Chapter 76: The Storm II

Is this going to work? Only, my last full moon I tried to kill Derek and I don't really want to repeat that with you.

Jimmy screamed through the speaker of Joe's phone: "Now! Joe, it's happening RIGHT NOW!"

There was no time to think.

"Thirty-eight degrees north forty-three point fifty-six minutes and one hundred twenty degrees west forty-eight point forty-two minutes!"

"Shit! Jimmy, slow down!" Joe shouted and dashed into school hallways, putting him on speaker so she could type in the coordinates at the same time. "Thirty-eight degrees forty-three point what?"

"Point fifty-six minutes," Jimmy sounded like he was forcing himself to slow down, "and one hundred twenty degrees west forty-eight point forty-two minutes. It's on the side facing the lacrosse field, but it's now, Joe, now!"

Without any coherent thought, Joe just ran, keeping Jimmy on the phone. The GPS on her phone ticked closer to the coordinates given and Joe realized she had not brought her gun. Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet. She did not like the thought of facing some evil druid serial killer unarmed, but what was she going to do?

How did you fight an evil druid serial killer anyway?

"Do you see anything?" Jimmy demanded and Joe shook her head, not realizing he couldn't see her. Empty hallway. "-e, do yo- — anything?"

"No!" she hissed — the reception was breaking up again. "Are you sure you have the right coordinates? There's no one here."

Literally no one. All the classrooms looked empty as well. No answer.

"Jimmy?"

The screen showed the call as active, but she couldn't hear him. Turning the volume up, she could hear something else. It almost sounded like chanting? Like a male choir standing in a cave, yelling out old Celtic death chants.

"Oh shit," Joe said out loud and span around, hoping to catch the Darach before it came for her. The chanting crackled in her phone's speakers, drowning out the sound of her own pulse coming hard and fast now. "Ooooh shit. Not good."

Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet.

Which was absolutely useless if she could not see her attacker coming! Except nothing came. She looked down at her chanting phone and saw she was still a few coordinate seconds away from the numbers Jimmy gave her. And if she moved down here... the chanting grew stronger.

Step by step, eyes glancing down to see the final last digits of the coordinates tick closer-

"Ah!"

Joe shouted when a hand clamped around her wrist and tore her into an open classroom. Instinctively, she struck out, but her assailant dodged like she was made of water. She forced Joe back against a wall, using more speed than strength. One hand still holding Joe's wrist down, another clamped over her mouth and Joe stared into the golden almond-shaped eyes of Marin Morrell.

"Fthf?"

Marin looked dead serious and released Joe's wrist slowly to bring a finger up to her own mouth. Shh.

The chanting still came from Joe's phone held out by Joe's side, but grew more distant and Marin seemed to stare at it. Joe was at least half a head taller than Marin, but the latter wore heels where Joe wore combat boots leaving them almost nose-to-nose. She smelled nice, which was not what Joe should worry about right now.

Finally, when Joe thought she would pass out if she didn't start breathing soon, the chanting stopped and Jimmy's voice replaced it: "Joe? Joe!" Seeing Marin's eyes darting to the phone, Joe got the hint and ended the call.

"What the hell?" Joe asked when Marin slowly removed the hand from Joe's mouth. She kept her voice down, as Marin still looked apprehensive. "Is this payback for that time at the vet-clinic? Because I'll have you know, I was in a real-"

"Are you suicidal?" Marin demanded in a low hiss, not backing away from Joe and Joe would have acknowledged how close they stood if things were less weird. "Do you want to become the next sacrifice?"

"No, I wanted to stop it," Joe insisted and tried to regain her breath. She had thought her days were numbered when Marin had grabbed her. "What are you doing?"

The so-called guidance counselor had leaned to the side, looking out the small window in the door. She sighed. "It's over. He's gone."

"Who's gone? Did she take someone?" Joe peered out the window as well, catching the back of someone familiar wandering into a classroom across the hall. "Was that Lydia Martin?"

"Yes, she's most likely drawn to the same energy spikes that you were trying to measure," Marin said and had a stone-faced expression when plucking the gaussmeter out of Joe's hands. "This is dangerous, Josefina."

"Well, excuse me for trying to stop someone getting ritually sacrificed." Joe put her phone back in her pocket and shifted to adjust her jacket, as it'd ridden up when Marin basically pinned her to a wall. Wonder what Rob Delgado would get out of that? The same thing Joe's body was getting out of it and she cleared her throat to clear her mind. "Is it Lydia? Is she the evil druid lady? Who did she ta-"

A horrified scream pierced through the air without warning.

While Joe flinched, Marin seemed to have been expecting it. It lasted for several seconds and like a werewolf-howl seemed to skip the more common entryways and lodge straight into Joe's spine.

"Jesus Christ! What was that?"

"That was Lydia. As for who's missing, it's Westover," Marin said absentmindedly, watching the hallway. "There are people coming. You should leave."

"He's the teacher in Modern American History, right?" Joe asked, vaguely recalling the name from helping Scott with his homework. "And why?"

"Because you are getting too close!" Marin insisted and dragged Joe away from the window when a shadow passed by. "I told you before, you should be careful not to make yourself a suspect. Your FBI-agent father won't be able to protect you, not when the Darach took one of the deputies."

"Yeah, uh, about that," Joe said and now really tried to avoid noticing how close they stood, "my dad kind of thinks we have a, uh, thing."

Marin Morrell, all smooth skin and sharp beauty, gave her a raised eyebrow. "Does he?"

"Yeah, only, like, if he makes some comment, you can just ignore it," Joe tried to excuse both herself and her father by extent. She swallowed. "But, uh, out of curiosity, how old are you? Exactly?" Now Marin leaned back a bit, the hint of a flattered smile. "I ask partially because you're a druid, partially because you're black and I would've guessed somewhere between twenty-five and fifty-five."

"Your assumptions are correct again," Marin said and Joe could feel the familiar rush in her stomach when she smiled a proper wide smile, her plump lips stretching over straight white teeth. "Somewhere between there."

"That's not an answer, but I don't know what I expected." A blush rose steadily up Joe's back and she tried to suppress it. "It was just out of curiosity, by the way, I'm not coming onto you or something like that. It's just, I have no idea how age works with you guys anymore or how Deaton looks younger than Kane, who's also a druid."

"Ex-druid."

"What, so that means she canceled her subscription to the fountain of youth?"

Marin still paid more attention to the outside hall. "Something like that."

"You," Joe inhaled sharply, "warned Sarah Walker because of her relationship with Professor Kane, right? Because you're druids first. What happened to the other Emissaries? Why didn't you warn them?"

A darkness fell over Marin's face. She avoided Joe's questioning gaze, looking to the side. "By the time I realized what Deucalion planned with Ennis, it was too late."

"And?" Joe pressed on. "What about Kali's Emissary?"

For a while, Marin looked like she wasn't going to answer. When she did, her voice did not reach above a whisper. "She didn't believe me." Marin's mouth locked in a tight line, obviously burdened by the memories. "Sarah was the only one who did," the words came in a rush, like ripping off a band-aid, "and she was the only one who made it out alive."

Kali had killed her own Emissary. The thought should not have chilled Joe to the core, but it still did. It also meant the Darach was not a former Emissary.

"Do you know who's doing this?" Joe asked Marin, whose face betrayed nothing. "Are you not telling me because of your druidic professionalism or because of Deucalion?"

The gentle perfume Marin wore floated toward Joe when Marin leaned closer. "I'm not telling you," her breath hit Joe's ear, "because I don't know." A hint of a smile on her lips when she pulled back. "I only pretend to know everything, Josefina."

"Could've fooled me," Joe mumbled, suddenly dry-mouthed again. "Why do you keep on helping me?"

"Maybe I just like you?" Marin suggested and Joe forgot how to breathe, think, or function. "I already told you: to restore balance. Now you need to go."

"Okay, but can you wait a few minutes so it doesn't look like we're leaving together?"

Marin blinked at her and with a good-natured roll of her eyes, grabbed Joe's arm and steered them both out of the classroom.

The crowd in the hallway of students obviously heading for History-class were being held back by the school's security guard. Odd, considering how there were plenty of cops available just outside of the school.

"Uh..."

In the full vicinity of the whole crowd, Marin touched her arm and with a warm smile said: "See you later, Josefina."

Frozen to the spot, not sure what to make of her mixed emotions of 'Oh my God, someone just got abducted' and 'Oh my God, I haven't had sex in two years', Joe noticed Scott in the crowd with a big huge question mark on his face. In fact, that was kind of how Joe figured she looked as well. Her limbs unfroze too late, as Scott shoved his way out of the crowd over to her.

"What was that about?" he asked and Joe wondered if she should punch him to stop him from using his senses, which he obviously just had considering how the confusion turned into disgust. "Wha-"

Not stopping to catch her breath, Joe let out: "Uh, calculation was correct, I just got here too late, there's still a chance to save him, I gotta go, forget what you just thought you saw and consequently what you thought you just smelled and bye, I love you, please don't say, like, anything."

She did not wait for him to register everything she said before making her escape.

I don't want to hurt you, Joe.

"Anything?"

"It's still computing. These are calculations equivalent to weather forecasts, Joe. There's a reason they use supercomputers that are the size of a bus for that." Jimmy, still half-naked, paced the open space in the living room not covered with papers and discarded markers. "If you hadn't been too busy breaking up a dogfight, we would have prevented the last one."

"Theoretically, at least. Not sure how I would have done it," Joe mumbled and watched the numbers dance over the computer screen. She knew Jimmy was smart, but this was on another level. Thinking of the fight made her squirm. "Do you think Derek left town? I just can't believe he would abandon Cora and Boyd like that. Or even Scott."

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Or the English teacher?"

That made Joe feel sicker. For all she knew, he could have gone to stay with her, leaving Cora and Boyd to fend for themselves.

Unsure what to answer, Joe defaulted back to work. "Speaking of, what's the link between a sheriff deputy and a history teacher?"

"Tara used to be a teacher." He sounded absentminded. "Middle school. She and Dad worked together."

"So, teachers are the pattern. Like scholars?" Joe asked and a horrible thought struck her. "You don't think your dad-"

"If the Darach is after scholars, I don't think my dad fits the bill anymore," Jimmy said in a tone of voice that shut down that line of conversation. He looked at her with his head tilted. "You might though, little miss doctorate. Maybe Morrell wasn't exaggerating when she said you could be the next sacrifice."

Joe pursed her lips at the thought of Marin Morrell again. She blamed it on being touch-starved. It wasn't actually Marin she wanted; it was just that closeness. Aware of Jimmy's now raised eyebrows, she coughed. "Uh, there are others who fit that bill more than me."

"The English teacher?" Jimmy suggested again and Joe made a face to confirm. "Those morals of yours must be exhausting at times. In my opinion, you don't owe neither her nor Derek anything."

"If she ends up dead, I'm the one who has to live with knowing I could have done more. I already have one life on my conscience, I don't want another one." Not paying attention to the concerned look Jimmy sent her, Joe took out her phone. "How do I phrase 'Hey, your girlfriend might be next in line for a ritualistic sacrifice' without it sounding threatening? I really don't want to stir up any drama."

"Drama is better than dead," Jimmy commented drily, but brandished his own phone. "I'll call him if you'd like." He hesitated before punching in the number. "I assume it's futile asking you to get some rest?"

"Futile's a good word," Joe said and rested her head in her hands. It weighed a ton, but she knew sleep was out of reach just now. "Every move, every plan... it all seems futile." She glanced up at Jimmy who had his phone out, but only looked at her with a semi-worried, semi-exasperated expression. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Jim."

"Hopefully find someone else who won't put up with your bullshit." His expression softened a fraction as he rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Joe. Relax."

Sleep-deprivation had started to sting her eyes, but she nodded gratefully at him and he placed the call to Derek.

"He's not picking up," he concluded after a while. "I'll try him again soon. For now, I assume we have a few hours to find the missing Mr. Westover. I doubt the Darach would take another victim before then."

"How strict are the definitions here?" Joe asked, still fumbling with her own phone. "Because I'd guess we can also classify you as a scholar."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning let's both go and save Mr. Westover when we find out where he'll be." Shifting around to unstick her t-shirt from her skin, she nodded at the computer. "If that ever finishes processing."

Instead of commenting, Jimmy went over to the dresser by the front door to get out his wallet. Her eyebrow rose when he handed her a few dollar bills. "Your anxiety is making me nervous. Go get us something to drink. I'd like a matcha latte."

"A what'cha latte?" Joe quipped, but snatched the money out of his hand and headed out. "Call me-"

"Just go, Delgado, and don't dawdle."

"Derek was so right, you do talk like a 19th-century novel," Joe mumbled with a roll of her eyes, hearing the door click shut after her. For once, she didn't bother with all the locks — they were for her benefit anyway. As long as the door closed and sealed the barrier with mountain ash, nothing supernatural could get through unless they had a key. And if they weren't supernatural, Jimmy would tear them to pieces.

The coffee shop was just a few minutes' walk down the street. A small afternoon rush, but not too bad. "Hi, one large matcha latte and one oatmilk cappuccino, please." She did the math and realized she'd been up thirty-four hours and her smile strained. "Make that last one a double."

"Coming right up," the nice barista informed her with a smile and Joe tried to smile back and pretend everything was normal. Like she wasn't waiting for Jimmy's computer to spit out coordinates and a time estimate for where they could intercept the second sacrifice of a scholar. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when her life got this weird, but it had all started with Derek lurking in the hallway of their house that one night.

What had she even been doing with her life before that? Spending almost all her waking hours on the computer, either correcting assignments or completing her own. Researching folklore to debunk the myths, not to save lives. Not that she had done much saving lately. Saved Kate's life, which turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life. Saved Jimmy a few times, but mostly out of situations he was only in because of Joe herself. Yeah, let's not put part-time hero on our resume just yet.

After a few tries to compose a text to Derek without coming off as a disgruntled and/or deranged ex, she gave up and texted Scott instead that the Darach targeted teachers.

Her phone buzzed with a reply almost immediately. Okay, they had worked that one out, but the Darach wasn't after scholars, it was philosophers. Not that big of a difference.

Joe rubbed her face and blinked when the barista disappeared in a cloud of steam from the machine. Hopefully she'd be able to get some sleep after they stopped the sacrifice. Too amped up to even try now. She massaged the back of her neck with her hand, trying to still that prickling feeling she had now. That same hush she felt before at the school fell over her, like a gentle whisper.

Looking up, she half expected to see Miss Blake in the coffee shop, but it was just the barista handing her the order. So much for that sixth sense of knowing when Derek's lover looked at her. Just regular old paranoia. Thanking the barista for the drinks, Joe made her way back to the apartment.

"Anything?" she asked the second she was in the door, but Jimmy rolled his eyes and that was answer enough. Her lips curled in distaste when taking the first sip of her drink — it had either been too long since she had a proper oatmilk cappuccino or the lack of sleep messed with her taste buds. No sign of the computer being anywhere near done. "This is ridiculous. I mean, it's amazing, but it's ridiculous."

"Indeed," Jimmy said and probably knew exactly what she meant. It would not be the first time she did not need to articulate herself sufficiently for him to understand what she was trying to say. "Didn't reach Derek, but we'll have to assume he's either with her to protect her or..."

"Or?" Joe asked again, smacking her lips at the weird aftertaste. For a wild second, she worried someone had slipped mountain ash in her coffee again, but it didn't taste like that. It was just slightly bitter and acidic. Maybe the milk had gone bad? As Jimmy never answered, Joe rolled her eyes. "Or he's left town and by extent, doesn't care about anything that happens to the people left behind."

Jimmy sighed. "Your words, not mine."

"Scott says the Darach's after philosophers, by the way, not scholars."

For some reason, that warranted more response than she'd initially thought as Jimmy turned around sharply. "Are you sure? How did he reach that conclusion?"

"Uh, he didn't say," Joe mumbled and sent another text asking Scott the same question. Another immediate reply. "Argents."

"Interesting," Jimmy said, brows slightly pulled together. "Scholars would have meant knowledge. Philosophers mean strategy."

This coffee really did not taste right, but Joe needed the caffeine. "Does that matter?"

"I suppose that depends on how close the Darach felt you got today."

Neither said anything else. They were safe in the apartment anyway. Numbers continued to stream over Jimmy's computer screen as it tried to plot out the most likely scenario going forwards. To prepare, or distract, Joe made sure to load the clip of the 9mm pistol — she was not walking into another scenario unarmed.

She paused when loading up the small bullets. Now that they were close to finding out the when and where, she was starting to worry about the 'how'. "You think regular ammo's gonna cut it?"

"What other kinds of bullets did you have in mind?" Jimmy asked, as always uneasy in the gun's presence, and glanced at her over his shoulder. "Silver won't bite on a werewolf, what would bite on a druid?"

"Well, pretty much half of folklore is about how to repel spirits and kill monsters," Joe said with a half-grin. "Iron is usually a safe bet. That's why you hung horseshoes over your door, to prevent any non-humans from entering your home. Same reason why old cemeteries have iron fences, to keep the dead inside. Then you have salt, also good for repelling spirits. Another name for mountain ash is witchbane. It's a long list, we'll find something."

"Doubt we will have time to work through it, I was going to settle for ripping her head off," he commented drily, but a bit distracted.

The computer made no other inclination of being done than it had the last hour and Joe waited for Jimmy to continue. The small frown between his brows, coupled with a tilt of the head — he was listening to something.

Without thinking, Joe's hands injected the clip back into the handgun.

"What?" Her voice came low, hoping not to disturb him. The purple glow dissipated when he closed his eyes briefly — a finger in the air to have her wait. "What do you hear?"

Genuine confusion clouded his face. "Nothing."

"Then why the worry?"

"It's literally nothing. Just a thin ringing sound, blocking out all else." With stiff movements, his body on high alert, he stalked over to the windows. "Hide your gun!"

"What?"

"Do it now or you lose it! There's space behind the air vent in the bathr-"

The urgency in his tone made her body move on its own accord. She dashed into the bathroom and stuffed the 9mm through the narrow crack of the tiny air vent almost too high for her to reach. It happened too fast for her to consider why he wanted her to hide it rather than use it.

He stood immobile out in the living room when she returned, obviously waiting for something, taking deep calming breaths.

"Jim-"

The apartment door exploded open.

Broken pieces of the locks and hinges scattered into the air, concealed by the onslaught of uniformed people in full tactical gear.

"FBI! FBI! Get down! Get down on the ground!"

It happened too fast; they came in like a tornado with chaos in its wake. Shouting and holding their weapons out, hoping to confuse them before they could consider fighting back.

It worked.

Barking orders, the FBI-agents had both her and Jimmy on the ground before she could think. More agents moved through the entire apartment with their weapons drawn, declaring rooms to be "Clear!" one after the other.

"On the ground, ma'am, hands over your head!" one agent yelled at her and she remained that way, facing the floor while panic swept through her body.

"James Carter? You are under arrest for the suspicion of the murder of Deputy Tara Graeme. Do you understand? "

"No!" Joe yelled, recognizing both the voice and seeing her father bent over Jimmy's body, locking his wrists back in handcuffs. "Dad, it's-"

"Ma'am, on the ground!" the agent yelled again, but she wasn't thinking. Wasn't thinking how they might shoot her if she got up, like she did, to rush over to her dad. No one shot her though, probably because of what she was shouting.

"Dad!" she shrieked while her dad and another agent hefted Jimmy up to stand. "What are you doing?" Out of breath, she addressed Jimmy: "Jimmy, listen to me, it's okay, just breathe, please, it's okay."

His face locked in a grimace, Jimmy had squeezed his eyes shut, probably hoping to conceal the purple glow. No, she realized, it was more than that. He was in pain and her eyes fell to the handcuffs that looked to be something out of a sci-fi movie. Electrical currents rode through the cuffs to his skin, leaving him weakened.

Joe tried to follow her own advice. Breathe, just breathe. "Dad, what is this?!"

"Get him back to the station," her dad ordered the other agent, not even acknowledging Joe. The other agent kept reading Jimmy his rights while her dad turned to grab her elbow. "Josefina, you need to come with me." His eyes fell to the rest of the apartment, to the entire wall covered in writing. "Oh por Dios..."

"No, no, you don't understand!" She shook out of her dad's grip, trying to physically hold back Jimmy. The remaining FBI-agents tore apart the rest of the living room. "Dad! You can't do this! He's not the killer!"

Her dad, not looking at her, told his colleague, who was shoving Jimmy toward the front door: "Hang on!"

The brief reprieve where she thought he had actually listened to her fell short when her dad lowered his voice to Jimmy. "Turn off your eyes, son, or I'll have to turn up the current."

"I can't," Jimmy bit out, sweat pearling on his upper lip. He trembled all over. "I can't, sir."

Either the cuffs hurt him or he was just fighting to stay in control. Joe did not understand. How did they know to use electrical cuffs? Why wasn't her dad more freaked out? What was going on?

"Jesus Christ," her dad spat and wrenched off his own sunglasses to shove them onto Jimmy's face. "All right, take him!"

"Jim!"

"Don't panic, Joe," Jimmy wheezed, his nostrils flaring under the lopsided sunglasses. He gave her a forced grin over his shoulder as he allowed the agent to push him ahead. "Panic is your enemy."

"Come on, move."

Her universe crashing down into flames, she could do nothing but watch Jimmy — her Jimmy — escorted out of his own apartment. Not breathing, she turned to the scene of agents snapping pictures of the wall and, to Joe's horror, unplugged the computer to take it with them.

"We're on the clock here!" her dad snapped. "Come on, guys!"

She whimpered — everything happened so fast! Her breath hitched when her dad grabbed hold of her again, steering her to the apartment door. "Dad! Please, you have to listen-"

For a second, he looked like he was going to answer her, but turned at a "Sir!" from one of the agents.

The agent held up Jimmy's shirt from last night — the blood-covered shirt. "Tests positive for human blood."

A frustrated scream lodged in Joe's throat, but she could only stare alongside her dad. She knew how this looked. No, no, no.

Her dad shook his head. "Tag it and bag it!" His grip on her arm intensified. "Come on, kid."

"No!" she finally yelled and wrenched out of his hand. Ignoring his mild look of confusion of her strength, she instead went to shout at the agent who was packing up the computer. "You got it all wrong! We're trying to stop the murders, not-"

Her dad swore under his breath. "Puta madre, mija."

Instead of grabbing her, he cut in front of her so she would not downright assault one of the other agents. "Don't make me arrest you. Por favor, Josefina, not again." His voice dropped to a low hiss. "It's not looking too good for neither of you right now, so unless you come with me to the station on your own volition-"

"He was trying to stop the sacrifice!" Joe bit out, horrified that she was crying now that the adrenaline from them first tearing into the apartment subsided. "Listen, Dad, he found a way to calculate when the next- Dad! Listen to me, there's not much time!"

Her dad forced her over to the door again and gave her a stern glare. "You know where Adam Westover is?"

"No, that's what we're trying to find out! Dad, just please, listen to me," she pleaded, not coherent enough to struggle when he manhandled her down the staircase. More uniforms downstairs, most likely state police. No sign of Sheriff Stilinski. "Dad, please!"

"Take her downtown," her dad said and handed her over to one of the guys downstairs. "I'll be down when we finish wrapping up here."

"¡Papi!" Her shrill voice at least made him pause on his way back upstairs. She hadn't called him that in at least a decade. "¡Por favor, escúchame, por favor! ¡Tienes que creerme! ¡Lo tienes todo mal! Please, Papi, you got it all wrong!"

As tired as he looked, he seemed to muster up the last of his reserve when ordering over his shoulder: "Get her out of here."

Before she could think of tearing out of the other agent's grip, she found herself in the back of a police car, door slamming in her face. No sign of Jimmy. Don't panic.

If I trust you? Yeah.

By the time her dad actually made it downtown, Joe's stomach was in an uproar. Every movement felt like she was going to throw up; that was honestly the only reason she hadn't torn down the flimsy door of the interrogation room to find Jimmy.

No one answered her questions. No one would tell her where Jimmy was or what was going on. A guy popped in every few minutes to see if she needed water or the bathroom, but that was is.

No clock in the interrogation room. This was a tactic, to make the subject unnerved and nervous. If it was nerves, worry about Jimmy, anger about her father or the general lack of sleep — coming up to forty hours now probably — was hard to tell. All of the above, probably, and Joe sat on the table, holding around her stomach as if keeping her organs in one place would make her feel less nauseated.

The door opened, and she prepared to tear the guy a new one, but this turned out to be her dad walking in. Alone, no partner, but with a large stack of papers she recognized from the apartment.

"You wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on here, kid?" he demanded before she could recover enough to start shouting. He snapped his fingers to get her off the table and slammed the papers down where she had sat. "What is this?"

"Notes," Joe bit out, fighting to stay calm in hopes it would get her out of here faster. "To stop the bitch who's killing people."

"Enough with the bullshit!" Her dad raised his voice, flinging his FBI-jacket back to put both hands on his hips. "You get how serious this is? We got a witness placing Carter at the school last night around Graeme's time of death. Guy's got a search history more disturbin' than a crime novel writer. And we're finding he's got a bloodstained shirt lying around his apartment that happens to be full of delusional writing."

Forcing her lips together, she tried to breathe instead of spitting venom.

"You see how this looks, right, Josie? It's not looking good. Now I'm gonna need you to be very honest with me and tell me what you know-"

You know you can't tell him the whole truth?

Derek's voice from months before. Before, that was the clue here, wasn't it? Before.

"It's complicated," she said instead and her dad scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes back in his head. "It is! You don't know all of it!"

"Then tell me all of it, Josie! I swear to God, if you start lyin' to me again-"

"Me?" she shrieked, pointing at herself with a hard finger. "Me lying to you? That's what you're worried about?"

"Don't start this again, kid, not now."

Her fists clenched against her side as she glared up at him. "You started it from the second I was old enough to speak!"

"You lied about Erica!" he roared now, face turning red from the pressure. This was her dad. This was the dad she remembered. The name again hit her like a sucker punch. "Remember her? Erica Reyes? The sixteen-year-old that went missing?"

Her hands shook, and she backed away into the wall.

"You should've told me everythin' you knew back then, could've avoided a lot of trouble. You knew what took her, right?"

"No, I didn't," Joe insisted, swallowing at the effort. It wasn't a lie, not a direct one. "It's complicated, okay? Again, you don't know all of it!"

"Don't know what? That a werewolf took her? That Jimmy Carter's a werewolf?" her dad snapped, slamming both hands into the table in front of her. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that you know that?"

Speechless, Joe could only watch her dad pace the floor in the interrogation room with jagged movements.

"So, let's try that again, Josie, huh? What is going on?"

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "It's Joe!"

"Joe, Josie, Josefina, Josefina, whatever the hell you want to call yourself, kid," her dad rattled on, listing each name on his finger. "You wanna talk about names? All right, let's talk names."

He spread the papers on the table out and opened up a manila folder at the bottom. "Let's talk about Heather," he flung out a picture, obviously taken post-mortem of a blond girl with bloodied hair and pale shrunken lips, "let's talk about Ryan," another picture of a just as dead person, "Emily, Kyle, Jonathan, Adrian, Debrah, Kelly, Nicolás," and finally, on top of all the others, "and Deputy Tara Graeme."

The contents of her stomach upended inside of her, the sight of dead bodies not helping.

"Enough names for you? This is serious, kid! This isn't pulling the fire alarm to break into hospital state records, this isn't joyriding without a license after downing a sixer of beer, this isn't smashing in my car window with a steel pipe after I took away your fake ID." He pushed off the table, anger evident on the taut lines of his face. "People are dyin', kid. Ten people dead! So unless you start talkin', I'll have you locked up right next to your werewolf roommate in ten seconds flat."

Breathe. Just breathe. "You know?" she stuttered, having risen and stepped away from the table when he filled it with pictures of the Darach's victims. "You know about-"

"Werewolves?" Her dad sounded incredulous. "Yeah, what'd you think the Special in Special Crimes Unit was for?"

"So you're," she bent over, clutching at her stomach again rebelling against any movement, "like the Argents?"

"No, we're not like the goddamn Argents, kid. The hunters and the werewolves got their own feud goin' on and we stay out of it, unless they start bleedin' over the general population. That's where we come in. Like now."

It was too much, too much to take in. "But why didn't you come before, when Pe- all those alleged animal attacks that happened in January, where were you then? That didn't count as the general population?"

"As long as the attacks look like they came from an animal, the general policy is to let the hunters deal with it."

His words chilled the room several degrees.

"What?" She couldn't breathe. This wasn't real, this wasn't happening. "You let the hunters deal with it? It?"

At least her dad looked somewhat bothered, but the Delgados were headstrong people. "They have a Code-"

"They're fascists!" Joe screamed, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. "They're fanatical, brainwashed fascists! And you let them deal with it? What, if something looks like a black person did it, you let the Klan handle it? Or," Joe stuttered, could hardly get the words out, "if it was a Mexican immigrant, you send the Minutemen? A Neo-Nazi for an alleged Jewish perpetrator? What the fuck, Dad?"

"You watch your mouth with me, kid!"

"No! Do you have any idea what they've done?" Joe shrieked, not caring if anyone else in the station heard, not giving a flying fuck what her dad was saying. "How they deal with things? They target children. Erica and Boyd? The hunters got to them first. They chained them up in a basement with electrical wires and tortured them. Children, literal children, Dad, who's never hurt a fly let alone spilled human blood or whatever their Code says to justify killing them. Four out of five Argents don't give a rat's ass about any kind of Code, anyway. Christ's sake, Dad, they burned Derek's family alive!"

A horrible thought struck her, and she had to fight to keep her stomach contents down.

In a quieter voice, she asked: "Did you already know that?" He didn't meet her gaze, and she gagged in her mouth, a physical response to dreading what she was going to find out. "Answer me."

Still with both hands on his hips, he looked to the side. "There were rumors that it might have been arson-"

"Oh my God, no, no, no..."

"-but this was before my time in the unit! Things are different now, okay? We're hunting Kate Argent down, kid, justice's gonna be served. They're not protected anymore!"

Joe wasn't listening. She was pacing, clawing at her neck, unable to look at him. "I can't believe I defended you. I can't believe I ever thought you were different, I can't-" Tears ran down her face, she had no way of holding it in. "All cops really are bastards, aren't they? Fascist assholes every fucking last one of you!"

"We can talk about this later, okay?"

"Talk about this later?" she repeated, staring at him in horror. "How you sic trigger-happy psychopaths after kids based on a suspicion? You taught me," she pointed at him, whole hand shaking, "to trust the system. You taught me that everyone deserves a fair trial. Jesus Christ, Dad, I saved Kate Argent's life because you taught me that!" Her breath, her voice, her hands — everything trembled. "It was just bullshit, wasn't it? Everyone deserves a fair trial except werewolves because they're just animals to you, aren't they?"

"No."

"You 'stay out of it'," she repeated his earlier words, "because protect and serve obviously doesn't extend beyond what you consider the right kind of people. Or what you consider people at all. You let Kate Argent get away with mass-murder for years because your policy was to just stay out of it!"

Her dad slammed his palm into the table. "And when the Hale Alpha retaliated, we stayed out of that too!" Momentary dumbstruck, Joe only stared at him as he tore a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, lighting one up almost too fast for her to follow. "Every one of those murders in January were people linked to the arson-case. So yeah, we stayed out of it. The hunters and the werewolves go back centuries, kid. And you know how many agents in the bureau knows about this stuff? Officially?"

She shook her head, her vision almost blurring from the effort of standing still.

"Twelve." He disappeared behind a puff of smoke. "It's on such a need-to-know basis I haven't even told Raf about this. And there are some really powerful people on both sides who want to keep it that way. Because you know what would happen if everyone found out? Can you imagine if the general police officer found out that there are people out there who look like regular humans, but aren't? Who are strong enough to bench press a car? Who can take a full clip of bullets without slowing down? Who can smell fear? We already have guys fingering the trigger to cover up how they're almost pissing their pants just by pulling over someone who looks different from them. So I know it's not ideal, kid, but it's what we got."

Her dad took another harsh drag of the cigarette and the smoke did nothing to keep Joe's stomach from revolting.

"And you can stay here and whine about police brutality or racial bias all day long, but I have a job to do and a potential victim who could still be alive. I didn't arrest James Carter because he's a werewolf, kid, I arrested him because of why I've arrested anyone else in my career: probable cause."

Joe took a deep shuddering breath. "So you had a judge issue a no-knock warrant? To my place to arrest my roommate?"

"Yeah, we had a warrant, that's what you wanted to know?"

"Listing what, exactly, as probable cause?"

"Eyewitness account usually holds some ground."

"Who?" Joe asked and gritted her teeth together at the flummoxed look her dad gave her. "Who's the eyewitness?"

"Jesus Christ, kid, you think I'm gonna tell you that?"

"Don't you get it?" Joe almost cried. "The only one who could have seen Jimmy there is the actual murderer!"

"So you knew he was there?"

"Dad, please, don't try to trip me into anything, I want to find Mr. Westover too. Just," Joe struggled to breathe, but pushed through, "please just listen. You know the murders are sacrifices, right? That there's a Darach-"

"A what?"

"A dark druid. She's sacrificing groups of people to absorb some aspect of their powers." Joe moved forward to the table, ignoring her organs protesting, and started arranging the pictures. "Virgins." Heather, Ryan and Emily in one pile. "Warriors." Kyle, Jonathan and Adrian. "Healers." Debrah, Kelly, Nicolás. "And philosophers." She held up Tara Graeme's picture. "Along with the History teacher missing, and there's probably going to be another one before the day is over."

Her dad leaned over the table too, staring at the piles.

"That's why you couldn't see the pattern, Dad! They're in threes!" Her hands shook, rattling the pictures like leaves in a sharp breeze when she held them up to him. "And she's using the Telluric currents to get enough energy to perform this- Dad, I know how it sounds, but this is me! You know me, I would not be making this up!"

Out of breath, she had to brace herself against the table before her stomach contents made a hasty exit out of her mouth. "Jimmy is not the killer, Dad, you have to believe me."

"It's a nice theory," her dad said, and she knew right then she'd lost. "But I can't ignore the evidence. We've had our sights out for James Carter for a while now. The search history, his threats to his college professors, his history of mental illness, and now an eyewitness placing him at the school? His shirt covered in what I'm willing to bet my pension on is Tara's? Come on, kid, you gotta be honest here."

"I am being honest," Joe said and slumped back onto the chair. Now she felt dizzy, room spinning around like at the end of a long and alcohol-heavy night. If she didn't blink, Kate waved from the corner. "We're trying to stop the murders."

"Uh-huh." He did not sound too convinced, but at least he'd stopped yelling. He put out his cigarette, placed both hands back on his hips, towering over her. "How well do you know Carter?"

Joe's eyes slipped shut. "He's my ride or die."

"That's cute." Her dad fished an unopened folder from the bottom of the file and brought out another picture. "You seen this before?"

Aware of her shaking hands, she took the photograph. It showed a Celtic-looking symbol, not one she was familiar with, carved into the floorboards of-

"The Hale house?"

"That's right. Picture taken night after the ordeal with Kate Argent. See that symbol? It was first found in an excavation of Burnswark Hill. It's linked to second-century virgin sacrifices. Now you see those red markings? That's blood. Wanna know whose blood that is?"

There was no need to guess. Joe recognized the location as almost exactly where Peter had ripped Jimmy's throat out. Virgin blood. "Jimmy."

"That's right. So this is not his first rodeo with druidism. Maybe you think you're telling the truth here, but are you sure? Do you know for a fact that he had nothing to do with this? Can you, without doubt, claim you know his whereabouts for when each of these murders took place? Or even one of them?"

Special Agent Rob Delgado was a good cop. Of course, he noticed her slight hesitation as she tried to think. Jimmy came and went as he pleased. She never questioned it.

"You say he's found some magic formula to work out when and where the next killing takes place. Sounds convenient." Her dad shrugged with a pull in his lip. "Easy to beat a rigged game, kid."

To avoid crying anymore, and to keep herself from vomiting all over the table, she bit her lips together. Breathe. Just breathe.

"Do you," she hesitated, but only for a second, "even know about Scott?"

"What?"

"You said before that when the Hale Alpha started retaliating, you stayed out of it. Let him have his vengeance, right?" Even through the thundering pulse of her own ears, she heard his annoyed intake of breath, obviously not getting the context. "Did you know the first thing this Hale Alpha tried to do was build a pack?"

"What's this have to do with-" Her dad cut himself off and when she lifted her head to look at him, she saw the panic. "Scott."

"Yeah. That's why Kate came after Derek, you know, to get to Scott. And before that, Chris Argent almost shot him in the forest without asking questions first, if you know what I mean. Oh, and Gerard Argent tried to cut him in half with a broadsword. Just, you know, if you wanted some perspective on what happens if you just let the hunters deal with it."

"Scott is a-"

"Yeah. And I'll take that as a no, you didn't know until now," Joe almost whispered with a bitter laugh. "Which means you stayed under the same roof as a teenage werewolf with the general stealth of a newborn elephant for weeks — and you never caught on? You didn't figure it out? Maybe," her voice rose, "you're more biased than you like to think or your detective skills aren't what you thought they were, Special Agent Delgado, and maybe you can at least consider that you got the wrong guy because you do."

Her dad shook his head, still not recovered from the revelation. "I'll let the evidence decide that."

"What are you doing to him?"

"Interrogating him, same as you. The cuffs hold enough current to keep him subdued without hurting him." Dad shook his head again. "Despite what you might think, Joe, I don't hate werewolves."

They were both saved from answering when someone knocked on the door. The same man who'd asked if Joe needed to use the bathroom popped his head in with a whispering message to her dad. It was too low for her to hear and she wasn't going to pretend to be interested. They'd probably found Mr. Westover.

"All right, thanks," her dad said to the man who retreated again. He looked more contemplative than angry now. "Mel called, from the hospital."

A sense of dread filled in her, filling her already somersaulting stomach with ice and spikes. Something had happened to Scott. Or Derek. Or any of the others.

"You know anyone of the name Cora Hale?"

Oh no, and Papa Delgado who was doing so well too :(
To be fair though, Jimmy as the paranoid ACAB-guy he is should have known better than to just get a murder victim's blood all over him.
And Joe just throwing her cousin under the bus like that? Sheesh.

An extra thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You're the 1% who did and I appreciate you immensely ❤

Since I'm not losing readers, I tend to assume that people aren't reviewing because they don't have anything nice to say. At the same time, I guess not every chapter is as interesting to review either, even if I spend the same time/energy writing them regardless. I guess most of you are reading because of the romance-part and I can at least announce that Derek's back in the next chapter. Which will be up on Saturday, because why have a consistent predictable schedule?

Anyway, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think in a review. How is Joe gonna fare without Jimmy? Is she gonna pull a prison break and get him out of there? Time will tell, the storm's not over yet...

(Also, shoutout to Sweden for being my third biggest demographic alongside Canada. Tjena!)