THE POISONED FRUIT

ONE

"A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children, but the sinner's wealth is laid up for the righteous."

-Poverbs 13:22

The young woman living at 486 Maple Avenue braced herself as she picked up her hairbrush. Just like she knew they would, her hands shook something terrible as she held it and ran it through her long, wavy dark hair. Not dark dark—not like black—but a darker shade of brown. She looked at the cracked vanity mirror that had once been down the hall in her grandmother's room. She'd had to remove it after her grandmother had an episode and didn't recognize herself. It had been a pain to remove the blood from the cracks in the mirror but throwing it out seemed like such a waste. She often had trouble throwing things out.

The boxes under her bed proved that. The house didn't quite have an attic. There was a crawlspace, of course, but not big enough to actually store anything. The boxes under her bed held numerous baby pictures and old clothes. Not her own. Her own mother had never held onto any of that. No, those belonged to the toddler at her feet currently gnawing on her calculator for Calculus. In the back of her mind, an alarmed voice was going off. She shouldn't let him teeth on her calculator. But see, the thing was, it had been a fight to get him to eat something this morning and if she tried to take the calculator away, well. . . that was just another fight and she had to save her energy for the long day ahead of her.

Mentally, she began to go over her day. She didn't like surprises, not one bit. That's why it was so lucky she tended to know everything. First, she would take Adam to daycare. Well, that wasn't particularly accurate. Stiles would pick them up and then they would drop him off together. Stiles had to do it because her grandmother's car she'd been driving for two years now had decided to need a new battery and that wasn't something they could afford right at this moment. She hated having to use her younger cousin as a chauffeur although the younger man insisted her didn't mind. Uncle Noah had even offered to help out and cover the cost of the battery but she knew how much debt he was still in from Claudia's hospital bills and she would not be the straw that broke the back of the Stilinski household.

Not that Uncle Noah had to tell her he was struggling financially. Even Stiles didn't know. No one had told her. No one had to tell her anything. She simply knew things. It was both a gift and a curse and certainly something she didn't like to much talk about. It didn't make for good dinner conversation.

Sure, Uncle Noah, I'll take more potatoes. By the way, how's your girlfriend your son doesn't know about doing? Are you able to keep up with her and your job and your hospital debt?

She hated it. Knowing intimate details about family and friends and even strangers.

With a sigh, she forced herself to get up and put her beat up tennis shoes on. She smoothed out the top she'd stolen from her mother's closet. Her mother hadn't taken that many clothes with her when she'd decided to leave and luckily for her, they were basically the same size. When her mother was clean and sober, that is. When she wasn't clean and sober, she lost weight fast. In a way that made her appear almost sickly. That was her tell. Tiffany Shelton, mother of the year—was either curvy with a few pounds to spare while being off drugs or sickly thin while on drugs. Somewhere under her grandmother's bed, there were pictures of Tiffany and her best friend from high school—then Melissa Delgado, now Melissa McCall (why Melissa chose to keep her married name even after the divorce remained a mystery to her. There were some things even she didn't know) after their track team won a championship. In those pictures, Tiffany looked fit and healthy and untarnished by the damage her future husband would do to her.

This top was pretty. It was a maroon peplum top her mother had found at the thrift store years ago. This top made her feel seen. That was her goal, wasn't it? To be seen this semester. It was her last semester of high school. She intended to make it her best semester. Somehow. She wasn't sure how she'd do that between classes and homework and working and cooking and cleaning and watching Adam or finding someone to watch Adam and him. Her secret. Her secret she'd taken care of all these years for the one woman who never let her down. She stopped herself from thinking about him too much. It made her sad. A lot of things made her sad lately. She didn't tell anyone that. She had too much to do.

Just as she expected, the front door opened after one quick knock. From the doorway in her bedroom, she saw her cousin step into the living room.

"Noah? Is that you?" asked her grandmother who was seated in the recliner in front of the old television.

"No, Aunt Margaret. It's me. It's Stiles," said her cousin.

"Noah, I don't remember you ever shaving your head! When did you decide to do that, kiddo?"

"Aunt Margaret, it's me."

"I wouldn't argue with her."

"Ivy, why does she always think I'm my dad? We look nothing alike. I got my mom's looks."

With yet another sigh, Ivy put her things into her backpack and as sneakily as she could, switched out her calculator for Adam's favorite binkie.

"I don't know. She has Alzheimer's. Sometimes she thinks I'm my Aunt Grace and I don't look anything like she did when she was alive."

Stiles made his way into her bedroom doorway, peering around.

"You know, your room looks more and more like an old lady's room every time I come over here."

Ivy tossed a pillow at him.

"Shut up. Let's go already. Do you still have the car seat in the back of the jeep?"

"Yeah, why would I take it out?"

She scooped Adam and his diaper bag up, grateful he had accepted the binkie from earlier. He was dressed in the cutest outfit. He wore a red GAP sweater and jeans, but everything he wore was cute because it was him. It was annoying. Ivy consistently had the feeling she was going to have to chase girls away as soon as he got to school age. Luckily, that was a long time away.

"Grandma, I'm going to school. I'm taking Adam to daycare. I'll be back at three to fix supper. I made you some smoothies and some macaroni and cheese. They're in the fridge."

"Honey it's Sunday. Why aren't we going to church?"

"Grandma it's Monday. We went to church yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We really have to go now. Just watch your show. I'll read some of the Bible to you later."

"Okay, Gracie. I love you."

"We love you too."

The door shut and they walked in silence to the jeep. Stiles stood there awkwardly while Ivy strapped him into the car seat. He wanted to help but was unsure how. That much she knew. She didn't have the capacity to try and teach him how to work the car seat—that was for another time.

"She called you Gracie," said Stiles as Ivy settled into the front street.

"Yeah. Like I said, she thinks I'm her dead daughter. It's easier to just go along with it then correct her."

"My mom used to call me Borys. She would get up and think I was her little brother from back in Poland."

"It's rough," said Ivy, attempting to change the subject. Talking about his mother was hard for Stiles. Her death had been a blow for everyone in the town. Claudia had been well known. Even Ivy's grandmother had cried and mourned her and she had hardly seen Claudia since the wedding. "Don't you have something to tell me?"

Silence. Wearily, Stiles shot her a look from the driver's seat.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just know things. You're way too good at reading people."

"Whatever. I know you've been dying to spill since you walked into my house."

"Okay, so I may or may not have been listening to Dad's radio last night."

"Stiles. You know your Dad hates when you do that."

"Hey, just because you're going to be 18 in a few months does not mean you get to side with my dad."

"Whatever. Just get on with the story."

"Hold on, we're here."

The conversation was put on hold as Ivy got out and proceeded to get Adam out from the backseat. Unfortunately for her, he began to fuss.

"Shh," she whispered. "I know."

She didn't, really. Who did know when it came to toddlers? It felt like he was still a baby, but he was 16 months now. It'd been a year since Tiffany had left. A year since Ivy had taken over as "Mom". Every day it hurt a little more her mother still hadn't come back.

After handing him off to Letitia, the owner of the in-home day care, she made her way back to Stiles in the jeep. Letitia was a nice, older black lady whose own kids had flew the nest a few years back. In order to compensate for her "empty" nest, she had opened up an in-home day care. Letitia was nice. Letitia was religious but not overly religious. Letitia took good care of children. And also, Letitia only charged $30 a day per kid. So what if she wasn't officially licensed? That took a lot of paperwork or whatever.

"Okay," Ivy said as she got back into the jeep. "Get on with the story."

"Alright. I wanna see this thing."

Scott groaned as Ivy stormed up to him with Stiles behind her.

"Dude. You told her?"

"She got it out of me! By doing that. . . that thing she does!"

"Shut up. Both of you. You're both idiots and I want to see this thing to make sure it's not infected. For God's sake, Scott. You got attacked by some animal. You could have rabies."

Reluctantly, Scott lifted up his shirt to reveal a bandaged area on his lower back. Ivy inspected it closely, tenderly tapping the skin around it. Immediately, her mind was flooded with images of some sort of monster.

Well, it wasn't a monster, per say, but a very large wolf with red eyes. For a split second, Ivy was blinded with both pain and familiarity. Her vision went black and all she could feel was a burning sensation over her body. Just as quickly as it began, it was over.

"You okay?" Stiles' voice cut into her thoughts as she attempted to analyze what had just happened.

"Yeah. Did that hurt when I touched your skin?" Ivy asked, standing up.

"A little. It's just tender," replied Scott.

"Well, the area doesn't feel warm and it's not red. What did you clean it with?"

"Just soap and water."

"Rubbing alcohol would have been better."

"You know, you sound just like my mom."

"Right?" said Stiles. "She was saying it was irresponsible to listen in on my Dad's calls in the car!"

"Ivy, you know you still got a couple of months before you're an actual adult, right?" teased Scott.

She rubbed her temples. These kids would be the death of her.

"Did you see what it was?"

"It was too dark to see much, but I think it was a wolf."

Ivy's heart sank into her chest at those words. A chill ran down her spine.

"A wolf bit you? No, not a chance," said Stiles.

She could barely hear him. All she could think about was the bracelet at home in her jewelry box. A beaded bracelet, several years old and not worn since before Adam was born and would try to take it off her wrist. Ivy hadn't wanted to risk Adam breaking the bracelet so she'd put it away in a safe place.

"I'm so glad Aunt Bonnie introduced us. I know it's a little corny, but I made you something. We had a free day in Home Ec," said her first friend.

The first friend she had made that wasn't her cousin or her cousin's best friend. The first friend she'd made that was her own age and didn't hold a master's degree in Counseling. Ivy had been in the sixth grade. Cora had been in the eighth grade. The bracelet had purple beads with white beads in the middle of the bracelet spelling out M-A-G-I-C in the middle.

"Why magic?" asked Ivy, curiosity overtaking her.

"Because we both have some. Nana's always said werewolves come from some kind of old magic. And you have some because you always know things about people."

Ivy blushed. "I'm good at guessing."

"You don't just 'guess' that my family and I are werewolves. You're special. Otherwise mom would have gotten mad when she realized you knew."

"Yoooo. Ivy. Anyone home?"

"What?"

She blinked, and she was standing in the courtyard of Beacon Hills High School with her cousin and his best friend. They were having a conversation. Her stomach hurt. She felt nauseous.

"Will you back me up here? Tell Scott there aren't any wolves in California."

"I don't know anything about wolves," Ivy said, perhaps a little too quickly. Stiles shot her a weird look before turning back to Scott.

"California hasn't had wolves in over sixty years," said Stiles.

"Really?" asked Scott, looking confused. He actually looked more like a confused puppy. Scott had that tendency with his chocolate brown eyes and innocent complexion. Ivy often found it endearing but sometimes it could get annoying.

"Yes, really. There are no wolves in California."

"Well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body."

"Oh dear Lord," said Ivy, making the sign of the cross. She wasn't Catholic, but sometimes doing it comforted her. The boys rolled their eyes at her, but she wasn't having it.

"You two need serious help. Why on earth would you go look for a dead body?"

"Because nothing ever happens in this town, Ivy. I mean, come on. This is the best thing to happen in this town since . . . " he paused, his gaze going past both Ivy and Scott to the approaching red head. ". . . since the birth of Lydia Martin who's walking towards us right now."

Ivy turned and took in the appearance of Beacon Hills High School's it girl. Lydia Martin had it all—the looks, the brains, the popularity, and of course, a workaholic father who somehow managed to find time to cheat on her mother with his secretaries. That last part wasn't as well known as the first three things.

"Hey, Lydia. How are you? You look—" she proceeded to walk right past the three, without sparing a single look. "—like you're gonna ignore me." Stiles' face immediately turned sour.

"Better luck next time," said Ivy with a nervous laugh. Scott laughed as well.

"You guys are the cause of this, you know. Ivy, you're a senior and you've never even been to a high school party. Scott, you keep dragging me down to your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been Scarlet-nerded by you."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, man," said Scott with a grin.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "That was the first bell. We gotta get to class. I will not be late because of you two idiots."

Ivy's nerves didn't settle. She felt like she was absolutely vibrating as she made her way through her first two classes of the day. She had so many questions racing through her mind and no one to answer them. She clasped her hands together in her lap as Mrs. Perry went over the novel they would be reading. The Invention of Morel did nothing to take her mind off of what she'd just seen. Every time she blinked, she could see the large, red-eyed wolf she'd seen when she touched Scott's skin.

It wasn't quite fear that plagued her rather than painstaking familiarity. Why she would feel this way over something that looked like it was the villain in a horror movie was beyond her. There was one thing—actually, two things she knew for certain as she stared down at the semester's syllabus on her desk.

There's a werewolf in Beacon Hills.

It's bitten Scott.

Ivy wished Bonnie were still here. She wished all of the Hales were still here. The amount of times she's wished these things are too many to count. There was another thing she knew for certain:

Scott's going to go through this change alone.

If Talia were still alive—if they had listened to her—if stupid Alan Deaton had done more—she shook her head. It didn't do good to think like this. It didn't do good to think about all the Ifs. And it certainly wouldn't help Scott.

As she picked up her pen and ripped a sheet of notebook paper out to answer Mrs. Perry's prompt she'd written on the chalkboard, Ivy knew one thing:

It was up to her to help.