Winter couldn't truly be winter, not in California. Desiree had no true memory of snow. She'd seen those hazy puppet and claymation dancing in something white and fluffy. Fall didn't bring much satisfaction either, but it was closer to what she read in books. At least she had that small satisfaction of the crunchy, bright leaves lining her path home. Crunch. Crunch. She glanced around, as if to make sure nobody was there to see her childish stomping, and continued.
"Hey!" A voice made her spin around, wondering if she ought to run. She hadn't been doing anything wrong, had she? She'd seen neighborhoods where just walking along the street was suspicious enough. Especially when you were a foster kid. But she saw no police car, no social worker, only a dented jeep she had seen in the parking lot of the vets. "Hey," the Scott one stuck his head out the window of the passenger seat.
"Hi," she said shoving her hands in her back pockets as she continued walking, the worn down jeep chugging along beside her.
"Need a ride?" He asked, putting a grin on his face.
"Come on, it's getting dark," he insisted. She stopped, turning to face him.
"What's so bad about the dark?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest.
"The dark can be scary. Like, really scary," the driver said, peering around Scott.
"So sleep with a night light," she shot back, arms folding tighter around herself. "I can make it back before dark if I take a shortcut through the forest-"
"If you think the dark is scary, the forest is worse. That's where the scary things in the dark hide," the odd one insisted.
"There can't be much in there, and you scare me more than whatever goes bump in the night," she began walking, but the jeep coughed slightly and continued chugging along with her.
"He scares me too, but he doesn't bite," Scott insisted. She rolled her eyes, although she had nothing to say to that. Bite. She thought of the bite marks that were etched into her body, something that looked like it belonged to a wolf, if wolves existed in California. Wild dogs, was the latest speculation about that night. Her hand rubbed along her right hip subconsciously as she imagined what the cuts looked like. Deep. Vicious. With the intent to harm, but not to kill. She had seen the ones on her parents when she had woken up. Those were meant to kill.
"What do you get out of this?" She asked, suddenly returning to the world that was around her now, rather than the blood filled night she was slipping back into.
"Just showing the new girl some kindness," Scott said with a smile that looked far too much like the one Ms. Gracie used. Pity. She grit her teeth before taking a deep breath, unclenching her jaw.
"Right. Kindness," she nodded. She was going to be late if she didn't make it home soon, and if she was invited to do something as a family, she wasn't about to abuse that. Scott opened the door and she climbed in, ignoring their cries of pain as she pushed their heads back to propel herself into the back seat. Taking a seat she leaned forward. "Next door to Alison," she said.
"Not even a thank-you?" The odd one rolled his eyes but still started the car.
"Isn't that the O'Connell place?" Scott asked, thick eyebrows dipping in deep thought.
"Yeah. Why?" She asked.
"They're just…good friends with the Argents," he shook his head.
"Good friends," the odd one snorted, sounding a lot like the coughing sound the jeep made.
"She doesn't seem too thrilled by it," she said casually, leaning back in the cramped back seat. At least there was a back seat.
"So why the need to get home so quickly?" Scott asked, as if that was somehow not an obvious subject change. She shrugged.
"Who said there was a need?"
"You seem tense," was all he said.
"Well aren't your senses super," she rolled her eyes once again, leaning forward. "Yes, I have a curfew. And the way your friend keeps twitching his leg makes me a little tense. I read about a serial killer with that tick," she reached over, smacking the twitching leg that she was finding hard not to stare at. Of course, she didn't think the odd one could be a serial killer, but something about how anxious he was made her uneasy, her stomach knotting. Was she making him anxious?
"I don't think Stiles can manage to harm a butterfly. I think you're safe," Scott laughed in good nature, despite the sharp retorts she was spitting left and right. She bit down on her lip, deciding not talking would be the best way to spend the rest of the ride. "About Dr. Deaton," of course he would still want to talk. "I wouldn't worry too much about the whole vet part of it. He specializes in conditions like ours-"
"Ours?" She asked, perhaps the first words she had managed to say to him that weren't drenched in venom.
"Yeah," he nodded, looking up at her through the rearview mirror. Rather than taking pride in it, he offered her a sincere smile. Not one of those pity filled ones everyone seemed to have when it came to the foster girl. "You were born with it, right?" He asked. She nodded, that lump burning in her throat. "Well, your case is a rare one. I haven't seen medication for it before," he said, and all too soon, they were in front of the house, the long driveway leading up to the warm lights glowing out of the windows.
"So…you just live with the black outs?" She asked, hand on the door handle.
"I learned how to get past them," he said, staring into her eyes, as if trying to convey some other message. She bit down on her lip.
"Sounds scary," for the first time since that night, she swore she could feel the claw marks on her neck sting.
"Hello?" No one appeared to be in the foyer as she entered. Of course, with as many rooms as there were, she wasn't expecting people in the foyer. Her first instinct was to head towards the kitchen, wondering if Jessica was there. "Hello?" She repeated. There had been at least five cars waiting in the winding driveway, those she recognized from last night. "Hell-" She coughed as an arm snaked around her waist, a sweet, stinging scent filling her nose before her world fell to black, a gentle Shhh echoing in her mind.
Darkness. Darkness. That was all she saw. Darkness. Were her eyes opened or closed? Open. Definitely open, she could feel them blinking. A rough cloth was between her teeth. Muscles aching signaled that her arms had been bound behind her back in a way that was not normal for arms to bend. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. She would not panic.
"I see you're awake," a familiar voice. Thomas? She opened her eyes, although it did no good. She saw nothing. But she could hear. When one sense was taken away, the others were heightened. She tilted her head, following the footsteps behind her, moving towards the left. The far left, and then it stopped. "And surprisingly…calm," he sounded…impressed. Despite the situation, all she could feel was that small swelling of pride in her chest.
Suddenly light flooded across the floor, pale and milky, the light of the moon. She looked to the window, Thomas silhouetted against it along with another man who she had not heard. Not even his breathing. The moon stood high up above the woods, the thin fingers of light illuminating the wooden room she was in. Singed. Burnt. Everything was broken. Destroyed. Even the chair she found herself in had the stains of smoke and ash on it.
"I realize this may be odd to you, but this is how it begins for all of those in our family. In our clan, he moved away from the window, the moon light slanting across his face as he knelt in front of her. She watched him, refusing to move a muscle until she was sure what was happening. He pulled the cloth from her mouth.
"This is the family stuff Roger was talking about?" She asked coolly, and he only grinned, amused at the statement.
"Yes. I suppose it is," he chuckled in that charismatic way the entire family had. She nodded, waiting for further explanation. Not that she hadn't been in families that left their children bound in dark places before. Only he seemed a lot more friendlier about it. "Our clan, those who you met last night, are followers of the time old philosophy that with knowledge comes responsibility. Knowledge, being something we have perhaps too much of. I'm sure you know that those were no wild dogs that left your parents dead, Desiree," he was still kneeling in front of her, hands resting on her knees. There was a genuine flicker of…concern in his eyes. She nodded. "What do you remember from that night," his grip tightened on her knees.
"I remember blood. And screaming. And pain…It was as dark as when you close your eyes," she said, gaze dropping to his hands on her knees. The odd, comforting touch. "Screaming…barking…howling," she looked back up to him and he nodded.
"But wolves aren't in California. That's what they told you, wasn't it?" He jumped up to his feet, eyes blazing with some newly fed fire. She nodded, unsure as if it was a good thing or something to be terrified of as he began something like predatory circling around her.
"It was wolves," her whisper was strained, rough, evident of the struggle to speak.
"You're right," the man at the window finally spoke. He too, stepped into the light, eyes glinting with something. Some hidden thoughts she couldn't read. She recognized him. From the party last night. And the eyes…Alison's eyes. "Werewolves," he said. Desiree waited for a reaction, yet somehow, she had known. All those things that had haunted her nightmares, the things that went bump in the night, they were real. But somehow, she had indeed known.
"Why my family?" She asked quietly, managing to look between the leader and Thomas.
"That we don't know. But we do know that with the knowledge of what exists in our world, be it Werewolves or whatever else walks in the shadows, it's our job to eliminate the threats," Thomas continued.
"So what does this have to do with the rope and chloroform?" She shifted her weight, the ropes beginning to saw into her flesh.
"This is your first test," Mr. Argent spoke. "Our sons are trained to be soldiers, our daughters their leaders. This is the first coming of age ritual, a rite of passage I suppose you could say," he moved behind her and she felt the cold shard of glass in her hand. "Your father will time you," he said, grasping my shoulder and beginning his way out. She looked up at Thomas.
"I was picked for this, not born into it," she said and he nodded. "Why?" She asked faintly.
"Us foster kids, we're the strongest of them all," he knelt in front of her again. "The system hasn't been kind to you…and the tragedies in your life have prepared you for this. You're destined for greatness, Desiree," he said, chucking her under the chin. Despite everything, she smiled. "Good luck, honey," he said as he stood, brandishing a phone. He hit the start button on a timer and, he too, left.
Suddenly it wasn't so dark. She looked up at the moon, the soft, pale light that illuminated the darkness around her. She bit her lip in determination before she began sawing at the ropes.
So this was who she was.