A Legacy's Duty

Summary:

"With every action there is a positive and negative reaction."

The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help.

A person who is not as normal as they appear.


Chapter Two
Earned, Never Given


Location: Beacon Hills, California

"So...you're saying that Beacon Hills is sitting on top of a Devil's Gate?"

The entire Pack has assembled at Derek's loft (all werewolves, hunters, humans and banshee accounted for -with the exception of Peter-), eyes flicking away from Scott and Derek toward the blonde woman leaning against a wall; her thought-glazed eyes trained on the floor. It was expected that every person was hesitant around AJ, who was apparently a well-trained Hunter; one who probably rivals Chris Argent, despite her age. High competence is expected, but it's also a sign that this barely-legal woman is dangerous.

"Um..." Scott rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at the blonde, "Hey, AJ. Can you explain it?"

Shaking herself from her thoughts, AJ sighs, "No, Beacon Hills isn't sitting on top of a Devil's Gate," Scott and Derek both open their mouths to object, but the woman sighs, combing her fingers through her bangs, "but it has a high potential to become one if someone were to make it happen."

At the confused faces, she pushes away from the wall, "In order to balance out the amount of power that would typically seep out of the Ley lines, the Nemeton was placed to act as a natural filter; cycling the negative magic and turning it into a more purified, natural power. With the Nemeton currently running on tainted magic, if anyone possesses the knowledge and skill of using that, they could create a brand new Gate. If that were to open...Beacon Hills would be ground zero of a demon invasion; the first one to happen in over a decade."

"A Devil's Gate has been opened before?" Lydia asks, her eyes calculating.

The blonde moves back and forth at a slow pace, unhurried in her movements despite the situation, "Yes. It was only open for no more than ten minutes; but within ten minutes thousands of demons were able to escape Hell and break into the world as we know it. The Nemeton was able to keep the Ley lines hidden from the world; but Hell thrives on power, manipulation, seduction and greed. So, any creature thirsting for that kind of power would come searching for the origins."

"Hence all the creeps coming to town," Stiles points out.

Nodding curtly, AJ hums, "Exactly. That's probably the reason behind Beacon Hills having always been Pack Territory."

Derek's posture straightens, eyebrows narrowing, "How do you know that?"

"It's not hard to figure out, given the situation. Packs of your specific species are known to protect and control what happens in their territory. Having a humanized Pack positioned in this town gives another layer of protection," AJ sighs, "Ugh, I'm going to need to make some phone calls."

Allison steps forward as the woman takes out her phone, "Do you mind putting it on speaker? We don't really have anything more than Deaton's word that you're to be trusted. For all we know, you could be here to use such power."

The woman clicks her tongue dismissively in Allison's direction, but soon enough the sound of a call going through fills the loft.

"Thank you for calling McCloud's Body Shop, where we bring back the laughter in slaughter. How may I direct your call?"

Huffing in annoyance, AJ sets the phone on the wood table, "I wasn't aware I had to make an appointment, Regan."

"Aw, is that my favorite Huntress? Lance said you left a couple days ago. If I didn't know you well enough, I would have been worried."

Rolling her eyes, AJ shakes her head, ignoring the discomfort displayed in the people around her, "I'm sure," The wry tone isn't lost on anyone, "I'm calling because I may need someone of your particular skill."

"Oh? Don't tell me you're calling me to help you on a hunt? Where exactly are you located?"

"The town called Beacon Hills, California ring a bell to you?"

A thoughtful hum sounds through the phone, "Ah, yes. That would be the home of the Good Doctor Deaton, yes?"

"Yes. And it just so happens to be sitting on top of a Natural Crossroads," AJ emphasizes.

"Truly?" The teasing tone disappears in the woman's voice, "That's not good. We can't handle the mess that would happen if another break out was to occur."

"I'm aware of this, Regan. What I need is someone that can get me answers, or at least point me in the right direction. Do you think you can dig up as much information as you can before heading out this way?"

"For you, Lis? Of course. I should make contact within a week."

"Thanks. Oh, and Regan?"

"Hm?"

AJ flicks her gaze over the group briefly before she states, "Pick up a Witch on your way."

A burst of deep, hearty laughter echoes from the phone, "You got it, Boss."

Hanging up the phone, AJ heaves a sigh as she pockets her phone, "Alright. All we can do right now is try and keep the Nemeton protected. I know a few wards that can help, if we place different spheres of protection around it, we can focus on the most outer sphere."

The strategists of the group (Derek, Stiles, Lydia, and the Argents) watch as she spreads out Deaton's map. Together, they manage to mark five rings of warding around the Nemeton (each ring of wards more powerful the closer a person is to the Nemeton) and three rings of wards around the circumference of the town (the preserve marked as the center of those particular wards). AJ insists she can do the warding on her own, but Allison is adamant about the lack of trust the group has for her.

"I never asked any of you to trust me," AJ remarks curtly, blue-flecked green eyes hard as she stares Allison down, "In fact, I doubt I will ever ask you. Trust, respect and honor are things that must be earned, not just freely given. If you trust me, you trust me. If you don't, well that's on you. I'm not even here for your benefit. I'm here because if word gets out about your current problem, there won't be a balance between Humanity and Supernatural communities. You'd be lucky if you have a town left."


AJ slips out of the loft apartment, easily locating a set of stairs that lead to the roof. Looking over the town, she digs her phone back out. As the phone rings, she holds it between her shoulder and ear as she pats her jacket.

"Yo! This is Lance!"

"Hey. I need you to do me a solid," she states as she pulls a half-empty pack of cigarettes from her pocket, taking one of them out.

"What'cha need, girl?"

Inhaling nicotine, tobacco, smoke and mint, AJ feels the tension fade from her shoulders, a small smile ticking her lips, "Can you find me a place to set some roots down in Beacon Hills, California? I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here, and I'd rather not hole up in some shitty motel."

"Sure enough, sister. Lemme see what I can find for ya. I should have a place within twenty minutes. Call you back, sugar."

"Keep up with those annoying pet names and I'll shove my fist in your face the next time I see you," AJ teases.

"Just because you're allergic to showing affection."

"That's cause I'm not a little bitch."

"I'd gladly be your little bitch."

AJ lets out a bark of laughter, thankful for a familiar voice in the midst of her being surrounded by strangers, "Bitch, I ain't your type."

"Ha. You got jokes, sugar tits."

"Oh, I double dog dare you to call me that in front of Dad."

"Which one?"

Huffing, she rolls her eyes, "You're an infant, you know that, right?"

Laughter is the only response she gets before he hangs up. Shaking her head, she slips her phone back into her pocket, once again, her mind trained on the situation at hand. This is why she makes a habit out of distributing jobs among other people. Hunting, even when it plays in the favor of other people, is a thankless, hopeless, and endless existence. Not that she does it for thanks, but she is simply reminded behind her reasons of disliking humanity more than monsters. Monsters don't fake. Monsters do pretend. Monsters are what they are. Humanity, people and supernatural creatures alike, are prideful, arrogant and greedy.

It's no wonder why Hell carries the higher population of souls.

"Hey."

Exhaling a plume of grey smoke, AJ flicks her gaze toward the brown-haired teen she had helped rescue just yesterday. Stiles Stilinski. Taking in the awkward, nervous shuffling he generates as her attention focuses on him, she gives the boy a peace of mind and turns her gaze back to the town. She doesn't say anything. Really, what can she say? The kid is obviously trying to figure it out himself.

"I'm sorry about Allison," the boy states, "When Chris mentioned he had never heard of ARC Consultants, she grew suspicious."

"Like I told your friends, the Argent family has shown a long line of tragedies and code breaking. They can't be trusted to uphold our rules, so none of us have contracted with them," AJ explains, as easily as possible, her tone matter-of-fact and unbiased.

As something moves in the corner of her eye, she looks over without turning her head as the boy steps up to stand at her side, his head bobbing in agreement, "I can understand that. To be honest, there's a lot of bad blood between us. I never liked how Chris turned a blind eye to his family's actions and it wasn't that long ago that Allison allowed herself to be manipulated as a pawn against us. We've all tried to bury it, but..."

"Sometimes those things don't stay buried," AJ finishes the thought, nodding her in after a moment of silence, "I really don't care who is friends with who. I'm here to do a job. You people may not agree with my methods, and there will probably come a time where I don't agree with anything you guys do, but that doesn't stop the fact that you guys have a serious problem on your hands."

"I get that," Stiles responds and she can feel his gaze trained on the side of her head, "I never did thank you, personally."

Shrugging a shoulder, she finishes off the last of her smoke before flicking it over the edge of the building, "It doesn't matter. I don't do my job in an attempt to get thanks. I do it because I can. Either people respect it, or they don't."

"Well, regardless of all that. Thank you."


Lance manages to locate a simple, two-bedroom loft apartment within twenty minutes and after two days, AJ had successfully moved in. The extra bedroom had been converted into a study; a large oak desk set in front of the left wall, bookshelves stuffed to the brim with texts lining the walls, two comfortable arm chairs and a window seat meant for her own comfort. When she isn't sleeping, eating, or going on her morning run, the blonde finds herself locked up in her study. Using her laptop, she tracks down different lore on Natural Crossroads and Nemetons, making sure to cite the web pages so she can return to them when needed and cross referencing a lot of information.

Dressed in simple black yoga pants and a dark purple tank top, she steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung over her shoulder when a knock sounds at her front door. Knowing it isn't any of her friends, she heaves a sigh before moving to answer the door. Glancing through the peep hole, she rolls her eyes before pulling the door open.

"I thought I felt someone following me this morning," she states tonelessly, without a formal greeting, "What can I do for you, Argent and...Argent?"

Christopher Argent nods curtly, "We were hoping to come in and speak with you about establishing a treaty of some kind."

"You are more than welcome to come in, but there isn't anything you can say that would make me want to establish a...treaty," AJ replies, turning on point in order to walk further into her apartment, "And close the damn door, would ya?"

"Look, Miss..." Chris pauses, as if unsure how to address her.

AJ snorts at the method, realizing the man is trying to get some information off of her, "AJ. You, just like everyone else here, can call me AJ."

"AJ," Chris coughs, "We just want to make sure no lines are crossed."

Cackling as she steps toward the kitchen, "A little to late for that. Coffee? Tea? I'd offer you a beer, but I'm afraid I only have whiskey in the cabinet."

"You're hardly older than I am. Why would you have whiskey on hand?" Allison questions, eyebrows narrowed.

"Alcohol happens to work well as a disinfectant and also happens to take the edge of when one is stitching themselves up," the blonde smarts, completely ignoring the aggressive young girl, "Now, like I said, would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee is fine," Chris says, cutting his daughter off before she can start an argument. "Look, we just want to establish some form of boundaries. We don't want anyone stepping on each other's toes."

"I happen to be a fantastic dancer, Christopher," AJ says mockingly as she pours three mugs of coffee, "and I'm afraid I am in no position to be making treaties with you, or the Pack. I'm here as a freelance Hunter to assess the situation and figure out how to stop it. I'm not here to hurt any innocent people. Either take my word for it, or get the hell out."

"We're not trying to start any trouble," Chris says, raising his hands defensively, "We just feel if we have an understanding-"

"I don't get how non-understanding I am being. I'm here to do a job and that's it. This isn't a pow-wow, Argent. I don't make treaties, because any contracts I make are unbreakable, and if I know anything, you're family has a reputation for code breaking," AJ intones, her eyes stern.

Allison slaps her palm against the counter top island, "You can't hold something our family members have done over our heads."

"Actually, I can."

"So, you mean to tell me, no one in your family has done something bad?" Allison shoots back.

AJ's relaxed posture leans against the counter, her eyes brightening with something dangerous even as she bares her teeth with a wide grin, "Every mistake members of my family have made, they have righted on their own terms. They've atoned for their own transgressions and paid with their own blood, sweat, tears and even at the cost of their lives," Allison blinks in surprise, even as AJ uses a spoon to stir her creams and sugars, her entire posture displaying none of the ire that marks her voice, "What exactly have you done to pay for your crimes?"

"I never broke a code!"

AJ's eyes snap up from her coffee mug, her gaze sharp and intensified at the denial, "I have it on great authority that you mindlessly attacked innocents, without mercy. ARC Consultants isn't a place for mindless drones. We like people that are capable of thinking on the fly and have the ability to judge a situation unbiased and without contempt. We run our operations based on trust, honor and respect; and as you stated just a few days ago, I haven't earned yours, and I have yet to find anything redeeming enough to give you mine."

Chris clears his throat, looking away from his daughter's guilt stricken expression, "AJ, I hope we can find a way to redeem my family's name. I was just hoping that we could come up with temporary compromise."

"There is nothing to compromise, Christopher," AJ replies, her voice passive and bored, "I've assessed the situation and already made a few phone calls. I am willing to tell you that the perimeter wards around town, and the Nemeton, have been in place since yesterday. The outer wards will signal anything coming into town that can't be compelled to turn and get the hell out of dodge. Anything that manages to step foot on the Preserve will also signal me and will give enough time to take care of the threat. I will keep open communication about any trespassers and any valuable information regarding the Nemeton. Other than that, the way I handle my operation isn't disclosed. Some of my contacts have no reason to trust Hunters of your kind, and I won't put their lives in danger over an ill-advised pissing contest."

Allison huffs, pushing her barely used mug across the counter, "I'm going to head over to Scott's. Let him know what isn't going to happen."

As the front door shut behind the teenage Huntress, AJ hears a sigh from the girl's father and without hesitation, the blonde brandishes the whiskey bottle and offers to pour some in his coffee. Chris offers her a small nod and exhales after taking a long sip.

"I apologize for my daughter. Allison can be...stubborn. She doesn't like being reminded of how easily manipulated she was," Chris explains tiredly, rubbing a hand over his head, "I've tried to explain to her that it wasn't entirely her fault. I allowed my father to poison her mind."

AJ hums, "Your father, Gerard Argent. That man was a menace. Many humanized Packs have been slaughtered under his command."

"I know. I never wanted Allison dragged into this laugh," Chris sighs, looking up at the younger woman, "She doesn't deserve this type of life. How did your father allow you to live this kind of life?"

AJ giggles, eyes lighting up, "Dad gave up trying to dictate my life style a long time ago. I'm...destined for this life. I've never known anything different. I don't mind it. Despite this job being filled with endless thanklessness, I like helping people; giving people a second chance." She shrugs absently, "When I started ARC Consultants, it was with the blessing of my family and in honor of those that strove for some semblance of balance between both realities."

"From what I've heard, the work you do is truly remarkable," Chris offers, granting her a smile, "I never liked how my family did things; what I was forced to endure when I was younger than Allison. I never agreed to killing aimlessly, mindlessly, but sometimes you can't control what people in your family do."

"No, but you have the ability to atone for it and give honor back to your family," AJ responds easily, "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I do have things to do."

"Of course. Before I take my leave, is there anyway we can contact you, in order to bring you to meetings?"

Searching the man's face, she nods slowly. There is something about Chris that feels familiar, and she has a feeling he has the makings of a person she can come to respect. Giving him the number to her cell, she walks him to the door and gives him a curt farewell.

So, Chris seems to understand her stance on the situation, but Allison is less likely to trust her. AJ snorts, wondering how long it's going to take before she is constantly being followed around by werewolves or Pack members. Wanting to check out the Preserve, the blonde slips on a thin, hooded zip-up, knocking her feet into a pair of sneakers; making sure her cell phone, water bottle and keys are on her person.


Racing through the woods, AJ feels everything fade, her mind running through every problem. The first is to figure out why the Darach carried so much vengeance that she turned against Nature itself. Something caused the Darach to go Dark Side. Deaton had informed AJ that the Darach had once been an Emissary to a member of the Alpha Pack, and her Alpha had been ordered to kill off her entire Pack before joining the Alpha Pack. Of course, the Alpha Pack goes against nature itself, and in turn, AJ needs to figure out who caused the formation of the Alpha Pack.

A catalyst had to have been happen.

Someone must have known about the potential that resides beneath the roots of the Nemeton.

AJ comes to a stop, her entire body tensing when she realizes she is only a few feet from the mystical tree stump. She had no intention of coming close to it, the very essence of evil fills the air with an invisible plume. Mentally blocking out the suffocating mystical stench, a scent that the untrained would never pick up. Closing her eyes, she feels the tension along her spine as a new pressure appears in the atmosphere.

"Regan informed me of the situation at hand," a slightly gruff voice greets.

"Is this your doing?" she demands, glaring at the stump.

"Of course not, Darling. I have more pressing matters to deal with. It seems as though there is a rising faction seeking to use this power as a pivotal movement."

Turning to the man, her hardened gaze pinning the man in place, "How come we've never been informed of this faction?"

"It's been contained within Hell for now, but one has been working on the surface since the last break out," the man replies.

"And how am I supposed to believe you?" she demands.

The man scoffs, "Last I checked, Darling, we have a generalized understanding. I take care of souls that damn themselves, whether it be by Sin or Deal."

AJ sighs, nodding her head, "Sorry. I trust you to uphold our contract. Have you been able to figure out who the faction leader is?"

"Whoever it is has themselves well hidden. I have some of my surface agents on the look out."

AJ bows her head, gaze focused on the stump, "Can I assume that if I am in need of your help, I can call upon you?"

"After to saved one of my dearest ones? All you have to do is ask," he states, "I may have something in my own personal library that might help. I'll have it sent to you."

Nodding her head, she barely registers as the pressure in the atmosphere fades. Taking a step back from the Nemeton, she turns on heel and breaks into a dead sprint. Moving through the woods, she allows instinct to take over and thoughts fade away as she leaps over fallen branches and high roots. Why is this happening? Who would be dumb enough to create a Devil's Gate and open it? This case has endless questions and no answers in sight.


Location: New Orleans, Louisiana

Deep in the bayou, a lone figure carefully docks the motor boat to a pier. Stepping off the boat, boot-clad feet clapping against the wooden planks as it approaches the house. Knocking on the door, the figure waits until the door opens.

"Can I help ya, jeune?" an aged voice greets.

Pulling the hood down, the young man offers her a smile, "Bonsoir sage, it has been awhile."

"Oh, sweet fils. C'mon inside, child. Let me make ya some tea and y'can tell this old woman what you be needing," the woman states as she ushers him into the house. After he is offered a cup of special blend tea, the old crone sits across from him, "Now, what'cha need?"

"I need everything you can give me about turning a Nemeton into a Devil's Gate," he states firmly.

The woman's eyes narrow, "That's dark magic t'be messin' with, child. Nuttin' good can come of it."

The young man smirks, pulling a glass vile out of an inside pocket of his jacket, the substance within the vile glowing a light green, "I figured I can make it worth your while."

The crone's gaze zeroes in on the object and a wide grin spreads across her face, "I think we might be able t'come up wit an agreement."

"Then let's talk."


Location: Seattle, Washington

A wicked cackling fills the room as a tall, curvaceous woman stalks around the bound figure hanging in the middle of the warehouse. It's a total cliche, she knows, but the sniveling creature before her fills her with disgust. Glimmering orange eyes peer up at her in fear and the woman relishes in the taste as it permeates the very air she breaths.

"You know, I'm on a very tight schedule. I'm seeking out the one that goes by the name of Ariaya. You will give me her location, and I will grant you mercy," the dark-haired woman states as she moves around the man with calm steps. "Or, I can make this experience seem as though the Spanish Inquisition was a party."

The bound man hanging from the ceiling lets out a sound of dismay, "P-please. I don't know where Ariaya is."

"Last I remember, you were in her inner circle. Give me what I want," she coos, her voice sticky sweet, even as the tip of a silver knife traces along the man's skin; the pressure only strong enough to leave thin, white welts. "I can make this slow and painful," she continues as the blade travels along the expanse of his chest at a slow pace, "Cut into the human body careful enough, and I can open up your chest cavity in a way that will allow me to show you your still-beating heart before I rip it out of your chest." The man's orange eyes widen, the stench of fear becoming thicker the more she speaks, "Or I can make precise incisions along your stomach, slowly pull your intestines and use them to hang you with; watching as you slowly choke around your own shit."

"Okay! Stop. Please! Ariaya said she had something to attend to down south. She said it was important."

The woman pauses, the tip of her knife pressing firmly against his torso; a small bead of blood forming on the gleaming blade, "Where?"

"She didn't give me a town. Only coordinates!"

It is only at the pointed glance that she receives the coordinates, the man releasing a gasp of relief as she pulls back, "You are sure?" The man nods frantically, "Good." Without sparing the man reprieve she plunges the knife into the center of his chest and with enough force, drags the blade up the length of his torso. "Your mercy, as given."

She stalks off, pulling out a cell phone and making a call, "Hey. I need a clean up in Port Side Warehouse District, Warehouse number twenty-eight."


Location: Beacon Hills, California

She's in her study when she feels a familiar sensation form along her internal senses. One of her wards had been crossed. Pushing open the window of her study, she drops solidly from the second story window and dashes toward the focal point. Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she removes a long, silver whistle and without hesitation releases a long, drawn-out burst of air; releasing a subsonic sound that can only be heard by creatures with exceptional hearing.

Essentially, the McCall Pack.

Breaking into the clearing, she skids to a stop, instinct calling on her to brandish two, 12-inch long silver blades. Standing in the clearing, a white-haired woman gives her a wide grin and AJ doesn't have to look around her to realize she's been surrounded. Bold orange eyes glare at her.

"Hello, AJ."

Smirking, AJ spins one of the blades in her hand, "Ariaya. I have to say, I've been looking for you for a long time."

"Are you still bent about that thing with Lorien?" the white-haired woman asks, her tone cynical and dry.

"Oh, I have no doubt I will be getting vengeance for what you did," AJ replies, shifting her stance as she opens her awareness to those surrounding her.

"You Hunters and your need for revenge," Ariaya waves her hand, "Someone, please, kill this abomination."

AJ ducks as one of Ariaya's followers launches himself at her, her center of balance pivoting around as she simultaneously brings the side of her blade across the man's chest. Warm blood sprays against the side of her face and it only forces her mind-set to shift from researcher, to fighter.


Author's Note:

Thank you for those that follow/favorite'd my story.

ZizFox: Thank you for your review.

Next Chapter: A fight for territory come between Ariaya's followers and AJ and the Pack. More questions rise and judgment calls are made as AJ makes a decision that sets every Pack member on edge.