"You know Jessica?" Harvey asked, momentarily perplexed by the unexpected turn of events. Their stay in this town turned weirder and weirder with every minute, revelations turning up faster than bodies in a slasher horror movie.
Next to him Donna had managed to school her expression faster than him, looking again like the professional executive assistant she was.
"Of course I do," the librarian confirmed, a wide smile on her face. "Mind you, not that well – we´ve last seen her a year ago – but she´s not a person you´re likely to forget."
"No, that´s for sure," Harvey agreed nonchalantly. An idea forming in his mind, he put on his most charming smile that had seen even the iciest Manhattan socialites melt like ice under the summer sun and turned his whole attention on the librarian: "Would you mind accompanying me and Donna for a cup of coffee? It´s so rare to randomly run into a friend of Jessica´s."
Calling her a 'friend of Jessica' was obviously quite a stretch, but one thing Harvey had learned in his time as lawyer was that everyone liked it when others overplayed their importance and was more agreeable if the right amount of flattery was involved.
"It is, indeed," Donna agreed, playing into his ruse like she always did. They were a well-oiled machine, after all. "It´s a shame that Jessica never told us about you."
"Oh, well, if you insist," the woman fake-laughed. "I´ll just tell Brianna that I´ll be gone for a while. I know a nice little place around the corner. It serves the best coffee in all of Beacon Hills." Harvey doubted that, but he just continued to smile while the woman walked into the backroom, probably bragging to her colleagues, because nothing exciting ever happened here otherwise.
"What are you doing, Harvey?" Donna whispered at him furiously.
"I invited an 'friend of Jessica's' out for coffee," Harvey replied, his expression full of mock-innocence.
"How´s that helping?" Donna wanted to know.
"Jessica´s keeping stuff from me," Harvey answered. "And I dislike when things are kept from me. If Jessica doesn´t want to tell, then I´ll find out myself."
"On your head it´ll be," Donna retorted, but then the librarian came back and they had to stop their conversation.
"I´m ready," she proclaimed.
"Then lead the way," Harvey spoke and like the gentleman he was he held open the doors for her and Donna.
"Oh, it´s really embarrassing, but in all that rush we completely forgot to ask you for your name," Donna started, acting as if it was really something that weighted on her mind.
"Don´t worry," the librarian replied. "I´m Hedwig Crowe and I´ve been a librarian for nearly forty years by now." Harvey didn't really know what that information got to do with her name, but he wisely refrained from pointing that out.
Donna and Hedwig continued their small talk, with Harvey occasionally throwing in his own comments, until they reached a small coffee shop only a few streets away from the library. Thankfully, due to the good weather, there weren´t many students inside and so they were able to get one of the tables near one of the two big window fronts from where you could overlook the whole street. They placed their orders with the waitress – a young girl, probably a student earning herself some extra cash working here – and then Harvey started his interrogation. Not that Hedwig knew that it was one.
"So, Hedwig," Harvey started, "how do you know dear Jessica? I mean, you live on opposite sides of the country, after all."
"I first met Jessica at the Hale´s funeral," Hedwig began telling, her expression turning sombre when she was reminded of that joyless affair. "A dreadful business I tell you." She sighed. "I won´t bother you with details, but it was a big thing back then. Only three survivors, Laura and Derek Hale and their uncle Peter." Harvey perked up when that name was mentioned.
"Peter used to – and still does – donate to the library. He´s the main reason why we´re still running, to be honest. But after the Hale tragedy there were some far-removed relatives who tried to cash in on the Hales demise and even went after Peter´s donations, even though the man was still alive!" Hedwig´s hands started to shake in barely constrained fury. Apparently, the whole thing still managed to evoke such strong emotions in her.
"Jessica helped us to fight them off and secure Peter´s donations," Hedwig continued. "Pro bono. Apparently, books and libraries, especially, were very important to Peter. I can only agree; he came nearly every day when he was still a child and kept coming even as an adult." They were interrupted by their waitress bringing them the beverages they had ordered. Hedwig took a sip from hers and continued: "I know that it´s none of my business, but I think there was more between Jessica and Peter than being colleagues at the same law firm, because she came back to visit him in the hospital at least once a year and every time she made time to come to the library and see how we were doing."
Harvey took a sip from his espresso to calm his racing thoughts. So that was why Jessica had sent them here: It wasn't about Peter´s abilities, as good as they might be, but about the relationship she had had with the other man. It made Harvey´s respect for Jessica drop, though, that she wasn't brave enough to come here herself and instead chose to send him.
How was he supposed to knit back together a relationship he hadn't known even existed until right now?
"I haven't seen Jessica, though, since Peter woke from his coma," Hedwig added. "I´d have thought that she would want to see him." She furrowed her brows. "How is she doing, anyway? I try to keep up, but I´m not good at that Internet thing." She shook her head.
Noticing that Harvey was still deep in thought, Donna stepped in and started to tell Hedwig a few bits about Pearson Specter and their smashing successes.
Harvey, meanwhile, wondered what his next step was supposed to be.
Mike took a deep breath as he stood in the small clearing that had become his teaching spot. The air here tasted different than in New York. Which was an obvious conclusion to come by, after all New York was an accumulation of millions of people and everything they build while Beacon Hills was a small town in the middle of nature. Maybe he just wasn't used to breath without the smell of exhaust fumes, garbage and urine invading his nostrils. Maybe it was also the lack of noise or the lush green scenery around him.
His magic didn't like it, though. It was used to the thrumming energy of New York, that was always running underneath his feet, that was pulsating like a living organism every moment of the day. Here in Beacon Hills, the energy was more like the ocean, slowly moving, deep, calm until a storm arose and pushed the waves to new heights.
Then there was also the residue of the Nemeton. From what Deaton had told him its dark magic had poisoned the surroundings for years, slowly seeping into every fibre of the town and the Preserve. It was destroyed now, but Mike could still feel its echo in the energy around him, like an oily film that stuck to him no matter how often he cleansed himself of it.
Slowly but surely it was healing, though. Now that the Void had been imprisoned again – this time for good – nature did what it was supposed to do: It healed and grew back. In a few years there would be no indication left that anything had happened at all.
Mike was torn out of his thought by the characteristic noise of Stiles marching towards their meeting point: The cracking of twigs, heavy breathing, unintelligible muttering and sometimes even cursing.
"Do I get to do some actual magic today?" the teen asked when he had finally arrived, excitement shining in his eyes.
"Sadly, you have to wait a little bit longer for that," Mike replied, laughing inwardly. He had been like this, too, many years ago.
"What am I supposed to do then?" Stiles asked.
"Meditating."
Stiles face fell.
This time Mike didn't muffle his laughter.
"You´re late." Stiles let out an undignified shriek as he fell over his own feet and landed on the ground with a loud thud. Scrambling up, he dashed forward and with one smooth movement grabbed the aluminium baseball bat that was always leaning against the wall next to his bed and turned around, ready to rain down hell on whoever had dared to break into his room.
He soon relaxed his stance, though, when he saw that it was only Derek standing in the shadow of the door, looking at Stiles with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance – an all too familiar look on the older werewolf´s face.
"Jesus Derek," Stiles panted. "Have you heard about that new invention called doors? I think humanity´s got them ever since we started to settle and it´s considered impolite to not use them." Siles didn't expect Derek to react to his tirade, so he wasn't surprised when the other man just continued standing on the other side of the room and kept staring at him like he wanted Stiles to combust at any given moment.
"What´s up, sourwolf?" Stiles asked as he lounged himself on his chair, slowly spinning around. He could practically hear Derek´s scowl at the mention of that particular nickname. It never failed to make Stiles laugh.
"I just wanted to make sure that nothing happened to you," Derek finally told him. Stiles snorted.
"Please, what´s supposed to happen to me?" For once Beacon Hills was actually quiet with no supernatural shenanigans going on, something which Stiles prayed would hopefully continue for quite a while. They had had enough excitement to last until retirement.
Nevertheless, Stiles didn't quite manage to supress those fucking stupid butterflies that Derek´s statement managed to dislodge in his stomach. Stiles knew that Derek looked after all Pack members, always taking on the responsibility for their well-being, but when it was just the two of them he liked to imagine that there was a special connection between them.
"We don't know the mage that well," Derek groused. "Trusting newcomers in this town never ends good."
"He´s got a name, you know?" Stiles replied. "And I don't think Mike´s here for some nefarious purpose. He knew my mom."
"He´s prejudiced against werewolves," Derek pointed out.
"Which isn´t nice, I know, but I´m working on it," Stiles told the werewolf.
"You´re working on it?" Derek repeated, furrowing his eyebrows. Stiles just nodded.
"Yeah, I am," he reaffirmed. "Also, it´s kinda nice, you know? Learning magic from someone who actually knows what he´s doing instead of winging it whenever danger arises. I actually feel like I´m moving forward as a person. All of my friends became werewolves or got other powers while I stayed, well, me. Now I can finally keep up."
"You´re more than enough," Derek stated firmly, and Stiles really hoped that the Hale didn't notice how his heartrate suddenly became even more erratic when he said that.
"I know that, don't get me wrong," he replied. "But it´s still nice that I got something of my own."
"What is it even that you´re learning?" Derek wanted to know.
"Not much," Stiles admitted. "It´s mostly theory and mediating till now, but once Mike gets me started on doing some actually magic, I´m gonna move mountains. Literarily." He smiled when he imagined himself dropping some huge-ass rock on the next monster of the week.
Just squashing it. Like a bug.
"Well, I´m glad. I don't think the town would survive you actually doing magic right now."
"Hey!" Stiles exclaimed outraged. He snatched the nearest thing he could get his hand on – a red hoodie, how fitting – and threw it at Derek.
The hoodie, of course, didn't make it even halfway across the distance. And Derek, the asshole, just smiled at him smugly.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Just wait until I can toss a tornado at you!"