"I don't have much time," said Stiles, sitting down with Connor cuddled in his lap. After his exhausting shape-changing laps up and down the street, the boy had done the most practical thing and fallen asleep, leaving his parents to handle the consequences.

"That was an interesting display," remarked Cora, settling herself into one of Laura's chairs.

"It was a tether, wasn't it? Like a ghost to its corpse?" asked Stiles.

"Or a queen's to her hive," added Laura.

"Or a werewolf's to his pack," added Derek.

Stiles pursed his lips and looked down at his son. "Why should he be any different, I suppose?"

Derek came over to his husband and place his hand on the back of his neck, caressing the nape. "Even you have limits. Who would have thought?"

That wrested Stiles out of his thought. "Yes, thank you. We really must go, though. So, if Cora wants to tell us why she's here?"

Cora, it seemed, was reluctant to do so in Laura's sitting room, surrounded by not only her great-great-great grandfather, but also his husband, his Beta, a very eccentric vampire that also happened to be a distant aunt, that vampire's drone, a sleeping child, and a fat black cat.

"Can we go somewhere more private?"

Derek rolled his eyes around, as if only then noticing the crowd. He was a werewolf, after all; he was naturally acclimatized to the pack around him, even if that pack had gotten rather bizarre as of late.

"Well, what I know, Stiles and Chris know. And, unfortunately, what Stiles knows, Laura knows. However, if you insist, we can put out the drone." He paused while Isaac looked on blankly, although Stiles knew he wouldn't want to miss the gossip. "And the cat, I suppose."

Cora sighed. "Fine. To cut to the chase, Matt has disappeared."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "That's not like a Beta."

Argent looked concerned by this news. "What happened?"

Stiles wondered if he and the Beacon Hills Beta had ever met.

Cora was searching for a way of putting it that would not make her seem in the wrong. "I sent him away to investigate some small matter of interest and we haven't heard back from him."

"Begin at the beginning," instructed Derek, looking resigned.

"I sent him to track down the source of the mummy."

Stiles looked to his husband in exasperation. "Isn't that just like one of your progeny? Couldn't just let sleeping mummies lie, could she? Oh, no, had to go off, nosing about." He rounded on his several-times-removed stepdaughter. "Did it occur to you that I destroyed that damn thing for a very good reason? The last thing we need is more of them in the country. Just look at the havoc the last one caused. There was mortality fucking everywhere."

"Oh, no. I don't want to collect another one. I wanted to find out the particulars of it. We need to know where it came from. If there are more, they need to be controlled."

"And you couldn't have just asked BUR instead of doing it yourself?"

"There's not a large office near us. Not enough packs. I had a feeling us wolves needed to handle it, so I sent Matt."

"And?" Derek's expression was dark.

"He was supposed to report in two weeks ago. He never did. Then again last week. Still nothing. Then, two days ago, this came through. I don't think it's from him. I think it's a warning."

She threw a cell phone down on the table in front of them. It was the text message screen, but instead of words there was just a picture: a circle upon a cross, split in two.

Stiles had seen that symbol before, on a box holding a dangerous mummy in California and later hanging around the neck of a Templar. "Wonderful. The broken ankh."

Derek bent to examine the picture more closely.

Connor stirred, mumbling in his sleep. Stiles tucked the blanket, one of Laura's pink shawls, more securely around his son.

Derek and Cora both looked at Stiles. Derek, it ought to be noted, was wearing another pink shawl wrapped securely around his waist.

"Did I never tell you?"

"You never told me, my little darling." Laura waved her hand exaggeratedly.

"Well the ankh is supposed to be eternal life and it broken seems to mean it's destroyed. What do you think it means? Effervescents. Me."

Laura pursed her lips. "Perhaps. But sometimes the ancients inscribed a hieroglyphic broken to keep the symbol from leaking off the stone and into reality. When inscribed for that reason, the meaning doesn't change."

"But who wouldn't want immortality," asked Cora. She had pestered Derek for years to be made into a werewolf.

"Not everyone wants to live forever," Stiles said. "Lydia for example."

Derek brought them back around to the point. "So Matt has gone missing. What do you want me to do about it? Isn't this a matter for the dewan?"

Cora cocked her head. "You are family. I thought you might make some inquiries without having to involve official channels."

Stiles made to comment that the dewan was in fact, family, as the Hales, for whatever reason, had a propensity for the supernatural. Derek shook his head and gripped Stiles's shoulder tightly, cutting him off.

"I need to look into it, then."

"I'll be fine without you, Der," assured Stiles.

Derek did not look reassured. Nevertheless, it was clear he was more concerned by troubles amount the werewolves than a summons to see the vampires.

"Fine," he sighed and turned to Cora. "We'd better go to BUR, then. We'll need things only they can provide."

Cora nodded.

"Chris?"

"I'll be there, but I prefer to travel a little more formally."

"We'll meet you there, then." At which point Derek swooped down upon his husband and planted a chaste kiss. "Please be cautious."

Derek disappeared out into the hallway to remove the shawl and change form.

Mere moments later, a shaggy wolf head peeked back into the room and barked insistently. With a start, Cora excused herself to follow him.

"My hallway," remarked Laura, "has never seen such action. And that, my dears, is saying something."

Stiles and his companion rode in an uncomfortable silence. Stiles had all but forced one Major Jackson Whittemore to accompany him. Even he didn't want to enter a hive so far in the middle of nowhere without some kind of backup.

Stiles became increasingly aware of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, as though he was being watched.

He finally realized that one car had been close to them the entire drive. It may have hung back and some points or tried to hide behind other cars, but it had stayed consistently behind them.

"Jackson, I think someone is following us."

The werewolf looked up from his place in the passenger seat. "The black sedan?"

"You noticed?"

"He's been with us since we left the city limits."

"You didn't think to tell me?"

"Figured I could tell you later."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You do love to annoy me, don't you?"

"It's my daily goal."

"Don't be an ass."

"Me? I wouldn't dream of it."

When they reached their destination, the car continued on.

Stiles and Jackson made their way up the wide steps to the front door. Stiles felt odd ringing the doorbell at what had once been his home. He could only imagine what Jackson felt like, having lived there for who knew how many decades.

Jackson's face was stoic. Or Stiles thought it was stoic; it was difficult to tell under all the handsome haughtiness.

"She certainly has made" – he paused – "adjustments."

Stiles nodded. "The door is painted with silver swirls. Silver!"

Jackson had no opportunity to answer, as the door was opened by a young maid with glossy hair.

"Stiles Stilinski-Hale and Major Jackson Whittemore, to see Queen Morrell."

"Oh, yes. You're expected. Would you wait in the hall for a moment?"

They did not mind – in fact, barely heard her – as they were transfixed by the transformation the queen had enacted on their former abode. The carpets were now think and plush and blood red in color. The walls had been repapered in cream and gold, with a collection of fine art rescued from the hive's previous home on display. This was very different from a werewolf's home. One just couldn't live with fine painting and Persian rugs when one grew claws on a regular basis.

Jackson arched one blond eyebrow. "Would hardly have thought it was the same house."

Stiles didn't answer. A vampire was oiling his way down the staircase toward them.

"Ennis, how are you?"

"Dr. Stilinski-Hale." The vampire merely nodded.

"You know Jackson, right?"

"We may have met." The vampire did not smile nor show fang.

"My husband would have come, but he was called away on urgent business."

"Oh?"

"A family matter."

"I hope it's not serious."

Stiles merely inclined his head. "Shall we get on with it?"

"Of course. If you'd follow me? The queen is waiting for you in the Blue Room."

The Blue Room, it turned out, was the room formerly occupied by the werewolves' extensive library. Stiles tried to hide his distress at the destruction of his favorite room. The vampires had stripped it of its shelving and leather seats and had papered it in cream and blue stripes. The furniture was cream in color and no longer looked as if it could be sunk into.

Queen Marin Morrell sat in an arranged manner, draped to one side over the corner of a window seat.

"Dr. Stilinski-Hale, do come in.

"Queen, how are you? Are you adjusting to life outside the city?" Stiles always tried to be overly formal around the vampire queen.

The queen ignored the question and glanced away from Stiles. "Thank you, Ennis. You may leave."

"But, My Queen!"

"This is a matter for just the two of us."

Stiles said quickly, "Have you met Jackson Whittemore?"

"I have. I'm sure he won't mind allowing us a few moments of privacy?"

Jackson looked like he would mind, but realizing that Ennis was about the leave his queen with an effervescent decided it was all in good faith.

"I'll be right outside."

Stiles nodded. "I'll yell if I need you. We'll be fine."

So Stiles found himself alone in a blue room with a vampire queen.