Chapter 4: The Missing and Misguided

The same dream. I keep coming back to this memory. Why?

"If you don't concentrate, Seraphina, you will never be able to cast properly."

Sera glared at the ground, feeling her nails sharpen into claws out of irritation. "Exactly why do I need to learn how to use magic again?"

Her adoptive mother let out a deep sigh at her terminology.

They both stood in the living room of the pristine Sinclair home, waiting for Viviane and Tabitha to return from school. Instead of letting her go laze around in one of the other spacious rooms of the house, Ophelia insisted that Sera practice her casting. Living in a house with Charm-Casters since age twelve, she should have at least mastered the most basic of spells. But four years had done little to improve her abilities, especially since she rarely tried to use them.

Ophelia was patient with Sera because, being a werewolf, magic wasn't in her blood as strongly as it was in a Charmer's blood. But eventually, even calm and collected Ophelia became annoyed by her lack of concentration.

"Seraphina, do you want to go back to Beacon Hills?" Her voice was quiet. She sat down on the maroon armchair by the fireplace, sinking back into the plush cushion almost immediately.

Sera's gaze wandered down to the thick Kashan rug under her feet. She could see every stitch.

When she looked back up, her stomach plummeted. Guilt weighed her down like a ton of bricks. Ophelia's bright silver eyes were locked on her, filled with a mixture of kindness and sadness. Her long pale fingers smoothed the creases from her business skirt as she waited for Sera's answer.

But Sera couldn't find one that would suffice. Ophelia had saved her. That much Sera knew was true—she had adopted her from Hallowed Ridge Girls' Home, a small, sad excuse for a troubled girls group house. It had been the last place Sera had ended up after the fire.

The man who found Sera on his back porch the day after the fire had called 911 as soon as she was discovered. His wife had nearly fainted after she saw Sera's wounds. Afterward, Sera spent a year moving from foster family to foster family, becoming more volatile every time she was sent back to the group homes. Sera had refused to speak for the first few months, completely void of any will to talk. She knew that she could never utter the truth.

So Sera lied and told the authorities, the therapists, and the families all the same thing—she didn't remember who she was or what had happened to her. The only piece of information she was able to salvage was her first name: Serie. The lie was easy enough to swallow. The world had no real record of Seraphina Hale anyway, a little girl who had no birth certificate or social security card, and who had been homeschooled in the dense woods of Beacon Hills.

Sera made herself disappear.

Yet 'repressed memories from trauma' didn't create a stable child. Sera was out-of-control and snappish to some foster families, boring and reclusive to others.

It wasn't until the week before her thirteenth birthday that Ophelia found her. Ophelia was different—Sera knew that as soon as she and her daughters had walked into the room. Something about their scent had been off—it wasn't entirely human. As it turned out, Ophelia had sensed that Sera was special as well. Being a Charm-Caster let her gauge the supernatural species of others around her, but she had stumbled upon Sera by accident.

It had taken Ophelia some time to realize Sera's true identity—Sera wasn't very forthcoming with the information, keeping quiet almost every moment of the day. Things changed after a few months, though. Sera soon trusted Ophelia enough to reveal that she did, in fact, know who she was and where she had come from. Seraphina Hale was once again ripped from the shadows, and her innocent façade of 'Serie' disappeared.

Over the past couple of years, Ophelia and her daughters became increasingly close to Sera's heart, and none of them had ever done her wrong. Ophelia treated her with kindness and respect, but also discipline and structure. She treated Sera like her daughter, and Sera felt like she owed her for that.

She understood why Ophelia was exasperated with her disregard for training. Sera nearly had a mental breakdown with grief when she found out about Laura's murder, begging to go home so she could watch after Derek. Ophelia had taken her desire into stride, telling her that she needed to harness and channel her energy if she planned to go back. Sera would need to perform a Masking charm on herself to hide her werewolf scent.

"Can't you just cast the spell?" Sera had asked her adoptive mother, her eyes wide and pleading.

Ophelia grabbed a fistful of her fine, white-blonde hair in frustration. At the time, Sera hadn't been sure why—it seemed like a perfectly valid question to her then.

"I could, Seraphina. But if I do, I can only guarantee that the spell will work for a couple of weeks. It's most effective when the person being charmed performs it on themselves. Besides, I assume you plan to stay for longer than a month?"

Sera had let out a pitiful groan, but there had been nothing else she could say.

Now here she was, trying and failing to learn the easiest and most basic spell—Transformation.

But why am I having this dream again…?

Ophelia's bright silver eyes were still trained on her. "Focus all of your energy. Look at the sand, and if you can't turn it into ash, imagine that there is more of it—will it to be more in quantity."

Sera's brow furrowed. She gazed at the huge jar resting on the glass-topped coffee table in front of her, nerves making her stomach clench. She walked over to it slowly and then dug her hand down deep in the cool sand. Picking up a handful, Sera gritted her teeth and stared at it. She pictured it turning dark and sooty, clinging to her skin as it became ash.

But nothing happened. Sera's concentration broke after she stared at the sand for over five minutes. She wanted to scream. It was useless—she would never be able to return home at the rate she was going!

Ophelia didn't seem surprised by her failure. Her face remained very serious, almost stony. "Don't get discouraged, Seraphina. It will only limit the access to your energy."

Ophelia said energy, but what Sera had quickly learned was that 'energy' was a substitute for 'magic'. She only really ever said the word 'magic' if she was telling Sera not to call it that.

"Magic," Ophelia had sniffed, "is what fictional beings called witches use. Charm-Casters don't accept that terminology. There are bad connotations, as you can imagine. People were hunted for decades because they were thought to have been witches. Charmer-Casters refer to our power as energy because, essentially, that is what it is—hidden energy found inside the soul of a being. Of course, some souls are better connected to it than others… Charm-Casters are at the top of the pyramid, werewolves and other shape-shifters are somewhere in the middle, and humans are near the bottom in terms of accessing their potential energy. In all honesty, humans rarely ever can access it—the ability has been lost to them after millennia of going unused."

The whole concept had kind of blown Sera's mind, so she hadn't really questioned Ophelia about the logistics any further. Sera would just do what she said and leave the rest of the casting knowledge to Ophelia.

Sera's fist tightened around the sand, making a majority of it spill out from between her fingers. She stared long and hard at the powdery substance, willing it to become more. She believed that she could make it happen.

That was all it took. Something inside of her clicked, and then Sera could feel a tingling sensation spread from her chest down to her fingers. Suddenly, Sera wasn't holding just a fistful of sand—she cupped her hands together as the pile increased and poured onto the floor right in front of her disbelieving eyes.

Sera jerked her head up, gaping at Ophelia in awe. Her adoptive mother's eyes didn't change—they stayed cool and stern—but Sera could swear she saw a smile flit across her lips.

She folded her hands in her lap and said, "Well done, Seraphina. You did it."

Sera opened her mouth, about to give an excited reply, but before she could speak, the front door slammed open. The gigantic chandelier swung dangerously above her head, its crystalline pieces looking more and more like daggers the longer she stared at them.

"Girls," Ophelia warned, a sharp edge to her voice. But her daughters barely acknowledged their mother's disapproving look.

They kicked off their shoes on the mat by the front door and ambled over to them, grins stretched across their pale faces. Viviane and Tabitha were alike in many ways—they both bore a striking resemblance to Ophelia, having the same white-blonde hair and silver-gray eyes. Plus, their joking and care-free personalities nearly mirrored one another.

The Sinclair sisters did have their differences, though. Viviane was the quieter and more serious of the two, and she had a pink birthmark that resembled a jagged star under her right eye. She was the oldest, but only by eleven months.

Tabitha was a little more high-strung than her sister. She talked constantly and had an awful habit of cracking bad jokes. Although Tabitha was younger, she was a head taller than Viviane.

But in all, the girls were an inseparable unit. The Sinclair sisters had become very close to Sera in the years that she had known them. They often reminded her of her biological siblings, lost forever in an uncontrollable blaze. Sera's chest tightened at the thought, so she swallowed and tried to focus solely on her adoptive family.

Tabitha was dressed casually, as usual. She wore a faded T-shirt and a pair of lime green gym shorts. Her hair, which she wore long, was pulled up into a messy ponytail.

Viviane's hair, on the other hand, fell to her shoulders and was cut in choppy layers, giving it more body. Her clothing choice was a little more intentional than her sister: she had on a pair of cut-off shorts and a silver cardigan paired over top of a red lace cami.

Both girls' wide grins were directed at Sera.

"Vi, did you hear that?" asked Tabitha. The fifteen-year-old bounced on her heels, eyes full of mirth. "Sera used a Transformation spell! She's practically a Charm-Caster now."

Viviane squeezed Sera's shoulder with a smile as she walked by her. She fell onto the couch with a content sigh. "I heard, Tabs." Viviane tapped her chin with mock thoughtfulness. "Yeah, Sera could be an honorary Charmer. One with claws and fangs." She bared her teeth at Sera playfully.

Sera showed Tabitha her actual fangs and then began to laugh. Laughter came much more naturally these days.

Sera sat down beside Viviane on the couch and wrapped her arms around Viviane's skinny frame. "The jokes will be writing themselves when I surpass your casting skills, dork."

Tabitha watched the scene in amusement, but Sera could tell she wasn't okay with staying on the sidelines. The younger girl gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek, sashayed over to where Viviane and Sera were sitting, and promptly launched herself on top of them. The Sinclair sisters giggled like mad, shrieking as elbows connected with faces and knees connected with stomachs. Sera grumbled, spluttering out curses as she was nearly smothered to death.

But Sera couldn't hide the wide smile that was slowly stretching across her face. Being with her adoptive sisters lifted the weight of death off her shoulders, at least for a little while.

The scene was light and happy, just as she remembered it. But then, everything changed.

No. No!

Tabitha and Viviane froze, their limbs still entangled. Viviane had frozen mid-laugh: her head was tilted back and her eyes were squeezed shut. Tabitha had been trying to wiggle out from beneath them, but now she stared straight ahead unblinkingly, lips curled into a permanent smirk. It looked like the Charm-Caster girls had turned to stone.

It took Sera only a panicked moment to realize that she couldn't move, either. But unlike the Sinclair girls, her eyes were still functioning. She looked at Ophelia. Instead of suggesting that they go out for dinner as she had actually done in that past moment, she walked over to stand beside Sera.

A nightmare. Just—

Ophelia's hair floated eerily around her face, as though they were underwater instead of in the living room of her home. The Charmer woman knelt down on the mahogany wood floor and reached out a hand. Her fingers grazed Sera's face. The sadness in her expression made Sera want to pull away. There was something stronger than the sadness, though—a deep kind of urgency that made Sera's blood run cold.

"Seraphina," Ophelia breathed. Her voice sounded far away, like she was talking to her from the end of a long tunnel. It definitely wasn't the voice from Sera's memory. "Seraphina, we don't have much time. I'm not supposed to be here, but I had to warn you."

Warn me? Sera couldn't move her lips to ask the words.

"Something is about to happen. Beacon Hills is more dangerous than ever before, and you're about to be in the center of all the chaos. You won't be able to control the coming events. I've Seen it."

That made Sera's eyes widen. Ophelia's visions were always serious and rare—and almost always had something to do with death. If she had Seen trouble… Sera was afraid of what that might mean for her already damaged little town and the people who lived there.

Ophelia withdrew her hand. "Leave while you're still able to, Seraphina." Her bright silver eyes bore into Sera's own. "Your life might very well depend on it."

Her adoptive mother stood slowly, expression haunted. "This is what I have Seen." Ophelia flicked her wrist. Images flashed through Sera's mind—she saw blood pooling on the ground, faceless bodies piling up in the morgue of a hospital, mouths opened in silent screams…

Sera saw children running through the woods, their faces full of terror as they fled. Shapes writhing in the darkness, the glow of brilliant red eyes coming from the shadows. A ruined house with a strange insignia painted on the door and a man standing on its charred porch, inexplicably alone.

And then Sera saw a huge crowd of people, all gathered in silence as they looked at something on the ground at their feet. The image flashed closer, and she caught a glimpse of the bloody, mangled body, its eyes staring unblinkingly up at the dark sky.

The body was hers.

XXX

Sera woke up screaming. She was drenched in an icy sweat and tangled in her sheets. The visions of blood and death danced vividly in front of her eyes. Her stomach roiled sickeningly, and she darted out of bed to keep from retching on the floor.

After emptying the contents of her stomach, Sera was shaky and weak. She brushed her teeth and decided to run a hot bath, hoping it would soothe her nerves. But Ophelia's warning and the gruesome things that she had shown her were burned into her mind. Ophelia's message had been important enough for her to Dream-Walk, which was an incredibly hard skill for a Charmer to learn. It was especially hard to Dream-Walk when the dream you invaded was an actual memory.

Sera didn't understand what Ophelia had meant, though.

What was about to happen? What could possibly happen to make those awful visions come true? Sera's face, dead and pale, flashed through her mind yet again. Ophelia had said Sera's life depended on her leaving Beacon Hills. But how could she leave when she knew what was going to happen to all those innocent people? How could she just run away again?

Sera shuddered, slipping on a simple T-shirt and shorts. If what she thought turned out to be true, the mysterious alpha pack had a role in the horror that she had seen. The sense of dread that filled her didn't feel like it would disappear anytime soon.

After Sera got dressed, she managed to choke down a granola bar. She just prayed that it would stay down. She glanced around her tiny apartment, for once depressed by how bare it was in comparison to the Sinclair home.

The living room had sparse furnishings—a loveseat, a coffee table, and a sad excuse for a T.V. Sera's bedroom was just as desolate; she had only her bed and a small nightstand. There were no trophies or accessories, and what little jewelry she had rested on the nightstand along with a couple pictures of Ophelia, Viviane, Tabitha, and Sera together. She had almost nothing from her life at the Hale house, but she supposed it was better that way.

Although Sera had a small kitchenette, she didn't have a table. She ate her meals in her bedroom or on the coffee table in the living room, figuring it would be cheaper that way. The last room of her apartment was her cramped bathroom, which she swore was smaller than her shoe closet. It was wedged behind the front door, so inconspicuous that if you didn't know what it was, you probably would have assumed that it was a closet.

Honestly, the size of the apartment didn't really bother Sera. She was lucky to even have a place to stay. If it weren't for Ophelia, she would still be living in a foster home or at the run-down girls' home where the Sinclairs had found her.

Being an emancipated seventeen-year-old could have been worse.

Sera swallowed. But being alone never used to feel like this.

She slipped on the cute beige sandals she had bought from the consignment shop down the road—the place where she purchased almost all of her clothes—and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. Checking the clock, Sera heaved a sigh. It was only 7:15. She was extremely early. She still had enough time to put on makeup.

By the looks of things, she really needed it, too. She stared at her reflection, horrified that she had almost walked out of the house looking so stricken. Her eyes had dark circles underneath them and her cheeks seemed sallow. Sera put on a tiny bit of mascara and eyeliner, and then proceeded to put concealer under her eyes. Adding a bit of blush to her cheeks, Sera took a step back and bit her lip as she considered her appearance.

She didn't look too sleep-deprived now.

Sera put curl cream in her hair and dragged a Denman brush through her tangled curls, wincing as they snagged. She decided not to pull it up into a ponytail. She didn't know what she would do with herself if she had springy ringlets like Libby—Sera's patience for styling her hair was nonexistent.

Libby. Her little sister's name brought flashes of crooked cartwheels and missing front teeth.

Sera shook her head and walked to the kitchen, her bag bouncing against her hip all the way. Pulling open the refrigerator door, she examined the contents. It was nearly empty, but Sera had all of the essentials—milk, bread, deli meat, eggs, fruit, and orange Fanta.

She grabbed a can of soda and walked out the door. Her walk to school was about a mile away, but she didn't really mind. Walking helped clear her head, and with all that she had witnessed this morning, Sera thought a clear mind would do her well. The late August warmth clung to her skin until she made her way into the well air-conditioned building of Beacon Hills High School.

The hallways were full of students laughing and conversing before classes, but she kept her head down out of habit and refused to make eye contact. Sera was dreading going to Harris' class, considering the embarrassing seat swap that had taken place the day before. Sera told herself that if she tried to be quiet and invisible again, maybe Harris would forget all about her.

There were a few people who snickered as she walked by, but Sera pointedly ignored them. It would take more than idle gossip to make her extend her fangs.

Sera gathered her books from her locker at snail speed, distracted by the loud sounds of the hallway. Her sensitive ears picked up almost everything, and even after a year of attending a public school, she still hadn't learned how to completely tune out the noise.

That disadvantage came in handy at this moment. "Are you sure?" asked a familiar voice, laced with an undercurrent of worry. Sera realized after a beat that it was Stiles speaking. "Derek knows for sure?"

Her brother's name, paired with the urgency in Stiles' voice, made Sera turn around. Scott and Stiles were standing several yards away from her. She watched them curiously, careful to make it look like she wasn't outright staring. Concentrating, Sera managed to tune out the rest of the noise in the hallway and zero in on the boys' conversation.

Scott looked distraught. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his face, seemingly at loss for words. She could sense his fear; it left a sour taste in her mouth. "Yes, Stiles, Derek's sure. He has been for months, but he thought he would just now inform us—there is a pack of alphas, and they're here. They've been here."

Stiles shifted from foot to foot. "Why the hell is he just now telling us? Didn't he think it would be important for us to know?" Stiles shook his head, leaning up against the lockers for support. There was a distant helplessness in his eyes. "It's been nearly four months, Scott. And while we went on vacation and thought everything was finally fine, Derek has been keeping secrets. Again. The freaking important kind! The life-threatening kind—"

Scott looked miserable. "I know. I asked him why he didn't tell us sooner. You know what he said? He told me that they hadn't posed a problem yet."

Stiles gave a disbelieving laugh. "Of course he did. Derek wants to wait until the whole damn world falls to pieces at his feet before he even thinks about taking action."

Sera bristled at Stiles' comment about her brother, but she knew what he said was true. Derek wanted to believe everything was alright until it all went terribly wrong—it was his way of coping after the fire, from what Sera could tell.

"I asked him about Erica and Boyd." Scott's voice had gone dangerously quiet.

Stiles leaned forward, caramel eyes widening slightly. "And?"

"And he still doesn't know where they are. They've been gone since the end of the school year, Stiles. There are Missing posters plastered on every street corner, and still no one has found them. Beacon Hills isn't that big of a town."

Stiles ran his hand through his hair. "Do you think—y'know, do you think they're… dead?" The word was barely more than a whisper.

Sera watched as Scott fidgeted, messing with the straps of his lacrosse bag. "I don't know. Unless they left town, I can't think of any other reasonable answer. But I can tell you one thing—I think the alpha pack has something to do with their disappearances."

Stiles snorted. "Oh, I'd bet money on that one. Since when isn't the supernatural involved in what happens in Beacon Hills?" The boy shifted on balls of his feet, suddenly turning to look Scott straight in the eyes. "Wait, dude. Can't you, like, sense when other wolves are around? Are you saying you didn't know other alphas were here?"

Scott gave an exasperated sigh. "Stiles, in case you've forgotten, I'm still kinda new at all of this." He groaned when his best friend didn't stop staring. "But yes, I can usually sense when other wolves are around. It's… different with the alphas, though. I felt like they were nearby, but with them, you can't actually pinpoint an exact location. That's why I didn't say anything a few months ago: I just figured I was picking up on Derek's scent or something. I figured that if there were any more dangerous creatures hanging around, Derek would have told me." Scott glowered at the ground.

Sera could tell that Scott was annoyed by Derek's lack of trust in him. She didn't blame him for being pissed off. Even when her brother had been a charming jock, he wasn't too keen on letting people in. He had made exceptions with Paige and Kate, and look where that had gotten them.

Sera tried to fight the sadness swelling in her chest at the thought.

Stiles rolled his eyes, grinning after a moment. "So your wolf-y senses weren't tingling?"

Scott punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up, dude. This is serious."

"I know. I was just trying to lighten the mood. So why did Derek decide to tell you now?"

"Huh?" The beta gazed at his friend in confusion, eyebrows furrowing.

Stiles drummed his fingers against the lockers impatiently. "You know. You said that Derek hadn't told you before because it hadn't 'posed a problem'. Well, why did he tell you now? What's the problem?"

Scott's eyes clouded over, and his expression became grim when realization dawned on him. "Isaac's missing. Derek hasn't seen him in over a week."

Stiles smacked his palm against his forehead. "Oh, shit."

"I know. We're going to have to tell Allison and Lydia, maybe even the hunters—"

Sera couldn't take it anymore. She slammed her locker door shut, heading as quickly as she could to Chemistry II. Her head was spinning with questions, and the leaden feeling in her stomach from earlier in the morning had only increased. This was bad. This was terrible. Ophelia's warning rang through her mind. Derek's pack was disappearing one by one.

How long would it be before the alphas came after Scott? Or Stiles? Or her brother? Would they stop with just the wolves, or would they move on to the humans? What exactly were they after? Ophelia's prediction was coming true, and unless Sera did something to stop it, people were going to die. Sera was going to die.

She struggled to keep her breathing steady, knowing an irregular heartbeat would point Scott in her direction. He might have been new at the whole werewolf thing, but he wasn't stupid.

She clutched her books tighter to her chest. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't offer her help to Scott and Stiles without revealing what and who she was. Sera couldn't guarantee that they would trust her after she had lied to them about her identity, either. And Derek? How could she tell him she was alive without throwing his life into chaos yet again? Sera just wanted to help, but it seemed like the only option she had was to lay low and pretend like she had no idea what was happening.

Somehow, she had to find out what the alphas were up to. Even though Ophelia's vision was still fresh in her mind, she decided that she couldn't leave Beacon Hills. Whatever was happening, Sera was a part of it now, and she couldn't abandon her brother and her new friends, not to mention hundreds of innocent people, to the wrath of an alpha pack.

She gave a determined nod of her head, vowing to stay and figure out what was going on. Sera was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn't even notice someone calling to her until they tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, slowing to a stop and giving a sigh.

It must have been Stiles, wanting Sera to walk to class with him. She spun around, about to tell him that if they didn't hurry, they would be late and Harris would roast them alive. But the words died on her lips.

It wasn't Stiles behind her, but two boys. Two identical boys. They were tall and extremely built, with thick arms and chests that strained against their well-fitted shirts. The twins had short dark hair that was gelled, deep-set coppery brown eyes, and strong, square jaws. They were stunning, especially when they both flashed million-watt white smiles.

"Hi," said the boy on the left. His smile was tricky—it looked almost genuine, but there was something hidden underneath it. He was dressed similarly to his brother, but instead of wearing sports brands, he settled on street clothing like the plaid button down shirt and straight-legged jeans he was wearing. "I'm Ethan," he told her. "Ethan Devereaux. This is my brother, Aiden."

He jerked a thumb to the identical boy standing to the right of her. Aiden wore a Nike shirt and a pair of frayed, washed out jeans, and his smile was even more dangerous than Ethan's. It was almost cruel, the way his lips twisted up into a smirk. Aiden ran his eyes up and down the length of Sera's body, then slowly met her gaze. "Heya."

"Aiden," Ethan said, his words holding an unspoken warning. She could almost hear the growl in his voice as his expression clouded over. But when Ethan looked back at her, his cheery smile was still in place. "Sorry. We're new here, and we were just wondering if you could show us how to get to Ms. Blake's English class?"

Sera stared at the two boys, her lips parting, but she couldn't find any words. It wasn't because the twins were good-looking, or because they had caught her completely off guard. No—it was because something in her had screamed out in protest when they had come near, an instinct that made her blood run cold.

The Devereaux twins were still smiling at Sera, but she could see the sinister looks in their eyes. Ophelia had been right. Something terrible was about to happen in Beacon Hills. Because the boys standing in front of her, staring at her like she was their next meal—they weren't just dangerous.

Ethan and Aiden were alphas.

XXX

Chapter 4 song for 2013: Misguided Ghosts by Paramore

Chapter 4 song for 2023: Many Roads by Chaos Chaos

Thanks for reading!