Hi everyone, sorry for the wait for this chapter: last-minute Christmas preparations before traveling to my mom's. And then my mom got herself a puppy for Christmas (9-week-old Rottweiler mix)... I'll try to get another chapter up on or around Christmas. In the meantime, thank you to everyone who reviewed, read or favourited this story!

In other news, my January 6th self-created deadline for finishing this story? Yeah, probably not going to happen. It's become a bit longer than anticipated... which is probably a surprise to absolutely no one who has ever read any of my other stories.

Chapter 7

The ring of the doorbell was unexpected. Stiles looked up from his computer with a frown. The wolves were all out sniffing around Beacon Hills and the preserve trying to track down whatever was killing the children. And most of them tended to use the window anyway. Well, half of them did: he didn't think Ethan and Aiden had figured out the window route yet. Which he was okay with (one of these days he was really going to have to Deaton about putting up a mountain ash barrier there).

The doorbell rang again, jolting Stiles out of his thoughts on barrier building. He exchanged looks with Lydia and Danny who were lounging on his bed with their laptops. They didn't look like they were expecting anyone either. Stiles shrugged and went downstairs.

And very nearly slammed the door shut in the face of Peter Hale's patented friendly sleazeball smile. Unfortunately, Stiles had manners and Peter Hale was too fast and too strong.

"What do you want?"

"Stiles, it's good to see you again too," said Peter and Stiles wondered how long he'd had to practice to get that perfect pitch of calm and soothing into his voice. Or maybe it just came naturally: one of the side-effects to being a psychopath.

"Ooor we could do it this way." He plastered an overly-large fake smile onto his face. "Heya Peter, it's so good to see you, buddy! What was that? You can't stay? Aw, what a shame. Well, I guess I'll be seeing you around... never."

Peter chuckled. "Do you often have imaginary conversations with other people, Stiles? You might want to have that looked at."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. So again, why are you here?"

"I'm here to help."

Stiles' eyes wandered to the laptop case Peter was holding with his left hand. "Help? Help with what?"

The change in Peter's expression was instantaneous. All traces of humour left his face and his jaw clenched. Eyes filled with controlled anger – not rage, anger – met his. "There is something killing children."

Stiles swallowed. Those eyes were determined and terrifying... and it was quite possibly the sanest expression Stiles had ever seen on the man. A few moments passed. Then Stiles stepped back and let the werewolf in.

Their second unexpected guest's arrival was much less dramatic.

Stiles had eight different tabs open and was about to give wikipedia up as a lost cause when he heard a noise. A small shadow fell onto his computer screen and he looked up into the small beady eyes of the sparrow sitting on top of his monitor. It blinked.

"Oh, hey there," said Stiles. He turned around and snatched an oatmeal cookie from the plate on the floor. Then he broke it up and scattered the pieces over the papers on the corner of his desk. After the sparrow had chirped happily and flown down to help itself, it occurred to him that maybe he should've checked to make sure those papers weren't important.

"Stiles, I think you're getting your fairy tales mixed up," Peter drawled, his eyes sparkling with amusement from the bright orange beanbag chair beneath the window. "Snow White was the one who talked to animals, not Little Red Riding Hood."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Not in the real version. The animal talking's the Disney version."

"There's another version?"

He frowned. "Uh, yeah. Like the one where the evil stepmother's feet are clapped into red-hot irons in the end as punishment. Dude, I thought you'd be all over that!"

"Oh I am, but I was going with the age-appropriate one."

"That's Harris' sparrow, right?" Lydia interrupted before Stiles could reply.

Stiles blinked. "Uh, yeah, it is." He gently petted it with one finger. Which was when he noticed the folded up piece of paper. "Oh, and he's got a note."

It was Harris' handwriting again:

Merlin thinks it's a fae. He also wants me to tell you that the sparrow is now called Clint.

Stiles grinned at the second line and then told the others what the note said. Which then meant they had to explain who Merlin was to Peter, who couldn't entirely hide his astonishment. Stiles counted that as a win.

It was well past dark when the doorbell rang again.

"It's Scott," said Peter without looking up. "And warm food..." He looked up towards the window and sniffed. "...casserole, I think." Suddenly he frowned. "Oh. Well that's unexpected," he added quietly.

Stiles barely paid him any attention as he ran to open the door. Mrs. McCall's casseroles were the best: she knew exactly how to get the cheese-to-everything-else ratio just right. He wasn't expecting Mrs. McCall herself along with Scott and the aluminium foil-covered dish.

"Hello Stiles," she said with a warm smile. "I know you guys have been busy researching and therefore probably neglecting healthy eating habits and it was my day off, so I thought I'd make sure you got at least one real meal in."

"Oh wow, thanks Mrs. McCall," said Stiles, eyeing the covered dishes with greedy eyes. "They smell amazing. Come on in."

The person Stiles really wasn't expecting was Derek Hale, who walked into the house carrying the second casserole dish.

"So, Derek, weren't you supposed to be far away from here?" he asked as he closed the door and trailed behind them into the kitchen.

Derek placed his dish into the oven, which Scott's mom turned on to its lowest heat setting to keep the food warm. Then he raised an eyebrow at Stiles – ah, Stiles had missed the non-verbal communication so much. "I still own the property."

"Yeah, I know that and it totally wasn't what I asked."

"We ran into him while we were searching the forest," said Scott with an easy grin. Stiles clamped down on the urge to throw something at his friend. Because that also wasn't an answer to his question.

"I'm here to sell the property," Derek said after a pause of silence.

Stiles blinked. "Woah, really?" Derek glared at him. "I mean, wow. That's... no more Hales in Beacon Hills... that's sort of weird. Especially now that we know just how long you've been here and all. I mean, the Hale family is all sorts of historically significant."

"What?" Derek looked like he'd entered confused and then come out the other side, where Stiles was talking from another dimension.

"It would seem that the Hale family has been rather intrinsically tied into the settlement and then town of Beacon Hills," said a voice from the kitchen.

Derek whirled around. "Peter," he growled. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh yeah, Stiles, why is he here?" Scott growled, his voice a shade darker than usual and eyes glowing bright red.

Stiles sighed. "He was annoyed at being out-psychoed, so he's helping us research."

"Not that it's actually helping," Lydia said as she pushed Peter to the side and marched into the kitchen. Peter scowled at her. She ignored him.

"Out-psychoed?" Derek asked with a frown, looking like he was trying to wrap his mind around the word. Then he paused and looked pointedly to his left, where Danny had come in behind Lydia. Danny met his scowl with a nervous smile and a small wave.

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, but Scott's mom cut him off. "Why don't you discuss this all at dinner? Stiles, honey, get the plates please. Scott, set the table. Everyone else, why don't you make sure there's enough chairs and go sit down."

It was a tight fit around the dining room table - especially once Isaac showed up ten minutes later - but they managed.

Derek drove idly down the road through the preserve. It was late: he'd barely had time to get to the hardware store before they'd closed for the night. And he still didn't have everything he needed, but the back of his rented truck was full of heavy canvass and large tools. Enough to get started first thing in the morning with clearing out the property. He'd leave rebuilding and actual tearing down to whoever bought the Hale land, but at least he could make it look a little less like a natural disaster had blown through.

Deciding to sell the land had been both the most difficult and yet simplest decision he'd ever made. It was his family's land - with a history that apparently went further back than even he'd realized. But when he stood on it, all he could smell was smoke and burnt hair. He hadn't even been there to watch it burn: the police hadn't allowed him and Laura to see it until the worst of it was cleared, the bodies cleared away. That hadn't stopped the smell from lingering.

It was a late-night realization in the middle of attempting to stargaze in the middle of Los Angelos that he realized he could never truly be happy in Beacon Hills. At least not as a Hale. His family's legacy was a funeral pyre. In the breath after his realization, he felt sadness for the land, for the house that had once seen happy times and known a family.

He didn't have the heart to rebuild upon his family's pyre, but perhaps someone else would.

Once he'd made the decision to sell the land, his shoulders felt lighter. And yet he couldn't stop mulling over it, wondering if he was truly making the right choice or whether he was just taking the easy way out. What would his mother have thought? What would Laura?

Cora had been shocked speechless. But, she admitted later, she'd never really thought of returning to Beacon Hills for good anyway.

He slowed the truck even more, wanting put off arriving as long as possible. The windows were wide open, letting in chilly evening air along with the familiar scent of the forest, of Beacon Hills. A part of him didn't want to leave: wanted to build himself a den and surround himself with the smells of home - and deny that it smelt like anything but safety and happiness. There lay madness, Derek knew: a wolf's instincts combined with a human mind's capacity for ignorance and denial.

Derek took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. He turned his thoughts to what he'd learned tonight. The curse, his family's history, and the fact that he'd never realized his chemistry teacher wasn't human. It was Mr. Harris that was blowing his mind the most. How the hell had he missed that?! Worst of all, Peter was never going to stop teasing him about it.

Another reason to leave Beacon Hills.

A faint sound brought him out of his thoughts. He frowned and brought the truck to a stop along the side of the road. This time the sound was more recognizable: a soft cry of pain. Derek threw open the cab door and jumped out, barely aware of slamming the door behind him. The smell of blood and tears hit him the second he entered the forest.

It was the other darker, less human smell that had Derek shifting.

The world became crisper, sharper and the smell became a path, the wind blowing it helpfully towards him. He ran silently through the trees, the forest having long gone silent around him. Finally, his ears picked up soft grunting and tearing. It sounded like an animal devouring its prey. It didn't smell like an animal.

Derek tore through the trees and growled. Two eyes looked up from their meal and he was surprised to notice they didn't glow. In fact they were shaded by a pronounced brow and surrounded by deep wrinkles. The creature was small with pointed ears and gangly limbs. It hissed up at Derek, showing small pointed, blood-stained teeth.

Derek growled and crouched low. He could tell the moment the creature decided against fighting a full-grown werewolf. It backed away carefully, eyes never leaving his, and picked up something from beside the small body it had been eating. It was round and fit into the creatures large hands. Derek smirked. Was this thing stupid enough to think that throwing a ball at him would slow him down?

It lifted the ball, hissed again, and then abruptly turned and darted off into the forest. Derek growled deeply, allowing his fury to be heard in the sound.

Then he glanced down at the creature's prey. And immediately wished he hadn't. The little girl's frilly pink nightgown had been torn open with claws that hadn't cared about damaging the skin and flesh underneath. Chunks of it was missing and Derek claws itched at the exposed bone he could see. Long, light red hair was splayed out and crusted with blood, her face dirty on one side and lined with tear tracks.

One of his younger cousins had been about her age. The urge to tear the creature apart was overwhelming. Derek stopped growling long enough to take a deep breath and force the wild bloodlust away. He froze as his ears registered a noise.

A heartbeat. Faint, quiet, but there.

He looked at the little girl's chest and his eyes widened at the minute, shaky movements.

Christ, she was alive, he thought, shocked to his core.

He looked off to the trees between which the creature had disappeared. Then he looked back to the child. He wanted to tear, wanted to destroy the thing that had dared harm her, but if he ran off then...

He took a deep breath and threw his head back, putting all his anger and desperation and need for help into the howl. He felt the forest shake with its power. There was no longer an alpha's power behind it, but he was a born wolf and this was his family's land. His land.

Then he fished into his pocket for his cellphone and dialed 9-1-1.

Stiles barely made it past second period. He just couldn't sit still no matter what he tried. He'd even taken adderall despite knowing it wasn't quite ADHD-related. The low burn of energy just under his skin had him holding tightly onto the edge of his desk to ground himself, because he felt like otherwise he would simply shake apart. And deep within him, the pit of darkness yawned like a lethargic panther.

Scott shot him a few worried looks during their shared second period class, which Stiles valiantly ignored. At one point he could've sworn he even caught Aiden looking at him with a frown.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Stiles unceremoniously shoved his things into his bag and shot out of the classroom. Someone may have attempted to stop him, he wasn't sure. Everything around him seemed a blur except for the path directly in front of him. He wasn't even entirely certain if the decision to head to the parking lot had been a conscious one, but the next thing he knew he was backing out of his parking spot and by then it was too late to back out.

Harris scowled at him when he finally stomped into the clearing. "You're supposed to be in school."

"Yeah," said Stiles with a shrug. Then he ran a hand through his hair. "I just- there's people dying. No, not just people: little kids. There's some sort of monster stealing children from their beds and eating them!" He took a deep breath. It didn't help. "And I can't figure out what it is! Last night Derek interrupted it, but didn't chase after it 'cause the little girl it was eating was still alive, so he called an ambulance only he didn't find her in time and she died in the hospital during surgery. Dad says her parents hadn't even realized she was missing. Can you imagine? You go to bed thinking everything's fine and dandy and then get woken up at 3 am to be told that the six-year-old daughter you thought was happily in bed dreaming actually just died a horrible, horrible death?! And all Merlin has to say is 'I think it's a fae'?! Do you have any idea how many fae there are?!"

"A lot."

Stiles' head shot up and the arms he'd apparently been waving about, stilled. There was a slightly sad, sympathetic look on Merlin's face as he looked at Stiles. Stiles didn't want sympathy: he wanted to stop the creature.

"And you can't, like, wave your hands and figure out which of them it is?"

Merlin pursed his lips, frowning.

"It doesn't work that way, Mister Stilinski," said Harris. Stiles winced at the hard edge of warning in his voice.

Merlin sighed. "Stiles, come in and sit down." Harris' eyes shot to Merlin, but he said nothing before slipping back into the shack.

Stiles walked silently forward, not exactly feeling calmer than he'd been before, but less like screaming and tearing his hair out in giant clumps. Inside, the one-room shack smelt of cinnamon, dried herbs and tea. It was a soothing smell and warmed Stiles though he hadn't been feeling cold. Merlin motioned him to the small table sitting beside the wood stove as he moved to gather up several glasses and then picked up a large clay pitcher. Harris was at his worktable stirring a bubbling green-ish clear liquid full of floating leaves.

Stiles sat down and Merlin placed a glass in front of him before sitting down with his own. Stiles picked up the glass, surprised to find it was warm. This was where the cinnamon scent was coming from. There were also hints of honey in the drink. Drinking it, Stiles could finally feel himself relax slightly. Merlin sipped at his own drink and watched him. Stiles resisted the urge to squirm. Great, now the greatest sorcerer, magic user or whatever of all time thought he was a panicky spaz.

"I'm sorry," he said. The restless energy he'd been storing all morning had somehow evaporated, leaving him feeling deflated and slightly hollow-headed. "I just-"

"No, don't apologize," said Merlin. Stiles looked up in surprise and the sorcerer smiled warmly at him. "Never apologize for caring. What's happening is horrible and I'd be more worried if you weren't upset about it."

"Oh, okay." Stiles paused and worried his lip as he wondered how to ask what he wanted to without making it sound accusing. Merlin waited for him patiently. "So, you're the most powerful, uh, magic user ever... so why can't you just cast a spell to find whatever monster is doing this?"

Merlin winced. "First of all, the fae aren't monsters. Secondly, their magic is different. Tell me: you said Derek found the little girl. I'm assuming this is Derek as in Derek Hale?" Stiles nodded. "Did he call the others? Did he try and track it himself?"

Stiles nodded again. "Yeah. And the night before when the second little boy went missing and Lydia was staying at my place, Ethan and Aiden were both there too and my dad took them with him to help him find the, uh, creature. They found the body, but couldn't quite get a trail. Scott and Isaac said the same thing about the scene where Derek found the girl. He said it was weird how the scent didn't linger at all."

Merlin nodded, clearly not at all surprised by this news. "The fae aren't entirely from our world. It's more like they slip in through the cracks between our world and theirs. As a result they're not really tied to the land in the way that most creatures are and therefore effect it differently. It's not that it's impossible to track the fae: Welsh werewolves are particularly skilled at it and there's a werewolf clan in Africa that specializes in tracking otherworldly beings. It just requires training and lots of practice."

He paused and Stiles thought about that.

"You forgot to mention that thirdly, you don't particularly get along with most of the fae," Harris said into the silence.

Merlin scowled at him. "Oi, I get along with some of them! Gwyn ad Nudd is an old friend of mine!"

Stiles blinked and then shook his head. He'd google it later. "Okay, so tracking is difficult. What about magic spells?"

Merlin dropped his mock-scowl and turned back to Stiles. "You can use spells to summon certain types of fae or to help you find fairy circles or other places of concentrated fae magic, but not one individual. And as for my specific brand of magic, I could probably find the creature if this was Albion, because my connection to the land is strong there. I could slip into the consciousness of the land and feel around for the fae. Here, I'm a visitor and, while the land knows me, it's as a friend. I'm powerful enough that I could force the connection, but that could cause irreparable damage to the land, especially when I inevitably leave."

"Is- is the land alive? Like a gaia thing?"

"Not quite. It is alive though; it's more alive than anything else because all life touches it." He paused and then carefully added: "So does all death."

Stiles froze. Then jumped with a startled yelp as his cellphone went off in his pocket. It was Scott. He sighed and answered the phone.

"Hey, buddy, what's-"

"Stiles, where are you?!"

"Uh, I'm at Harris' shack. Thought I'd see if Merlin could help us track down the evil children-eating faeries."

"Yeah, well, head's up, you might have to explain that to your dad when he asks why you weren't here."

Stiles' eyes widened. "Scott, why would my dad be wondering why I'm not at school?"

"Perhaps because it's where you're supposed to be," he heard Harris mutter, but Stiles was too busy panicking to care.

"Classes have been cancelled; someone found a dead body behind the school."

"Another kid?" Stiles' grip on his cellphone tightened.

"No, some guy who graduated last year."

"Also eaten?"

"Don't know, haven't seen the body. No one' s whispering about how horrible it looked, so maybe not."

"Okay, I'll meet you at yours?"

"I'm going to Deaton's. I want to ask him about the faery monster things."

"'K, then I'll head to mine and you show up when you're done."

"Cool. See yah then."

Scott hung up without bothering to wait for his reply. Stiles gave his phone a 'look' and then rolled his eyes at his friend. He looked back to Merlin, only to find that Harris had apparently now finished with whatever he'd been brewing and was leaning back against his worktable with his arms folded across his chest. Stiles swallowed.

"So, there's been another death, only it's not a kid this time, but some guy who graduated last year. Not sure if he was eaten yet, but I'm my dad will tell me... once he's done yelling at me for skipping."

Merlin chuckled. "It wouldn't matter whether or not the young man was eaten. I doubt it's the same thing that killed the children. Fae are very particular about their victims. Whether it's children, virgins or young men in their prime, they don't switch their preferences."

"So faeries are like serial killers?"

Harris snorted, amusement dancing in his eyes. Merlin made a face. "Not all faeries cause harm to humans. There's plenty of them, who just cause mischief and play the occasional prank-"

"However there are far more, who consider humans to be nothing more than amusing playthings," Harris interjected.

Merlin stuck his tongue out at him. "And then there are the those of the Seelie Court, who are far more like humans than they'd ever want to acknowledge."

"So long as you don't actually make the mistake of thinking of them as human."

Stiles snickered. Then the gravity of the situation set in and he sighed. "So, basically we've got ourselves a second something that's probably shown up because of the Beacon." He grit his teeth, fighting against the urge to blame himself for those deaths. He, Allison and Scott were responsible for re-activating the Beacon. Which meant that – no. Stiles refused to feel guilty for doing what he had to to save his father. He'd do it again. Evening knowing what would happen, he would do it again.

He stood up. "Thanks, Merlin, Mister Harris, but I've gotta go and get back to researching."

Stiles was half-way across the clearing when Merlin called for him again. Stiles turned around and then his eyes caught movement from above. Merlin stepped back in order to avoid getting a faceful of wing as Mywanwy landed gracefully. Once she'd settled, a smaller shape zipped off her back and Stiles laughed as Clint the sparrow flew excitedly around his head once before flying off to land on Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin gently stroked the sparrow's belly and then took the note it was holding and unraveled it. As he read it, he absently reached out to stroke Myfanwy, who'd nudged him gently with her snout (which was about as gentle as a small battering ram). Stiles walked up to the wyvern and hesitated only slightly when she turned to him. He ran his hand down the side of her neck. She nudged him back with the side of her head, nearly sending him sprawling backwards.

Stiles laughed and took the hint, petting her down the top of her head the way Merlin had. "Are all wvvern this, uh, puppy-like?" he asked Merlin.

Merlin snorted in amusement. "Absolutely not. She's the only one I've ever met who's like this. True, I've known her since she was an egg, but most wyvern are about as affectionate as hyenas. Oh and be careful: those spikes on her head are really sharp and she doesn't always realize she's supposed to be careful with them."

Stiles eyed said spikes cautiously as he petted the wyvern. After a while, Merlin folded the note and looked at Stiles thoughtfully. "Stiles, you really want to do something to help?"

Stiles looked up at him. "Er, well yeah. I mean I am doing something. I'm google-fuing my way through the internet."

"You're a spark. You could learn to use that to help in other ways than just research..."

Stiles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "But Deaton said the darkness around my heart prevented him from teaching me and training me as an emissary for Scott." His eyes narrowed. "Was he lying?"

Merlin winced. "Er not exactly. It would make it... difficult. You'd have a much harder time finding the sort of balance that druidic magic requires."

"But not impossible?" Stiles asked, hope flaring like a tiny little flame in the midst of the darkness that was constantly threatening to swallow his heart. He hadn't even told Scott about his conversation with Deaton – he'd been too heartbroken afterwards. Scott had somehow become plan-guy and the leader of their ragtag group and the only thing Stiles now had going for him other than his google-fu was useless. He was just the fragile, breakable human. "'Cause I can work hard and I know I can be scatter-brained and spastic, but I can totally concentrate when I have to. I promise to work super hard and-"

"Stiles." Stiles fell silent. Merlin was looking on in amusement. "Remember how I said I couldn't find the fae – or fight the curse for that matter – because I didn't have a connection to the land? You were born on this land, you live here and if you are willing to commit to living here until you die and willing to dedicate your life to protecting the land, then you, Stiles, could connect to the land."

Stiles stared at him, blindsided. Connect to the land? He looked down to the earth beneath him and realized he didn't really understand what that meant. Commit to the land... for forever?

"Sounds a bit like a marriage."

Merlin chuckled. "It is a bit, really. And just to clarify, it doesn't mean you'd be stuck in Beacon Hills and unable to go anywhere else. Distance doesn't break a connection with the land. You can go off to college, go on vacation to Europe, L.A., New York, travel to Africa or Asia: just so long as you return. Your heart and your soul must remain in Beacon Hills."

Stiles swallowed and nodded. Okay, that sounded a bit more manageable. He liked Beacon Hills and would probably continue to like it even after Lydia moved away to be a genius mathematician at some Ivy League school and Scott... well, he didn't actually know what Scott planned to do yet. When they were younger he'd wanted to be a superspy FBI agent. Stiles had wanted to be a superhero - preferably one that flew.

"Is- is that to counteract the darkness?" Stiles asked.

"No. The darkness is actually the reason why you'll be able to do it in the first place."

"What? How is that even possible?"

Merlin smiled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "It's rather amusing how you're all so determined to see the darkness as some sort of force of evil. You touched the realm of the dead and journeyed into it. That sort of experience leaves a mark. Druids are capable of connecting with the land, but have you ever heard of Deaton speaking of such a connection?"

"Nope."

"It's because the seat of their power lies an ocean away. When Europeans settled this land, they were foolish and arrogant: they brought their own customs, their own traditions and ignored those already here. That includes the people, who should've known better."

Stiles was enraptured, excitement thrummed through his veins even though he didn't quite know what the sorcerer was getting at yet. Merlin grinned. "Norse legends? Just think about how ridiculous that sounds. This isn't the land of the Druids or the Norse gods." He spread his arms out wide. "This is the land of Silver Fox, Coyote and Eagle!"

Stiles gaped. He was interrupted by his phone ringing. This time it was his dad. Stiles groaned.

"Stiles, think about it," said Merlin. Stiles looked to him. The sorcerer had a serious look on his face now. "It's a serious commitment and it won't be easy. It will, however, be dangerous. If you attempt this half-heartedly then it could cost you your life, so please be sure. If you decide to do it then meet me here on Friday after you're done school. You'll be gone all weekend, so make an excuse with your lacrosse coach."

Stiles nodded and then cursed as his phone rang again. He said good-bye to everyone and answered his phone as he headed back towards his car.

Merlin and Harris watched him go.

"Do you really think the boy is capable of this?" Adrian asked Merlin once they could no longer hear his voice through the trees.

The corner of Merlin's mouth twitched. "I know you don't think particularly highly of Stiles, but yes I do believe he's capable of doing this. In fact, he might be exactly what Beacon Hills needs right now."