Author's note: set in 1x03.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.
"You are a nut job, you know it, right?" Mia told me the first morning I reincorporated to work. "Going after serial killers and all that, standing me up…"
I sighted ruefully. "I told you on the phone I was sorry."
"Yeah, well, Cody and I had to endure Paul's fart jokes thanks to you, Agatha Christie."
I raised my eyebrows and grinned. "Wow, Mia, was that a literature reference?"
"Shut up," she complained as she kept doodling flowers on the accounts book.
"By the way, there was something I wanted to ask you." Now I got her attention again. Mia was Mia's favorite conversation topic. "How went the lacrosse game?"
"Well, Cody tried to get to second base while-"
"Did we win?" I interrupted before I lost my ability to look her in the eyes.
"Yes. Thanks to McCall! I swear, it was so awesome. One second he sucked, the next he was running like crazy and scoring and…" She sighted dreamingly. "It was amazing. Jackson did well too, but McCall was just… another level of awesome."
"Did you… notice something weird?"
"Define weird. Lots of things are weird to me. You are weird."
I pondered. "Weird like… anything out of the ordinary… Did he seem… supernatural?"
"Supernatural?" Mia repeated, ultra thin eyebrows up.
I nodded.
"Well, McCall is cute, but he's no Pattinson."
I rolled my eyes. This was not working. Then I recalled Mia's favorite thing after shopping. Taking photos! Indeed, she was pretty good at it, a surprising artistically trait for someone so superficial.
"Did you take any photos?"
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed and rummaged through her purse. Makeup, a hand mirror, a cell phone, two lighters, a pack of Marlboro, bobby pins and a pink pen later, she took out her camera.
"Here, Cody and me… Cody and Paul and me… Cody and me… Cody and me… Cody… Me... Cody and me… Me… Me… Me…"
"Mia, you didn't take any photos of McCall?" I asked her before I had to look at anymore photos of her.
She frowned. "Why would I do that? He has a girlfriend!"
I slapped my forehead in desperation. "Right."
"I'm starting to think you have a little crush on McCall, Mimi," she said, very serious. "That's why you wanted to know more about Stilinsky, right? So you could get closer to him through his friend!"
"No, Mia, it's not-"
"Well, Cody recorded most of the game. Something about journalism…"
"What did you say?" I interrupted her.
"Cody spent most of the game focused on… well, the game. And not me," she complained.
"Cody recorded the game?"
"That's what I said."
I laughed. "Well, that's perfect!" I smiled. "Do you think he could get me a copy?"
She opened the mirror and reapplied her gloss. "I guess."
"Will you ask him to make me a copy?"
She closed the mirror, outraged. "No way!"
I gaped at her. "Why?"
"Because Cody and I are no longer a thing!"
I blinked, confused. "What? You guys were dating three days ago!"
"Well, I dumped him."
"Why?"
"He didn't pay me enough attention!" she said as a matter-of-fact.
"Can't you do me this one favor? Just this one?"
"No."
"I'll pay you! I'll tell my father to give you a rise! I'll go shopping with you! I'll go out with Paul!" Each one of my offers was turned down by a graceful shake of her head.
"There's no way I'll speak to Cody again."
I slouched back against the counter, until an idea popped in my mind. "You don't have to. I'll talk with him. Just give me his number."
"No," she exclaimed. "You can't talk with my ex."
"I'll just ask him for the recording, nothing more!"
She shook her head.
"I'll-I'll tell him how happy you are now that you're single! That will surely make him jealous."
"Why would I want that?" Mia shrilled.
"I-I… don't… know…" I admitted.
"Look, if you're so desperate to get that recording, I'll make you a deal." God, since when I had made a habit of selling my soul to the Devil herself? "I'll give you Cody's number if you get me a date with Rick."
"Who's Rick?"
With a flick of her platinum blonde hair, Mia announced, "My next boyfriend."
With my face buried in my hands, I said, "Deal."
It had been a few years since the last time I stepped on Beacon Hills High School, but little had changed. Popular kids hung out with popular kids, nerds kids hung out with nerd kids and so on.
I greeted teachers as I roamed the corridors, looking for Rick. After two hours of stalking him through facebook with Mia I felt I could identify the kid in a crowd of thousands.
But it wasn't my only reason to be there.
Cody had told me to meet him by the cafeteria. And he was punctual, waiting for me leaning against the wall while teenagers rushed to class.
"Are you Cody?" I asked him.
"Are you Imogene?" he said, slurring the words as if it pained him to pronounce them correctly.
"Yes, have you brought the copy?"
He nodded and held up a DVD with two fingers. I made to grab it, but he moved it away. "With one condition. You help me get Mia back."
I didn't have time for this. "I'll pay you and you take her out to a nice place."
He shook his head. "She won't talk to me."
Damned teenagers! Here I was discovering Beacon Hills was plagued with werewolves and they only cared about their stupid love lives.
I heaved a sigh. "Deal. I'll get her to talk to you."
"And be my girlfriend again."
I rolled my eyes. "And be your girlfriend again."
"Cool." He handed me the DVD. "Thanks."
"Yes, yes. Shouldn't you be in class?"
He nodded and scurried down the corridor. I ran a hand through my short tresses of brown hair. Time to see if I had just wasted my time.
The school's library was deserted, except for the librarian, who shot me a menacing look. I figured she thought I was skipping class. I used one of the computers to play the video. After several minutes of boring lacrosse game, the camera focused on a half bent Scott McCall. I kept watching. If supernatural speed and strength were werewolf indicators, then I had enough proof of McCall's true nature.
My theories were confirmed when, in a brief glimpse, McCall's eyes glowed yellow. It was a fraction of second, and I had to replay it several times to check that, in fact, those were werewolf eyes. I shuddered.
I left the library, ready to go back to the store before my dad found out that I wasn't delivering some books to poor old Maggie who had just fallen down the stairs and had a hip fracture. I had promised myself this was the last time I lied to my parents.
But as I was leaving, I noticed several police cars and an ambulance. Lucky me to stumble across a crime scene. As a reflex, I gripped tighter my bag.
No, I told myself, I had promised my mother to stay away from crimes and criminals.
But it was such a good coincidence!
And she wouldn't have to find out I had been here.
And it would be just a peek.
And if I didn't do it, I'd regret it. At least, I had to find out who was the victim, if the red blood all over the bus was any indication that there was one.
Criminalists gathered clues, some of them taking photos, some of them looking for DNA and other evidences. I strode around the bus, taking in every detail, trying to look as if I belonged there, to not raise suspicions that I was indeed breaking into a crime scene investigation.
The bus' door had been torn out, there were claw marks and blood, a lot of blood. I swallowed and forced my stomach to settle. I had always been squeamish around blood.
By the look of things, everything pointed to an animal attack. I knew better.
One of the criminalists walked away and I considered for a moment what I was about to do before I crossed the police security line. When the tip of my fingers almost grazed the claw marks, a strong hand pulled me away from the bus.
Sheriff Stilinsky's grip on my forearm hurt and I hissed in pain. He took me to a side, near the ambulance.
"What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed.
"I-I was trying to get across the parking to go home," I said. It wasn't the best explanation, but it was the first that crossed my mind.
"And you didn't notice a crime scene?"
I dropped my eyes to the ground, feeling small and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir. I was just curious."
He did seem to take pity on me, because his eyes softened. "Imogene. That was your name, right?" I nodded. "You have to understand that I cannot let anyone prance freely into a crime scene. And believe me, it's for your own good. There're things you don't want to see."
We didn't notice the policemen and paramedics pushing the stretcher until the man lying on it started screaming. His howls were of horror and pain and I raised my hands to cover my ears.
The men around him tried to make him lie down and the Sheriff squeezed my shoulder one last time and said, "You better leave, Imogene. Remember what I've told you."
"Yes sir."
I ran.
That was the single scariest thing I had ever witnessed.
If flashes of fangs and claws and glowing eyes had plagued my nightmares lately, now I had a new vivid image to add.
I thought I recognized the man. He was Garrison Myers, the school's bus driver. I had barely talked with him, but I remembered him from when I had to take the bus. Mom and dad were always busy, so I had to use public transport. But I knew more about him. Previous to his driver career, Myers had been an insurance investigator. Coincidently, he stopped being it after he was accused of fraud in his investigation of the Hale's fire.
So the question now was: why him? Why did the Argents feel the need to eliminate him? Or maybe that wasn't their purpose… After all, the bus driver was still alive, though badly injured.
I pursued my lips. What if McCall wasn't the only murderer?
McCall!
I suddenly remembered that the DVD was still at the school's computer.
I made a sharp turn with my bicycle and headed back towards the school. God, how had I been so sloppy? I would make the worst criminal ever.
I dashed through the empty corridors and darted into the library.
"Running is forbidden!" the librarian yelled, but I ignored her.
I threw myself into the chair and didn't breathe until the computer expelled the DVD. Several astonished eyes stared at me while I clutched the DVD against my chest.
I shrugged. "It's a very important project."
The bell rang as I left the library. Students promenaded out of their classes with the calmness of those who would rather be anywhere else but in their next class. I opened my eyes wide. Maybe I could find Rick now.
I found someone else instead.
"Scott McCall?" I asked the tall boy, flanked by his inseparable friend, the lanky Stiles Stilinsky, who looked at me with the same distrust I looked at them.
"Yeah, but I don't have time now. I have English class," he answered, passing by my side.
"I know what you are," I told his retreating back. Both stopped. "And I know what you did."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Scott said.
"Why did you attack the bus driver?" I pressed.
The flock of students and teachers around us made me bold, so when he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to an empty classroom, I lost all my bravado. I shouldn't have left the aconitum at home.
"What do you know?" Scott asked me.
I backed, trying to get as far from him as possible. Did I really think something good would come from facing alone a supernatural murderer? Hadn't I learnt anything from the books?
"Tell me," he said.
There wasn't anger or belligerence in his tone, so I cocked my head to one side and answered, "You are a werewolf."
Stiles snorted and punched his friend in the arm, who mustered a painful grin. "A werewolf!" exclaimed Stiles. "Isn't she crazy?" He turned to me. "Listen, you have been reading too many fantasy books."
I frowned. "I saw you! On the field, playing lacrosse, your eyes glowed yellow and your strength wasn't human!"
Stiles laughed again. "And that's what you get from reading too much Twilight!"
I felt offended. Was I really losing my mind? I needed to prove this to be real. I took a step forward. "So I guess if I did bring tomorrow some aconitum to school you'll be fine." Another small step. "And we could hang out on a full moon and see nothing happen." Another step. My hands formed fists to stop from shaking. "And you could show me how you don't heal if you get cut." One final step. Now we were nose to nose. "Why did you try to kill the bus driver?" I whispered.
I could hear his heavy breathing. "I didn't do it."
I narrowed my eyes and allowed myself a little smirk. I was trembling underneath this false cockiness. "But you don't deny you're a werewolf."
Stiles separated us by pushing Scott back with a hand to his chest. "And how do you explain your apparently vast knowledge in lycanthropy? Why do you keep medieval books about them? And more importantly, why do you show up at crime scenes and bond with potential killers?"
It was hard to be on the other end of the accusations.
I grew restless. "I-I…"
"Are you a hunter?" Stiles asked.
"No!" I exclaimed.
"Then how do you explain all that?"
I rubbed my sweaty hands over my jeans and half-smiled. "I see now how you're the Sheriff's son." Stiles grinned triumphantly. "My name's Imogene Wise and I am not a hunter. That's all you need to know. I've been investigating the Hale house fire for five years now. That's how I found out that you were a werewolf and the murderer of Laura Hale under the orders of Chris Argent."
Both boys looked flabbergasted.
"That's-" Stiles started, but Scott interrupted him.
"That's not true!"
"Yes, it is!" I defended. "You're dating Allison Argent. The Argents are a family of hunters. Laura Hale was killed by a werewolf."
"What kind of whacked logic is that?!" Stiles shouted.
"I'm not a killer!" Scott exclaimed. "Derek Hale killed his sister, not me!"
I threw my hands in the air. "That doesn't make sense!"
"And Scott being the Argent's pup does? Who gave you the detective card? Because he was clearly impaired," Stiles said, running a hand through his buzz cut.
"Who told you all of this?" Scott asked me.
"I figured it out by myself."
"The werewolves and the hunters too?"
I shook my head slowly, "No, I read it in a book."
"The red book," Stiles interjected.
I nodded. "How can I be sure you didn't murder Laura Hale?"
Scott stared at me. His black eyes were gentle and he didn't give off the vibe of a serial killer. He looked almost helpless. "I wasn't even a werewolf when she was murdered. I got bit the night the police found out the first part of her body."
"Who bit you?"
"Derek Hale."
"How are you so sure he's the murderer?"
"We found Laura's other half buried in his yard," Stiles explained.
"That's not conclusive," I said.
"But figuring out Scott's a killer because he's dating Allison it is, isn't it?" Stiles snapped.
I pursued my lips and my nostrils flared. "Okay, I'm sorry I got a little bit carried away in my suppositions." I pointed a finger at Scott. "But this doesn't mean I'm ruling you out as a suspect."
"I swear! I haven't killed anyone!" Scott moaned.
"What about the Argents? If you're a werewolf why haven't they attacked you? Is it because of Allison?"
"No, no. They don't know I'm a werewolf. No one does! And it should stay that way," Scott seized me by the shoulders. "Will you keep the secret? I swear I have nothing to do with Laura Hale's murder or the Argents."
I scurried out of his grasp. I wasn't too fond of physical contact, way less from a werewolf. "I'll stay quiet if you tell me everything you know about the Argents and Derek Hale."
"How do we know we can trust you?" Stiles said.
"How do I know you're not lying?" I responded.
"I'm not!" Scott yelled. "Just please don't tell anyone." He sounded desperate.
Didn't the best detectives have a natural instinct and sixth sense? Well, if I were to have one, it would now be telling me to believe Scott McCall.
"Come tonight to the Wise Family bookstore. It has a sign with the silhouette of a bird at the entrance. I'll be there and we'll discuss all of this. Ok?"
Scott nodded obediently. Stiles squared his jaw.
"Both of you," I insisted.
He raised a hand. "Alright, ok."
I moved to the door and said over my shoulder "Don't be late for class."
I went directly to my home.
Dad was eating something with too much salt, but dropped his fork when he heard me close the front door.
The house was so quiet I heard him when he said, "You didn't come this morning to the store."
I walked to the kitchen. "I told you I was visiting Maggie."
"The whole morning?"
"Well, yes. She kept talking and talking and then she baked some cookies." I smiled. "I think she didn't want to be left alone."
"How's her hip?"
"Well, she's on meds, so the pain is not her main problem."
"What books did you give her?"
"Oh, some old classics. Poetry from Plath, something from Austen, 'Gone with the wind'…"
"She'll like it," my father said and resumed his eating.
"Um, dad." I played with my jacket's sleeves. "Since I didn't work this morning, I've thought that tonight I'll make inventory."
"It doesn't matter Imogene. It's just a morning."
"No, I insist. If we're going to get rid of the bookstore we should better start making inventory of all the books." I crossed my fingers behind my back.
"If you're so intent to do it, then you know where the keys are. Just don't stay until too late. Tomorrow, Saturday, we open up."
"Okay, dad."
I grinned all the way up the stairs to my room. My bag hit the floor as I freeze.
Someone had been in my room while I was away.
Why did I know?
Well, I hated when drawers or doors didn't fully closed. Just like my wardrobe's door right now.
I ambled around my room, trying to find any other indicative of a foreign presence in there. I opened my desk's second drawer and took a vial of aconitum. It didn't matter if the intruder was werewolf or human, wolfsbane would do the trick.
I checked every corner and possible hiding place. It didn't take me long, as my room wasn't the biggest.
In a flash, my eyes widened and the vial almost slipped out of my hands.
The red book!
Putting down the vial, I raised my mattress.
Nothing.
It was supposed to be there!
I was sure I had left it there. I always did. Still, I started searching thoroughly around my room for it. I emptied drawers, took out all of my clothes, moved furniture… all in vain.
And when it was clear the book was no longer there, I looked for it again, moved by despair.
"Imogene!" my dad called me front downstairs. I had to go to work. A tiny spark of hope rose in my chest. Maybe I left it in the store by mistake.
I took my bag, careful to slip into it two vials of aconitum and went to meet my father.
I spent the rest of the day worrying about the book. Who had taken it? Why? How?
I didn't feel safe anymore anywhere. If someone had broken into my house, then what else they could do?
Solving mysteries seemed now unimportant. The sense of survival was stronger.
I almost didn't notice my father leave. It just sank in when silence engulfed the store and the dim light drew monstrous shadows everywhere. But I didn't stop searching.
I had considered the option that my father had taken the book, so his office was where I first looked in. Nothing. Then I moved to the counter, the cashier, every single shelf… Nothing.
I slumped over the wooden desk in the office.
Someone had stolen the red book, I was better off if I admitted it and thought of a way to get it back.
A knock in the door.
I raised my head, a paper stuck to my cheek. I took it off and rubbed my cheek. I must have fallen asleep.
Knuckles ramming against the glass door.
I bolted and opened it. A nervous Stiles and a shaken Scott waited outside.
Stiles frowned at me and moved a finger in front of my face. "What-What is wrong with your…?"
I raised both eyebrows. "With my…?"
"Your… face." I tilted my head to make him see I didn't understand him. "There's a bird on it."
I touched gingerly my cheek and felt the engraving of my father's desk embedded in my skin. "Oh." I rubbed harder and moved out of the way. "Come in."
None of us were prepared for what happened next. Scott started growling and howling, grabbing his head.
One small detail: his hands were claws.
"Out, out, out. Out!" Stiles grabbed my arm and pulled me with him out of the shop.
Scott snarled at us, baring his fangs in what was probably one of the worst visions ever. But it only got worse when we realized that he was following us and that was his declaration of intentions.
I screamed until all the air left my lungs and took cover behind a car.
Stiles was braver or more used to this, because he just put a considerable distance between Scott and him. "Scott, calm down!" he ordered.
The boy fell to his knees, bending in apparent pain. Stiles and I shared a confused look, and he smirked as if saying 'I did that, I made him stop, I'm the werewolf whisperer', but immediately turned to his prostrated friend. "Scott, are you alright?"
Scott groaned. "It's the shop," he said with labored breathing. "It's filled with wolfsbane."
Seeing as his friend was no longer intent on killing him, Stiles hurried to help him stand up. "You set a trap!" Stiles accused me. "I told you this was not a good idea," he said to Scott.
"I didn't do this!" I defended myself. "The only aconitum in the shop is in vials. It shouldn't affect him!"
Scott took a deep breath, resting against a near wall. With his eyes still closed, he said, "I don't think she did it. The wolfsbane is on the shop's walls, I can feel it."
"The walls?" I asked.
He nodded. "I think they are filled with it. That's why it only hurts me."
Right, aconitum was poisonous for humans if they ingested it or touched it, but for werewolves it was a different matter. The only near presence of aconitum was a danger to them.
I took a weary step towards the boys. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know anything about it. You have to believe me."
"Why do you work at a shop filled with wolfsbane?" Stiles asked. I opened my mouth but no explanation came out. "Well?" he insisted.
"I have no idea," I confessed.
"It looks quite convenient to me," Stiles said. "It's the reason you told us to meet you here, isn't it?"
I scowled. "No, it's not! I didn't know anything! I've just found out!"
"Who's the owner?" Scott asked.
"My father."
"What does he know about werewolves?"
I regarded the shop. "That's what I'd like to know."
We ended up all crammed into Stiles' blue Jeep. Scott had proposed we went to his house since his mother had night-shift and it was empty, but I had flatly opposed. I was grounded; the last thing I wanted was to add my mother to my list of problems.
So Stiles' Jeep was it.
I stuck my head between both boys, who had taken the front seats.
"What do you know about the Argents?" I asked casually.
"Why do we have to answer your questions?" Stiles shot back. He didn't trust me.
"How about we make questions by turns?"
"Deal," Scott said, clearly more cooperative. And maybe a little tired of our antics.
"Okay, what do you know?" I asked again.
"When I started dating Allison I didn't know they were hunters. I found out when they attacked me in the forest," he explained.
"Then how they don't know you're a werewolf?"
Stiles tsked, and said, "One question per turn. Why are you so interested in all this?"
I sighted. "Six years ago a fire broke in the Hale family house, killing eight people. Nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills, so it drew my attention. I started investigating and everything led me to believe that it wasn't an accident. Since then I have been trying to find out what was going on in Beacon Hills. Turns out for such a calm town, we have pretty interesting things going on. How do the Argents don't know you're a werewolf?"
"When they attacked me I was in my werewolf form and it was dark, so they didn't really see me. Derek Hale helped me escape," Scott said. "What is the red book?"
"It's an old book I found in my father's office about werewolves. I sold it to Stiles, but then my father told me he had already sold it and to give it back."
"But you didn't," Stiles said.
I ignored that it wasn't his time to be asking and explained, "No, I didn't. I wanted to know why that book was so important. That's how I learnt about you and Derek Hale and the hunters."
"You say that your father sold it, to whom?" asked Scott.
I hesitated. Should I be telling them all of this? I had planned on revealing only the necessary information, but I felt these two punks were as lost as I was.
"To Chris Argent." I read the alarm on their faces so I held up my hands. "But I didn't give it to him! I've been making up excuses these past weeks. My father still thinks I haven't found Chris Argent to deliver the book."
"Could we see it?" Scott asked.
I cringed. I glanced at both of them before I announced in a small voice, "I lost it."
Stiles twisted up in his seat. "You lost it?!"
I squirmed with embarrassment and nodded.
Stiles hit the steering wheel with both hands. "Great! Fucking great!"
"Well, I didn't really lose it. It's more like it was stolen from me sometime this morning."
"Wow, that's so much better," Stiles exclaimed sarcastically.
"Why did Chris Argent want the book?" Scott, more calmed, asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I read practically the whole book. The English parts and the Latin ones. It speaks about hierarchies and powers and the full moon and the effects of aconitum… But nothing I believe a hunter doesn't already know."
"Do you think your father can be a hunter?" Scott asked.
I wasn't sure of anything anymore. I looked down and muttered, "I don't know."
"Okay, this is what we're going to do," Stiles told us. He pointed a finger at me. "First, you, Sherlock, are going to find out why your father fancies wolfsbane as construction material and find the red book, or at least, who stole it." He then turned to Scott. "And you and I are going to figure out why you tried to kill your former bus driver."
I frowned. "What?!" But a flash of light coming near got my full attention. "Oh, shit!"
"My feelings exactly," Stiles mumbled, but I was too busy jumping out of the car and sprinting across the street to the shop.
Two minutes later, the bell announced my father's presence.
"How's inventory going?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the counter.
"Perfect," I said breathless. I gulped. "Almost done for the night."
He waltzed around the shop, as if searching for something out of place. My critic eyes followed him. When had my father turned the highest suspect on the list?
"Did you want anything, dad?"
He shook his head. "Just checking on you."
I bit my lower lip. "Dad, Chris Argent is an old friend of yours, right? How did you meet?"
He looked at me alarmed. "Has he said anything to you?" I shook my head. Now I was afraid. Of what? I wasn't sure. "Then why do you ask?"
"I was just wondering," I said slowly.
He laughed awkwardly. "Oh. We just met on the shop. An old client."
I nodded, studying my aging father. Years seemed to be weighting on his shoulders, gray streaked his hair and lines formed around his tired brown eyes.
I pointed a finger at the door. "I-I think I'm going home."
He nodded. "I'll take you."
We didn't speak the whole trip.
When I reached my room, I opened my investigation notebook and wrote down my father's name under the header 'suspects'.
Breakfast was tense, lunch was tense and dinner was tense. Spending most of my time with my father didn't help my situation. Since last night revelations I felt like observing his every movement. My mother had tried to make small talk, but gave up when she also sensed the stiff atmosphere.
But to make things worse, it was mutual. I felt my father's eyes scrutinizing me, to the point I had ignored Mia in case she slipped out and mentioned my new acquaintances.
So when the door bell rang, my mother bounced out of the dining room to flee the tension. Seconds later, I heard her call my name.
As I walked to the door and she went back to the dining room, she told me, "There are two boys who want to speak with you."
I quickened my pace. As expected, Stiles Stilinsky and Scott McCall were waiting outside my door. I stepped outside and left the door ajar. "What are you doing here?" I hissed. "Curfew is in half an hour."
"Yes, so shut up and listen," Scott told me. "We are going back to the crime scene where the bus driver was attacked. I-I don't know if it was me who did it. So, do you want to come?"
I gaped as a fish. "Are you crazy? That's illegal."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Didn't seem to bother you before…"
"I-I am grounded." Both boys raised their eyebrows at the same time, which would have proved comical if they weren't suggesting trespassing and breaking into a crime scene. "I can't! And you shouldn't have come! What if my father sees you? We still don't know if he's a hunter."
"Any news on that?" Stiles asked.
"No, but I'll work on it. Wait, what do you mean you don't know if you attacked the bus driver?"
"Long story short, Scott had a 'special' dream about making out with Allison, but then he attacked her. Next day, we find out that the bus driver was attacked exactly like it happened in his dream," Stiles explained.
"So, did you try to kill him?" I asked.
"I hope not," Scott said.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Stiles added.
I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry guys, I can't. But call me if you find anything out. Give me your phone, I'll type in my number." I entered my mobile number in Stiles' phone and gave myself a missed call so I had his number too. "Here, be careful."
They nodded their goodbyes and I saw them leave in Stiles' Jeep. I shivered. It was cold outside, but there was something else. A nagging feeling telling me I was being observed. I walked inside and locked the door.
I went back to the dining room and told my parents I had lost my appetite. When my father asked what those boys wanted, I told them they were looking for a tutor, someone to help them pass Chemistry and Math, and that Mia had recommended me. Then I went to my bedroom.
Stress gave me headaches and I laid in my bed to rest for a minute before I went over the whole Hale-Argent-werewolf business again. I didn't know what to believe anymore. Had I been too eager ruling out Derek Hale as the murderer? Did he have any connection with the Argents? Each one of my theories did have weak points by now.
Was Derek Hale working with the Argents from the beginning to kill his own family and pack?
Was there a third werewolf?
Where the murders in Beacon Hills related to the red book?
Was my father involved in all of this somehow?
My eyelids grew heavy, fluttered and I fell asleep.
It was a dreamless sleep, a peaceful sleep that was interrupted by the sudden buzzing of my cell phone near my ear.
With drowsy eyes I pressed the call button, supposing it to be Scott or Stiles, maybe Mia, or even Cody. I wasn't prepared for the voice that ordered, "Meet me outside."
"Derek Hale?" I asked, disbelieving.
"Yes, I'm outside your house. Come and meet me."
Out of all the questions going round my numb mind, I blurted out the stupidest one. "How did you get my number?"
"Your friend Mia is easily persuaded. Now, please, go out." His 'please' was anything but polite and I didn't really feel like facing alone a murderer and a werewolf who had showed nothing but aggressiveness towards me.
"Why?"
"We need to talk."
"We are talking." Yes, I didn't want to go out, but that didn't mean I was going to pass the opportunity to get some answers. Dealing with Derek was fairly easy when I didn't have to face his growling and glowering.
"We need to talk in private."
"I'm alone."
"Your father could be listening."
My grip on the phone tightened. "What do you know about my father?"
"Come out and I'll tell you."
Insistent bastard. "I can't. I am grounded."
"Grounded? How old are you? Fourteen?"
"I am twenty one and grounded. Deal with it."
"Come out through the window."
"Are you crazy?!" I exclaimed and quickly draped a hand over my mouth when I realized my outburst. "That's insane," I hissed. "You're the one with super senses and enhanced agility. You climb up windows."
"I can't," he hissed back. Someone was getting frustrated, it seemed. "Your house's walls are filled with wolfsbane. If I could enter in, I'd have done it long ago."
"Why do you want to get into my house?" I asked, shocked.
"I'll explain if you come here once and for all!"
I bit my thumb's nail. Going out to meet Derek Hale in the middle of the night by jumping out of a window screamed suicide, and a very bloody and violent suicide. But Derek was promising me the answers I craved, about my father, about the murder of Laura Hale, about the Argents…
I thought of Stiles and Scott. I thought how I wished I had someone to accompany me to these dangerous situations that were becoming a recurring thing in my life.
"Imogene?" I heard Derek's voice through the phone.
"Yes?"
"Come down."
Stupid, stupid little Imogene. Always getting carried away by her curiosity. Until the time curiosity would kill the cat, I thought bitterly as I grabbed three vials of aconitum.
Derek was a werewolf and I was a human, it wasn't fair. So it was my way to tip the balance, to level the playing field. I took my jacket, remembering the low temperature.
"Are you coming?" Derek was impatient.
"Yes, shut up." I regretted the 'shut up' part almost instantly. Not a nice thing to say to the murderer you're going to meet alone.
I opened my room's window and realized I couldn't do it. The gentle night wind blew some stray strands of hair out of my face. I felt sick and terrified. What was I doing? Was I really this senseless? I had always thought I was a rather smart girl. Apparently I was wrong.
"I can't do it," I whispered.
"Why not?"
"I'll fall and die, that's why!"
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will. And after having faced two werewolves and broken into a crime scene, it'll be the dumbest death ever."
"There's a tree in front of your window, with strong branches. Use them and climb down."
As you can imagine, someone with my medical history of injuries due to my lack of coordination and equilibrium didn't trust so much her ability to climb down a tree in the middle of the night.
"Who do you think I am? Spiderman? I can't do that," I pronounced the last part very clearly.
He didn't get it. "At least try to do it. I'll be down to catch you if you fall."
Very comforting, I thought sarcastically. "There's really no other way to do this?" I pleaded. "I have flat rate on my phone."
"Look, I won't say it again. Come down or I'll leave."
"You're pushy," I growled at him.
"You're nosy."
I threw a leg out of the window and stopped. Fear paralyzed my muscles. I took one last look at the comfort of my bedroom, a silent goodbye to my old life without werewolves and danger, just crime novels and hot mugs of chocolate.
I passed the other leg, sitting on the windowsill. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself, "I can't do this."
I forgot I was still grabbing the phone to my ear and Derek must have thought I was talking with him, because he said, "Yes, you can."
I didn't know what his intentions were, so it wasn't really reassuring.
"How do I get down?"
"Grab the branch in front of you, the long one."
I pressed the phone between my ear and my shoulder, and one hand in the windowsill, I stretched to reach said branch. The tip of my fingers barely grazed the wood. I moved a foot forward. So close. I must look so stupid. My feet slid down the tiles of the roof, so I finally reached the branch to steady myself.
In that position, I spoke to my lurker. "What do I do now?"
"Let go of the windowsill and climb on the branch."
"No way!"
"Do it."
Well, who was I to argue with a werewolf?
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and allowed the adrenaline to move my body. I let go of the window and felt myself fall forward. In the last second, I managed to grab the branch tightly with both hands, the phone still stuck against my ear. I didn't hear myself scream, but I must have.
Light shone from a window to the left, the one I knew belonged to my parents.
Derek repeated me to come down, but going down was the last thing I wanted. Anything but meeting the hard ground. I tried to flex my arms and push myself up in the branch, but I lacked strength to support my own weight. I kicked my legs to find another branch, but found none. I whimpered in pain. The branch was rough under my hands, and the sweat made me slid down.
"Let go of the branch, I'll catch you."
"No."
"Your parents are going to see you."
I dared to look up. My father was leaning out of the window, squinting at the dark. I kicked stronger. My phone slipped out and fell to the grass. I regretted everything. I regretted meddling into other people's business. I regretted not being a good and obedient daughter. I even regretted listening to Derek Hale.
"Let go!" I heard his voice and it took me a moment to realize how I could hear him when I had no longer my phone with me. Was this some kind of death experience? Was he telling me to let go from my life and meet him in the afterlife? "Let go, for God's sake!"
Then I looked down and found him standing there, waiting for me to drop in his arms. I kicked harder. I felt my foot collide with his jaw and his hiss of pain alerted my father, who bellowed in our direction, "Who's in there?!"
Dread filled my chest as I saw him disappear. He couldn't find me in here, hanging from a tree's branch as a ragged doll. I made a last effort to push myself up and desisted. Down was the only way.
Derek alternated between glaring daggers at me and scanning our surroundings.
"Get out of the way!" I whispered at him.
"What?"
"You heard me. Move! I'm climbing down. By myself."
He raised his hands in surrender. "As you wish."
I opened my hands and met the ground with a flop. I fell on my derriere rather sloppily. The soft grass cushioned my fall, so it didn't hurt as much as I expected. Actually, it hadn't been that much height.
My pride had taken the worst part of it. I knew Derek was laughing at me inwardly, I could almost see the corner of his lips twitch upward in a mocking smile. Hell, I would have laughed myself if it weren't for the circumstances.
The light on my parent's bedroom had disappeared, so in fear they would come down to check what happened, I sat up with as much dignity as I had left and bolted down the street. Derek Hale followed and soon he matched my pace to nowhere in particular.
With the new curfew, these residential streets were deserted. It was a quiet neighborhood and I was grateful for it. Plus, the weather wasn't the best, this morning had been raining and that had discouraged people from abandoning the warmth of their houses.
Wanting to be done with this as soon as possible, I didn't miss a beat and asked, "Did you kill your sister?"
"No."
"Scott McCall is sure you did."
"But you don't believe him," he said.
"I'm not so sure anymore," I confessed. "Are you here to convince me you're innocent?"
"No."
"Then why do you drag me out of my house through a window in the middle of the night? What is that so important we have to talk about?"
"This way," he said, motioning to a dark alley.
I shook my head pointedly. "No way. I still don't trust you."
He didn't push it and kept walking by my side. "You can't tell anyone about me, or Scott."
"I won't. Even if I would, no one would believe me."
"If you do, I'll kill you."
A threat. It felt as a splash of cold water as the reality of my situation settled in. I thought bitterly of those girls in novels that dealt with werewolves and vampires and ghosts and never showed an ounce of fear. I was terrified.
"What do you know about a red book?" he asked then, oblivious to my internal turmoil.
So all of his false politeness was just a shortcut to the book. With dread, I considered what he could do if he found out I had lost the book and I wasn't useful to him anymore. But I hadn't risked my life for nothing; I was here to get answers.
"What do you know about my father?" I replied instead.
"He had the red book until you sold it to Stiles Stilinsky. And he's friends with Chris Argent."
"What about Chris Argent? Is he to blame for the fire?"
His jaw tightened. "Forget about the fire. It has nothing to do with this."
"But you know who did it," I pressed in a bout of impulsiveness.
"And it doesn't concern you," he growled at me.
"I was right? Are the Argents responsible for that?"
"That fire is none of your business!" he yelled at me. And on cue, I felt guilty. It seemed I had been waiting the moment he snapped at me to realize I was treading on a delicate matter.
"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I know sometimes I'm a busybody."
"Forget it." He sighted.
"It's just that I don't understand why you don't want them to pay for what they did. The logical reaction would be to seek some retribution."
"And by meddling into other people's business you're trying to bring justice, right?" he asked sarcastically.
I frowned. "Well… yes."
He rounded on me. "No, you're not. You're just looking for some sort of satisfaction by feeding your curiosity on events out of your control. You think you're a Good Samaritan, but you're just selfish."
It hurt. But it hurt even more because it was the same thing my mother had insinuated days before. And it hurt because somehow I knew both were right. I didn't do this for Derek Hale or Scott McCall; I did all this because of myself.
Because I carried a boring life and these moments of danger and mystery made me feel special. They made me feel the intrepid heroine of the novel, the infallible investigator and not plain bookworm Imogene, with her normal life between books and dusty shelves.
I trotted to reach him down the street. "I was just trying to help you, ungrateful bastard!"
He turned sharply and stalked back to me with a predatory air to his movements. I searched my pockets for the aconitum vial. Cold sweat damped my forehead and the drumming of my heart was deafening.
He stopped in front of me, his head tipped forward so he was eye level with me. "Do you want to help me?" I nodded, unable to find my voice. "Then bring me the red book."
The red book. Why did always everything come back to the old red book?
Curiosity overwhelmed fear. "Why is that book so important?"
"That book contains important information."
"What information?"
"A natural remedy that could temporary deprive a werewolf of his powers. If the hunters get their hands on it, we'd be defenseless if they were to attack us."
I mused over it. "And it would grant a werewolf control on a full moon and the chance to a normal life."
"That too. But our priority is to avoid by all means that the book falls to hunter's hands." Oops. I ran a shaky hand over my face. He noticed my uneasiness. "You didn't give it to them, right?" He sounded alarmed.
"No, no, of course not!"
"Then what is it?"
"Nothing," I lied.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. Where is the book, Imogene?"
God, why did he have to sound so much like an angry parent? "I don't know," I confessed.
"You don't know? What do you mean 'you don't know'?"
"I-I kind of lost it."
"You kind of lost it?" he repeated. "How could you lose it?"
"Someone broke into my room and took it. I'm trying to figure out who has it now."
He turned his back on me, walked a few steps and ran a hand through his jet black hair. "We need to get that book back."
"I'm working on it," I said.
He stared at me and then relented and nodded. "Okay, there's something more we need to talk about."
My phone, which I had picked up from the grass after I fell, buzzed. "Oh, wait a sec. Hello?"
"Imogene?" Stiles asked from the other side of the line.
"Yes."
"We went back to the bus where the driver was attacked. Turns out Scott was there last night, but he didn't attack Garrison Myers."
"Cool. That's great!"
"There's more. Scott remembered who attacked the driver. It was Derek Hale."
My eyes widened and darted to Derek. He was staring back at me and I knew he could hear what was being said over the phone. I gulped. "We'll have to talk later, Stiles. Take care."
"You too," he said before hanging up.
Silence engulfed us and I gritted my teeth to the point I felt pain. It was a breathless tension and I considered taking flight.
"Scott is wrong. I didn't attack the bus driver and I didn't kill my sister," Derek finally said. I stood wordless. He took a step towards me but stopped when he saw me tense. "It was the other thing I wanted to tell you about. There's another werewolf in town. One more powerful, stronger."
"An Alpha," I whispered.
He nodded. "Yes, an Alpha. I don't know what he wants, but if he comes closer, do not face him, not alone, not like you're facing me or Scott. And do not give him the red book."
"He's the one that killed your sister."
"My sister came here to find him and now I'm trying to do the same. He bit Scott."
"And his pack?" I asked.
"I don't think he has one yet. That's why he's going after Scott. Attacking the bus driver is his way to attract his attention," Derek explained. I blinked, digesting the new information. "Remember, find the book, forget about everything else."
"What about Scott and the Argents?"
"They'll be alright. You just find the book."
I sighted, closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. My headache was getting worse and the lack of sleep wasn't helping. "Okay, but what if I find it? What do I do then?" but my words didn't receive an answer. When I looked around me, I was alone. The only indication that I hadn't imagined the whole conversation was the screeching of a black luxurious car speeding into the night.
"Okay," I mumbled to the empty street. "Just boss around and disappear. Why not?"
Feeling suddenly alone and defenseless, I sprinted back to my home.
And was faced by one little problem I hadn't planned.
How was I supposed to climb back into my room?
"Shit."
Did you know?
When I started writing this fanfiction 'Twilight' was in vogue, thus the multiple references to the books in the story.
