Chapter 1

Stiles Stilinski slammed his locker shut and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. One moment. That's all he wanted. One moment where people weren't dying, where blood didn't leave a trail for him to follow, where paranormal creatures didn't lie in wait to attack his pack, and where innocent humans didn't get killed in the crossfires.

One. Moment.

"Stiles?" Scott asked nervously. Moment over. Stiles' eyes snapped open. He ran a hand through his bangs and pushed away from the lockers.

"Yeah, I'm listening."

"Are you sure?" Scott's brow furrowed as he closed his own locker far more gently. "You seem…out of it."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. It has nothing to do with the fact that yet more bodies are showing up, and they all seem to be paranormal," Stiles replied sarcastically. Scott's lips twitched.

"Noted." Silence stretched out between them, and for a moment, the only sound was the slamming of other lockers as the students milled around them between classes. Stiles shifted and let the silence last. What else was there to say? Three bodies had shown up in the last two weeks. Two werewolves, one werecoyote. The entire pack was on edge – especially Lydia – and hardly anyone was sleeping.

Worse than that, they had absolutely zero lead to go on.

Whoever was doing these killings did not want to be found.

When the silence became uncomfortable, Stiles turned to walk to class and skidded to a halt. His sneakers squeaked against the tiles as his arms flailed. Scott caught his arm to steady him.

A tiny waif of a girl stood before him with chestnut curls and big, hazel eyes; round and green, pinning him to the spot with flecks of gold. It reminded him of a forest in spring, for some strange reason. The lush forests and firm bark.

He hadn't even heard her approach.

Stiles' instinctively noticed as many details of the girl as possible, a handy little habit he picked up while surviving the paranormal by the skin of his back.

The top of the girls' head barely reached his chest, even though she wore brown boots with a slight heel. She wore metallic blue leggings and a baggy, red floral shirt – roses? Maybe? Stiles didn't know flowers – that hung from one shoulder. It revealed the graceful curve of her neck and an appetizing glimpse of a slim collarbone. Stiles cleared his throat.

A bright green amulet, in the shape of a glass leaf, hung around her neck.

"Hi." The girl's thin lips turned up in a bright smile. Stiles blinked.

"Um…hi?"

"You're Stiles," she said. Stiles' mouth popped open, but no words came out. He was used to awkward, but this was on a whole new level. Who just walked up to a stranger out of the blue and called them by name? Suspicion instantly took root in Stiles. How does she know me? The rational part rebuked him. Relax. You go to school together. Stiles snorted. When has that ever made a difference?

"Why yes, yes I am?" he replied uncertainly. Her grin grew.

"I wanted to introduce myself." Another blink.

"…okay?"

"Bye."

"By- wait what?" Without another word, the girl whirled on her heel – kind of like a dancer – and sauntered away. Stiles stared after the girl with slits for eyes as Scott stepped forward, following her retreat with his gaze.

"She smells amazing," Scott gasped.

"She does?" Stiles frowned and turned to his best friend, pushing the strange girl from his mind.

"Yeah." Scott turned to him with a frown. "Couldn't you smell it?"

"No, pretty sure I still have a perfectly human nose." Stiles tapped his nose sarcastically for emphasis. "What did she smell like?"

"Like…spring," Scott replied slowly, clearly struggling for the right words. "No, more like…blooming flowers?"

"Reall-"

"Stiles Stilinski, report to the guidance counselor's office." The announcement crackled overhead on the loudspeakers, and silence instantly descended over the hallway. "Stiles Stilinski, please report to the guidance counselor's office." Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and blew out a long breath.

"What did you do?" Scott muttered.

"I have no idea. What don't I do?" Apparently suspicious spring girl would have to wait.

I definitely didn't do anything to deserve this. Stiles stood outside the guidance counselor's office and peered through the blinds. A pair of agents – they had to be, with those black suits and sunglasses – stood with their hands clasped at their waists by the guidance counselor, who spoke with flustered hand gestures. Stiles fiddled with the straps of his backpack and thought about his next move. Step inside and talk with them? Run? If he ran, they would probably just call his dad, and then his dad would be in trouble.

No, he had to walk in there, head held high, and face whatever was in store for him.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and reached for the handle.

"If you don't like what they say," a small voice said at his elbow, "you don't have to listen." Stiles' fingers slipped on the doorknob as he spun, eyes wide. The same girl from a few minutes before stood gazing up at him, her head lilted slightly at an angle.

"Stop doing that! Where did you come from?" he demanded.

"I've been here the whole time," she protested lightly, hugging a textbook to her chest. "You just didn't notice." Stiles frowned.

"I'm pretty sure I would've noticed you," he replied diffidently. Her eyelashes fluttered, and Stiles blanched, his stomach somersaulting nervously. "That is, you know, not because you're a girl and I noticed you like that – I mean, obviously you're a girl, I just meant, you know…you're standing here…what are you doing here?" he finished lamely.

"Waiting for the guidance counselor," she replied innocently. A blush rose to Stiles' cheeks.

"Right," he stammered. "That…makes sense." Her lips cricked into a lopsided grin.

"I think so."

"Mister Stilinski?" The door swung open to reveal a wide-eyed guidance counselor and the pair of agents. Stiles' swallowed nervously when he noticed the transparent wires connected to their earpieces. Definitely agents. "Come in, Mr. Stilinski." The guidance counselor practically rushed him forward, clearly baffled by the reason for his summons as well.

The girl grabbed his arm and dragged him to a halt before he could step inside.

"Don't forget what I said," she whispered, her bright eyes keen. "If you don't like what they say, don't listen." Her voice took on a singsong quality, and Stiles blinked at the sugary sweet words, smooth and warm as honey. It made his head spin. Then the girl released him and waited, leaning back against the wall by the guidance counselor's office. He stumbled into the office behind the guidance counselor with a frown, but before he could question the girl the door slammed shut, trapping him inside with the guidance counselor and the agents.

"I'll just be in the other room," the guidance counselor blathered nervously, wringing her hands at her waist. "Call if you need me." She slipped away to the front office. Scratch that. Trapping me in here with two agents and no one else. Stiles shifted nervously and flipped the straps of his backpack across his stomach. He tried to study the agents inconspicuously, but it proved rather difficult since the agents were studying him with open intensity.

The man on the right stood at least six feet tall with black hair and a silly looking moustache, thin as a pencil and curled at the edges. The other stood a few inches shorter, with stylish blonde hair and a killer beard.

"Stiles Stilinski?" the agent with the blonde hair asked.

"The one and only," Stiles replied, hating the way his voice cracked slightly.

"We need to see I.D." Blinking, Stiles slung his backpack over one shoulder and dug around for his wallet.

"What's this about?" he asked doubtfully while he searched. Neither agent moved or spoke, standing with their feet shoulder length apart and their hands folded at this waist. If Stiles didn't know any better, he would say they looked ready for a fight. "That bad, huh?" Nothing. "Or am I finally receiving a medal of honor for all the good I do for this town?" he muttered.

"Something like that." Stiles froze, fingers curled around his brown leather wallet, and glanced up at the dark haired agent.

"Come again?" Rather than reply, the man held out his palm expectantly. Slipping open the wallet, Stiles pulled out his driver's license and smacked it into the agent's hand. The man's head tilted down, and Stiles assumed he was verifying the information – he couldn't see behind the thick sunglasses – before the agent looked back up at him. Stiles tucked the wallet into his back pocket and waited tensely.

"Stiles Stilinski," the blonde agent began without introduction. "It has come to our attention that you have been instrumental in solving more than a few unexplained cases in the Beacon Hills County." Stiles tried to keep his mouth from dropping open, and failed.

"You don't say..."

"As such," the dark haired man continued, "we are considering offering you an internship with the CIA." The floor fell out from beneath Stiles. "You are familiar with the CIA?"

"Of course I am," Stiles returned sharply, falling back on his sarcasm to replace his shock. "I happen to be a human being living in the United States, so yes, I am." The agents shared a look.

"The internship would take place over the summer," the blonde haired agent continued. "You would report to a confidential CIA facility as an intern and work there full-time. Should you prove yourself, we would consider offering you a scholarship to college contingent upon three years of service to the CIA after you graduate." The words and numbers flashed through Stiles' head. He felt rooted to the spot, heavy and light all at once, his head floating somewhere near the ceiling while his stomach sank to the floor.

Is this really happening? Stiles' grip tightened around the single strap of his backpack still hanging over one shoulder. After everything that's happened…is something good finally happening? Stiles snapped out of his reverie with a shake of his head. It's too good.

"What would I have to do?" he asked suspiciously. The agents shared a look again. Stiles sighed in exasperation. "Clearly, you have something secret or important you need to share, no need to keep giving each other the look." Neither one of the agents cracked so much as a half smile. Crap.

"To start," the dark haired agent continued, "we need your help on a current case."

"There have been three deaths in Beacon Hills in the past two weeks," the blonde haired agent said, nearly mirroring Stiles' earlier thoughts. "Given the…nature of the homicides, we believe your eyes and ears would be useful in this case." Nature. What did that mean? Did the agents – or rather, the CIA know about the supernatural? Were they part of a supernatural taskforce? Were they scouting him to be part of the supernatural taskforce? Stiles didn't know whether to be flattered or to run away screaming. Being paid to do what he did with Scott every single day…it was both a blessing and a curse.

"What homicides?" Stiles asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know the homicides," the blonde haired agent surprised him by saying. "We know you've hacked into the local sheriff's department radio frequency and listen to all the reports." Stiles' mouth became suddenly dry. Two CIA agents just openly admitted to knowing he committed something akin to a felony, and they were still offering him an internship. Something wasn't right. Unless they were trying to blackmail him, or use that knowledge as leverage, to get him to do what they wanted.

"Let's pretend that I do," Stiles repeated, careful not to fully confess. "What can I do that you can't?"

"You can get us someone on the inside," the blonde haired agent responded tonelessly.

"This particular case would be too much for an…ordinary human to handle," the black haired agent added. "We need someone extraordinary." Scott. Stiles almost spit out the name of his best friend, almost gave the agents exactly what they were looking for. He caught himself at the last second and bit down harshly on his lower lip.

The next thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, making every muscle in his body tense and lock up. They know. Stiles' heart pounded painfully against his ribcage. He didn't know how they knew, but all of his instincts were screaming at him to stay quiet, to not say a word, and to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. They know about Scott, and they know about the others.

He remained silent.

"If you help us with this," the black haired agent coaxed, taking a step closer to Stiles that made him instantly step back. "We can guarantee you the internship." Stiles continued to edge closer towards the door without turning his back to the agents. "We know you could use the money, Mr. Stilinski." Stiles' back stiffened.

"Think of how proud your father would be," the blonde haired agent added without moving an inch. "The sheriff's son becomes a CIA agent. And he wouldn't have to worry about figuring out how to pay for your college." The words stabbed Stiles in the heart, and for a moment, for a miserable, weak willed moment, he hesitated. He debated the harm it would be to agree to their demands, and figure out a way to get them what they wanted without revealing the identities of his friends. He hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, the agents saw everything they needed to see.

"Did we mention the scholarship to college is a full-ride?" the dark haired agent added. "To any local university. You wouldn't even have to leave home. You could help out your father, and achieve your dreams all at once." Stiles hated how perfect it sounded. He hated it because he knew the better it sounded the less real it became. The agents wanted something from him, and it didn't matter what he wanted; they planned to get it, one way or the other.

The warning bell rang, harsh and grating, through the room. Stiles winced and stepped further towards the door.

"Well, that's the warning bell, so, I really should go," Stiles fumbled. "If I have any shot at university I need to graduate first, so, if there's nothing else, or if you have a card, I could drop a line-" The dark haired agent rifled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a plain white index card, handing it to him. Stiles accepted the card with a blink. He hadn't actually thought the agent would have a card to give.

"Thanks." Stiles stuffed the card into his pocket alongside his wallet and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If there's nothing else…?" The agents shared another look – seriously, how cliché could they get? – and stepped forward simultaneously. Stiles flew away from them, his black slamming into the door. He had nowhere to go. His heart rattled uncertainly. He needed to run, needed to escape. His fingers fumbled for the doorknob.

"Stiles Stilinski," the dark haired agent began, and the room swam around Stiles. Stiles gasped, his fingers clenching convulsively around the handle. The man's words had the same honey sweetness as the girl's from the hallway, but it felt…different. Sweet fruit with the sour, pungent flavor that bordered on rotten.

"You will tell us…" The agent's lips continued moving, but Stiles heard only a faint buzz, as if an annoying fly had been trapped in the back of his mind. Stiles blinked and rubbed his ear with his shoulder. The agent stopped speaking and waited expectantly. Stiles blinked.

"What?" The agent's eyebrows twitched.

"I said, you will tell us…" Once again, the agent's lips mouthed the words, but Stiles heard nothing but an incoherent hum. The agent stopped again, and Stiles felt the man's gaze boring into him despite the sunglasses.

"I can't hear-" The late bell pealed through the room, ringing painfully loud in Stiles' ears. He winced. "As pleasantly strange as this has been, I'm going to leave now, but I'll be sure to give you a call." Stiles twisted the doorknob and the door swung open, spilling him out into the hallway.

The agents shared yet another glance.

"Seelie," was the last thing Stiles heard before he booked it to chemistry.