Chapter 7

Henley made it through the day. She had only had sparks land on her skin twice, and both times had ducked into the back of the vintage record store before her manager or anyone else saw, frantically trying to stop herself before the sparks grew to flames.

"You good closing up tonight?" Wilton asked.

Henley forced herself to focus on the store manager. "What? Yeah. That's fine."

She was losing her mind, she was at risk of bursting into flames at any moment and her family was hunters of the supernatural, but she was fine. "All good."

Wilton gave her a skeptical look, but tossed her the keys. "Don't forget to lock the back door, too."

Henley caught the keys and nodded. When he finally left and she was alone in the middle of the rows of vinyl, she finally let out a breath. She rubbed damp palms on her ripped up jeans. Finally being able to let her guard down and not worry about what Wilton or a customer might see had her shoulders finally sinking down, tension releasing.

She went behind the counter and took off the record that Wilton had put on, sliding it back into its sleeve. She pulled a classic Aerosmith from the racks and put that on instead.

She dropped the needle in place and before the music started, her skin prickled. She held her breath, listening to footsteps on the sidewalk in front of the store.

The door swung open as the music started and she turned, feeling her sharp claws against her palms. She kept her hands down behind the counter.

That deputy stood inside the store.

Henley narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?" she demanded.

The deputy looked around the store. His eyebrows lifted slightly at the giant poster of a marijuana plant along the back wall. When he didn't look like he was going to lecture her or kidnap her, her claws receded.

Henley turned her attention away from the boy scout and opened the cash register to start counting out the money for the day.

"I wanted to make sure you're ok," he said.

"I haven't burned anything down today," she told him sarcasm edging in.

"That's not what I was worried about."

Henley looked up at him. He was looking at her like he actually cared. She swallowed hard and turned away to grab the zippered pouch the money would go into. She didn't answer him.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

Henley tried to keep the sparks at bay when he asked that. "Like filing a police report for the attempted murder?" she asked hotly.

"Like that," Parrish said.

She looked at him again.

"It wouldn't be the first police report we've had of an animal attacking someone. But the case wouldn't go anywhere."

"Of course it wouldn't," she muttered. Not when one of the deputies was one of them.

"There isn't a judge we can get to believe that Peter Hale shape shifted into a wolf and tried to attack you," Parrish said. "But you probably know that already."

Yeah. She knew that. She slammed the register shut harder than she needed to.

"I've got to lock up," she said.

"I'll wait," Parrish said.

"Of course you will," she muttered. She tossed the money in the safe in the office, locking the office door, locking the front door, turning off the record player and most of the lights. The deputy followed her to the back door. She locked that and gave it a tug to make sure the door was latched tight. She stuffed the keys into the pocket of her jeans.

"Do you need a ride home?" Parrish asked.

Henley's hands curled into fists. "No," she said succinctly.

"I can walk you home then," he said.

"What I need," she started, then stopped when the heat started to build from within. She sucked in a breath, tried to cool the flames she could feel tickling underneath her skin. "What I need is for all of you freaks to leave me alone."

"Look, I've been where you are. Finding out I'm a hellhound. If you want to talk—" he said.

"Go!" Henley shouted, flames shooting out at Parrish.

He didn't flinch as the flames flared, then receded. But he did looked concerned.

"That's not that big a deal," she grumbled. "I'm figuring out how to control it."

"It's ok if you're not—"

"I AM!" she shouted again and this time managed to scorch the brick wall behind them. The flames didn't recede this time. She could feel the fangs threatening, the pressure against her fingertips as the claws pressed out.

She whirled away from Parrish and tried to find a breath. What was that stupid chant Peter had told her to say?

"Alpha, beta, omega," she whispered to herself. Just focus on that. That's what he had said. "Alpha, beta, omega." He had told her to say that while he had held her face, not letting her look away from him. She could feel his fingers against her jaw still. And then in her apartment, when her head had hurt, he had taken her hand. Her hand that was on fire now. As if his touch was still searing her.

"Henley," the deputy was saying behind her.

Henley tried to ignore his voice, focusing on the memory of Peter telling her how to fight being pulled under the power.

She fought, like trying to swim toward the surface as a current pulled her under.

"Alpha, beta, omega…"

Henley managed to cool the flames, but the lava still flowed through her veins. She had to get away from him. Away from thoughts of the supernatural and attempted murder and fiery phoenixes. She started walking.

"I can help you. Scott and Derek—"

"Leave me alone!" Henley shouted, fisting her hands around balls of flame. She shook with the effort to hold herself back from hurling them at him. "I don't need help from any of you weirdos!"

She picked up her pace, listening to make sure his footsteps didn't follow.

She crossed into an alley, finding little solace in the darkness and isolation. But at least she had some distance from the pack of supernatural freaks. Her hands cooled. Claws receded. She crossed from the alley to another street, turning in the direction of her apartment building.

Cars drove past, but then she heard an engine slowing. She kept walking, but every sense was piqued.

She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw a baby blue Jeep that had seen better days inching along the curb behind her. She looked at the driver and passenger and couldn't hold back her growl of frustration. She turned forward and kept walking. The Jeep kept trailing her. Henley crossed another street, and the Jeep kept pace.

Henley's shoulders tightened and she could feel the now-familiar energy coursing over her skin.

"Alpha, beta, omega," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Alpha, beta—Seriously!" she exploded, whirling around to face the Jeep again. "What is wrong with all of you?! Do I look like I want you around? Do I look like I need anything from you?"

The two guys in the Jeep stared at her, mouths open in surprise.

"GO!" she shouted at them, making a shooing motion with her hands.

Instead, the door opened and Scott got out of the passenger side.

"Look, Henley, we just want to help."

"You've all helped enough," she cried out. "You and your friends have mauled me, kidnapped me, tied me up, and chased me down! I don't need any more 'help' from any of you!" She turned on her heel and started walking off again.

This time, she cut across a park, somewhere the Jeep couldn't follow. The one with the serious face—Derek—was in the park and made a move like he was going to follow her.

"No," Henley said, pointing a finger at him. "If you follow me, I'll torch this entire town."

Derek's expression didn't change, but he seemed to listen. Henley stalked off, listening to make sure no one else tried to follow her.

Inside her apartment, she closed the door, locked it, throwing the deadbolt, too, and leaned against it.

She lifted her fisted hands to her face, shoving her knuckles against her eyes, trying to unsee everything she had seen over the past two days.

None of this could actually be true. None of it. She dropped her hands, opening her eyes and looking around her compact apartment. It looked like nothing had changed. It looked…normal. No sign that a phoenix lived there. No sign that she had been raised by a man who hunted supernatural creatures.

A man who would be able to bring her back to reality, convince her this was all some sort of hallucination.

Henley took her phone from her jacket pocket. She dialed the number.

"Hello?"

The knot in her chest tightened at the sound of her dad's voice. He was an antique hunter. He bought and sold rare artifacts. He didn't hunt inhuman creatures. "Hi. It's Henley," she said.

"How are you?" he asked. It was a formality. He didn't want to know any details. Unless she was going to tell him she had decided to go to college, make something of her life, and do him proud, he didn't want to know.

I'm a phoenix. I've met a pack of werewolves. And a banshee. And a werecoyote. I keep bursting into flame. I almost died when a wolf man tore me to shreds with his teeth.

"I'm ok," she said. "How are you and Reed? Anything new?"

"Reed and I are leaving for Quebec in the morning," Garrett Dawson said.

"What's there?" Henley asked. She desperately wanted him to tell her it was a rare painting. A vase from an estate sale. Anything but werewolves.

"A piece we'd like to acquire," Garrett said.

Henley's brow furrowed. It was an answer she'd heard a million times. Why hadn't she ever noticed that it didn't actually answer her question?

"What piece?" she demanded.

She could almost feel Garrett's frown of annoyance through the phone.

"Nothing that would interest you," he said.

"Why wouldn't it?" she pressed.

Garrett didn't bother to hide his sigh. "We've been through this, Henley. You don't have the make-up for the family business. You're too likely to go soft. To not handle yourself in negotiations the way we would need you to."

Negotiations. Henley almost let out a laugh. Did he mean killing? She couldn't be trusted to kill their prey?

What was once familiar was foreign to her now. She didn't know what her dad really meant. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

"Have you found a job?" he asked, changing the subject.

Henley felt her shoulders stiffen. "I told you I did. I'm working at the record store."

"I meant a real job," he said.

"Then, no," she said. "I haven't."

She didn't have to work hard to see the frown of disappointment on her father's face. "Have you considered enrolling for classes at the community college there?" he asked. "Maybe accounting? Some generals you could use for a real degree eventually."

Henley had spent her entire life moving. Every two years, sometimes every single year, never staying long enough to make real friends. It wouldn't have been so bad being on the outside looking in at every school she went to if she hadn't also been the outsider at home. Listening to her brother and father talk business. Go to the gym together. The shooting range. Meetings they wouldn't talk about.

It all made sense now.

"I have to go," Henley said abruptly. She was going to throw up.

She hung up the phone without waiting to hear her father's goodbye and tossed the phone onto the couch cushions.

The sparks multiplied until they were flames. They built around her until she didn't see anything but the red glow.

#

"Yes, Stiles, we're outside her apartment," Lydia said. She watched Kira in the passenger seat, rummaging through her backpack until she produced a package of Twizzlers and hold them up triumphantly. She opened the bag and held it out to Lydia. Lydia took the candy.

"Do you see anything? Anything burning?" Stiles asked through the phone.

"I don't know," Lydia said primly. "It looks fine. Nothing's on fire…" her words trailed off as an orange glow came from one of the windows that faced the parking lot.

"What?" Stiles asked. "What is it?"

The glow built and Lydia winced, waiting to see if flames engulfed the curtains at the third floor window. But nothing changed.

"It's nothing," Lydia said.

"Ok, that's good," Stiles sighed. Lydia heard him talk to someone else, his voice muffled slightly. "The phoenix chick hasn't torched anything." Someone else spoke and then Stiles was back on the phone. "Scott said to make sure she doesn't see you. She wasn't thrilled when she realized we were trying to make sure someone had an eye on her at all times."

"Oh gee, I wonder why a woman wouldn't take kindly to strange men following her everywhere," Lydia said.

"What? Should we have tied her up?" Stiles asked. "Because I'm sure that would have been so much less intimidating." Another voice spoke in the background and Stiles answered whoever it was. "Yeah, Malia, but when I chained you up in the lakehouse, you weren't on fire."

"Bye, Stiles," Lydia said, ending the call before he could say anything more. She nibbled on the licorice stick, watching the light coming from Henley's apartment.

"I swear," she said to Kira, "how Scott's pack accomplishes anything will remain a mystery to all mankind."

Kira smiled, moving her feet up to rest on the dash of Lydia's car. "We make it work somehow," she said.

"That we do," Lydia agreed. She lifted her licorice in a mock toast and tapped it against Kira's.

They settled into companionable silence, watching the light through the window grow brighter and flicker.

"Do you think we should check on her?" Kira asked.

"Do you want to be extra crispy or charbroiled?" Lydia countered. They had both seen the burns on Derek's arms. He was taking longer to heal, flames and electricity being the Achilles heel of sorts for his kind.

"It's got to be hard," Kira said. "Changing into this. Like when we found out what we were. That was rough."

Lydia preferred not to remember the dreams, the visions, the way she had found herself in unfamiliar places without knowing how she got there.

"But we had people to help us make it through," Kira continued. "Friends."

Lydia didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say to that. From everything they had seen, Henley didn't have anyone.

She thought back to how angry she had been with Peter, for bringing her banshee powers to the front. For using them for his own gain without her knowledge.

"Maybe we should get Peter a muzzle," she mused.

In the dark, she could see Kira look her direction. "Do you regret what he did to you?" she asked.

Lydia didn't have to think about it. She shook her head. "But I resent being used by him. Him not giving me a choice."

Kira sighed, her lips twisting to the side in sympathy. "Yeah. Like Henley. Not much choice for her in any of this."

They watched in silence until the glow finally faded, the apartment window going dark. It was still.

#