures on him increased. Surrounded by Hunters, in a foreign country and with only four days left before the full moon, time was running out for Isaac. These grim thoughts ran through his head as he waited. The click, click of the call going through interrupted them.
"Hello." A man answered. Isaac's fingers tightened on his cell. The man on the other end of the call was not Chris Argent. Isaac looked down at the cellphone in his hand in confusion. He knew he had dialed the correct number. Something was wrong.
"Hey. I was calling Chris Argent." Isaac tried to sound calm, to keep the fear he felt out of his voice. If the person with Chris's cellphone was a werewolf the pretense would not work. The pounding of his heart would betray him.
"Who am I speaking too?"
The man ignored Isaac's question. "Chris can't come to the phone right now. Can I give him a message?"
Isaac listened to the stranger's words with all his special abilities. The voice belonged to a young man, he decided. Younger than Chris Argent, at least, but not a kid. There was, he thought, something familiar about the voice but Isaac could not fit a face to it. Even over the thousands of miles separating the two phones, however, his wolf could hear the heartbeat of the man holding the phone. That heartbeat was rapid. Faintly, in the background he could hear a second, weaker, erratic heartbeat. Isaac took a deep breath to quiet his nerves. If Mr. Argent was in trouble there was nothing that he could do from France.
"Uhhh. Tell him that it's Isaac." He needed information before he could act. If the problem, whatever it was, required immediate intervention, Scott and his friends would have to deal with it. Isaac was determined not to lose this connection. "And, that I really need to talk to him."
Apparently the stranger did not know what Isaac was because he did not mute the call. Isaac could clearly hear the whispered conversation on the other end.
"Chris, it's Isaac again. He's left you a lot of messages. He's worried about you."
The unknown man's voice sounded sympathetic and Isaac felt some of his tension dissipate. Chris was not being kept from his phone. He had been refusing to return Isaac's calls. That created a whole different set of worries for the young wolf.
"Are you up to talking to him?" Isaac heard worry in the speaker's voice. Why wouldn't Chris be able to talk to him, he wondered? Isaac did not hear his answer but the next voice that he heard was Chris Argent's.
"Isaac?"
It was only his name but Isaac allowed himself to relax a little. Whatever the problem was, and the weakness he heard in the older man's voice indicated that there was a problem, Chris was not a prisoner and someone was taking care of him. The young man frowned. That Chris "I can sew up my own wound" Argent needed care indicated things were going badly in Beacon Hills.
"Chris!" Isaac realized immediately that he needed to dial it back. He needed to play it cool. That was the way he knew Allison's father, the Hunter, would want it. But his anxiety got the better of him and he just blurted out the question, "What's wrong?
"Isaac, everything's fine here." Chris's voice sounded tired and the lack of force behind his words put the lie to his claim. Isaac heard a derisive snort in the background and could easily picture the fierce scowl that Argent was directing at its perpetrator. Having been on the receiving end of that look more than once, he did not envy its recipient. That anyone would dare suggest to his face that Chris Argent needed help would gall him and be a ballsy thing to do. Werewolves might outmatch Hunters in strength and quickness; but when it came to the macho, bullshit stuff, Hunters were definitely their peers. Isaac did not know who this stranger was who was heckling Chris but decided he liked him.
"Things don't sound fine, Chris. You don't sound fine. What's the matter?"
"I had a fight with Peter Hale." Chris answered matter-of-factly. "And, I won." Isaac heard a bark of laughter. "Parrish, any time you fight an Alpha and can walk..." The laughter became louder. "Okay, live. You satisfied, Deputy? Peter had hoped that I wouldn't live and I did. That's a victory. After you've fought a few more battles, if you live that long, you'll understand."
"How bad is it," Isaac asked? He had seen the damage the claws of an Alpha had done to Scott. He tried not to think what they could do to a human.
"It's not so bad. Just a scratch. He didn't lay a hand on me." Isaac rolled his eyes as he listened to this lie. He wondered at the ironic tone in Chris's voice and what he meant by a "scratch?" Chris had to know that he would know he was lying. The lie was so blatant that the young werewolf did not even need to hear the speedup in his heartbeat. Isaac wondered, however, at Deputy Parrish's suspicious silence at this preposterous fabrication. He decided that it probably meant that Chris was pointing a gun at him.
"Okay." Isaac knew when to give up. He was not going to get a better answer from his mentor. He was relieved that he knew who was with Chris. He could contact Sheriff Stalinski and get a number for the deputy. He would tell Isaac the truth. He remembered the Deputy. Parrish had gone onto a school bus to defuse a bomb and had fought the oni alongside Sheriff Stalinski and survived. Deputy Parrish was not a werewolf but he was a good choice for a human to have at Chris's side.
"I can be there in 24 hours."
"No! Don't come."
"But what about the Dead Pool and your sister? Has she been taken care of?"
Chris's breathing sounded labored to Isaac. "The Dead Pool is shut down but the other thing has gotten more complicated." Chris paused. "Kate and Peter Hale have joined forces."
"Shit!"
"Yes," Chris chuckled weakly. "That's exactly what we're up to our asses in here. And they have taken Scott and Kira."
"I'll call the airlines as soon as I hang up."
"No!" Chris's voice was stronger.
Isaac's mind was still trying to process this news and so Chris's command did not register at first.
"What? But it sounds like you need all the help you can get."
"I don't want you here, Isaac. Stay there!"
"But."
"Isaac, I understand you want to be here. I'm surrounded by werewolves here. I know the full moon is in four days. I can't be back by then. I'm sorry. You need to go with the alternate plan we discussed. Did you have any luck?"
"Yeah. I found an address. But stop trying to change the subject. I don't understand. Why don't you want me there?"
Isaac concentrated on the rhythm of Chris's heartbeat. It had steadied and was now slow and regular. At any other time, this would have reassured Isaac. But tonight, under the circumstances, it had the opposite effect. The man who was about to speakspoke to him from the other side of the Atlantic had entered, what Isaac had learned to recognize as, Hunter mode. He was no longer talking to Allison's father, the man with whom he had shared the grief of her death. It was Chris's Hunter voice that spoke to him.
"Isaac, listen to my heartbeat. You can tell if I'm lying. What do you hear?"
"You're telling the truth, Chris. You don't want me to come. But it doesn't make sense."
Chris Argent gave a deep sigh. "Parrish, would you check with the Sheriff and see when Stiles plans to leave for Mexico?" Isaac heard a door shut.
"Mexico?"
"Yeah, that's where Kate and her Berserkers have taken Scott and Kira. Isaac, listen," Chris's voice has lost its steel and returned to the warm, familiar tones of the man who had grieved with him over Allison. "Stiles has a plan but he doesn't know that Peter is working with Kate. So, what was a not great plan is actually a recipe for disaster. Peter, Kate and her Berserkers are stronger than the force Stiles can throw against them. The only advantage we have, and it's a small one, is that Peter thinks I'm out of the battle." Chris's voice grew cold. "He's wrong about that! There are Hunters in Mexico. People who are very interested in seeing Kate dead. With them in the mix and if we can free Scott, we have a chance. It's not much. But it's something. We have to try."
"All the more reason for me to come. The more claws and fangs the better." Isaac argued.
"You don't understand, Isaac. I don't think everyone will make it back. Even with you, the odds would still be against us."
Isaac rose from his chair and crossed to the room's window. He stared out into the night. The sky was overcast but he could feel it in his blood. The moon had risen. He slammed his fist into the stone sill of the window. When he opened his fist blood trickled down his wrist from the punctures in his palm. It's happening again, he thought bleakly.
"You're doing it to me, Chris. Like Derek! You know you may die and you're trying to protect me by pushing me away. I'm a man. I should have the right to decide." Isaac stopped. He needed to stay in control. Sounding whiney or petulant would not do. If he wanted to be treated like an adult, he needed to act like one.
"Allison would come. You know she would, Chris. You couldn't stop her. She'd be on the next plane." Isaac heard Chris sigh.
"You're right. She'd give me her word that she'd stay away and then defy me. There's a lot of her mother in her. Victoria would never listen to me, either. But that's the difference between Allison and you, Isaac. I know that you will keep a promise."
Isaac knew Mr. Argent was right. He doubted though that Chris knew the reason why he would not lie to him. It was the same reason he would have thrown himself into the coming battle in Mexico. His own safety was unimportant. Chris was in danger. He did not intend to give up without making one last plea.
"If I'm there I can help even the odds," he argued. "You've seen me fight. You know what I can do. You can't expect me to just sit here quietly while my friends go off to fight… and maybe die."
"Isaac, when I asked you if you wanted to come to France, what did you promise me?"
Isaac turned from the window and began to pace. He thought back to that day almost six months ago when Chris had asked him if he would accompany him to France. He had warned Isaac then that he would face challenges if he accompanied him and that he would have to trust him and do whatever was asked of him, no matter how strange or dangerous it seemed. The young man recalled Chris's words and the promise he had given so willingly.
"Isaac?" Mr. Argent prompted.
"Yeah, I remember." Isaac growled sullenly. The silence that greeted his grudging assent caused Isaac's anger to shrivel into a cold ember that settled in his stomach. He had disappointed Chris. The boy slumped into his chair.
"I hadn't planned on having this conversation with you yet, Isaac. But I've told you that a Hunter has to be flexible, able to change as conditions require. This is an example."
Isaac stared unseeing at the flickering flames in the fireplace in front of him. He wondered if Chris was going to tell him he wanted him gone. If he had shown too much independence or talked back once too often. Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and repeated silently to himself: I can change. I can do better.
"I brought you to France with me because I wanted you beside me, someone who loved Allison, when I laid her to rest. There are no Argents left now, Isaac." Isaac heard Chris snort. "Or, I might as well be the only one left. That truth doesn't change just because my sociopath of a sister has risen from her grave or my father, the family psychopath, still clings to his cursed life. There is no one alive who has not dishonored the family. No one to carry on our work."
Isaac heard Chris's heartbeat accelerate. He had watched Allison's father battle the kanima, the Alphas of Deukalion's pack, nearly die at the hands of the Darach and stand against the oni with no sign of fear or panic, just cool professionalism. The young werewolf wondered what could be coming next. Chris cleared his throat.
"Isaac, I didn't think this would be so hard. But then I didn't think that when I talked to you it would be by telephone from half a world away. I thought I'd be able to watch your face, gauge your reactions, know how best to explain what I've done." The Hunter fell silent again. Isaac waited, a hollow feeling growing in his chest. The only sound was the static from his cellphone.
Finally, Chris broke the silence. "Isaac, I've made you my scion."
The young man heard uncertainty in Chris Argent's voice which unnerved him. Chris was always decisive; never displayed doubts once he had come to a decision; and bulled his way through any obstacle to achieve his objective.
"What?" Isaac asked doubtfully.
Chris laughed weakly. "Scion. It's an old word, Isaac. It means I've made you my heir. You're the new wood that I intend to graft onto the trunk of this dying tree. Strong, healthy wood to give it a future."
"Hold on now. Does the branch that's getting grafted onto your tree have any say?" His question was met with silence. Isaac took that to mean, no. He tried a different argument.
"Chris, you're not so old you couldn't start another family. Have more kids. You're not ugly. Women check you out all the time. You just need to remember how to look back."
"I let you date Allison, Isaac. I trust you; and if I took your advice and did remarry, my children would still need you. They'd have an older brother. One who's a werewolf and a Hunter. Someone to keep them safe. I'm being realistic, Isaac. Few Hunters live to see their children grow up. Even fewer get to hold their grandchildren. Gerard and the Doyen are exceptions." Isaac heard the sincerity in Chris's voice but refused to give up.
"Do you really want me, a werewolf, going to your kid's birthday parties and giving them piggy-back rides? A werewolf, Chris! Remember?" Isaac protested. "Twenty generations of Argents must be spinning in their graves at this crazy idea. Their spirits are probably recorporealizing as we speak and marching here to drag me off to a hideous death." Isaac ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Come on. Seriously? A Hunter! This makes no sense. Hunters. Kill. Werewolves. And, I'm a fucking werewolf!" The young man's voice had grown louder as he argued. His last words were shouted.
Isaac's eyes grew wide as he looked at the door to his room. He gulped and then let out a sigh of relief. The thickness of the doors in the castle was amazing. He had joked to Chris, when he first saw his room, that you would need a battering ram to break down his door. Mr. Argent's matter-of-fact reply, that that was the whole point, had rocked Isaac and brought home to him the reality of being in a real castle. He had never, in the months he had lived in the castle, heard any sound from the hallway outside his door. Looking at the heavy wooden planks out of which his room's door had been fashioned, he realized that at this time of night no one could have heard his outburst
"Isaac, you know better than that. The Code dictates that only dangerous rogues are to be hunted. You've fought beside both me and my daughter."
"Yeah and I was nearly killed by Allison. She was, admittedly, having an off day. But your father tried to kill me and everyone in your family took a shot at Scott, including your wife. We won't even talk about your sister. If bad Hunters outnumber the good ones, even in your family, why should I think the other Hunter families are any different?"
"Because you've spent the last few months at Le Chateau. You've studied with and trained beside the next generation of Hunters. If Scott asked your opinion of them, what would you tell him?"
Isaac thought back over his experiences with the young men he had trained beside. "Okay, you're right. More of them seem to be sane and dedicated to the Code than those who aren't. It's been too weird to make friends with guys who would, without hesitation, put a shell laced with wolfsbane through my heart if they knew what I was. But, yeah, there are a couple that are really good guys. Ones, that if they were back in Beacon Hills, I'd recommend to Scott that he consider for friends of the Pack. But some are just as bat-shit crazy as Gerard. They hide it well in class and from the instructors; but when you get a little wine in them, their blood lust comes out. For them the only good werewolf is a dead werewolf."
"That was true in my day too, Isaac." Chris acknowledged. "I'm afraid that it may be more common today but it's still a minority opinion. But you know that Hunters are sworn to protect humanity from more than just werewolves. Our duty is to defend against all supernatural threats. Would you really hesitate, Isaac, to put down a creature, even a werewolf, if there was no other way to stop it from hurting people?"
"Nooooo." Isaac's response trailed off. He could see in his mind's eye the look of pain and disappointment on Scott's face at his answer. But he also knew it was true. He could feel it in his gut. The anger he kept caged in his heart could explode under the right circumstances. He could kill a monster and not suffer any of the guilt that Scott would feel in the same situation.
"No." Isaac repeated with more confidence.
"And about the rest? Will you do it for me?"
Isaac listened to Chris's breathing as he considered his proposition. He had spent the months after Allison's death fighting against the temptation to think of Mr. Argent as family. Isaac had only needed to remember Stilinski's off handed comment about his "Daddy Issues" to know where he was vulnerable. He had tried to use the still open wound of bitterness that lingered from Derek's betrayal to keep himself from making the same mistake of placing too much trust in Allison's dad. He had no desire to suffer that disappointment again.
But he realized that the decision was not really a hard one for him. From the moment Chris had invited him to come to France, he had been willing to do anything Chris Argent asked. That had been the moment when he had known that Chris considered him family and not just Allison's boyfriend. He shook his head in amazement. Chris had not offered to adopt him but thought of him as his son. That was enough for Isaac. He would agree to do whatever crazy things Chris asked of him.
"Yeah. I'll do it. But, Chris, this is all hypothetical, right? You would have to die first and that's not an option. Understood?" Isaac demanded.
"Understood. I am not to die this weekend. Got it, Isaac." Isaac heard the smile in Chris's voice. "But everything else we've discussed, I meant all of it. And if things don't go as planned, all the arrangements have been made with my attorney in Beacon Hills."
"I don't care what sort of arrangements you've made, Chris Argent. If I'm going to do what you ask, you're going to be around to help me through this. You can't just drop all this shit on me and die. So, dying is out. Got that?"
"Okay, no dying. Promise. But Isaac, the full moon is still in four days."
"Yeah. Like I said, I have an address. So what do I do if this crazy scheme doesn't work? It seems awfully chancy and you won't be here to keep me from fucking up during the change."
"Isaac, I think you'll be surprised." Chris ignored the dismissive snort that was Isaac's answer. "And if Plan B doesn't work, you just go to Plan C." Chris's tone was casual but Isaac heard the spike in his heart rate as he said this. "Have you made those arrangements?"
"Yeah, and I got two reservations," Isaac answered defiantly.
"Two is fine. You know I'll be there if I can. But whatever Kate has planned for Scott is probably timed to coincide with the full moon." Isaac could hear the sincerity in Chris's voice but understood how unlikely it was that he would make it back in time. "I'd feel better if I was there; but this isn't your first full moon. It's not even your twelfth, Isaac. You can do this."
"Every night when the moon rises I can feel it getting closer, Chris. It's going to be a bitch." Isaac took a deep breath. "I have an admission to make: I've never gone through a full moon alone. There's always been someone with me or someone I could go to. There was Derek at first, then Scott, Allison and finally you." Isaac chuckled. "I must be the only werewolf to have ever had a crazy Hunter as his backup."
"It will work, Isaac. It will work because you're strong. Remember that!" Argent has reverted to his Hunter's voice. "Derek saw that in you when he chose you; Scott knew it when he welcomed you into his pack; Allison felt it when she fell in love with you and I discovered it, too. It's why I did this. I believe in you. I had my lawyer start drawing up the papers before we ever left for Europe, long before I knew about Kate. You can do this by yourself; and, if necessary, you can go on without me. Always remember that you can find friends and allies, even in the most unlikely places, if you will be open to seeing them."
Isaac heard a soft tapping from Chris's end and then the sound of a door opening. "I've got that information you wanted, Mr. Argent." Isaac flexed his hand and willed his claws to retract. Deputy Parrish had returned with the information about the mission to rescue Scott.
"Thanks, Parrish. Come in. Isaac, we need to start getting ready here."
"For Mexico, right?"
"Yeah. But don't worry about me, Isaac. You've got your own trip to get ready for."
"But I'm less likely to die…" Isaac trailed off and then scoffed. "Well, maybe less likely to die."
"Isaac, I have faith in you. You can make this work. Just turn on your charm."
The guffaw this invoked from Isaac produced an answering burst of laughter from Chris. When their laughter stopped neither of them spoke. Finally, Mr. Argent broke the silence between the two men that was becoming uncomfortable.
"Take care of yourself, Isaac. Remember, you can do whatever you set your mind to. You just need to believe in yourself."
Isaac stopped pacing and threw himself into a chair. "If you die Chris Argent I am going to be royally pissed. I swear that I will find a witch; and I will have her raise your ghost; and then I will kick your ectoplasmic butt from here to Beacon Hills. Put Parrish on the phone." Isaac demanded.
He heard Argent explain to the Deputy as he passed him the phone. "He wants to talk to you. Don't know."
"Parrish, I'm not going to ask you if you think Chris is well enough to take on his psycho sister, her Berserker buddies, and a crazed Alpha because he's in the room with you. What I will ask you to do is to look after, as much as he'll allow, this crazy old man who still thinks he's twenty and immortal." Isaac heard Parrish's amused laughter. It was, however, the sound of Argent's outraged sputtering that lifted Isaac's spirits. "Well?" Isaac prompted.
"Isaac, you have my word that I will keep this 'crazy old man' alive." Parrish was still chuckling as he handed the phone back to Mr. Argent.
Isaac rushed on not waiting to hear the older man's sour response. "Chris, you heard that. Jordan's not going to let you get yourself killed. So, I expect you to cooperate and not die." With that injunction Isaac broke the connection before he said anything so honest that it would embarrass them both.
The young man stood and slipped the cellphone into his hip pocket. He crossed to the canopied bed that stood in the center of the room and pulled a battered duffel from beneath it. His thumb rubbed across a faint pattern of brown specks on its handle. Souvenirs of the night Derek threw him out. Isaac refused to dwell on the pain of that night. He chose instead to remember the warmth of the welcome he had received from Scott and his mother.
Isaac slipped his laptop into the duffel and stuffed clothes around it. Zipping it closed, he checked the clock sitting on the mantle above the room's fireplace. It was 1:00 am. He had studied the train schedules as Chris had advised. The TGV from Marseille to Paris would arrive at the downtown station at 9:00 am. That was the train he needed. It would be four hours, however, before the first bus into the city left the village.
If he started for the village now he would be early; but he was too wired to sleep. He hoped that doing something, even embarking on a scheme as harebrained as Plan B, would take his mind off the danger Chris and his friends were heading into. Isaac brushed his hand across his face. It came away wet. He glared at his hand before swiping it angrily on his jeans.
He needed to man up. Stay in control. Not cry like a sissy. The memory of his father's voice in his head was an icy splash of reality. The little voice inside his head continued to whisper its sour bile, trying to eat away at the foundations of his fragile sense of worth. Don't play the fool again, Lahey. Chris Argent is only your girlfriend's father. He'll never be more than that to you. He's another Derek. But Isaac knew that this time the words were untrue. Chris had offered him the family that he desperately desired. He needed to hold onto that thought.
Isaac swung his duffel onto his shoulder and walked to the door. He opened it cautiously and then shook his head in disgust. He was not a prisoner here. So why did he feel the need to skulk around like a thief and sneak out of the place. It must be, he realized, the charade he had been forced to live for the past few months that made him feel the need for stealth. He stepped out boldly into the hallway but after only a few steps found that he was hugging the shadows along the hall and tiptoeing.
He had reached the head of the staircase that led down to the entrance hall of the castle when the young werewolf heard it, a heartbeat. Seconds later, when he was half way down, a draft of air met him and brought with it a familiar scent. Isaac scanned the hall below him. Standing in front of the great doors of Le Chateau, was Monsieur Chasseur. The Doyen was staring up at him. After Isaac remembered to breathe, he resumed his descent. He tried to appear calm and was glad that the old man was human. The staccato beat of his heart would have instantly revealed the true state of his nerves to another werewolf. He tried to reassure himself that he was not doing anything wrong. It was an odd time to be leaving but he was neither a prisoner nor a formal student living here under the supervision of the Doyen. He could leave whenever he pleased – even 2:00 a.m. The walk across the great hall seemed interminable.
The Doyen greeted the young man with a nod when he reached him. "Bon soir, Monsieur Lahey. You are up late." He observed mildly.
Isaac saw the old Hunter's eyes go to the duffel slung over his shoulder. He did not comment. The Doyen's eyes narrowed and Isaac felt as though he was being appraised and weighed against some standard he did not understand. Even without the red glow, the cold, gray eyes watching him reminded the young werewolf of those of an Alpha.
"Monsieur." Isaac was stumped. His mind had gone blank. He could not remember the cover story that Chris had developed for him to use if it became necessary for him to leave suddenly. All he found himself able to do was smile foolishly at the Doyen as though he had been caught in the kitchen stealing cookies. His hand came up and he rubbed his neck. He knew that he must look like the guiltiest idiot the old Hunter had ever seen.
"Your friend, he has gotten worse?" The old man asked.
"Yes, exactly, he has gotten worse!" Isaac had to keep himself from laughing in relief at this reminder of his cover story. His friend's illness taking a turn for the worse was not, after all, a good thing. The story came back to him. Chris had let it be known that Isaac had a gravely ill friend that he might need to visit on short notice.
"I got a call tonight, sir. I need to catch the TGV to Paris and I'm going down to the village to catch the first bus into the city. It's so late that I didn't want to ask anyone for a lift. The weather's not bad. So I thought I'd walk. I know it's past curfew but since I'm not..." Isaac trailed off as he noted the smile on the Doyen's face. Isaac thought that he should stop now. He feared that if he offered any more explanation he ran the risk of lapsing into Stiles like babbling.
The Doyen made no comment, only turned to the massive wooden doors and pulled the nearest one open. Isaac tried not to look impressed. He knew, however, just how much strength it took to move that massive piece of oak. Not for the first time, the young werewolf wondered if some Hunters were more than human. Isaac had seen Chris do things and survive injuries that seemed to be impossible. But this was not the person to have that conversation with. Isaac repositioned the duffel on his shoulder.
"Merci."
The old man acknowledged his thanks and walked outside with him into the castle's courtyard. He turned to Isaac and asked, "Will you be returning to us, Monsieur Lahey?"
"What?" Isaac stared at him in confusion.
"To rejoin the class, bien sur. You have done very well here. The instructors are very impressed with your speed and strength. Your weapons skills are weak but, even there; the instructor says you show promise. I thought perhaps you might wish to become a formal student." The Doyen smiled. The old Hunter seemed to be enjoying the state of flustered confusion into which he had plunged Isaac. He continued cryptically, "Christopher and I have discussed you. You would bring an unusual... even unique, element to the school."
"Unique!" Isaac squeaked. He swallowed and repeated in his normal voice, "Unique?"
"You are American and your countrymen rarely send their sons to study with us anymore. Christopher was the last. They say we are demode, too old-fashioned. Too obsessed with the Code. And, you do not come from one of the traditional Hunter families. That is unique." The stare he directed at Isaac was piercing. "Did you think I meant something else, Isaac?"
"No." The young werewolf shook his head vigorously. "Uh, thank you. I hadn't considered that… possibility. Mr. Argent only recently discussed the idea with me. I need time to consider it. But first I need to visit my friend and then I'm heading back to Beacon Hills. Mr. Argent can use help there with things."
"Of course, I understand. It is not a decision that you should make lightly. Perhaps, when the difficulties in California are resolved…?"
"Perhaps, monsieur."
Monsieur Chasseur offered Isaac his hand. "Au revoir, Monsieur Lahey. Bon chance." With a nod and an enigmatic smile, the Doyen waved Isaac Lahey on his way, the first werewolf ever to leave the walls of Le Chateau alive.
When Isaac had walked far enough that he felt sure that the old Hunter could not see him on this cloudy night, he turned back to have one last look at Le Chateau. He saw, by the light spilling out of the open door, that Monsieur Chasseur still stood in the doorway looking up the road after him. To the young man's amazement the old man raised a hand in salute before reentering and closing the great door. As the light from the doorway was blotted out a series of unsettling thoughts occurred to Isaac. It was odd, he thought, that the Doyen should have been roaming the halls of Le Chateau so late; and an interesting coincidence that he should have found himself in the Great Hall just as Isaac came down from the dormitory wing; but most puzzling of all, Monsieur Chasseur had not needed to unlock the doors of the castle to let Isaac out. Isaac knew those doors were always locked at night. Why would he have unlocked them unless he knew that Isaac would be leaving tonight?
Isaac slowly walked on toward the village. In his mind he replayed his meeting with the Doyen. He wondered what all that was about at the door. It seemed impossible that Chris would have told the Doyen what he was. But there had seemed to be things the old Hunter knew but had not said. He had many hours of travel ahead of him to reflect on the Doyen's mysterious behavior and what the promise Chris had extracted from him would mean. Isaac hoped that he had so much to think about that he would not have time to worry about his reception in London and what it would mean if he were turned away.
A.N. (This note is for those of you who are more familiar with the last two episodes of Season 4 than I was when I started this story.) TIP OF THE DAY: It's always better to do your research before you start writing. My failure to do this is why this story is an AU. The ridiculously compressed time line that Teen Wolf uses in the last two episodes of Season 4 allows only one day between Peter pinning Chris to a wall with a piece of rebar and the climactic battle at La Iglesia in which Chris actively participates. So, Chris and Isaac could not have had the conversation I write about. I enjoyed that conversation too much to throw it out and thereby cut out the emotional heart of my story merely for the sake of consistency. Therefore it's an AU. TOTD #2: The refusal to face up to and accept reality is probably not the trait of a good writer.
A.N. 2 If this story seems to exist in sort of a vacuum that is because there's a rather long story that precedes it and another long story that follows it. I'm working on both of them but this story is not really necessary for either of the other two. It just sort of wrote itself. So, if you've been reading my Isaac stories, I do plan to fill in the gaps and hope my jumping around is not too off-putting.