The trouble with witches is that when they don't want to be found they won't be.
The trail stops dead on the other side of the forest as Scott's shoulders slump. Derek puts a reassuring hand on his back.
'We'll find them,' Derek's words are warm in the cool wind and Scott gives a firm nod of his head.
The trouble with these particular witches however, goes a little deeper than that. Not only are they powerful beyond belief, they also have a werewolf pack protecting them.
It's been six long and frustrating days since Derek was attacked outside Kira's house; and although he was badly injured Deaton is convinced that that the attack was just a show of power. They want to test your strength. Show you that they can hurt you if you interfere.
Although the pack aren't sure what the coven want; what they do know is that it involves a large body count. The number of dead bodies turning up at the Nemeton is approaching double figures and no one is any closer to finding out why. The only thing that is certain is that the bodies have clearly been used in some sort of sacrifice ritual. The pack is torn between hoping the sacrifices haven't worked – for whatever follows must surely be worse – and hoping that the slaughter of innocent people will soon come to an end.
While Scott, Kira, Derek and Malia are trying to sniff out the whereabouts of the witches Stiles and Lydia have been reading though page after page of research and trying to translate every bestiary passage about witches that they can dig up.
'Tired is an understatement,' Lydia says as she stretches back on Stiles' bed, a crick in her neck and an aching back all she's gathered from tonight's reading session.
'Well considering you've been woken up four nights this week to have prime viewing of the latest corpse, it's not really that surprising,' Stiles barely glances up from his computer screen.
'You do have a point,' Lydia mumbles into his pillow.
Stiles finally looks across at the strawberry blonde practically passed out on is bed, 'That's it, you're staying here tonight.'
'Fine,' she waves a sleepy hand at him, too exhausted to argue. It's not the first time he's asked if she'll stop but it's the first time she's accepted. The last and only time they've slept in the same bed remains the night Lydia called him and asked him to stay.
Lydia feels her worries fading as she falls asleep, she wonders what the pleasant smell on Stiles' pillow is.
Maybe he could just fall asleep in hischair Stiles thinks with an unsure glance at the bed. Twenty minutes later, Lydia wakes with a start, and a slight whimper escapes her.
Stiles is at her bedside in seconds, a comforting hand on her shoulder.
'Are you still researching?'
Stiles shakes his head, not really knowing how to act now. They've gone way off-script.
'Come to bed, Stiles, there's nothing to be afraid of,' she rubs the hand that's on her shoulder.
He nods tightly, scared of breaching the thin line that's been drawn around their intimate friendship. He's not sure what he's scared of. Their friendship isn't so fragile it would break, it's already been tested and it survived. He just doesn't want to get in any deeper than he already is.
He gets under the covers before taking off his trousers and thinks he hears Lydia give a little snuffle of laughter but he can't be sure.
It's easier for both of them. The sleep that usually comes so hard for Stiles because he's frightened to close his eyes comes easily with his anchor holding him down. And the fitful, interrupted sleep that Lydia normally experiences is soothed with the warm body of Stiles at her fingertips.
Stiles wakes seconds before Lydia, opening his eyes to her sleeping face and halo of red gold hair. Looking at her makes something in his chest tighten; telling him that this is what life should be like.
The pack meeting that night was fraught with worry. Never had a meeting felt so tense. Scott and Derek had found nothing, Lydia and Stiles had found nothing, the rest of the pack had found nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. They had no clear course of action to pursue, it was so frustrating.
'All we managed to find out,' Lydia sighs, 'is that most modern day witches have roots in paganism and that most of them believe that magic should not be used to harm or influence anyone.'
'In fact,' Stiles continues, 'most pagans admit they have no real power to work spells but that their rituals are almost like a prayer.'
'So the problem is when the natural crosses into the supernatural?' Derek asks.
'It seems so, it seems from what we found that witches are born and not made. That said, we didn't find much so don't take it as written,' Lydia says.
'Maybe it's time we ask Deaton for help. He mentioned the other day that he knew some witches - of the good variety. Perhaps they can help us find this other coven?' Scott's voice has a hopeful tint to it.
Scott is on the phone to Deaton for a good twenty minutes before he returns to the meeting.
'Okay, I argued this but Deaton said the only way we get council with the witches is if we send someone non-threatening.'
'I'm guessing that means me,' Stiles says with a grin.
'You're not going on your own,' Lydia blurts.
'That's what I said,' Scott says, oblivious to the lingering eye contact between the human and the banshee. 'After much persuasion Deaton accepted they might allow Lydia in too.'
The relief in Lydia's body language was palpable. Almost simultaneously Stiles becomes tense. 'There won't be any danger will there?' He asks; the concern not for himself but for the red-haired girl next to him.
'It's unlikely, but we'll take precautions just in case,' Scott tries to reassure his friend.
It's a forty minute drive to the witches' suggested meeting point. It turns out to be a backroom of a cosy inn. The inn is welcoming yet somehow unremarkable; although Lydia suggests that this could be deliberate on the witches part. The room itself is painted in dark colours with candles covering every surface.
'Welcome,' they're greeted by four women who are seated in a circle around a bowl of water; apparently gazing at the clear, still liquid.
Stiles and Lydia wary of interrupting hover near the door; fingertips touching.
The witch with her back to them was the one who had spoken and she laughed an airy laugh.
Turning round she speaks again, 'Join us, children.'
Stiles stares. The witch looks so much like his mother he is transported back in time to the last moment he saw her. A memory he always tries to bury he feels the familiar tightening of his chest. Grabbing for Lydia he slows his breath as much as he can, screwing his eyes up to hold onto the rhythm of her breathing.
Suddenly it becomes easier to breathe and when Stiles opens his eyes he sees the witch who looks like his mother pressing her hand to his chest.
'T- thank you,' He stammers. Realising his grip on Lydia's arm is far too tight he releases it and mumbles an apology only she can hear. She rubs his back in answer, a look of concern on her pretty face.
She guides him to the circle and sits across from him, her hair flickering in the firelight. It's now obvious that the witch who looks so much like Claudia is the leader of the coven and she introduces herself as Saffron. The youngest who sits on Lydia's left only looks to be around seventeen; her hair is long and dark. She blushes as she says her name is Rowan. Elodie sits on Lydia's right hand side; she looks like a pixie with deep blue eyes and a cap of golden hair. Next to Elodie sits Pepper who has full brown hair and curves in all the right places. Lydia wouldn't admit it to anyone but she's a little jealous; especially since Pepper keeps throwing flirtatious glances in Stiles' direction.
They take part in a small ritual named 'calling the four corners.' Elodie explains that you must never do magic without first casting a circle but that they had already completed that before Stiles and Lydia had arrived. The witches then pray to the Goddess Theia to give them sight. The pair from Beacon Hills shoot each other confused glances until the water between them starts shimmering.
Saffron and the others seem to be in a trance while the substance gleams. It is at least five minutes before they gradually start to come around.
'Sorry,' Pepper says, looking first at Lydia and then at Stiles, 'I think that was all a little more intense than any of us were expecting.'
The other three nod in confirmation.
'We cannot tell you exactly where to find your witches, little ones,' Saffron says kindly. 'We do, however have a lot of information you might be grateful to hear.'
'Firstly,' Saffron says, 'you must understand that to use dark magic does something to a person's very soul; something that can never be undone.'
The witches tell them that the key to defeating them is unlocking Lydia's powers. How will I unlock my powers?
'We can't help you directly, you understand. To unlock her powers a banshee must earn the right.'
Saffron nods to Rowan who stands up and says:
The lofty rafters are where you'll seek,
The gift she left for you to keep.
Now you'll know what it's like,
To use your power and use it right.
'Lastly,' Saffron says as they prepare to leave, 'they will notice the bond between you and they will use it against you. Good luck.'
In a cave somewhere to the North East the dark witches are gathered around their own bowl; this one filled with blood. In unison seven harsh voices whisper 'red string.'