Chapter Eleven

...

The FBI agents and recruits watched on the feed from the cameras set up around Hogan's Alley. Derek led Marcie on a merry chase through several buildings, over rooftops, even going so far as to scale the walls. He could tell that Marcie was behind him, or to the side, or even trying to sneak up from overhead, and every time, Derek's sense of smell was strong enough to alert him to an attacker he couldn't see or sometimes hear.

The recruits watched as Derek led Marcie out of a building and to Hogan's Alley, looping around until he was the one behind her. Marcie's invisibility affected her clothes and things she held, but she left footprints in the sand with every step. She stopped, scanning the street and trying to determine where Hale had gone. Stiles heard several people hold their breath as Derek crept up behind Marcie, lighter on his feet than most would assume. Derek tagged Marcie and she screamed in surprise, turning visible again as she spun around to face him. Derek had her paintball gun in a heartbeat, and Marcie was alone and unarmed.

"Shit," she swore under her breath, putting her hands up.

Sean pressed a button on the flat panel, an intercom turning on in Hogan's Alley. "Come on back, Marcie. Hale, hide for the next recruit."

Derek grinned and handed Marcie the paintball gun back. "Good try, Marcie. Keep an eye out for sand and dust," he said, nodding to the set of footprints she'd left.

Marcie watched as he jogged off, then headed back to where the others were waiting, muttering under her breath about being betrayed by her own damn feet.

"Who's next?" Sean asked, looking to the other recruits.

"I'll go," Tomika said, taking a paintball gun from the table.

Marcie returned and set aside her paintball gun in favour of watching the screens intently.

While Marcie had been silent as she tracked Derek, Tomika didn't bother to mask her footfalls. She seemed to be stomping through the town, in fact. Stiles watched, his head tilted to the side as he tried to figure out what she was doing. Tomika held her gun up at all times, never letting her guard down. She stopped in one spot and stomped in a fast succession, then turned abruptly and took her shot. Paint splattered across a window, Derek's figure darting past in the same instant.

"Holy shit. She's using the vibrations," Stiles breathed, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" Rafe asked, not taking his eyes off the screens.

"Banshees can predict death by listening to vibrations; Tomika's using the vibrations to find Derek instead."

"But that's alerting him to her position," Sean said with a frown.

"If she's going to do what I think she's going to do, then that won't be a problem," Stiles said.

Derek would have been able to tell that Tomika was a banshee, even if Stiles hadn't told him, because the scent of death that usually hung around Lydia was draped around Tomika like a cloak. She couldn't have hidden from him if she'd tried. Then Derek realised that Tomika wasn't trying to hide, since she was stomping her way through Hogan's Alley. He frowned when she stopped and while Tomika was distracted by her stomping, Derek ran past the building, a paintball splattering where his head had been half a second ago.

He came to the same conclusion as Stiles had, and ran faster and deeper into the town. Derek knew that he wouldn't be able to hide or run for long, so he'd have to fight. When he'd found the building he needed, Derek went inside to wait for Tomika. He climbed to the rafters, watching the doorway intently. He wasn't entirely sure that this plan would work, but it was better than nothing.

Tomika stomped a few times before opening the door, her gun trained on the open space in front of her. Hale was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean she was going to let her guard down. Tomika stepped through the warehouse slowly, using reflections from windows to look behind cabinets and around doorways. Derek wasn't there.

Hearing a shifting noise above her head, Tomika looked up, saw Hale, and let out a banshee wail, knowing she wouldn't be able to stop his attack with a paintball gun alone. Her wail reverberated off the walls and careened straight back at her, knocking her onto her ass. Tomika took a moment to gather herself and looked up to see Hale still sitting on the rafter and blocking his ears tightly.

"You okay?" Derek called down, unblocking his ears when he saw that Tomika was standing once more.

She nodded. "A little dizzy, but it'll pass."

"Tomika, come on back," Sean's voice came over the intercom. "Hale, how about we see some of your skills now? You can be the one to hunt the next recruit."

"Good luck," Tomika said to Derek.

He nodded, jumped down from the rafters, and left the warehouse without looking back.

Tomika slipped the gun strap up over her neck, keeping the gun pressed against her back as she headed back to where the other recruits were waiting. "Where's Stiles?" she asked, seeing that he wasn't with the rest of the group.

"It's his turn," Rafe replied, nodding to the screens.

...

Stiles made his way through the building, heading upstairs for a higher vantage point. He heard footsteps and looked out a window to see Tomika jogging past. Stiles kept his gun up and trained around the corners as he continued up the stairs.

Reaching the top floor without encountering Derek, Stiles took a slim bag from his pocket.

In the six months before he'd left Beacon Hills, Stiles had trained his spark with Deaton. He'd found that Deaton's lessons weren't exactly the great magical experience he'd been expecting; it wasn't that he'd been expecting magic a la Harry Potter, but at the same time, he was definitely hoping for something on that scale. Instead, Deaton's lessons all seemed to focus on inward reflection, belief and, most of all, quiet, which was definitely not Stiles' strong point.

Before he'd left, Stiles had stolen (borrowed, really) and copied Deaton's books for himself, certain that the Druid hadn't told him everything he needed to know, as per usual. Spending most of his spare time reading the books, Stiles had discovered that he was correct. When he'd finished reading those, his mind buzzing with information, he then went on to find more online. What he'd found was certainly more than the quiet Deaton had professed as the be-all and end-all of his magical lessons. Stiles had even learnt how to make his own mountain ash, and today was the first time he was using it with an actual werewolf. He hoped it worked.

Emptying a few grains of mountain ash into his palm, Stiles breathed and let the ash trickle down to the floor, believing that it would encircle and move with him. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes to see that the ash had settled into a perfect circle around his body. Stiles took an experimental step forward and the ash moved forward as well, the full circle still intact. Stiles grinned, only refraining from doing a fist pump when he remembered that there were cameras everywhere. Walking along the top floor, Stiles kept his paintball gun in hand and looked out for Derek.

Derek separated out the old and new scents as he walked through the alley, ignoring Marcie and Tomika's scents for the fresher scent: Stiles. He found the building Stiles had taken refuge in easily enough, and spotted him at the window of the top floor. The top floor was obviously meant to represent a skyscraper since it was built completely from glass. It also afforded one of the better vantage points from all of the buildings within Hogan's Alley.

Walking in would be too easy, and he knew that Stiles would have prepared something for that, so Derek went the long way instead. Weaving his way through houses, shops, and offices, he sniffed and listened every so often to ensure that Stiles was still in the same building and level. When he reached the building next to Stiles' one, Derek went straight up to the roof, a mere floor above the building next to it, and jumped across.

Landing lightly, Derek stopped, listened and sniffed. There was no indication that Stiles had heard him, no increased heartbeat or sudden scent of fear or surprise. Derek opened the door leading down to the top floor and made his way down into the darkness.

Aiming for the element of surprise, Derek charged out of the doorway, snarling and claws raised. Stiles was standing at a window, and turned around, eyes wide as he lifted his gun. Derek didn't get close enough, as he was thrown back a few metres after hitting the mountain ash barrier. He shook his head and looked at Stiles, who was moving forward, the ash moving with him.

"How are you doing that?" Derek asked, surprised.

Stiles lowered his gun and looked down, then shrugged. "I believed it would work."

Derek nodded, impressed. Figuring the hunt was over, Stiles held his hand out and let the grains of mountain ash return to his palm. Scooping them back into his bag, he wiped off his hand and then held it out to Derek. Derek grinned and took it, letting Stiles pull him up off the ground.

"Uh, I think I won this one; can we go in as a group now? We're running out of time, and this isn't going to be anything like the real thing if others turn up. Tomika won't have been the only banshee to get the message," Stiles called out.

There was silence for a long moment, then the intercom turned on. "Agreed. Everyone will be hunting Hale," Sean confirmed.

Stiles clapped Derek on the shoulder and grinned. "Good luck, sourwolf."

"You too."

...

"We talked to the hellhound again. Well, Parrish did," Scott amended. "He thinks that the thing that escaped with us isn't in Beacon Hills anymore," Scott said, pacing back and forth in the Sheriff's office.

The Sheriff frowned. "What does that mean?"

Scott finally stopped pacing and looked to the Sheriff, looking anxious.

"You don't mean?" the Sheriff trailed off, paling.

"It's in Stiles."

...

End of the eleventh chapter

Author's note: dun, dun, duuuuuun.