Chapter 21 – Forest nymph
"Lydia!"
"Hey, watch i-"
"Lydia! Have you seen Lydia?"
"Who's Lydia?"
"Lydia! Lydia Martin, this is her house!"
"Dude, sorry. Hey, have you seen the moon tonight? It's-"
"Shut up! Shut up!" I shoved the drunken teenager out of the way and kept pushing myself through the throng of people. "LYDIA?"
I couldn't find her! She wasn't here! I checked everywhere, asked everyone, but I couldn't find her. Not that I got any straight answers when I asked around – everyone was acting like lunatics. If this is what drunken people acted like I would never touch alcohol again, swear on my life.
The two women were cackling and shouting: "We told you so, silly girl!" after I opened the door to see myself on fire. It was a hallucination, I was sure of that, but it felt real – all the way from the smell of burnt flesh to the scorching of my hair. I ended up collapsing on my knees in front of it, screaming Lydia's name until it went away. The women, however, remained and if I concentrated I could still hear them upstairs.
Tears mixed with sweat on my face and I shouted in people's faces to sober up and tell me if they saw Lydia anywhere. As I got outside, people were cannonballing into the swimming pool fully clothed and I didn't see a single face I recognized.
"Has anyone seen Lydia? Please, would you just- Lydia?"
It was useless. Not only was I several inches shorter than most of the guests, but they had little but no control over their own body and multiple times someone stumbled into me so I was pushed against a wall or another partygoer. Somehow I ended up by the punch table, the strong smell of alcohol making me gag. The extravagant fountain Lydia purchased for the occasion poured out an endless stream of pink liquid and I wondered how many gallons of the vile stuff she made.
Oh no…
It hit me like a punch in the stomach, no pun intended. It was the punch! People weren't drunk, they were hallucinating – just like me! She did something to the punch; but why? Why would she drug her entire birthday party and disappear? Was I wrong all along, was Lydia the real kanima master?
A look into the fountain bowl didn't help to clear up that matter, but now an icy rage feasted in my veins. Bobbing gently on the surface were dozens of purple blue petals – it probably looked like decoration for the average guest here – but of course it wasn't. Monkshood. Wolf's bane. Aconitum lycoctonum.
How could she do that? My mind flashed back to the dozens of times she gave me another cup and how she made sure everyone had a drink in their hand at all times. Why would she do that? What wasn't I seeing here?
Open your eyes.
"Shut up," I groaned under my breath, although I doubt anyone else paid me any attention. "Just shut up."
Oh gods, she gave this to Scott! This could kill him! Quickly, I scanned the party for any sight of the tall werewolf in question, but nothing. Every scenario from him lying dead at the bottom of the pool to him gasping for breath in the driveway went through my head and I wanted to scream, to howl, to curse Lydia's name back to oblivion. How could she do this?
Open your eyes!
"SHUT UP!" I grabbed hold of the fountain bowl and pulled. I tore the whole thing down. It crashed with loud metallic bangs on the stony ground and finally the flow stopped. So did the music and everyone stared in my direction.
"Dude," someone said and the music went back up, people kept dancing, no one gave a damn.
"That's it! Everyone out! PARTY'S OVER!" I shouted and waved my hands around, pulling at people's arms to get their attention, but no one heard me. "For Frigg's sake!"
I stomped over to the house phone and punched the buttons so hard my manicured nails broke.
"Beacon County Sheriff's Department, what's your emergency?"
"COPS!"
The sirens worked like magic; the house emptied in seconds, although the front lawn was covered in frantic teenagers running around. I snuck inside, stomped up to the bedroom again and slammed the door open.
Empty.
Thank gods.
I grabbed my phone, the knife Allison gave me and switched out my shoes for the sneakers I usually wore. I climbed out the bedroom window to avoid the police – the last thing I needed right now was to be brought to the police station. I needed to find Lydia now.
Her car was gone.
"Great."
And here I was hoping she just trekked into the woods again. Maybe I could get Scott to – Scott! No, no, I couldn't think about that right now. I didn't let myself think about that now, needed to stay focused. I needed to find Lydia. If my suspicions were right and she was the kanima master, I had to stop her before she hurt anyone else.
The road up to the House was dark and barren, but I didn't pay attention. I had been so stupid. Of course Lydia was the one controlling Jackson – the way Stiles told me she was controlling him long before he turned into a seven-foot lizard so it made perfect sense she did the bidding in his grotesque murders at well. And this carefully orchestrated party was the grand finale in whatever plan she had, so I needed to stop her. If only I could figure out the motive.
Going after Derek made sense; his uncle was the one putting her in the hospital in the first place. The desire for retribution ran strong in the Blair-family. But Isaac's dad? The mechanic? What connection did she have to them?
Several different stories ran in my head, ranging from Mr. Lahey physically hurting her to the mechanic breaking her heart, but it made no sense no matter how I tried to justify it. Perhaps she was delusional, paranoid, seeing enemies in random people and sending Jackson of to get them?
Or maybe they were sacrifices.
Was it a pattern? I mentally went over each of the kanima's kills – leaving out Derek and Danny because they were out of necessity, not planning – and that left me with: Isaac's father, the Argent hunter, the mechanic, the couple in the woods, their unborn baby, Kara Simmons…
Four men, two women and a child. How did they fit together? What was their connection? Every victim, apart from the child and Mr. Lahey, was twenty-four of age – Stiles scoured every yearbook they attended high school to find a definite connection, but came up empty. Perhaps one of the other victims was also out of necessity, that they saw something they weren't supposed to, or became collateral damage?
A pattern, I needed to find a pattern; it was the only way I would figure out who her next victim was.
I didn't bother to park my car, just left it running and tore through the garden to get inside. Luckily, I kept the map I used the last time she went missing. I spread it out over the kitchen table and pushed out any thoughts about the House making noises to get my attention. I think the drug was still in my system.
Lydia's image filled my mind and I focused on every detail I could find – the exact shade of her hair, the way she smiled when she got attention, her carefully painted lips, the crinkle at her eyes when she knew something you didn't – everything that made Lydia Lydia.
Nothing.
"Come on," I growled, renewing my effort and focusing my intention, my energy, my will and my mind into finding Lydia. The pendant hovered over the map at the end of the chain, unmoving. "Come on, come on!"
It wasn't working.
A sob escaped my lips. "This isn't happening." The pendant didn't move. "This can't be happening. I always find her, I'm supposed to find her, why can't I – I know I'm – this isn't happening!"
In a fit of anger I pushed everything to the floor before I fell to my knees, burying my face into my hands. I was useless. This was all my fault. How could I have been so blind? I searched for the connection, for the link, for whatever tied me with Lydia, but came up empty. We were broken, two separate pieces that didn't match up. I wasn't going to find her this way, not this time.
It wasn't strong enough.
I got up, rooted through the kitchen cabinets, murmured the ingredients under my breath in a made-up rhyme, a mad poem, like chanting their names would help me find them faster. "Silver mortar, rosemary, cypress and yarrow; don't leave it until tomorrow; rosemary, cypress and yarrow; let me your strength borrow; cypress and yarrow, banish my sorrow, cypress and yar-"
The herbs crushed as I grinded as my life depended on it, still mumbling the weird rhyme under my breath, not looking at my work but staring out the window. The damn Moon was reaching Her highest point of the night, taunting me even further. I used Allison's birthday present, the switchblade hunting knife, to cut my left ring finger and let three drops fall into the mortar.
"Blood to blood,
Return to Me.
Blood to blood,
So mote it be."
I repeated the incantation three times, but the last time I barely managed to pronounce the words between my sobs. Why isn't anything working? I used blood, for Mother's sake, it doesn't get more potent than that. If that didn't work, nothing would. I would never find her. Maybe tonight was how she was getting away, maybe she was halfway to frickin' Mexico right now, why had I defended her the entire time, why hadn't I thought that maybe, just maybe, she had something to do with all of this?
I should never have come to Beacon Hills. This was a mistake. I couldn't handle this, not on my own, I needed help! I already had my phone out, planning to call Sabrina to – wow.
Something happened. Something big happened! Something so big and so powerful and so potent I felt it in my heart, in my bones, in my lungs, in my teeth – something literally swept over the grounds and drained me of everything. I collapsed sideways to the floor, the room tilting in slow motion, gasping for breath, fighting to not lose consciousness. Was that Ly-
It struck me like a lightning bolt.
Everything fused together; every chain link snapped into place; every seam re-stitched itself; the ropes braided themselves; the puzzle pieces adjusted and joined together. I was connected, not only to Lydia, but to the universe and for a blessed time I laid on the floor and saw everything from the atoms of molecules to the blue whale colonies in the Atlantic to the brain waves in my own head and then she screamed. She screamed louder, harder, longer than ever before and it was a scream laced with desperation, with fear, with panic.
I bolted upright, clutching both hands over my ears to drown out her banshee-like howl. She was out there, she was on the run and she was terrified. I left the map, left the knife, left everything behind and took off into the dark forest. I felt the same as when I first found her, like a homing beacon, my inner compass set to Lydia and Lydia alone. I was meant to find her.
Whatever broken between me and Lydia was restored and I didn't care to think about how and why right now, because I couldn't tell if she was still screaming or I just heard it in my head.
Roots tripped at my feet, twigs whipped at my face, leaves stuck in my hair, but I still made good speed through the woods. As the foliage thickened and blocked out the moonlight, the forest looked pitch black and I had to rely on other senses than sight to make any progress.
"Lydia?" I called several times, mistaking every shadow for her. "LYDIA!"
The forest was dead silent, but that didn't surprise me. Animals were a lot more sensitive to the supernatural than humans – when the magical current swept over the land every rodent, every owl and every other sensible being retreated back into their hiding place, tucked their head down and waited for the relief of a rising sun. If Lydia hadn't been out there, I probably would have snuggled down into the sleeping bag and stayed there until everything went back to normal again. The air was still electric.
Bushes rustled.
Something was out here. And anything or anyone out right now was here because they had no choice. As desperate as I.
I barely raised my voice above a whisper. "Lydia?"
No answer. I felt certain it was no animal, so either another person…or half-person. The beams of the full moon didn't penetrate the overhead branches, but it made its way to my head anyhow. Full moon and freshly turned werewolves – what if Derek lost control over his pack? Why did I leave the knife back at the House?
"W-who's there?" I called, creeping closer in the direction of the noise. It was so dark! Why did I leave the flashlight back at the House?
A twig snapped. Behind me. I whirled around and expected glowing yellow eyes, but someone clapped a hand over my mouth just as I started to shriek.
"Shh." The assailant removed his hand slowly and I gasped for breath.
"Doctor Deaton?" Of everyone I expected, he didn't even make the list. "What the-"
"Cassandra, I need you to listen to me. Listen, don't speak. Lydia is out here; I think she headed east, possibly northeast. You need to find her and soon. I'm afraid she's in a fragile state."
"What is going on? Why are you here?" My head felt like bursting with unanswered questions – now I know how Lydia felt when no one would tell her anything. "Is Lydia the one controlling the kanima?"
Pay attention, girl!
"No, I'm afraid something much worse happened," Dr. Deaton said off-handedly and left it at that. "I need to get going, he's going to wake up soon. Lydia headed northeast and if anyone can find her, it's you. But you need to hurry."
My nerves were on fire. "Doctor, no offense, but what the fuck just happened?"
He looked over his shoulder, clearly in a hurry. "I'm not quite sure yet, but I have my suspicions," he admitted in a dark tone. "And I fear the worst is yet to come."
"Was it Lydia?"
Doctor Deaton looked at me for a few long seconds and nodded gravely. "You need to find her as soon as possible. She is alone, she is afraid and she's going to need help to get through this."
Lydia was not afraid, Lydia was terrified. I could feel it on the edge of my own mind – the bond between us had returned and it was stronger than ever. And to think I suspected her of controlling the kanima!
I took a deep breath. "Northeast?"
"Find her, get her to safety and-" He stopped mid-sentence, looking conflicted.
"And? And what?"
"No, don't worry about it, they'll be fine without you," he said, but it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than me. My blood ran fiery hot in my whole body and now my heart pumped even harder. They?
"Where's Scott and Stiles? Are they okay? Lydia didn't do- please tell me they're okay?"
"Lydia didn't do anything, but I fear someone else will. Your first priority is Lydia and…" He hesitated again and I crossed my arms defiantly. "I probably should not ask this of you, but Scott and Stiles might need your help. After you find Lydia, go to the police station, but be careful! A chapter is going to end tonight."
We were wasting time standing here like this and we both knew it. Without saying another word, we went separate ways – he took the path to the south and I went northeast. Northeast, the direction of dusk, in the middle between winter and spring, the direction between earth and air. It could be a coincidence – it probably wasn't.
"Wind give me speed." I broke into a run, dodging and weaving through the trees. "Earth give me strength." Sooner than not, my breathing burned in my chest; my legs became heavier and heavier; I really needed to get more exercise than randomly running around in the woods now and then.
"LYDIA!" I screamed, stumbling forward and leaning against a tree for support. Acid scorched through my thighs, I heaved for air. "LYDIAAAAAA!"
"Cassie?"
I barely heard it over my own heartbeat, so faint I almost imagined it, but it was there. She was here. I stomped through the undergrowth, hoping I went the right way.
"Cassie?" The call was stronger now, closer, more desperate. "CASSIE!"
Lydia burst through the bushes, knocking us both over and into the ground. We tumbled around and she clutched onto me, sobbing hard into my hair.
"Lydia, are you- are you hurt? Are you okay?"
She gasped for air, hiccoughing and sniffling. "I'm so sorry, Cassie, I'm so sorry, I never meant to do it. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. Cassie, ple-hease," Lydia cried into my dress. "H-he was in my head, he wouldn't leave me alone, Cassie, you have to believe me, I never meant to- I would never- I'm so so-sorry."
I rocked her like a child, holding around her shivering body; she was freezing. I whispered: "It's okay, Lydia, it's okay. It's going to be okay."
She kept babbling hysterically about someone in her head, that she never meant it, she was so sorry. It felt like forever until her breathing stabilized and she cried silently. I didn't let go of her.
Lydia turned near catatonic when I got her inside the House. I brought her in by the back door, but led her straight through the chaotic kitchen and into the small living room.
"I remember this place." Her voice was so tiny, so small I just wanted to hug her and never let go. She was fragile – I could not ask her any questions tonight. But as soon as the full moon passed, as soon as sun rose and Spring was on her way, Lydia and I was going to have a long and interesting conversation.
"It's the family House," I said, distracted with getting her comfortable in the sofa, covering her in every blanket and comforter available. She was in her party dress, the second one of the three total she planned on wearing. "Stay here, I'll get you some tea."
She nodded, a far-away look in her face, and stared at the paintings on the wall. They were still covered in dusty, white cloth. The living room only had one entry and I closed the door behind me and on a second thought, put the umbrella stand in front of it so I'd hear if she left. I wondered how the House would take to her – I mean, technically she was family, but that depended a bit on which technicalities you referred to. Legally, they had nothing to do with the Blair-family anymore.
Blood doesn't lie.
I fired up the gas oven to maximum, bringing the water to a boil as fast as possible. Chamomile tea, to warm her up and calm her down. Feeling slightly guilty about it, although only slightly, I added some potent Chinese herb called huang-qin with very high concentrations of melatonin. I watched Lydia drain the cup, neither of us saying a word, and she was fast asleep within ten minutes. If I dosaged it correctly, she would sleep until noon. I loved Lydia to death and back, but Dr. Deaton's cryptic message about the sheriff's station left me anxious – I hadn't heard from Scott or Stiles since the party.
This time I had the foresight to put on a jacket and stuff my new knife in the pocket. My instinct was to call Stiles so it was the first thing I did after pulling out of the driveway. The call went through, but it rang and rang and he didn't pick up.
"Come on, Stiles. Come on, come on, don't do this to me," I mumbled, only half an eye on the road in front of me. It rang at least eight times before he picked up. "Stiles? Thank gods, you're okay. Stiles? Stiles, are you there?"
Heavy breathing on the other end – long, deep breaths every time, not panicked like he was running for his life.
"Stiles?" I tried again, but no answer. Just the same breathing as before, it almost reminded me of-
"Get your scaly-ass hands off my phone!" Stiles shouted in the background, almost muffled, like he was…paralyzed.
My blood still ran hot, but it centered in my stomach, hardening to rock. The kanima – Jackson – had answered Stiles' phone. That meant Stiles was incapacitated, but alive. But where was Scott?
"Jackson?" I asked in a tiny voice and there was a slight shift in the breathing pattern. In the background I heard someone in a deeper, lower voice say something. It sounded like- no, it couldn't be. If Derek was there, who was watching over the werewolf-puppies? And if Derek was there, who was left to fight the kanima?
"Jackson? It's Cassie," I said slowly, trying to figure out what I should say, how to get through to him. "Please, Jackson, I know you can hear me. You don't want to do this. " Maybe I could keep him on the phone long enough so I could get there and – and do what? Distract him further by mating? But something was weird; there was no way he would pick up the phone if he was in his full kanima-shape. Was he fully controlled by the kanima master now? Completely incapable of his own actions?
Jackson breathed heavily into the phone, but he didn't say anything, he didn't hiss – nothing.
"Give me the phone."
There was something wrong with that voice. It was human, but on the verge of something else. It was cold, it was desperate, it was insane. It was also familiar, which scared me the most.
Scratching noises on the other end as the phone changed hands and for a good ten seconds it was completely silent.
"Hello? Who is this?" I asked, the fingers of my right hand tightening on the steering wheel. I needed to think, to make a plan, not just jump right into a situation without control, but I couldn't even focus enough to drive straight. I held the wheel still with my knee whenever I needed to change gears, but the adrenaline left me almost vibrating.
Why didn't he answer me? "Hello? Jackson? Who am I talking to?"
Beeeeeep.
He hung up.
I caught glimpse on my own face in the rearview mirror – I looked like Lydia after she spent two days in the woods. But I was not lost as she had been, not confused, not scared – I refused to be. My mouth settled in a hard line and I put my foot heavier on the gas.
Think ahead, think ahead… It echoed through my mind a million times over, a mantra to try and focus my thoughts on what was happening. Lydia was safe, so I needed to push her and the guilty conscience that followed out of my brain and concentrate on Scott and Stiles, who obviously were in trouble. I didn't even know if Scott was still alive, I mean, what if the wolfsbane-punch knocked him out for good?
Focus! Think!
I parked my car a whole block away from the Sheriff's station – did not want to attract their attention to me yet. I still didn't have a plan, not a proper one, and I felt foolish for brandishing the knife as a weapon, because when it came to physical combat I was useless. Even Stiles were more competent in that area than me. So what strengths did I have?
The Sheriff's station looked eerily normal from the outside. I was no fool, I didn't try to enter it through the front door – there had to be another way in. As I snuck around the building, I found it. There were wet patches of blood on the ground – I bent down and dipped my fingers in it, still warm – and there was a trail of it going to the garage. Someone, most likely Jackson, attacked one of the officer's – out on an evening smoke probably – and dragged him inside, still alive.
No breadcrumbs for you, Gretel; you're in the wrong end of the fairytale.
I followed the bloodstains, illuminated by the full moon, and strained my ears for any clue of what was going on inside. Still dead silence, but the kanima was definitely inside. The side door of the garage was wrenched open, its hinges torn and twisted, much like the door of Mr. Lahey's car. That's my way in.
Apart from pulling the body inside, Jackson made no attempts of covering his tracks and every door that should have been locked were open wide or in some cases, lying six feet to the right. The first body I found by literally stumbling over it.
"Oh gods," I tried to swallow my cry, but couldn't help the little outburst. His torso was torn open – by claws – and he was the obvious source of the bloodtrail I'd been following so far. His eyes were wide open, stuck in eternal shock, and I was selfishly thankful I didn't recognize him. I kneeled by him and placed two fingers on his throat – no pulse, not that I'd expected one. Gently, I closed his eyes. "I wish you blessings on your path hereon."
There can be no rebirth, without death
The Wheel turns,
The Circle connects.
The smell of iron hung heavy in the air as I encountered the bloodshed of the next hallway. They were spread like ragdolls, not a heartbeat between them, and I bowed my head in silent respect. The grip on my hunting knife tightened.
I still had not encountered a single soul and I was afraid to call out in case the wrong ears heard me. I found myself at a crossroad, the corridor split in two. To the left, smaller and smaller droplets of blood glinted in the overhead lighting. I went right.
"Lahey!"
The first sound for a while had me diving for cover behind a vending machine. No, no, no, please, Mother no, don't tell me Isaac is here too.
"He shouldn't have let them drink!"
The voice came from further down the hall, from the workroom, and I crept closer. Whose voice was that? I knew I heard it before, only not so close to a breakdown.
"What, who was drinking?"
Scott! I let out a breath it felt like I'd been holding since I left the birthday party. He was alive, thank you Mother of All.
"The swim team, you idiot!"
The other one – the kanima master? – was angry. I edged myself to the doorway, listening in, and felt another flutter of relief when I realized Isaac had nothing to do with it, apart from being the swim coach's son. Who was the one telling the story? Who was it that Isaac's brother threw in the pool? Who was the one that drowned?
Carefully, so slowly I could almost hear my muscles moving, I leaned to my side so I could take a peak. The first one I saw was Scott, standing up and looking very much alive, despite the bloodstain on his shirt that he covered with his left hand. The second one, gesturing about, telling his story, waving the gun in his hand all over the place, was the photographer. The kanima master. Matt.
Matt was the one controlling Jackson.
Matt was the murderer.
And how was I going to stop him?