Chapter Five: Durga

O Mother!
Thee, who is present everywhere, thee who is the embodiment of power and Energy!
I Bow to Thee! I Bow to Thee! I Bow to Thee!

She Who Conquers Over All,
All-Auspicious, the remover of Darkness,
he Excellent One Beyond Time,
the bearer of the Skulls of Impure thought,
the reliever of difficulties, loving, forgiving,
supporter of the Universe,
accept the oblations of the devotee who is one with you,
accept the oblations of ancestral praise,
We bow to you.

x.

"Grace!"

Derek made his way through the forest loudly, leaves and twigs cracking underfoot, pushing branches and debris out of his way. "Grace!" he shouted again, knowing that wherever she was, she would be listening, and she would hear the fury in his voice, and she would come running. He stopped, his eyes burning, staring into the night with teeth bared. He flexed his fingers, and nails lengthened into claws, fangs pressing against lips drawn back in rage. Haunches rose on his back, and he threw his head back, opened his mouth, and howled.

Behind him, footsteps cracked on the earthy ground. He whipped around, dropping to a defensive crouch, a growl scratching out from deep in his chest. Someone appeared from between the trees, watching Derek with silvery eyes.

Chris Argent asked, "Who's Grace?"

The man was holding a crossbow in one hand; it was lowered to his side but, Derek noticed, still loaded. Derek snarled, "This doesn't concern you."

"A new pack in town?" countered Chris, raising an eyebrow. "I am very concerned, Derek."

Jaw clenched, Derek took a threatening step towards the other man. "I thought you didn't hunt anymore," he said, but he did not retract his claws.

Chris cocked his head slightly in a half-shrug. "I make exceptions," he responded. "Far different from retirement."

There was nothing between them for a moment. A muscle in Derek's jaw jumped, and he wanted nothing more than to rip the other man's throat out, adrenaline coursing in his veins, the scent of Peter's blood still lingering around him. His voice hard, he asked, "How do you know about the new pack?"

"Derek," said Chris, almost as if in reprimand, "give me some credit. I do have some experience with this, you know." When Derek said nothing more, Chris relented. "The animal mutilations," he said. "Throat gouged out. Gnaw marks on the bones. Very characteristic of your kind."

Bluntly, Derek asked, "What do you know about them?"

"Only that they're not welcome here," replied Chris. "And that you sound like you're protecting them."

"Believe me," said Derek stonily. "I'm not on their side."

"Problem solved," replied Chris, nodding. "I can get rid of them for you." When Derek did not respond, Chris prompted, "How many of them are there?"

There was a silence. Then, his voice much quieter, Derek said, "Don't. They're mine."

"You're a Beta, Derek," sighed Chris, holding the crossbow, adjusting it slightly. "With a dwindling pack. You're one step above Omega. Don't tell me you can take them by yourself."

"I won't have to."

"Right," said Chris, and there was something almost like pity in his eyes when he looked at Derek, "because I'm going to let you drag an innocent young girl on a suicide mission like that."

"You're one to talk," Derek shot back, his voice full of poison. Chris didn't immediately respond, but his eyes narrowed.

Derek said nothing, their gazes locked. And then, softly, Chris asked, "You think you can protect her?"

"Are you really threatening my sister?" asked Derek, taking another step towards Chris. "Because that will not end well for you."

"No," said Chris shortly, "I'm asking you a question. You think you can keep her out of danger? How's that worked out for you so far?"

Instantly, Derek shot forward, reaching out and seizing Chris by the collar, teeth bared, staring into his eyes with irises a bright, frozen blue. He growled, and Chris didn't even flinch. There was a tense moment, and then Chris opened his mouth and he said, "Stand down."

Derek narrowed his eyes. Then Chris's eyes slid past Derek, and, still holding tightly onto the other man's shirt, Derek turned around. Ten feet behind him, bow raised, arm drawn back and wire pulled taut, Allison Argent pointed an arrow straight at Derek's back. She watched him, and then her father said her name. At this, she finally lowered her bow.

Slowly turning around, Derek looked at Chris one more time, then let him go. "I'm not taunting you, Derek," said Chris, watching him. "I'm trying to warn you."

Standing in between the two Argents and not completely certain which one posed the more significant threat, Derek asked, "Warn me about what?"

"Oh, but you must know," said Chris, with vindictive pleasure in his voice. "You made it sound like you knew everything about this new pack." Derek growled again, baring his fangs, and the satisfied grin on Chris's face slipped away. Lowering his face, he murmured, "They've got their eye on Cora." Glancing back at his daughter, he continued, "Allison can look out for her at school, but do you have the means to keep her safe everywhere?" He paused, as if prompting an answer from Derek, but none came. "Hm?" asked Chris. "Do you know where she is right now?"

Derek stared at him. "How do you know this?" he demanded.

Chris watched him for a few moments. And then, without looking away, he said, "There's a lot of power about to change hands, Derek. When you've been at this long as I have, you learn to pick up…" he eyes flickered down Derek's body, almost in distaste, "…the scent."

"But what-"

A powerful, moaning howl echoed through the forest; birds in the trees cried and took off, and the very trunks themselves seemed to shudder, and it rattled Allison deep in her bones. The timbre was higher than Chris had ever heard, and it made the hair stand up at the back of his neck. Derek's gaze snapped back to him as he lifted his crossbow grimly, and then the werewolf took off, darting into the woods, disappearing from view. Chris did not move.

Allison looked up at her father, gripping her bow tightly. "Do we go after him?" she asked.

Chris didn't look at her, only watched where Derek had disappeared. Then he glanced up at his daughter and asked, "What do you say?"

She considered this for a moment, then said, "We can't keep up with him." After a pause, she added, "But we may be able to find him. And if we find him, we find the other pack."

"Right," said Chris, nodding and turning around. "Back to the car."

Derek was deep in the forest, following his senses, searching for Grace. Another howl would have guided him, but he knew that she would not show him so much courtesy. She was playing him, teasing him, skirting around his edges, and everything in his body seethed for it.

In the middle of the trees – so far from the road that he could no longer hear any trace of cars nearby, even with his heightened senses – he stopped, searching for any clue of where to go next. He could not lose her. He was going to find her and, Alpha or no, he was going to tear her-

From nowhere, two bodies descended on him, claws and fangs bared, bringing him to the ground. He let out a primal roar, scraping his claws against skin, drawing blood, and one of the other werewolves promptly took his elbow and twisted, hard. With an audible snap, the bone broke in two. He let out another scream and struggled against them, but they had him pinned to the ground. He could tell they were far less experienced than he was, but they had the strength of a pack behind them, and seemed to glean some sort of ferocious glee from pressing him into the ground. Once he was face down on the wet earth, one of them – the female – sat at the base of his neck, squeezing the breath of his lungs and holding his arms down by his wrists, while the male sat on his legs, one hand wrapped tightly around Derek's ankle, slowly tightening his grip, crushing the bones.

"Alex. Cam."

The female hissed, then their weight disappeared off of Derek, but not before she ran her claws up his spine, underneath his shirt, drawing blood.

For a moment, Derek could do nothing but slowly lift himself to hands and knees. He could smell Grace, hear her heart beating behind him. She said nothing, patiently waiting for him to collect himself. When he finally got to his feet most of his wounds were already healed, but he stepped gingerly on his ankle, the bone not yet fully fused.

He looked at her and didn't say anything. When he met her gaze, a smile spread onto her face. Quietly, she said, "I knew you'd come around."

Baring his fangs, he growled at her. Beside her, the female who had attacked him returned the growl; she had short red hair, and even in the darkness, she could see her face full of freckles.

"You have no idea what you've done," uttered Derek threateningly. "I was going to let you leave. Because of what you meant to Laura." He paused, clenching his jaw. "But not anymore. Not when you kill my family."

Grace narrowed her eyes. Her voice high and faint, she moved towards him and asked, "You were going to let me leave?" She trailed around him, barely at the level of his chest, eyes flickering up to his head. He did not move, her pack closing in around them protectively. She clucked her tongue, as if chastising him. Standing before him again, she looked him in the eye and said, "Who ever said I was going to leave?"

His hand shot out to grasp her throat, but she caught him by the wrist, claws digging into his flesh, and her growl came from deep within her, higher than his but somehow more authoritative. She jerked his wrist backwards and he bit his tongue to hold back a yelp of pain as the bone dislocated.

Her lips twisted in a snarl, she hissed, "You do not touch me, Derek."

There was a silence.

Derek lowered his hand.

Quietly, his voice loaded with violence, he muttered, "You said Cora deserved her family."

"Don't start," she said, cutting him off, rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to kill you-"

"Why now?" he demanded. "What changed? What brought you here?"

Her eyes glinted, and she did not quite reply.

His heart was beating out of control, but he couldn't control it. He bared his teeth at her aggressively and continued, "You don't think I know what he did? I know he killed Laura, Grace, he told me. But if you think for one second that I hate him – that I envied him because he was there that night, because a part of him died in that house-" Breathless, he let out groan of frustration and what may have bordered on pain, and Grace only watched him with eyes slightly narrowed. "He's the only family we have left," he said lowly, dangerously, "and if you think Laura would have let you slaughter him like that-"

Grace interrupted him, her voice sluicing through the surroundings like running water. "Peter is dead?" she asked.

Derek stared at her, then he snarled at her. "Don't pretend like you aren't responsible!"

"I'm not," she said icily. "Killing him is far kinder than what I had in mind."

Without a thought, he launched himself at her, claws and teeth bared. Instantly, the male and female who'd attacked him before placed themselves in between Derek and their Alpha, and then Grace said, "Step back. I can handle him."

Glowering at Derek, they both retreated. They moved perfectly in sync with one another, in a way Derek hadn't seen for a long time. He glanced down at and saw that they both wore a plain gold band around the ring fingers of their left hands, then looked back up into their eyes, one another's emotions spilling into and mixing on their faces. Mates.

Expressionless and unreadable, Grace watched Derek. "Say it again," she said, and he knew that she was listening for his heartbeat, watching the beads of sweat breaking on his forehead.

He stared at her and then, very slowly, he said, "Peter is dead. You murdered him."

"That's not true," said Grace, shaking her head, although her demeanor shifted noticeably. She, Derek thought, believed him. "I didn't do it," she told him smoothly, "but I'm glad it's done."

"You really expect me to believe you had no part in this?" he asked dangerously. "You told me outright that you were going to kill him."

"Not like this."

The voice grated along the metallic edges of Derek's memorylike rusty nails on concrete, and he whipped around, eyes widening. Another woman stood there, taller than any of the others in the pack. Her long hair tucked neatly behind her ears, she watched him with an age in her eyes that did not fit her beautiful outward appearance.

His voice low, Derek murmured, "Rosemary…"

"It's been a long time," she said. And then – Derek noticed she did not look to her Alpha for approval – Rosemary stepped forward, approaching him, and she took his injured arm in her hands, never looking away from his eyes. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this." She cocked her head.

"Like what?" he asked defiantly, pulling his arm away from her. "You mean after you've just murdered my uncle?"

Rosemary's gaze flickered between his eyes. "Derek," she began, with a measured uncertainty. "All Peter ever did was lie to you-"

"He was my family-"

"Just because you don't have much left doesn't mean they're all suddenly perfect," said someone else; Derek turned and saw the Beta who had stopped him when he first met Grace's pack. Her skin was jet black and her eyes burned gold like embers flickering on coals. Gazing up at him, her eyes mesmerizing and her voice in a hush, she asked, "What's family worth, if they destroy their own?"

"Jaz," said Rosemary, the name an admonishment, looking at her. Derek didn't tear his eyes away from Jaz. A smile crept onto her face. Rosemary physically took Derek's shoulder and pulled him away, to make him face her. "This is pointless, anyway," she said. "We didn't touch him."

"Looks like you have somebody else in town with a vendetta and a pair of claws," said Grace thoughtfully, running the tips of her talons along her chin, the marked line of her jaw.

Derek looked back at her. "I don't believe you," he said scathingly. Nodding at the sole male in the pack, he added, "He stinks like blood."

"That's because he gets hungry," said the red-haired woman. She cocked her head to the side, staring at Derek. "And we like to leave a little something to let the hunters know we're here." Chris's words came back to Derek. The animal mutilations.

He looked back at the male, who grinned at him. And then Derek said, to Grace, "That's a stupid move."

"Why should they come after us?" asked Jaz, and Derek turned to look at her again. She advanced upon him threateningly. With a sly smirk, she added, "We haven't killed anyone."

There was a silence. And then Derek looked back to Grace and began, "Let's say, in some highly unlikely turn of events, that you didn't kill him." He paused. Then, stoically, he asked, "Why do people keep telling me to make sure you stay away from Cora?"

"Cora's a daughter of the Hales," said Grace simply, "and an Alpha. Why do you think we're here?"

Derek stared at her blankly. Then: "Cora's not an Alpha."

Grace only watched him dubiously. Blinking, Derek turned to look at Rosemary. Although she seemed uncomfortable, she did not deny it.

"You just asked us," continued Grace, "why now. You just asked us what brought you here." She ducked her head slightly to catch his eye. Incredulously, she asked, "Did you really not know?"

"Peter was our Alpha," said Derek stubbornly. "Whoever killed him-"

"-isn't here," said Grace, cutting him off. "You'd feel it. I would be your Alpha." She paused, then asked, "Am I your Alpha, Derek?"

"No," he said, "but-"

"If it's not," said Grace loudly, before he could speak, "one of us. If it was – I don't know, a hunter, someone far enough removed that the allegiance wouldn't shift…" she trailed off, watching Derek. The cogs turning in his head were almost visible behind his eyes, "…if that were the case," she said quietly, "then Alpha is passed down the pack, and you're next in line."

He looked at her, and a flicker of blue shone in his eyes.

"If Peter could be killed so easily," she said, challenging him, "then he was weak. You're small enough that you can hardly be called a pack at all, but, I'll admit, you're Hales. That usually gives you the edge." She paused. "But Peter wasn't at full power. Not as Alpha, anyway." A small smile danced around her lips as she watched things fall into place in Derek's consciousness. "Because he wasn't the only Alpha in his pack."

"That makes no sense," murmured Derek, brow furrowed.

"It's an unusual circumstance," offered Rosemary, on the other side of Derek. "We knew you were the Alpha for a while, Derek. Transferring that power to her, however it happened – she wasn't ready for that. Neither were you." The widening in Derek's eyes betrayed that something had finally clicked. Almost apologetically, Rosemary continued, "If she'd ascended to Alpha the way Hale daughters normally do…" she met his gaze, "…you should be dead."

Derek looked at her. "That only happens with our women," he said.

"Only because males very rarely lead the main pack," said Grace, with a shrug. "That kind of power is transferrable in your family. You know that." She watched him, her mouth slightly open, her fangs pointed. She added, "It's what they were training Laura to do."

There was a silence as he looked at Grace, but he gaze seemed far beyond her. In the darkness, a twig on the ground cracked, as if someone stepped over it. Only the two mates glanced around, sniffing the air. The others – including one who hung back, whom Derek hadn't seen yet – stayed, watching him with big, golden eyes.

Then, quietly, he met Grace's gaze. "I gave it to her," he said, almost as a confession.

Rosemary seemed confused. Jaz leaned in. "Gave it to her?" she repeated.

"She was dying," continued Derek, "and I saved her. I took her pain, and her sickness, whatever it was."

There was a short pause. Grace looked to Rosemary. "Would that…?"

"Yes," answered Rosemary, with a slow nod. "That could do it."

Grace let out a small sigh, almost as if disappointed. "Derek," she said, her lips thrown out in a would-be pout. "You mean to tell me that there was an Alpha power struggle in your pack – your pack of three, remember, hardly a pack at all – and you didn't even know?"

"He's a Hale son, Grace," said Jaz, looking past him, at her Alpha. "What did you expect?"

"This has to be impossible," said Derek disbelievingly.

"It's not," said Rosemary gently, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"If she were Alpha, don't you think I would know?

"Would you?" asked Grace. "Since you lost your status, has she shifted for you once?" Derek didn't reply. "Have you seen her eyes?" she pressed. "Haven't you noticed the way she treats you? The way she holds herself, the power she has? She's in charge, and, believe me, she knows it."

Before Derek could open his mouth to say something, the sounds of footsteps filled all their ears, and a familiar scent wafted towards them. Derek swore and then, lowly, he murmured, "Hunters."

"The Argents?" asked Rosemary skeptically. "There's only two of them left. How bad can they-" There was a sudden whistling sound, and then the male with blond hair gasped in pain, an arrow landing squarely in his back. His mate screamed in rage and empathic pain, but Grace called, "Alex, no!" Grace met Derek's gaze, her eyes a pulsing red, and then gave some invisible signal to the rest of her pack. Alex broke the arrow out of her mate's back and all except for one simultaneously slunk back into the forest, disappearing between the trees, the male clutching his injured shoulder.

Rosemary seized Derek's arm, holding him tight, jaw set, staring out at the darkness before them. Chris appeared between the trees, holding his crossbow with two hands.

"Derek," he said, coming to a stop before them. "And you told me you weren't on their side."

"There are no sides," said Rosemary, before Derek could speak. "You're not going to hunt us for coming home, are you, Argent?"

Chris looked at her, narrowing his eyes at her familiar face. "I haven't seen you around here in a long time," he said. "I didn't think emissaries usually traveled with their pack."

"This is Beacon Hills," she countered. "It's a bad place for wolves. They need all the help they can get."

"You could say that," replied Chris, nodding his head in assent.

A noise behind them. Derek, unwilling to be taken by surprise this time, turned his head sharply. Allison's bow was lowered, but not unstrung. "You shot at us," said Rosemary simply.

"I did," said Chris, nodding again. "I don't need any more panic about animal attacks in the area. If you were trying to catch my attention, consider it caught."

"We're passing through," she said, her voice hard. "You have no right to stand there and hurl accusations. Not after what your family did."

Chris said nothing, but watched them both as if they were test subjects under a microscope, observing their reactions. His crossbow was only half-lowered. After a moment of silence, a voice came from behind them. "We'll be watching you," said Allison, her eyes on the woman. Slowly, Rosemary swiveled her body, turning to look at the teenager. "The second anyone in your pack even begins to toe the line…"

She trailed off, but her point was very clear. Rosemary stared at her, then looked back at Chris. "Fresh blood," she noted. "Let's hope she doesn't take after her aunt."

"If you have something to say," said Allison, her voice striking and clear through the night, "you talk to me. Not him."

Rosemary turned to look at Allison, and for one second Derek thought she was going to growl, and her eyes were going to flicker golden. But they did not, and instead she just watched the other girl. She almost seemed impressed.

"Very cute," she breathed, taking a step towards Allison. "Looks like the Argents have a new matriarch."

There was a silence.

And then, her eyes wide, she continued, "Have you ever wondered why your family does this…?"

She glanced at Derek, who supplied her with a name. "Allison."

"Have you ever asked yourself," continued Rosemary, without a beat, "why your family relies on their women as their leaders, Allison?"

Allison met Rosemary's gaze. Her eyes flickered, for just a moment, over to her father, and then her face hardened. "I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe because that's the only way things would get done right around here."

Rosemary laughed. "That's nice," she said, amused. "I like that." She paused, watching Allison, and then continued, "But that's not it." She stopped again, allowing for silence, and Derek saw Allison's fingers tighten around her bow. "No," mused Rosemary, "the Argents are this way because they reflect that which they hunt. The Hale family is very old, Allison, as is yours, and they are connected in ways you can't even imagine." Her eyes traveled down Allison's body, soaking in every detail of the young leader before her. "Why do you think Derek was such an ineffective leader?" she asked, almost in humor. "Like every Hale son," she continued breathily, less than a foot away from Allison now, she answering her own question, "he was born to be a Beta."

There was a silence.

Rosemary stepped back, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders. "Just like your father is," she called, shooting a glance towards Chris. "Which is why you have to lead. Come on, Derek. Time to go."

Without another look, she took hold of Derek's arm and headed away into the forest. The Argents did not pursue them.

They did not run, taking their slow time to head through the dense trees, profoundly human. He could tell she was following the scent of her pack, and, finally, he asked, "When did she turn you?"

Rosemary glanced at him. "Grace?" He nodded, and she shrugged. "Not long after what happened to your family."

"And your pack-"

"They weren't my pack," said Rosemary pointedly. "They were a pack for which I was responsible. But that responsibility can be voided, and Ennis violated laws and pacts too many times for me to stay." She looked down at the path before them, then added, "I got out in time. Before he killed them."

Derek watched her. "He's dead," he said.

"I know," replied Rosemary, almost bitterly. "It's probably for the best."

"A druidic werewolf," he said. "I've never heard of a Beta acting as an emissary."

"Well," she said, flashing him a grin. "Now you have."

She stopped abruptly, looking at Derek with pity. He had seen her eyes turn golden, but she did not seem wolfish; instead, an indefinable air of something more-than-human hung around her, characteristic of an emissary.

"I liked your family, Derek," she said softly. "I was always envious of Deaton's rapport with your mother. She came to me once, you know, after what happened with you. And the girl."

Derek didn't look away, but his expression did not change.

"You know what she tried to convince me?" she asked. Either she could not see how deeply this cut Derek, or she refused to acknowledge it. "She claimed the girl was your mate, and our laws demanded retribution." She added, "Ennis was the one who pointed out you were too young for a mate. I'm still so sorry about that, Derek. It never should have happened."

"Rosemary."

"I know," she said, with a sigh. "There isn't time for reminiscing, probably." Her eyes sparked with color and she took his wrist, still healing from Grace's injury. "Grace won't stay for long," she said. "But allow her this. This place is her home, just as much as it has been yours."

She squeezed his hand – a shot of pain ran up his spine – and then she disappeared, sinking back into the darkness.

Days later, the moon was a thin silvery crescent in the sky, hanging just above a layer of clouds. Scott and Stiles stood before a door; behind them, kids ran down sidewalks, giggling, buckets in the shape of pumpkins held in their hands. "No, no, no," said Stiles, sounding far too serious, "we have to make a pose. When she opens the door. All-" he lifted his arm, hiding his face, furrowing his brow. Laughter burst out of Scott's mouth, and Stiles said, "You too, you too."

Scott struck a pose. "Yeah?

"Use your cape. Like that." Stiles reached out, positioned Scott's arms.

"Like this?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Perfect. OK." Both of them giggling like idiots, Stiles reached out and hit the doorbell, and then quickly resumed his pose.

A moment later, the door opened. "Finally, you two-" Lydia broke off immediately, peering at them suspiciously, then rolling her eyes. "Allison," she called behind her. "Your dorks have arrived."

"My dorks?" asked Allison, coming up behind Lydia, smiling out at the boys. "Last I checked, only one of them was mine."

"Scott and I are a package set," said Stiles, without dropping his cape. "Date one get one free."

"Your costumes are so incredibly lame," sighed Lydia, her lips pursed, "I regret throwing this party, and giving you an excuse to leave the house wearing that."

"What are you talking about?" scoffed Stiles, finally standing up straight, dismissing his pose. "We look awesome."

He high-fived Scott. Both of them were in baggy, heavily padded superhero costumes, fake muscles bulging. Naturally, Stiles was Batman, and Scott was Superman. Lydia stepped aside to let them into the house, covered in Halloween decorations. Allison greeted her boyfriend with a kiss, and, addressing Lydia, Stiles asked, "And what are you? "

"Little Red Riding Hood, obviously," she said, smoothing her wide red skirt.

"Really?" asked Stiles dubiously. "Where's your hood?"

Lydia's hands fluttered up to her head, and she blinked at him blankly. "It'd mess up my hair," she said, eyes wide.

It wasn't long until people began to arrive, and soon the blood-punch had been spiked and someone turned up the bass, and the place was thrumming. Isaac had showed up in a letterman jacket and one of those cheap Halloween masks covered in hair – a teen wolf, he claimed. Although he didn't say it, it made Stiles slightly uncomfortable.

Lydia was taking selfies with Allison in the back when there was another knock on the door. No one else seemed to notice, all carried away by the atmosphere and the Halloween candy and the reek of teenage hormones. Scott, grinning, answered the door, Stiles on the couch, drink in hand, nearly asleep despite the loud music.

When he opened the door, it took him a second to recognize who it was. "Hey!" he said, his eyes lighting up. Over his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the din, Scott called, "Stiles! Get over here!"

Stiles peeked over the top of the couch dumbly, and Scott beckoned for him to come to the door, which he dutifully did, adjusting the fake muscle padding on his chest. He went to stand beside Scott, then looked out the door, and then his jaw all but dropped.

Cora Hale stood there, her hair perfectly curled, eyes ringed with makeup, lips a bright, full red. She wore what seemed like an old, vintage dress, long and shimmery, even in the dark night, and a very old-looking bejeweled necklace hung around her neck. On top of her head, there was a small plastic tiara. She looked, as always, supremely bored. It took a moment for Stiles to realize there was another girl beside her. Sam's short hair was slicked back and curled at the tips, and she wore a white dress covered in fringe, and a sequined band with a feather in it around her head.

"Hello," said Cora, but she didn't roll her eyes, which Stiles took as a good sign. "Can we come in?"

The boys stepped aside. "Wow, Cora," said Scott admiringly. "You look really great. You too, Sam."

"Yeah," said Stiles, still staring at Cora. "Are you a princess?"

"No," she replied coolly, meeting his gaze. "A queen." Before Stiles could reply, Allison's voice rang out behind them.

"Cora! Sam!" she said warmly, coming up to them. "This is great! I didn't know if you'd be here."

"Anything to get away from Derek," muttered Cora, and Allison nodded sympathetically.

"I'm just like that," she said, "with my dad. You know?"

Cora did not immediately reply, and then, giving the distinct impression that it took great effort to engage, she asked, "So what are you supposed to be?"

"What am I supposed to be?" repeated Allison, and then she posed, making a serious face, holding up one arm firmly. "We can do it!" she said, and she laughed. "Rosie the Riveter," she added, when she was not quite sure Cora understood, "of course."

The other girl didn't say anything to this, and Stiles intervened, leaning in towards Cora; Allison moved on, saying something to Sam. "Let me get you a drink," said Stiles, above the din of the party.

"You don't have to," replied Cora, just as loudly so that he could hear her. "I don't get drunk."

"I wasn't trying to-"

"I know," said Cora, sweeping her meticulously styled hair out of her face. Without quite looking at him, her eyes searching through the party, she said, voice raised: "But I kind of wish you would."

It took Stiles a second to process what she'd said, and then he stared at her, gaping. Still glancing around at the people in Lydia's house, a small smile tugged on Cora's lips, and she cocked her head ever so slightly, locking gazes with Stiles for just one moment.

A little while later, the tempo of the party shifted, becoming smaller, lower, more intimate. In the back, Scott and Allison were hanging by the pool, arms around each other. "You make a very pretty icon of empowered femininity," he said dreamily, his eyes fixed on her admiringly.

She giggled. "Thanks." Adjusting the little curl on his forehead, she replied, "You make a very convincing superhero. But we already knew that."

He beamed at her and leaned in, giving her a peck on the lips. "You want to go trick-or-treating with Stiles and me later? We need to go before it gets too late."

Giving him an odd look, she replied, "Aren't you a little too old for trick-or-treating?"

"No," replied Scott, blinking at her. "You're never too old for free candy, Allison."

With a laugh, she said, "Maybe I will go with you. We should invite Lydia and Isaac too." She hesitated, then added, "And Cora."

He turned his head slightly, the adoring grin still on his face. "Cora?" he asked.

"Scott," she began patiently, "I don't get why you two are so afraid of her. She's just a girl."

"She's Derek's sister," said Scott pointedly.

"So?" asked Allison. "That gives us even more reason to be nice to her."

"I am being nice to her! I mean, I like her just fine, but I just don't get the impression she likes any of us."

"Well," said Allison, glancing around. "We should look out for her, anyway."

Scott watched her for a moment, then he asked, "Why?" When she didn't glance back at him, he continued, "Allison. Do you know something?"

"No," she said, shaking her head soothingly, holding his hands. "Don't worry about it. Did she leave already?"

"I don't think so," replied Scott, as Allison let go of him, heading back into the house. "Are you sure there isn't something you want to tell me?"

"I just said, don't worry about it," said Allison, glancing in to different rooms, looking for a specific face. "It's probably nothing."

"Allison," he said, catching her by the arm. She looked back at him. Peering at her with concern, Scott asked, "Does this have anything to do with the other pack?"

She stared at him. "How do you know about-?"

"It's not like they're being all that quiet," he said, with a shrug. "And I can – sort of feel it. When there's a new Alpha in town." He paused, then added, "It's been weird lately."

Allison watched him for a few seconds, and then drew in close to him, lowering her voice. "Can we talk about this later?" she asked. "Maybe when we're not in the middle of a Halloween party." She smiled at him, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said, almost enthusiastically. "OK. Can we go get candy now?"

"There's a huge bowl right there-"

"I mean trick-or-treating!"

She laughed. "Sure," she said. "Go ask Lydia and Isaac if they want to come. Do you know where Cora went?"

"Maybe we should ask Stiles first," replied Scott, sounding torn. "I don't want it being weird-"

Allison cut him off, rolling her eyes affectionately. "I don't mean for trick-or-treating, I mean in general. Did she leave?"

"Oh," said Scott. "I don't think so. She wouldn't leave without Sam, and I just saw her. I think she's supposed to be a ghost or something."

"She's a flapper," said Allison, shaking her head with a pitying chuckle.

Scott blinked blankly. "Is a flapper a kind of ghost?"

Allison laughed and squeezed his hand. "Go get Lydia and Isaac."

He nodded, striking a very Superman-ish pose. "On it." With a grin, he swept away, and Allison watched him go, then turned to continue her search for Cora. Done with the first floor, she wandered up the stairs, to where the music was slightly muted. From the end of the hall – Allison knew, Lydia's room – she heard noises, someone moving around. Glancing behind her, she moved forward; when she reached a door she lifted her hand and then hesitated. Her eyes flickering from the doorknob to the door itself, she closed her hand into a fist and rapped sharply on the door with her knuckles.

The distinct sounds of murmured voices, and then, after a moment, the door swung open just a crack; Lydia stood there, smoothing out her dress, her lipstick smudged. "Allison," she said, blinking. "Do you need something?"

Allison began, "No, I…" and then trailed off, trying to peek behind Lydia. "Who do you even have in there?"

"Nobody important," answered Lydia, and a male voice from within said, hazily, "Hey," and Lydia glanced back, snapping, "Shush."

With a giggle, Allison said, "OK, have fun." Before Lydia closed the door, Allison added, "Wait! Do you want to go trick-or-treating later?"

"No," said Lydia pointedly. "I have had enough of running around in the dark with a bunch of terrifying, supernatural things to last this lifetime, thanks."

"OK," said Allison fairly, nodding. "Scott and I are probably gonna take off soon."

Lydia looked at her expectantly. "Can I get back to my business now?" she asked.

Laughing, Allison said, "Yes. Make smart choices." With a small, emphatic "Hmph," Lydia closed the door, returning to the guy waiting on her bed.

Downstairs, Scott was ducking through the crowd of the party. "Isaac?" he called. "Lydia?" He bumped into someone dressed as a zombie, fake blood oozing from a plastic wound on their face. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling oddly ill at the sight. Wandering through the party, he sighed: "Isaac, where are y-"

He cut off abruptly, eyes going wide. Frozen stock still, he stared across the room, and everything seemed to go eerily silent.

Wrenching himself back to reality, Scott moved, pushing through the crowd of people, staring before him, pulse rising. Someone stood at the back of the room, eyes focused on him, otherwise completely unmoving. There was no pain in those dark eyes, only a profound emptiness, and a filmy glaze covered them, as if dirt and blood had been wiped across the corneas. There was some marking on her forehead, although he could not quite make out what it was across the room.

Holding his body tense, refusing to let himself shake, Scott pushed through the party more urgently, and as he squeezed between a group and reached the end of the room, he breathed, "Erica-"

The corner of the room was empty. Scott looked around wildly, and some of the kids in the group around him glanced at him, snickering. Running his hand through his hair, messing up the spit curl on his forehead, he headed back through the house.

As the door shut, Allison turned around, glancing around the landing. She checked in the bathroom, which was empty, and then, tentatively, her parents' bedroom which was, surprisingly, also empty. Her father's words coming back to her, she felt a pang of responsibility verging on panic, knowing that she should have kept Cora in her sight, kept her out of danger, or whatever it was her involvement with the other pack would cause. Standing at the top of the stairs, she hesitated, unsure of what to do next. And then there was a small creak and a clicking sound. A chill ran down Allison's spine, making her shiver, reminding her of what she had convinced herself was a dream – hot blood around her neck, a knock coming from a door behind which she was sure there was no one. The doorknob of the guest bedroom, the only room Allison hadn't yet checked, slowly turned, and she stared at the door, her heartbeat deep and slow, suddenly realized she hadn't tucked any weapons into her costume. Slowly, she clenched her fists. If there was anything dangerous in the house, she would stop it here.

The door opened a sliver, and Cora slipped out of the room, closing it very gently behind her.

"Oh," said Allison in surprise, disguising a breath of relief. "Hi."

Cora glanced up at her. "Hello."

"I was just looking for you."

Her eyes flickered up and down Allison's body. "Why?"

"Scott and Stiles always go trick-or-treating," replied Allison, smiling and shaking her head fondly. "I was wondering if you wanted to come with us?"

For a moment, Cora said nothing, watching Allison. "Stiles?" she asked. Allison nodded. Cora said, "I don't think he's up for trick-or-treating right now."

An odd strike of fear in her gut. Allison didn't move her eyes away from Cora. "Oh?" she asked, her voice faint. "Why not?"

There was an awkward pause, and then Cora glanced at the door of the bedroom and Allison stared at her uncomprehending for a moment. And then a realization washed over Allison and she said, "Oh. Oh. Wow." She covered her mouth and let out a surprised little laugh. "I see." Unable to fully read the look on Cora's face, but getting a distinct impression, she began, "There's probably condoms in the bathroom, if that's what you're-"

"What?" asked Cora, appalled. "No."

"Oh," replied Allison. "I just assumed-"

"No," said Cora, shaking her head. Pointing at the door behind her, her voice low, she told Allison, "He's asleep."

Confusion written across her face, Allison asked, "Asleep?"

Cora gave a noncommittal shrug, not quite looking Allison in the face.

"Hm," said Allison, looking at the door behind her. Eyes sliding back to Cora sympathetically, she said, "Ouch."

Somehow, the pink blush rising to Cora's cheeks was incredibly endearing. Still refusing to meet Allison's gaze, she began, "We weren't doing…"

"OK," said Allison, nodding knowingly. "Is he OK? Still breathing and everything?" Cora nodded. "Then come on," she continued, slipping her arm around Cora's, "let's get back to the party."

Scott was trailing the patio outside, which was mostly empty now. "Isaac!" he called, passing around the pool. "Isaac! Where are you!"

He stopped, closing his eyes, listening, smelling the air. Ragged, uneven breaths came from outside the gate of the yard, Isaac's scent sharpened by the sour smell of sweat and fear. As soon as he opened the gate, he saw him, curled up on the ground hugging himself tightly, leaning on the wall beside the gate. Scott knelt beside him, reaching out and placing a firm, calming hand on the other boy's arm.

"Isaac," said Scott gently, prying Isaac's arms up, "did you see it too?"

Face pale, eyes frozen, Isaac nodded.

"It's OK," continued Scott soothingly. "I don't think it can hurt us." He held onto Isaac tightly for a second, allowing him time. "It was weird to see her again," murmured Scott, without looking at the other boy. "But I don't think it's her. Not really."

Trembling, Isaac looked up at Scott with wide eyes. "Who?" he breathed.

Scott blinked at him. "Erica," he replied. "Didn't you see her too?" Isaac shook his head very slowly, mouth hanging open in terror, and Scott pressed, "Who did you see?"

Isaac's eyes slowly traveled over Scott's shoulder, and he looked into the woods. He whispered: "Boyd."

Instantly, Scott whipped around: Boyd's face was mere inches away from his, blood streaming down from deep wounds on his forehead, a symbol carved there, and a great, stinging pain pierced Scott's abdomen, a hot liquid trickling down his body. He looked down and saw Boyd's claws pressing into his body, in an eerie mirror of the other boy's death. Scott looked up at saw eyes pulsing yellow, pointed fangs, and there was a rumbling growl in Boyd's chest.

And just as quickly, it was gone. Scott fell to the ground, breathing hard, pressing his hands against his stomach. There was no blood, no wound, not even a tear in the padded musculature of the Superman suit. He glanced back at Isaac, who was shaking so hard, he could barely look straight at Scott.

The party ended not long after that. Although disappointed that they'd never gone trick-or-treating, Scott thought it was probably for the best when he had to shake Stiles awake and all but drag him back to the Jeep. He drove. Isaac was still trembling so badly that Scott insisted he ride with them, and he dropped him off, then headed to Stiles's house. As he stopped the Jeep, he noticed the Sheriff's car was parked in the driveway, which was unexpected; Stiles had assured him earlier that his dad was always busy all night during Halloween.

Just as Scott was tugging a near-unconscious Stiles out of the Jeep, the front door opened and slammed shut, and the Sheriff came out to his car. "Hi boys," he said, nodding to them, unlocking the car. "I'm heading back out again, probably be busy the rest of the night. Be-" he broke off, narrowing his eyes. Scott, looking up innocently, tried to prop Stiles up as much as possible, but his eyes were half-closed, and he muttered something unintelligible. Suspiciously, the Sheriff nodded at Stiles and asked, "Is he drunk?"

"Uh," said Scott, "no."

"Nope," added Stiles emphatically, swaying in Scott's grip.

The Sheriff watched them both for a minute, then sighed. "OK," he said. "Just get him to bed."

"Yes, sir," replied Scott, as Stiles's dad got into the car and pulled out of the driveway. Scott waved as the car disappeared down the lane, then hurried up to the door. "Jeez," said Scott, letting them in. "You really didn't even drink, what's going on with you?"

"I'm tired," sighed Stiles, slurring his words. "It's late."

"It's not even midnight!"

He sighed again, and Scott pulled him up the stairs. Once they were in Stiles's room, he dropped him unceremoniously on the bed, Batman costume and all. "What is with you?" asked Scott in bewilderment, as Stiles's eyes slowly shut.

With a sigh, Scott began to head out of the room, and then a hand reached out and caught the cape of his costume, and Stiles's voice came urgently: "Scott. No! No."

Scott turned around, facing his friend. "What?" asked Scott, taking Stiles's hand off his costume, standing at the side of the bed. "Are you OK?"

"No," murmured Stiles, his eyes nearly shut. "No, Scott, stay here. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me here alone with her." He held on to Scott's hand tightly, and then, to Scott's utter surprise, he started to cry. "I don't want to be here alone with her," he repeated, his chin trembling, "stay here, Scott, don't leave me…"

"OK," said Scott, "OK, Stiles, I'll stay. Hold on, hold on." Stiles lifted his other hand uselessly, and Scott took it, kneeling beside the bed. "Who? You don't want to be alone with who?"

Stiles shook his head, writhing slightly, as if weakly struggling against Scott's hold on his hands. "No," he moaned. "I'm so tired."

"OK!" said Scott again. "Go to sleep. I'll be right here, I promise. The whole night. Just close your eyes. Maybe it'll help."

His eyes barely open, Stiles watched Scott for a moment, tears sliding down the sides of his face. And then his lids closed, and his shaky breathing evened. In under a minute, he started to snore.

Scott glanced at the door, then realized he'd left his cell phone in the car. Grabbing Stiles's, he quickly composed a text to his mom letting her know that he'd be staying with Stiles for the night, and then he fell into the bed beside his friend, staring up at the ceiling above them.

Longest chapter! Sort of late (it's a Halloween chapter) but enjoy.

Lots of new mythology about to be introduced! Certainly a ton about the Hale family, alluded to in this chapter :)

Let me know if anything's unclear or if any edits are necessary. Thanks so much!