Cause after all the partying and smashing and crashing
And all the glitz and glam and the fashion
And all the pandemonium and all the madness
There comes a time when you fade to the blackness


Chapter 7: Moribund


A clear bell sounded repetitively. Parrish dug his hand into his pocket, fishing out his cell phone. The caller was loud, the voice projecting enough that even Sherry could hear it from across the In-N-Out booth. "Nine-two-seven-D! Possible nine-oh-five-V! Report to duty."

"What's that?" she asked, sounding like a nosy toddler.

"Investigate dead body," Parrish explained. "Possible vicious animal." He scooted out of the booth and brushed burger crumbs off his uniform. He let out a huff. "The one time I eat out with my niece."

Sherry snatched what was left of her burger and her carton of fries in one hand, dumping the rest of the contents of the tray into the trash. She shoved the tray on top of the bin and scurried after Parrish as he hurried out of the fast food joint. "Can I come too?"

"I suppose you have to. I'm your ride," he sighed, unlocking his car and sliding into the driver's seat.

Sherry hopped into the passenger's seat, munching on a fry. "Cool! Do you get to use stun guns on the wild animals?"

"You'll see."

They arrived at the crime scene, a small clearing amid the woods of Beacon Hills Preserve, shortly afterward. Sheriff's station vehicles were parked along the perimeter of the forest, officers wandering in and out of the trees.

As Parrish shoved past curious passers-by, Sherry jogged to keep up with him. When she passed a trash can, she tossed her burger wrapper toward it. The wrapper bounced off. Groaning, Sherry stalked over to drop it firmly inside.

When she turned back to Parrish, she realized that he'd disappeared somewhere ahead. Besides for a few scattered officers and hikers, she was alone. Tightening her jacket around her torso protectively, she trekked in the direction Parrish had been headed.

The trees thinned the nearer she got to the clearing. Deep gouges scored the trunks of oak trees, getting deeper and more expansive as she went. Sherry reached the edge of the clearing and clenched her fist. She couldn't turn back now. The claw marks were now crimson and spattered with mahogany droplets. In the center of the clearing lay what had once been a person. Now, the corpse looked gutted, even more torn up than the trees. Two black concentric circles were painted around the body.

An animal couldn't have done that.

She backed away and picked up a sprint, looping around the clearing. For awhile, there seemed to be nothing but banana-yellow crime scene tape trailing from tree to tree. And then, just beyond a cluster of oaks, beige uniforms milled about, talking and investigating.

She slowed to a walk as she reached them, gasping in relief. She heard a snippet of their conversation. The wolves did this. She tugged on Parrish's sleeve. "There haven't been wolves in California since 1924. Well, except for one wolf and his pack that crossed the border from Oregon last year."

He glanced down at her, surprised. Sheriff Stilinski stood across from him, his arms crossed. "You let a kid near the crime scene?" he demanded.

Parrish returned his gaze unblinkingly. "That doesn't seem to stop your son."

The sheriff glared at him. "You know what I mean, Deputy."

"I didn't have a choice," he answered calmly. "I can't drive her home now."

On cue, two clumsy teenagers burst into view, trampling noisily over fallen twigs and decomposing leaves. Painfully slowly, the sheriff turned around, setting his eyes reluctantly on one Stiles Stilinski and one Scott McCall. "Just as I was making a point," he muttered darkly.

Stiles bent over, panting. Once he recovered, he beamed awkwardly at his father. "Hey, dad! What's up?" Scott contributed a small wave.

The sheriff excused himself from Sherry, moving toward the two boys in irritation. "May I have a word with you two?"

Stiles paled, but Scott just nodded good-naturedly. "Sure, Sheriff."

Sherry looked at Parrish questioningly. He just shrugged. They watched as the sheriff berated the boys in whisper-shouts, just soft enough to be out of Sherry's earshot. When the sheriff returned, dragging Stiles along by the scruff of his shirt, he said to Sherry, "Stiles will be very happy to drive you home."

She raised an eyebrow at Stiles. He laughed nervously. "Yeah, I'd totally love to leave the scene right after I drove for twenty minutes and had my car break down on me to get here."

"Then it's settled," Sheriff Stilinski concluded. He let go of Stiles' collar.

With a scathing glance at his father, Stiles stomped away. Sherry sighed and followed after. The two of them hiked in silence out of the woods. The Jeep waited patiently for them, parked off the curb of an empty side street. Stiles unlocked the doors and walked around the hood of the car to climb into the driver's side. Sherry piled in, brushing layers of crumbs off the worn seat.

"Don't take me home," she said. "I'm going to hang out with Mason."

"Mason?" Stiles repeated. "He's a freshman."

"Yeah? Did you forget what year I'm in?"

Stiles started the car. It sputtered and complained like a work mules finally getting on its feet. "Aren't you ahead two years?"

The Jeep, after a long consideration, lurched forward and bumped down the gray asphalt. The road clearly hadn't been repaired for decades.

"I'm in classes two years ahead of most Beacon Hills freshmen," she said. "But I'm still in ninth grade. I have to take ninth grade English."

"Just like Lydia," he murmured.

"Who?"

He didn't answer. They reached Mason's home in five minutes. Stiles killed the gas, walking around to let Sherry out of the car. "Does Parrish know you're here?"

"I'll text him," she replied. "Or you'll tell him. I know you're going back to the crime scene after this."

Stiles considered her for a moment. "I am not."

"Sure." She knocked on Mason's door. As she waited for him to answer, staring at the pristine layer of cherry paint on his front door, she could hear Stiles trying to start the engine up again.

Mason opened the door just as the Jeep rolled away. He watched it over Sherry's shoulder. "Stiles?"

She wiped her shoes and stepped inside. "I'll explain later."

Inside the den, the TV was already flashing with pre-game videos. A shirtless warrior pranced in circles, slashing a katana at looming black shapes. "This animation is so realistic," Mason exclaimed, grabbing a controller.

Sherry took one too, fiddling with the controls. She sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the sofa. "You're right. That warrior dude is pretty ripped."

Mason settled on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He stared dreamily at the video. "Don't tell Liam this, but I totally bought this game just for this warrior NPC. Like damn, right?"

Of course Mason was gay. The one boy to be nice to her just had to be interested in boys. She grinned. "Yeah. His jawline is so hot. The structure is on point."

"Thank you!" Mason held out his hand for a high five. "See, that's the kind of thing I can't talk to Liam about. Which guys are attractive."


"We're starting another lab!" Mr. Lewis cheered, as if lab work were his favorite classroom activity. It probably was, considering he always read or played solitaire on his computer instead of working during labs. The class groaned.

"Pair up into groups of two!" Immediately, Stiles scooted his desk over to Scott. Mr. Lewis glared. "Except for you, Stilinski and McCall. Don't think I didn't see that."

The both of them deflated. Stiles edged toward another boy, but the kid hissed that he already had a partner. Stiles exchanged a forlorn glance with Scott.

"You can pick up the instructions from the projector," Mr. Lewis said. "You may begin!" He sauntered over to his desk and sank into the plushy leather of his swivel chair.

Sherry nudged Stiles with her elbow. "Are you going to stop ignoring me now? We're lab partners."

He scoffed. "I haven't been ignoring you."

She turned her gaze to Scott. "Both of you have, since Tuesday. And your whole clique too. If you weren't going to help me look up the Calaveras, you could have at least told me straight out."

"We are trying to help you research," Scott said unhelpfully.

She was dubious. "Okay, then is this because I saw you at the crime scene? I'm not stupid; I know something is going on that I'm not supposed to know about."

"Nothing's going on," Stiles blurted hastily, twirling his pen around between his forefinger and thumb. It clattered to the linoleum floor.

"Well, I'm not going to try to get into it if it's not my business, but you guys could at least be nicer." She stood up and went to retrieve three copies of the lab instructions. When she came back, Stiles and Scott were deep into a whispered conversation again. "Here." She shoved the papers onto their desks. "Scott, I think Fred is doing your entire lab for you."

He turned, searching the classroom for his lab partner. The blonde was hunched over in his darkened corner of the room, scribbling down his pre-lab furiously. "Should I be helping him?"

She shrugged. "Seems like he'd rather work alone. That means we can all chat about my dad's murderers."

"What about our lab?" Stiles suggested.

She shot him down. "We wouldn't finish in class even if we tried. We're meeting at your house after school."

He sank into his seat. "Again?" he whined.

"Anyway," she declared, "I heard the sheriff say wolves killed the body on Tuesday."

Scott froze.

"That's impossible," Stiles drawled. "Wolves-"

"Haven't been in California for a decade," Sherry finished. "Yeah, that's what I told him. Then he shooed me away."

"Well, maybe he was annoyed that you were poking into official business."

"Sure," she said, "But I saw the body. There were two rings of black paint around it. A wolf couldn't have done that." Something caught her eye. Black ink, just under Scott's T-shirt sleeve. She leaned forward, toward Scott's desk, which was diagonally behind hers. "Sort of like that."

Two black rings of ink circled his bicep, the tattoo smooth and unbreaking. Scott made an excuse. "They're just circles. Fairly common."

"So are wolves," she retorted. "Oh, wait, they aren't! And wolves generally don't have gargantuan claws, either." She stretched out her hand to demonstrate and mimicked making claw marks on her desk. "So what kills like a wolf, has claws like a wolf, is monster-sized, and schemes like a human?"

"Maybe someone had a pet dog that they set loose," Stiles quipped. "Like, 'Hey, Fluffy, why don't you viciously murder my enemy? To death?' "

She gritted her teeth. "Fine, don't be helpful. But remember, you promised to help me with the Calaveras."

"We're trying," Scott repeated.

"Yeah," Sherry said. "Maybe one day that'll mean something."


She emerged from the informational meeting about an hour after school ended. The Beacon Hills cheer team, she decided, was not elite enough for her time. Her old school's team used to compete for championship and national awards. This team didn't even compete.

She watched the egress of prospective cheerleaders from the corner of her eye. The girls all giggled, laughing at some inside joke. None of them looked athletic at all, a surefire sign of a weak cheer team. Sherry opened her locker and tried to stuff in two textbooks. Cheer was a legitimate sport, but could only be treated as such if the team members acted like athletes.

The textbooks wouldn't fit. Four weeks in, and her locker was already cluttered. Sherry growled and pulled out loose leaf papers, organizing them into their respective binders. The chatter of girls faded. She pulled wrappers and other miscellaneous trash from the recesses of her locker and dropped them into the nearest trash can. The cheer coach left the gym, locking the door behind her. Sherry placed the binders and books into her locker methodically, arranging the spines in chronological order. The creaky double doors of the school slammed shut, the reverberations echoing down the empty school halls. She jiggled the lock back into place and twirled the dial.

She checked her phone. Five o'clock. She started toward the front doors, but was interrupted by an ear-splitting sound.

She had never heard a window shatter before, but she knew instinctively that that was what it sounded like right at that moment. She had just rounded the corner when she saw what had broken through: a person.

And as the person stood up, it was quite obvious at once who he was. Yet, for some reason, Sherry thought it couldn't be him at all.

Scott McCall pushed himself off the ground, kicking puddles of glass shards away from his feet. He seethed.

Another shape leaped into the building from the hole, but this one only looked remotely human. He looked as if he had gotten way too carried away with his Halloween makeup, but Sherry could tell that wasn't the case as she slowly backed away. She peeked around the corner, staring at the man's grotesquely wolfish face. Tufts of curly hair sprouted from his cheeks and his eyes glowed eerily yellow. He bared his canines and slashed out at Scott with blackened, crescent-like claws.

Scott didn't even appear fazed. He caught the wrists of his attacker easily, flipping the man painfully onto his back. In what seemed to be an archaic move, the man violently bit his fangs into Scott's ankle.

At first, Scott didn't react. Then, his eyes flashed a powerful red, the light reflecting off every piece of shattered glass. He rolled his head back and howled, just like a wolf. The sound was strangely sonorous to Sherry's ears as it pervaded the entire building and bounced off the walls. She could hear the floor trembling with sound waves under her sneakered feet.

She gripped her backpack straps tighter, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She swallowed. Could they hear her breathe? Would they attack her?

Scott's face contorted as layers of extra tissue proliferated under his skin and hair spurted from his cheeks. His front canines elongated, glistening in the evening light. Suddenly his face didn't look too different from his attacker's. The howling stopped.

In an instant, Scott - or what used to be Scott - swung his claws into the chest of the other man. Steadily, he lifted the man up and shoved him against a nearby wall.

The man lunged forward to strike. A brawl like one Sherry had never before seen unfolded in front of her eyes. All she wanted to do was run away, but her only exit was the front double-door. That path was right in the way of the battle. So she pressed herself against the cold wall, attempting miserably to stifle her breathing, and stayed still like a statue as the two creatures landed punches and blows and threw each other against walls.

Sherry edged stealthily away, her back continually pressed against the wall. Once she was certain she was out of sight, she fled down the hall and turned another corner, far away from the melee at the front of the school. Shakily, she pulled out her phone and dialed Parrish.

"Help," she squeaked. "I'm at school. And there's a fight."

"A fight?" He sounded confused. "Are you in it?"

"No. But please send help."

His voice was worried now. "What's wrong?"

She choked. He was going to think she was delusional. "Werewolves."


A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows so far! What are your thoughts on what just happened? And if you have any feedback, I'll be happy to hear that too!

Remember to review, favorite, and follow! xx Delaine