CHAPTER 21 - THERE WILL BE BLOOD
Nobody has been sleeping.
Scott hasn't noticed at first, but it's only after his ordeal in the woods that he finally arrived home exhausted and bleary eyed but still found he was unable to relax. His mom was already home, and the look she had given him was one of frustration and full of words that she didn't know how to say.
He had somehow managed to broach the topic of the hounds and demons with her, but he knew that it hadn't gone down well. There was a gap there that Scott couldn't seem to breach, while his mom lost herself in work and hissed arguments past midnight with his dad.
The rest of the pack is uneasy and everyone actually looks just about ready to commit murder. He's known Isaac can have a dark streak, especially considering his childhood, but he has also learned recently that Stiles and Allison can be bloodthirsty sometimes and that Lydia takes a weird satisfaction from seeing people in pain.
Stiles hasn't slept since yesterday and his freak out in the classroom. He had been practically nodding off in lessons, while everyone gave him a wide berth and started whispering behind his back. Lydia had taken to glaring at anyone who spoke to loudly, which only served to somehow convince people that the pair were dating. Scott had no idea how that link was made, but either Lydia and Stiles had not yet heard the rumours or they had and were making no attempt to deny it.
He's actually kind of glad when Allison made the call cancelling school. It's a Thursday again, and some part of him wishes this sort of stuff could happen on weekends.
Allison looked exhausted too, but she was channelling her nervous energy into something productive at least. She was pacing in the loft next to the wall Stiles had stolen to stick pictures of the murders on. She was now staring at it intently, with Isaac standing over her shoulder.
"We've been looking at this all wrong," Allison is pulling strings down from the wall and reconnecting them. We've been looking at where the murders have taken place. But we should instead be looking at where the people live."
She's reconnecting the strings, and slowly but surely Scott can see new patterns emerging.
The strings all congregate along the bottom right corner of the map.
That's when Scott sees it. "That's…" he steps forwards to peer closer, "That's where the Nemeton is!"
"The Nemeton?" Jethro asks, "The tree?"
Nate shakes her head, "It's not just any tree," her voice sounds grave, "It's a druid tree. One of huge power. It's like a beacon…" she stops and looks to Scott.
He nods at her in confirmation, "It's why this town is called Beacon Hills." he says, "The tree been cut down for years but the power is still there. Recently Stiles, Allison and I made a sacrifice to the Nemeton. It tied us to the tree which is why we've been - out of it a little."
"A little?" Nate laughs, "You look like death warmed over."
"I don't get it." Jethro continues to stare at the map. "The dead oak tree is causing people to die?"
The younger sister - Lexi - stands up next to her friend. "No," she shakes her head, "But something that powerful - like Scott says it might die but the power is still there. It seeps outwards, and usually it's fine. It's just normal but here - it's like its gone bad and the people who live near it are going bad as well. But so bad that it's killing them."
When her sister looks at her curiously Lexi gets defensive, "What? Just because I listened to mum's stories."
Scott glances at the others as they form a sort of semi-circle around the wall. "It must mess with your personality. Your hubris'. You said that guy died from laziness - right?" he directs towards Allison and Nate.
The female alpha nods. "And then this one-" she stabs a finger at a picture, "Kid drowning. Maybe the parents let it happen. We'd have to poke around and I don't really want to be doing that with grieving parents."
"But the rock climbing - that's more like an accident." Isaac points out, "The drowning could have been an accident too."
Scott looks around for Stiles and his erratic linking of events but his friend is absent. "Where's Stiles?" he asks, because he doesn't want to force his friend into school without him. He could have sworn that he had told Stiles to come to the loft.
The huntress looks around sharply, and then her face creases, guiltily, "Where's Lydia?" Allison frowns. "We were meant to pick her up for school but she never showed. Then we got distracted by the body."
Isaac shrugs, "Don't look at me."
Scott pulls out his phone and hits speed dial.
"Wha-what? Scott?"
"Dude!?" Scott exclaims at the familiar voice answering the phone, "Where have you been? And have you seen Lydia?"
"Been? What do you mean - I told you - oh my - you never listen do you - look - never mind just…"
"Stiles." Scott takes a deep breath, "Tell me where you are."
"Me and Lydia went body hunting. There's another death. And let me tell you it's… it's not pretty."
Stiles' phone rings with a buzz and he answers it without really thinking, trying to locate where he hid his history textbook after the latest symbol disaster. It was beginning to get harder and harder to try and pretend to his dad that everything was okay, especially when he had to bury his head under three pillows to drown out the taunting voices of ghosts that obviously had nothing else to do with their time other than annoy him.
"Stiles?" Lydia's voice is weak and trembling. He's alert instantly, despite his fatigued state.
"Yeah? Lydia? What's wrong?"
There's a pause, "I… I'm not sure where I am. I woke up outside wandering along the streets."
Stiles is grabbing his car keys, "Is there a street sign, a shop, anything…? Just wait there and I'll pick you up."
"I…" she sounds scared, "I can't stop. Stiles. I can't. There's something - I've got to get there. I've got to."
Stiles remembers Lydia being drawn to dead bodies like a magnet and before he really processes it he's grabbed a piece of toast and is out the door, "Where are you? I'm on my way - just give me some signs."
"Stiles." Lydia's voice regains some of that strength he is more familiar with, "You know what this means. There's… there's going to be another… there's going to be a body."
Stiles frowns as he pulls his car door open and clambers in. He adjusts his phone to his other hand. "You want me to- wait no, no I'm on it. Have you called the police yet?"
"You told me to call you first."
"And you're right. And I'm on my way. Like, sitting in my car and trying to work out how to drive and hold a phone and-" there is a muffled yelp as he drops his phone during his awkward attempts to balance it on his shoulder.
"Just-" he can barely hear Lydia from where the phone slides to the foot well, "Just get here soon. I'm heading south - the new housing developments."
Then the line goes quiet.
He finds Lydia exactly where she said. His method of searching involved drifting up and down streets like a creeper until he spotted Lydia. At least, he considers, she managed to pull on some clothes this time. Her hair looks wild, and un-brushed, but she still manages to look absolutely stunning, even without makeup on.
He parks the jeep and hops out to where she is shivering on the sidewalk.
"Have you found the DB yet?" he tries to be cheerful.
"The what?" she asks, looking pale.
Obviously his attempt to lighten to mood failed. "The DB. The dead body."
"The—" Lydia just stares at him. "It's over there." she points to a house in the middle of the row.
"How do you know?"
"Because I keep hearing a branch tapping on the window." Wordlessly she points at a tree that leans over until its branch scrapes along the window in a sound that sends chills up Stiles' spine.
He nods, gulping but yeah, that's as good a reason as any. "Have you - uh -tried the door?" he asks, starting up the path.
"Yeah, I'm going to knock on the house of a dead guy." Sarcasm isn't really Lydia's forte, but Stiles ignores that as he tries the door. It's locked. "Well we - uh- No I got nothing," he says, throwing out one hand as if to say 'look at that, the door is locked.'
"For someone so clever you really don't think of the obvious," Lydia sighs, and after glancing around to check they are still unobserved at seven in the morning, she slips to one side of the building and speed-walks rapidly out of sight. In heels. That's impressive actually.
"New plan: back door." Stiles summarises, "That works too."
"Stiles!" Lydia calls and he darts after her.
The back door is thankfully unlocked, because Stiles doesn't really want to try breaking in if it involved lock-picking or Lydia and a hair clip and credit card. He pulls down his sleeves and gestures to Lydia to not touch anything because if she's right then this is a crime scene.
So they slip in quietly and unobtrusively and are almost immediately hit with the sense that something is wrong.
It looks like there has been some sort of struggle. Yet at the same time some things look too normal: the slippers sit on the shoes wrack and the dirty dishes in the sink. Yet the kitchen drawers are open and from the contents that Stiles can see in them they've been rifled through as if pilfered from. A plate of uneaten food sits on the side and a mug of coffee sits untouched. A film sits on top of it. Lydia touches it with the back of her hand.
"It's cold."
Stiles moves through the house and the rest looks the same, if not worse. A bookshelf in the lounge is on its side, spilling it's content across the floor. The glass coffee table is smashed and shards are scattered everywhere. There is a long tear in the sofa and lumps of stuffing are falling out.
"I don't understand," Lydia looks around the destroyed living room, "It was here. I know it was."
"Maybe you were wrong?" Stiles whispers back, because this sort of atmosphere requires whispers.
"I'm not." Lydia shakes her head, "I'm never wrong."
There's a determination about her words that make Stiles look around again, striding back into the kitchen and then wondering why the door was unlocked.
He glances around again, convinced that he's missed something and that's when it jumps out at him.
The door was unlocked.
There are no shoes sitting by the backdoor. Instead a pair of slippers sit there alone.
"Lydia," he calls cautiously, pushing the door open again. There are paving stones immediately behind the back door, but if he walks a few more steps away from the house the paving stones curve around to one side back to the street.
The footprints however do not.
They continue straight out. Stiles follows the indentations in the ground with his eyes, trailing up until they are lost in the shadows the woods that borders the back of the house.
There is a click as the door closes behind him. "I don't really think I'm dressed for hiking," Lydia offers him a weak smile, "But I need to find this."
She's a banshee. The call to death must be like Coach Finstock's call to a lacrosse game. Stiles nods and he goes first, walking alongside the foot prints so as not to mar them. He's vaguely aware that they're leaving their trail own behind, but he reckons he could wing it with his dad that he and Lydia were just on a walk through the woods. Especially since everyone seems to think they're dating (Stiles doesn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed at Jethro for that).
They follow the trail for about ten minutes in a comfortable silence. The forest rises up and around, and the footsteps curl north with the town to their left.
After a bit Lydia grabs hold of his shirt, pulling him to a stop. "There," she whispers, and she strikes off at a tangent, her fingers uncoiling from his shirt as she steps forwards.
Stiles steps out from around her and then stops, drawing up short. He's heard about how people used to die from being hung, drawn and quartered, but he'd never thought that he'd see it.
The body - and it can't really be called a man anymore - hangs between two trees, pale and wraithlike. His arms are outstretched, and tied with ropes to the branches reaching their greedy hands towards him. He's bound, thick ropes wrapping around his limbs and spread-eagling him in the middle of the forest, like some sickly piece of art put out to dry.
A dark stain runs over his translucent lips, and deep cuts in the wrists are made from where barbed wire is buried in, and then runs around his body like a shroud over his shoulder and down the other arm.
"Shit." Leaves murmur as Stiles takes a step forwards, gaze transfixed to the body.
And he should have been expecting it really - he should have known that when a banshee finds a death she does only one thing.
She screams.
Stiles hears it but at the same time he doesn't. He's already detached, critically examining the body and mind numbingly wondering if he's going to faint anytime soon.
And gradually the sound dies and Lydia closes her mouth, letting her eyes close as she tries not to look.
There's still a weird buzzing noise in his ears. Stiles swats at his head to ward off the flies.
The sound just repeats. He waves his hands around and Lydia casts him a weird glance. "Isn't that your phone?" she asks, sounding normal for someone who just found a dead body in the woods hung between two trees like a sacrifice.
Stiles really needs to get that issue of his eligibility for virgin sacrifices sorted.
"I-uh-yeah…" he grabs the device in question which is vibrating in his pocket, "I guess it is - uh- wha- what? Scott?" he straightens as the alpha's anxious tones come through the speaker. He sounds like a worried mother hen.
"Dude!? Where have you been? And have you seen Lydia?"
"Been? What do you mean?" Stiles had sent him a text hadn't he? Then again his phone had been on the floor of his jeep so maybe- "I told you - oh my-" he's an idiot for not even thinking of notifying the pack. "-you never listen do you-" he says, unsure whose fault it really is here, "Look - never mind just…" he's trying to focus, but Scott picks him up on this first.
"Stiles - Tell me where you are."
"Me and Lydia went body hunting." Stiles says, and for the first time wonders why its him there and not Scott or Allison or even Aiden. "There's another death. And let me tell you it's…" he looks at the body and then for Lydia who is walking away into the woods. "It's not pretty."
He waits as Scott relays this news to whoever is around them.
"Dude are you skiving school?" Stiles asks, "You're skipping school again, aren't you?"
"We are," Scott corrects, "Can you meet us at the loft?"
Stiles is currently trying to get out of what is probably going to be a crime scene pretty soon. Lydia has pulled out her phone and is talking into it and by the sounds of 'Sheriff Stilinski' she's on the line to his dad.
Oh god. His dad is going to kill him.
Almost anticipating his trail of thoughts Lydia shakes her head, "It's just me. And you can ring me in as an anonymous tip-off, right? Good." She doesn't give his dad any leeway, "Well then - I have school. Good day Sheriff." and she hangs up.
Stiles knows he's going to get a call and if grateful that he's still talking to Scott. "We're on our way there." he says.
"Did you call 999?" he can hear one of the British girls ask over the phone.
"Lydia called my dad," Stiles answers, because the phone is probably on speaker, "And it's 911," he corrects, staring at the wall.
"That's the second body this morning," he hears Allison say, "This is getting worse."
"Well I'll keep you posted," Stiles says, because he's either going to have to surrender his phone to Lydia or attempt to drive with it balanced on one shoulder. "We'll see you there."
"Where?" Scott sounds confused. "The loft?"
Sarcasm is his default answer, "No, we're heading to your little werewolf den in the middle of the forest."
"Dude," Scott grumbles, "I don't have a werewolf den."
Stiles raises his eyebrows in an 'oh really' look even though Scott can't see it, "Sure you do," he jokes, "It's where you keep your little werewolf oven."
There is a groan over the phone.
"Actually," Stiles adds, "We're heading over to the animal clinic. Who's willing to bet that Deaton wants to know about this?"
Scott agrees and the call ends. Stiles casts one more look at the body, almost awestruck by the care that went into this, to string up the human and then wrap the wire over his shoulders like a cloak. Then he tears his gaze away and stumbles backwards, thinking he's going to be sick.
He's lightheaded, dizzy. He looks around to see how Lydia is dealing but she is walking off to one side, her gaze distant and vacant. "Lydia?" he calls, "Lydia!"
She stops and glances at him. She doesn't need to speak, her face just crumples slightly and he moves across to her, about to ask what is wrong when he catches sight of it between the trees.
It takes his breath away, the sight of that great tree trunk. As soon as he sees it, it's the only thing he can see.
"No." he whispers, and he can't pull away, finds his feet drawing him closer and closer and-
"Stiles," Lydia rests a hand on his arm and she pulls him back, "Stop."
He draws up, as if Lydia's hand has anchored him to the ground. He looks at her in puzzlement. She has stopped and hasn't moved any closer.
"What is it?"
"The ground," and she is gazing down, "The ground. It's all dead. It's all dead Stiles."
And finally Stiles realises that the sickly sweet smell in the air is the scent of death. He glances down, and he spots the dead blackened plants. There is a circle of dead animals and birds, and the soil is blackened as if burned by a fire.
It circles around, and Stiles traces the rings that spreads outwards, like a patch of mould. Nothing living sits within the circle.
And in the middle, unobtrusive and yet eye-catching at the same time, sits the Nemeton.