Remember when we couldn't take the heat
I walked out and said, "I'm settin' you free,"
But the monsters turned out to be just trees
And when the sun came up, you were lookin' at me


Chapter 13: Defame


They all gathered at the local veterinary clinic, a place Sherry hadn't even seen until just then. From the outside, the clinic appeared mundane - it had cute little cartoon cats and dogs drawn onto the marquee and a welcoming lobby.

She followed Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and Liam through the building, passing by the deserted entryway and into a back room that was all sharp metal edges and shiny silvery surgical equipment. Inside, Kira sat on the center operating table, wiping down a thin, curved sword. A katana, Sherry realized, at the same time identical and completely unlike the virtual version from Revenge of the Oni.

A stern-looking man with a smooth bald head waited for them, his hands folded behind his back. He had a name tag that shone under the harsh fluorescent lights. Dr. Alan Deaton, DVM. He eyed Sherry uncertainly, but dived into an explanation anyway. "You all have a fair idea of what just happened, am I correct?"

"Scott tried to attack me, but I sliced him with my katana," Kira said, making a swinging motion for emphasis. "He barely bled, just looked really shocked and ran away. So I followed him, and he ended up going into to a sewer. By the time I got down there, he was gone - except for this," she gestured to a metal tray behind her, grimacing, "Strewn... everywhere!" She waved her arms about.

Sherry hadn't noticed the tray or its contents when she came in. Now, she was glad she hadn't. What looked like pale, ripped up flesh was piled into one grisly heap.

"What is it?" Malia asked, grimacing.

Deaton set a heavy book onto the table, an ancient-looking volume strangely similar to the small tome Parrish had been engrossed in the other day. He flipped to a page somewhere in the center, pointing at a black-and-white illustration. "There haven't been any recorded cases of shapeshifters for centuries." He gestured toward the tray of flesh. "Shapeshifters must shed their skin, teeth, nails, and hair in order to assume the form of another person. They can turn into any person as long as they've seen them, either in real life or in pictures."

"So a shapeshifter has been pretending to be Scott this whole time?" Stiles gawked. "That explains everything."

Deaton cocked his head. "Like what?"

"He's been acting strangely for about a month," Stiles said. "Sometimes he forgets small things or doesn't remember something I told him an hour ago."

"And one time, he agreed to go on a double date with us," Malia added. "Kira showed up, but Scott ditched. The next day, he claimed we never told him about the date."

"We also went to a police investigation," Stiles continued, a slightly bitter tone in his voice. "He forgot the orders and completely messed up the case. The burglar ended up shooting my dad in the shoulder."

Sherry remembered seeing the sheriff wearing a sling some time ago. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time.

"Then Scott said he had been out of the way the entire time. He swore he didn't alert the burglar that we were there. I thought he was lying to save his own ass. He couldn't understand why I didn't trust him for a while after that."

"So was the shapeshifter the one killing everyone?" Lydia questioned.

Deaton shook his head, stroking his goatee. "Shapeshifters, as far as the lore goes, can only assume the shape of humans. That means no werewolves."

"So someone else is doing the killing," Stiles concluded, agitated. "Who?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lydia interjected. "Scott was telling the truth the whole time. There is another werewolf pack out there."

"But there haven't been any signs of a pack anywhere in Beacon Hills," Kira pointed out. "Nobody could smell the scent of other wolves and there hasn't been any evidence, like pack symbols or anything. We already went over this."

"Even Scott couldn't smell anything," Stiles said. "Unless that wasn't Scott speaking."

"Remember," Deaton noted, tapping his fingers on the book, "Experienced werewolves have learned how to hide their scents. Satomi's pack did that."

"So if Scott really is innocent," Stiles said, "How are we going to get him? He's getting transferred tonight!"

"I'll have to make a few calls," Deaton said grimly, "But for now, we have work to do."

Simultaneously, everyone turned to look at the pile of skin on the tray.

"I followed the shapeshifter into a sewer," Kira said. "Shifters shed down there to mask what they're doing. We need to track ours and follow it to where the pack is hiding out."


The streets of the city were essentially deserted at two a.m. when Sherry emerged with everyone else to stake out the plethora of sewer entrances. Deaton had separated them into groups, giving each a plastic baggie of reeking skin.

Down the street, Stiles, Malia, and Kira strolled on the barely illuminated sidewalk toward the manhole Kira had originally followed the shapeshifter to. Streetlights above their heads flickered, cocooned by swarms of moths and casting an eerie glow on the midnight city. In front of Sherry, Lydia pestered Liam, repetitively asking whether or not he'd picked up on a scent.

Liam sniffed the air, retorting, "No! I can't smell anything. Why don't we try the next manhole?"

"The shifter had to come out from somewhere," Lydia persisted. "It didn't come out from the other one."

"I know! I'm working on it!"

Lydia huffed and dragged behind, falling into step with Sherry. "You haven't talked much," she observed. "Or at all, actually."

"Do I have to?" Sherry muttered. "I'm tired."

"We're all tired," Lydia said. "We all have school in five hours. You're something else."

"I came to help, not talk."

Lydia linked her arm with Sherry's, one of her characteristic popular girl traits. Sherry was too exhausted to resist.

"Whatever's going on, telling someone about it always helps."

Sherry sighed, staring ahead with droopy eyes. "Not always."

"Well, I'm here," Lydia reminded her. "You may not know me, but I'll always help a sister in need."

"Got something!" Liam called, halting by a rosebush at the edge of someone's front yard. He leaned forward, sniffing it, and jumped back in surprise when a thorn pricked his nose. "The scent is really clouded, but the shifter definitely bumped against this bush."

Liam began to walk again, sniffing intently at the air. Lydia and Sherry followed at his heels, Lydia far more invested in the situation than Sherry. She just wanted to go home.

"You're friends with Liam, right?" Lydia asked, trying to ignite a conversation once again.

Sherry grunted.

"Well, why aren't you talking to him?"

She glared at Lydia. "I don't want to."

Ahead of them, Liam nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

Sherry glanced at the redhead. "He can hear whatever we say, right?"

She pursed her lip-glossed lips. "Yep."

Liam paused, veering toward the empty street. The girls followed him, unable to see if there was indeed a manhole ahead of them through the foggy darkness. There was.

Liam dug his fingers into the lid, trying to displace it. After a few groans, he managed to lift the cement slab out and onto the asphalt. The tar and cement scraped against each other unpleasantly.

Looking slightly green under the yellow light, Liam turned around and lowered himself carefully down the stepladder. "Last time I was thrown in a hole, I almost died," he muttered to himself.

Lydia let go of Sherry's elbow, nudging her. "You go first."

Paling, Sherry stuck one foot into the hole and climbed down the grimy ladder, hoping her clothes wouldn't stink like rubbish forever. The farther down she went, the less light was available, until all she could see was the silhouette of Lydia descending above her and a circle of hazy, light-polluted sky.

She felt slippery concrete beneath her sneakers and gingerly let go of the ladder. She couldn't see anything in the pitch-black tunnel underground, and had to concentrate on breathing normally to stay somewhat calm. She groped for the wall and flattened herself against it so that Lydia wouldn't land on her.

She felt pressure on her left hand and started, heart hammering. A cold hand squeezed hers gently. "I'm right here," Liam whispered. He was trying to sound brave, Sherry realized, but as squeak in his voice gave away a hint of fright.

Lydia touched down and rummaged around in her bag, making rustling sounds as she searched. Then she stopped. A click sounded, and suddenly there was light, a sufficient beam that illuminated the path the three of them were on and reflected off the stream of contaminated water. Sherry pulled her hand away from Liam.

"Which way?" Lydia asked.

Liam tasted the air, disgust evident on his face, and pointed right. "The smell blends in with all the rotten stuff down here."

Lydia nodded, trekking down the walkway. Sherry and Liam hurried after her, not wanting to get lost in the dark. Sherry stared at the rounded ceiling, suddenly aware that she was walking in a giant garbage pipe. The air was suffocating. She was almost certain that the composition of the atmosphere down here was not 70% nitrogen, but 70% vaporized excrement.

There was little excitement for what felt like half an hour until something crunched under Lydia's feet. The girl yelped, shining the flashlight on whatever she'd stepped on.

"Glasses," Lydia said. "And they're bloody." She turned the light to the areas closed by, searching for anything else. "But where's the owner?"

"I can smell more blood," Liam hesitated. "It's sharp and fresh, not like the rest of the stench."

Cautiously, they edged forward, wary of anything distinctly crimson. "Found it," Lydia announced. She reached a corner, around which there was a small tool closet. Two bodies were sprawled across the sidewalk, feet in the closet and arms hanging into the grimy water.

The two service workers were matted with drying blood. Their fluorescent yellow vests were splotched with brown and the plastic threads pulverized in the front. Their necks were slashed to pure red and their bellies ripped open. All that considered, their deaths didn't look quite as painful as the body Sherry had seen in the woods the other day.

Lydia shuddered, stepping gingerly over the two ex-men.

"I take it that wasn't the shifter?" Liam questioned. Sherry continued to the other side of the men, a queasy feeling building up in her gut. She stepped on a pool of gooey blood over a plastic sheet, her foot slipping out from underneath her.

Everything was getting closer. She flailed her arms, trying to gain balance again, to no avail. She plummeted backwards, into the dead bodies or sewer water she was unsure. She didn't know which was worse.

And then she wasn't falling anymore. Her face was inches from Liam's, his blue-green eyes wide as plates with panic. He helped her steady herself with his strong arms, yelping, "Are you okay?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the water she almost fell into. She inhaled sharply, her breathing shaky. "Yeah," she whispered. "Thanks."

Lydia turned around. "What happened?"

Sherry moved away from Liam quickly. "Sorry," she apologized. "I tripped."

Lydia's eyes flicked between the two freshmen, her eyebrows raised. "Alright. Well, don't fall." She faced the front again, resuming her subterranean trek.

Sherry hastily caught up with the other girl, refusing to look back at Liam. He tapped her shoulder anyway, retracting shyly.

She looked at him. "What?"

"You sure you're okay? You smell really anxious," he mumbled.

"You can smell that?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Chemical signals."

"So that's how Scott does it." She hesitated. "Why didn't any of you trust Scott? Even I trusted him."

"The shifter is really good at pretending to be Scott badly. He'd get us to trust him, to have him promise things he'd never carry out. Plus, it's really hard to argue with video surveillance."

"I thought Stiles and Scott were best friends."

"Yeah. And then Scott got Stiles' dad shot." Liam wrinkled his nose, repulsed. "What is that smell?!"

"Guys!" Lydia hissed. "Look!"

There was translucent flesh spattered everywhere, sticking to the cement walls, clumped on the ground, and drifting on the murky water.

"Agh," Liam said. "So did the shifter go in from the manhole or come out? If he went in, he sure waited a long time to shed."

"He came out," Lydia affirmed. She moved slowly through the explosion of skin, studying it. "See? The biggest mass is farthest away. The closer it gets to the manhole, the smaller and more spread out the pieces are." She continued walking, past the grisly scene, expecting Sherry and Liam to catch up. "If we follow this path, we'll end up at the shifter's hideout."

"I'll man the flashlight," Liam offered. "So I can sense any converging paths."

Lydia considered him. She pursed her lips, handing over the flashlight and linking her arm with Sherry's again. Once Liam was far enought ahead, Lydia leaned into Sherry's ear and whispered. "You two are cute together. I can see where Stiles was coming from." She smiled smugly and looked straight ahead.

Sherry choked. "What?"

"I am an expert at flirting. I can tell."

Sherry shook her head hopelessly. "I don't understand you."

"But I understand you."

"No-"

Ahead of them Liam waved his arm, meekly trying to call attention to himself. He stood at a fork in the path, a T shape in the tunnel. "This way has a thicker scent," he said, pointing left. "That means he went this way multiple times. The right side smells weaker, so he didn't go that way for a while."

"To go left, we need to cross the water," Lydia observed, her pale skin flushing a conspicuous hue of chartreuse.

Liam inspected the stream, judging the distance. "You could make it if you jumped."

Lydia squirmed. "Well, good thing I decided not to wear my Jimmy Choo's today."

"Why would you wear heels into a sewer?" Sherry couldn't help but ask.

"I wasn't planning on going in a sewer," Lydia retorted. "Why do you think I'm still wearing this skirt and white cardigan?"

She didn't know how to respond. "Okay."

Liam backed up around the right corner, the flashlight gripped tightly in his hand. Taking a running leap, he covered the gap with ease, scrambling to a halt on the other side. He grinned, proud of himself. "Your turn." He shined the light on the gap, lighting up the two walkways and the sewage in between.

Sherry eyed Lydia, causing the strawberry blonde to huff and move backward a few steps. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted across the walkway and tumbled daintily onto the other side. Sherry did the same, using the curb of the raised sidewalk as a launchpad.

One foot hit the other side first. The other foot slipped, sinking down the curved pipe. Sherry drew her foot up and onto steady cement hastily, another crisis averted.

The trio made their way down the stretch of the seemingly endless sidewalk again, continuing for quite a while until sounds that were not their own began to grow louder.

"I hear voices," Liam stated. "Coming from somewhere ahead."

"Who is it?" Lydia pressed. "The shifter?"

He scrunched up his face in concentration. "I can't tell."

"You're our bodyguard," Lydia pointed out. "Can you control your wolfing out?"

"Yeah," Liam defended.

The noises were warbled by the eerie echoes of the sewer's round walls. The three of them neared another turn, tensing as they prepared to face what might be around the corner. The noises had dissipated. Clearly, whoever was causing them had realized that silence was more powerful. All they could hear was the crunch of shoes on dank ground.

Liam's eyes flashed yellow and his claws flicked out from his fingertips. One. Two.

He jumped out around the corner, growling. Three.

"Wait!" a familiar voice cried. Kira.

Quickly, Lydia and Sherry turned the corner, seeing Stiles, Kira, and an aggressive Malia. Malia and Liam relaxed, their faces easing to look more human. The glow in their eyes subsided.

"Did you follow the scent here?" Stiles interrogated.

Liam nodded. "Yeah, the shifter has been on this path several times."

Lydia stared at something, taking the flashlight from Liam's hand and pointing it up. "Guys," she said.

They'd converged on the shifter's door. A step ladder led up a narrow shaft, leading up to the surface.

Kira grabbed the highest rung she could reach, pulling herself up without a word. In a quiet procession, the six of them emerged from the sewers. Stiles brought up the rear, pushing the manhole cover back into place.

The group stood in front of a deserted section of the Beacon Hills Preserve, the dawn sun beginning to stain the sky a light pink. Ahead of them stretched a gloomy trail through the woods, at the end of which they could barely make out a cabin with tendrils of smoke trailing from the nearly concealed chimney.

"Great," Stiles muttered. "A creepy cabin in the woods. Exactly where I'd like to confront psychopathic killers."

"Let's attack now," Malia suggested. "I want to kill all of them."

Stiles was startled. "No, that's not what we're doing! If we go now, without a plan, we're dead!"

"We have to tell Deaton," Lydia said. "Then we'll come back prepared."

Malia growled. "Then can I kill all of them?"


A/N: I've been doing Camp NANOWRIMO, which means I set a word count goal for myself to complete during the month of July. I chose the default 50k words. There are only five days left of July and I still have to write 17676 words! That's almost 20k :( Sigh.

Did you catch the Shiam in this chapter? I know you want more of that, but it's kind of hard to fit in with the plot :( Let me know what you think!

Please remember to review, favorite, and follow! xx Delaine