MOTEL CALIFORNIA! This chapter was a BEAST, and it insisted on fighting me, but I finally found a good place to split it.

TW: Attempted Suicide

"Tell me you're joking."

"Nope," Scott sighed. "Coach says there's a tornado warning, so the meet's been pushed to tomorrow."

Crystal took a deep breath and held it until her lungs burned.

Of course. Of course the meet would be rescheduled. Of course they were stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, miles from Beacon Hills, with one little Toyota that wasn't big enough to hold more than four people.

She wanted to scream. But she was still on the phone with Scott, so she forced a smile that felt more like she was baring her teeth and hoped Scott couldn't tell the difference. "Okay. I'll call Melissa and let her know."

Then she would call Peter and Cora and see if they'd managed to track down Derek.

Scott sighed in relief. "Thanks."

Crystal hummed. "Hey, let me talk to Stiles."

He heaved another sigh. "Crystal, I'm fine."

"Great. Let me talk to Stiles."

Scott groaned softly. She waited impatiently as he passed the phone to Stiles.

"Hey, Crys－"

"How is he?"

Stiles lowered his voice. Crystal could almost see him ducking down in the seat, and she huffed in reluctant amusement. "He's doing better. He still looks exhausted, but he's not so pale anymore."

"Good. If that changes–"

"I'll call you," he promised.

She sighed in relief. "Thanks, Stiles. Text me when you guys stop."

"Wait, I thought you were right behind us."

"I am." She rolled her eyes. Did he seriously think she'd leave them now? "But knowing our school, we're gonna end up in a shitty motel where the closest thing to food is stale peanuts from the vending machine."

"I hate it when Crystal's right," Stiles grumbled as they stared in horrified disbelief at the decrepit motel in front of them. It probably should've been condemned at least two decades ago.

"For once, I hate it when I'm right."

His heart skipped several beats. He stumbled as he twisted to face the cause of his heart attack.

"Crystal," Lydia squeaked. At least he wasn't the only one.

Crystal's faint smirk didn't reach her eyes. "I brought food." She passed the three large takeout bags in her hands to Stiles, Isaac, and Allison.

Stiles's stomach growled loudly at the beautiful smell of greasy, fried food. "Crystal, you're a lifesaver."

Isaac nodded frantically, already shoveling a large handful of fries in his mouth.

"I know." She tore her eyes away from the motel with a shudder. "If you need me, I'll be out here." She gestured to the mostly vacant parking lot.

Stiles opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Coach was yelling at her retreating back.

"I don't suppose you brought any food for the rest of the class, Braddock?"

Great. Now everyone knew that Stiles and his friends had food. Most of them already knew anyway, but nobody was about to fight them for it while Crystal was around. Rumors spread fast in Beacon Hills—half the school was convinced Crystal killed Harris. And half of them thought she killed Kyle.

"Nope!" Crystal hollered over her shoulder. "They're your responsibility, Coach! Order pizza!"

Stiles, tell the others if you give up any of that food, you're walking to the nearest gas station when you get hungry.

"God, I love her," Isaac breathed.

"Don't let Derek hear you say that," Scott warned him quietly.

"Or Cora," Stiles added, shuddering at her mental threat. The nearest gas station was, like, ten miles away!

Allison nodded. "Or Peter."

Scott was frowning at the grumbling students around them. Stiles wrapped his right arm tightly around his best friend's shoulders, the other keeping a death grip on their dinner, and all but dragged him up to Coach to grab a room key.

"If you start handing out all our food, Crystal's gonna send us on a ten mile hike to get more," he hissed, ignoring Coach's loud instructions behind them. "It'll literally kill me. I don't feel like dying tonight, Scotty."

He followed Scott to their assigned room. Scott sneezed when the door swung open with an ominous creak.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "You okay?"

Scott nodded, swiping at his nose. "Yeah. Just smells."

Stiles snorted. Werewolf senses were amazing, but he didn't envy his best friend's ability to smell literally everything.

They dropped their bags by the door. Opening the takeout bag, Stiles grinned. "Nuggets or burgers?"

Scott headed for the bed closest to the door. "How many did she get?"

"Four burgers, one fifty-piece. And two large fries."

"Half and half?" Scott offered.

Easy enough. Stiles tossed two of the burgers to Scott and ripped the paper off one of his.

"I've got five," he said around his mouthful of food.

Scott's eyebrows rose. "You've got five suspects?"

"It was ten," Stiles informed him. "Well, nine, technically—Derek was on there twice—well, technically, nine and a half."

"How do you have half a suspect?" Scott wondered, taking a massive bite of his own burger.

"If we're going off who has the strongest motive to kill Harris, it's Crystal, hands-down."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but she's never met half the victims."

"Which is why she was only a half-suspect," Stiles pointed out. "And she's not even on the list anymore."

"At least you think so," Scott muttered darkly. "So who's your first suspect?"

Stiles grimaced as he swallowed the last of his burger. "Cora. Nobody knows anything about her, and she's Derek's sister and Peter's niece."

Scott frowned worriedly. "Crystal knows her. She trusts her."

"Crystal trusts Peter." Who was also tangentially a suspect. The only reason Peter wasn't higher on his list was because most of the victims had absolutely no connection to Crystal or any of the Hales. "Next up's your boss, actually."

"Deaton?" Scott laughed.

"Yes!" Stiles huffed. "Ex-emissary or not, I don't like the whole Obi-Wan vibe he's got going on."

Scott stared at him blankly.

"Oh my God, have you still not seen Star Wars?"

"I swear, if we make it back home, I'll watch the movie."

Movies, Stiles corrected mentally. How the hell was he best friends with a kid who'd never seen perhaps the most iconic sci-fi trilogy of all time?! "One of these days," he muttered.

"Who's the third?" Scott asked hastily, hoping to get his attention off movies and back to the supernatural murder mystery their lives had become.

"Meyers. One of the new cops at the station," Stiles elaborated when Scott still looked confused. "He has it out for Crystal. God only knows why."

He couldn't find out much about the newest member of the Beacon Hills PD thanks to all the damn FBI agents crawling around, but during his brief visit to the station a couple days ago, Greg bitterly told him that Meyers was adamant Crystal was their serial killer.

Greg and Meyers were no longer working the same shifts together.

"Then there's our favorite psycho-werewolf. He's gone after Harris before, and we know he holds a hell of a grudge. If Harris did something to piss him or Crystal off lately…"

Scott hummed. "Normally I'd agree with you, but the victims were all kidnapped and taken to different locations. Peter would've just ripped their throats out on the spot."

"True."

"Who's the last one?"

Stiles sighed heavily, his heart sinking. He didn't want to say it, but… "Lydia. There's something going on with her. She's been slipping into those weird trances for who knows how long, and waking up right next to the bodies. Or finding who the next victim is before we even know they're missing. It can't be a coincidence."

Scott stared at Stiles. Stiles stared at Scott. Together, they sighed and flopped down on their beds, staring up at the yellow-and-brown-tinted ceiling.

"You can't tell Crystal."

Stiles snorted. "Don't worry, Scott. I told you: I don't feel like dying tonight."

Something glinted in the moonlight. Frowning, he crouched to examine it.

Snapped in half, as if it had been ripped out of the stone wall before being tossed aside. Military-grade armor piercing titanium. Hollowed to add flash powder. Non-lethal if used correctly, but potentially devastating all the same.

Especially to a pack of Alphas.

His phone rang. Rising, he fished it out of his jacket pocket. He glanced at the caller ID and smiled. "Hey, sweetheart. How was the meet?"

Allison sighed. "It got postponed 'til tomorrow. My car's not big enough to fit all of us, so we're staying with the team tonight."

His smile slipped into a worried frown. "Do you need me to come pick you up? I don't mind a late night drive."

"No, it's okay. We're at a motel. It's not great, but it's just for a night."

"Crystal pay for that?" He didn't think Crystal would foot the bill for something like that, but for her friends…

Allison laughed softly. "No. No, she wouldn't spend money on a room here. The school's paying for it. She did buy dinner, though."

Chris chuckled. Of course, Crystal wouldn't leave her friends to starve. He made a mental note to pay her back. "What's it called?"

"Uh…the Glen Capri."

Oh, shit.

"You know it?" Allison wondered.

"It…sounds familiar." His heart pounded in his ears. His daughter and her friends were at the Glen Capri. The very name gave him chills, haunting him, even though he'd never set foot in Fairvale. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm gonna hop in the car and come get you guys."

"No, Dad, it's okay. We'll be fine."

He sighed heavily, twirling the half-broken, burnt arrow between his fingers. "If there's something you feel like…like you can't tell me. I want you to know you can talk to me." He watched the moonlight dance on the arrowhead. "We don't have to keep secrets from each other."

The words burned his tongue. He forced the guilt down－he was keeping Allison and her friends safe. The best way to do that was to keep her out of this.

Of course, certain other people would say otherwise…

"I know," Allison said quietly. "We'll be fine, Dad. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"All right," he conceded. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up, ignoring the icy churning in his gut. Then he pushed his concern aside and went back to examining the marks left by the werewolves. He still had to figure out what the hell happened to Derek Hale.

"Still nothing on Derek?"

"No," Cora growled. "It's like he's vanished off the face of the Earth. Not even Deaton or Satomi have seen him."

Wonderful. Crystal glared sightlessly at the parking lot in front of her, fighting back tears. "He's alive. I know he is."

"We're running out of places to look," Peter told her, gentler than she expected.

Peter was only gentle like that whenever things were really bad. Several tears escaped and burned a path down her cheeks as she fought to stay silent.

"Crystal?" Cora asked after a long minute.

Crystal let out a shaky breath and swiped at her eyes. "I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired."

"Then come home."

"I can't." Her voice cracked. She let her head thud against the headrest. "I can't leave them here."

Peter sighed heavily. "What's the name of the motel?"

"The Glen Capri." Crystal let her distaste drip from the words.

"That's in Fairvale," Cora said. "Crystal, that's almost five hours away, even with us driving."

"Blame the school."

"Crystal, you've seen Psycho, right?" Peter wondered a little too casually.

Crystal sat up straight, alarm bells ringing in her head. "Yeah," she said cautiously. She'd been about nine when she'd first watched it during a Hitchcock marathon. Norman Bates's creepy smile at the end gave her nightmares for a week, which led to a ban on horror movies at the Braddock house.

"Thought so. Be careful." He hung up before she or Cora could say anything else.

Scowling, Crystal pulled up her browser and searched "Fairvale Psycho". The wi-fi around the motel sucked－she turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial until she got decent reception. The results were still loading when she finally found a channel that wasn't full of static.

It took almost five minutes before the search results popped up.

"That's great," she grumbled, punching the radio dial to silence it.

Movement caught her eye. Scott was slipping out of his room and down the walkway. Crystal frowned as she watched him. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, or maybe it was Peter's warning that made her so uneasy, but something seemed off with him.

He didn't stop, but slipped inside Allison and Lydia's room. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She grabbed the key and threw herself out of the car, barely pausing to lock it behind her.

Lydia wasn't in the room－she'd left with a stack of towels while Crystal was playing with the radio. If something was wrong with Scott…if that wasn't Scott…

She vaulted up the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of room 217. She'd just reached for the handle when the door swung open and Scott ran into her.

"Sorry," he muttered. He didn't meet her eyes or stop to ask if she was okay or what she was doing there. He simply fled back to his room.

Crystal glanced worriedly between his retreating back and the half-open door. But Scott was up and walking, and Allison...

"Allison?" she called loudly, stepping into the room and wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming smell of nicotine.

"Crystal?"

She made sure the door was closed and locked before she headed in the direction of the bathroom. "What the hell just happened? Scott－"

She heard the shower curtain move. "I'm not sure," Allison told her. "He was acting kinda strange."

"But he was still Scott," she checked.

"Yeah. Where are you?"

Crystal poked her head inside the bathroom. Allison stared back at her, half-wrapped in the shower curtain. "You said he was acting weird. Weird how?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "He didn't do anything," she said. It might have been the hot water, but her cheeks seemed a little red. Crystal doubted this place had a very good water heater.

"I never said he did. But something's going on." And if that something was affecting her friends, Crystal would burn this shitty hellhole to the ground.

"Maybe he's still a little messed up from earlier," Allison offered.

"Maybe." She didn't believe it, but she forced herself to relax, not wanting to worry Allison any more than she already had. "I'm gonna go see if he's okay."

"Can you find Lydia and see if she's got the towels?"

Crystal shot her a deadpan look she'd learned from Melissa. "Smoke?"

Allison rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Next time I'm dragging you guys to a real hotel."

Lydia jumped with a loud gasp, almost dropping the towels. Then her brain registered exactly who she'd almost bumped into.

"What the hell, Crystal?" she shrieked quietly.

"I was coming to check on you." Crystal stepped aside, pivoting to walk with her. "Something weird's going on here."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Did you know this motel's got a creepy little hobby? They count suicides here, Crystal!"

Her eyes grew wide. "They what?"

"One hundred ninety-eight. One hundred and ninety-eight suicides in this motel since they opened!" Lydia's voice trembled as she fought to keep her voice down.

Crystal wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Lydia took that as an invitation and threw her free arm around Crystal. Crystal barely hesitated before she returned the desperate hug.

"Lydia, I swear, it's gonna be okay. I already called Cora and Peter. They'll be here in a few hours."

Lydia smothered a hysterical laugh on Crystal's shoulder. She never thought she'd be relieved to hear that Peter Hale—the bastard who ripped up her side, landed her in the hospital, and made her think she was losing her mind—was coming to get them. "What about Derek? Allison told me…you think he's still alive?"

Crystal's grip tightened, squeezing the breath from her lungs. "They can't find him," she breathed. "I know he's alive, but he's not in Beacon Hills."

"You think the Alphas…" Lydia squeaked, trailing off.

Crystal let her go and stepped back, shaking her head frantically as she pulled her leather jacket around herself. "No. If they found Derek, he'd be dead for real. Especially since Ennis is dead."

"One of the Alphas is dead?" Oh, that wasn't good. Like they didn't have enough to worry about—now the Alphas would be coming for their heads.

In the dim light, Crystal's eyes seemed to dance like flames. "Yeah. Peter says Kali's out for blood. So you need to be careful around Aiden. And if you or Allison see Kali, you call me or Scott right away."

Lydia gasped as she remembered the other twin. "What about Danny? He's with Ethan!"

Crystal shrugged and started walking. "I'll break Ethan's spine if he hurts Danny, but he's not one of mine."

Lydia blinked but scurried after her. What did she mean, Danny wasn't one of hers? Not one of her friends? Or not part of her pack?

Lydia shivered as a thought crept into her mind. If Crystal was willing to go up against Ethan for Danny, how far would she go if the Alphas hurt someone who was part of her pack?

"One hundred ninety-eight?" Allison repeated in disbelief, toweling her hair dry.

"Yes! Over the last forty years! On average, that's—" Lydia did the mental math— "four and a half a year, which actually isn't too bad," she muttered. "But who commemorates that with a framed number?!"

"Norman Bates would be proud," Crystal muttered as she scrolled through her phone.

Lydia grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it in the blonde's direction. It missed. "Not helping!"

Allison frowned as she dropped the towel on the back of the chair. "They were all suicides?"

Lydia nodded. "Hanging, throat-cutting, pill popping, both barrels of a shotgun in the mouth suicides."

"Only thing that seems to be missing is death by fire."

"Crystal!"

"What?" Crystal snapped, dragging her eyes away from her phone. "I'm serious! All the articles I can find online don't say anything about suicide by fire."

"Probably because self-immolation is one of the worst ways to kill yourself!" Lydia cried. "It－"

"Which…which one do you want?" a man asked.

Every hair on her body rose. "Did you hear that?"

Crystal and Allison glanced at each other. "Hear what?" they asked in unison.

"I don't know." This time it was a young woman, her voice trembling with nerves. "The smaller one, I guess."

"It's okay," the man said. "Smaller's better."

Lydia turned toward the vent above her bed. Oh, God. Oh God, no.

She was dimly aware of climbing up on the bed as the people in the other room talked. She had to get closer, had to hear…

"Lydia?" Allison's voice seemed to come from a long way off.

"One…two…"

Two gunshots echoed through the vent simultaneously. Lydia's heart almost burst from her chest, and she stumbled back. Two pairs of hands steadied her.

"What is it, Lydia?" Allison asked. "What happened?"

Lydia whirled to face her best friend. "Didn't you hear that?"

Allison shook her head, her brown eyes worried. "Hear what?"

"The two people in the next room. They shot each other!" Throwing herself off the bed, Lydia raced for the door.

"Lydia! Lydia, wait!" Crystal followed her outside and seized her around the waist.

"Let me g－"

The world spun around her. Lydia gasped. One moment, Crystal's arms were wrapped around her from behind; the next, Crystal had slingshotted her into Allison's arms, making them stumble as they fought to stay upright.

"Crystal!" Allison snapped.

"I'll go first," Crystal told them. It wasn't a request. "Allison, stay with Lydia. I'll let you know when it's safe."

Lydia sagged in relief. She really didn't want to be the one finding another dead body. Or, this time, possibly two.

Allison grabbed Lydia's clammy hand tightly. Lydia clutched the offered support like a lifeline. "Be careful."

Nodding, Crystal moved down the walkway, light on her feet like a cat. Or a wolf. Taking a deep breath, the older girl turned on her phone's flashlight and opened the door. It creaked ominously.

Our lives are an actual horror movie, Lydia thought hysterically. Crystal's wry comment about Norman Bates made a lot more sense.

Crystal slipped inside. Lydia held her breath.

"She'll be okay," Allison breathed.

"She better be," Lydia whispered. "Or Peter's gonna skin us alive."

Forty-one breathless seconds later－yes, she counted－Crystal poked her head out of the room. "Well, I've got good news and bad news. Good news is, nobody's in there."

"And the bad news?" Allison wondered.

Lydia's stomach rolled when they stepped inside. Construction lights illuminated the room, revealing sheets of plastic hanging over the cracked window and the bathroom door frame. Tarps, paint, and tools covered the floor and the desk, which was the only furniture left.

"They're redecorating."

No bodies. No blood. But that didn't make sense! "It had to be right here! It was a guy and a girl, and they were talking about killing each other, and－" Lydia stared at her friends, silently begging them to believe her. "They were here."

Allison's worried look faded to one of complete sincerity. Lydia almost burst into tears when she stepped closer instead of backing away. "I believe you. After everything we've been through, I believe you."

Crystal nodded, fiddling with one of her earrings as she looked around the room. "Ghosts are real. But I don't think they're who we have to worry about."

"Why not?" Lydia wondered shakily.

Crystal didn't respond for several agonizing seconds. The light played off her too-pale cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. If Lydia didn't know better, she'd think Crystal was a ghost.

"Because Scott was acting strange. And it's never a good thing when a werewolf's acting strange."

"Strange?" Lydia squeaked. "Strange how?"

"That's the million dollar question." Crystal let go of her earring and faced them. "Why don't you go back to your room? I'll call Peter and Cora again."

"What? No! If something's wrong with the others, we have to get them out now!" Lydia argued.

Crystal smiled. "Funny. That's almost exactly what Peter said."

Help him.

Crystal wasn't sure if it was her ghosts or the thing inside her that urged her down the stairs and across the parking lot. She didn't really care.

Because Boyd was frantically digging in the ice machine like he was searching for something.

Or someone.

"Boyd?" she called softly as she approached. Frightening an already freaked out werewolf was a great way to get her face ripped open. "Boyd, are you okay?"

Boyd didn't seem to hear her. She thought she heard him sob, "Alicia?"

"Boyd."

He jumped back, knocking over the bucket at his feet and scattering ice across the parking lot. Crystal lunged forward to steady him. He spun, his eyes flashing gold as he snarled.

She didn't blink. "Are you okay?"

His fangs shrank and his eyes turned back to terrified brown. "I'm fine."

"Boyd－"

"I'm fine, Crystal," he snarled. She might have believed him if he wasn't shaking. And if he didn't keep glancing over his shoulder at the ice machine.

"Who's Alicia?" she asked gently.

His breath hitched. She frowned when she realized he was crying. "My sister."

She didn't know Boyd had a sister. She wanted to ask－the curiosity was killing her－but she held her tongue. Alicia could wait. The werewolves－Boyd－couldn't. She wrapped her hand gently around his wrist and tugged on it. "Come on."

Her heart broke when he followed her like a lost puppy.

"Something's going on here," she told him softly as she steered him toward his room. She didn't have to ask which was his: she'd watched her friends drag their stuff to their chosen rooms. She'd sighed in relief when she realized they were all within view of the parking spot she'd chosen. "I called Peter and Cora. They're on their way to come get us."

"How long?"

Crystal glanced at her phone. "A few hours. I'll let you guys know when they're here. Just stick close to Isaac and call me if anything weird starts happening."

Boyd snorted. She took that as a good sign. "Our whole lives are weird."

"Weirder than normal, then." She opened his door and let go of his wrist to hug him tightly. "Please don't do anything stupid. Cora would be devastated if anything happened to you."

And so would I.

"Thanks," Boyd mumbled as she released him. "And thanks for dinner."

She smiled brightly. "Any time."

He stepped inside and closed the door. She hurried back to room 217, her heart sinking as she realized Boyd never hugged her back.

"What did Peter say?" Lydia was asking before she was even fully in the room.

"They're driving as fast as they can." Crystal sighed. God, she wished she could just take a nap. "But we're in the middle of nowhere."

Allison looked up. "I think we should investigate."

Crystal blinked at her dumbly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You want to what?" Lydia screeched.

Allison lifted her chin. Crystal moaned silently. "You said it yourself. Scott and the others are acting weird. If it's affecting them, who knows, maybe it's affecting all the guests."

Crystal waved her finger between the three of them. "But we're not acting any different."

"Which makes us the perfect people to investigate." Allison headed for the door.

Crystal threw back her head and groaned loudly. Looked like she wasn't getting that nap, after all. "Come on."

Lydia, still sputtering protests, reluctantly followed.

"Wow," Crystal drawled sarcastically as they reached the abandoned front desk. She leaned against the crumbling brick as her eyes slid closed. "Nobody's here. What a surprise."

Allison ignored her. She stared at the numbers on the wall behind the counter, the hairs on her neck rising. "Didn't you say the sign said 198?"

The sign now read 201.

"I swear, it said 198." Lydia's voice trembled.

Crystal blinked and pushed herself off the wall.

"So, what does that mean?" Allison wondered. "That there's been three more suicides?"

"Or three more about to happen."

Crystal was already moving. "We're leaving. Now."

Allison wanted to argue－she still wanted to figure out why the motel seemed to be cursed－but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the ominous numbers. If Scott, Isaac, and Boyd were in danger…if they were the next three suicides…

If they were the next three sacrifices…

She nodded. "Have Stiles meet us in our room. If Scott's still acting weird, we're gonna need his help to get him out."

"Whoa, wait, you think something's making the werewolves flip out?" Stiles's eyebrows almost climbed into his hairline. "And you didn't think it was a good idea to get them out of here?"

Crystal bristled. "Of course we did! Why do you think I called Cora and Peter? But I wasn't gonna leave you three here, either."

No matter how she thought about it, there was no way she could keep her friends safe if one of them took the car. And dropping them at the gas station in the middle of the night was just asking for trouble.

Stiles nodded, too distracted by the mystery in front of them to worry about her anger. "Right. Sorry." He looked around at the three of them. "What do you think it might be?"

Allison shrugged. "I dunno. I've only ever seen Scott like this during the full moon."

"Does Peter have any ideas?"

Peter always had an idea. If he was right, they were all in serious trouble.

She shrugged. "He just said he wants us out of here." She frowned as she tugged and twisted a curl. "I'm worried about Boyd, though. He saw something－I don't know what, but he freaked out. And I haven't seen Isaac all night."

Lydia jolted like she'd been shocked. "You didn't say anything about people seeing things!" She fumbled for the desk drawer and pulled out the little Bible. "Someone better learn to do an exorcism, fast, unless none of us wants to be here when the throat-slashing-happy ex-Alpha gets here."

Crystal rubbed her eyes as she untangled Lydia's jumbled sentence. "I can call Peter again, but the more I call him…"

"Yeah, let's not piss off the murderous ex-Alpha." Stiles shuddered. "You said the number went up by three, right? What if it's not just 'cause of the motel?"

"You think it's three sacrifices, too?" Allison wondered.

He nodded. "What if this time, it's three werewolves?"

A cold, feral smile found its way onto Crystal's face. "That's not happening."

Try it, she dared the Darach. Take mine, and I'll crush your bones into splinters.

The Bible slipped from Lydia's hands, landing on its pages. She knelt to pick it up and pieces of paper drifted to the floor. At first Crystal thought the pages had come loose, but when she looked closer, she saw the papers were actually newspaper clippings. Lydia read one and paled.

"Lydia?" they asked worriedly.

She held out the newspaper clipping with a trembling hand. Crystal reached for it, but Stiles was faster.

His brow furrowed as he read off the slip of paper: "'28-year-old man hangs himself at the infamous Glen Capri'."

Crystal grabbed another off the ground. Her stomach twisted as she read it. "Another one."

"Hang on." Lydia leaned closer, skimming the article Crystal held. Crystal made sure to cover the suicide victim's name. If Lydia noticed, she didn't say anything. "This one mentions room 217."

"So does this one," Stiles told them.

"These are probably articles about all the suicides that happened in this room," Lydia said faintly.

"So, if every room has a Bible…" Allison looked like she was about to be sick. Crystal didn't feel much better.

"There could be articles in all the rooms," Lydia finished. All the blood had drained from her face.

"That's beautiful," Stiles muttered weakly. "Most places leave mints on your pillow. This one leaves articles of all the horrible deaths that occurred."

"What if the room next door has the one about the couple?" Lydia asked.

Crystal stared at her in disbelief. "Do you really want to find out how many people died in that room?"

Lydia scoffed. "I want to know why I heard a young couple in the next room when they've been dead for who knows how long," she retorted.

Crystal wanted to know that, too. She didn't think Lydia was a Dreamer－her mom hadn't said anything about it, and from what little Taylor was able to tell her, none of Lydia's…abilities…matched up. But that was a mystery for later. For now, she followed the other three out of the stuffy room and back down to the next room.

Two minutes. Then they were getting the werewolves out. She'd drag them out by their hair if she had to.

Derek was missing. Erica was taken. She would not lose anyone else.

The radio blared to life, repeating the words that haunted him.

"Do you remember what time it was when you last saw her?"

His heart sank. No, he wanted to cry. No, I don't, because I wasn't watching her. I should've been watching her.

Then there was his voice. Too young. Too scared. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"Sometimes it helps to put yourself back in that moment. Imagine you're seeing Alicia skating on the ice rink. There's plenty of other people around. And then what?"

"And then she was just…she was just gone."

Because he'd turned his back. It hadn't been for long—just for a minute. Just so he could take his skates off. But it was long enough. When he'd looked back up, Alicia was gone.

He slammed the power button on the radio again, hard enough to crack the plastic. But the radio flickered back on seconds later.

"I told you," his younger voice said, voice trembling. "I was watching her. I didn't wanna skate anymore. I was tired, and I swear I was watching her."

He couldn't stop the tears running down his face. He remembered that day far too well.

He curled up in a hoodie that was a little too big on him. Mom and Dad walked through the front door with Deputy Stilinski. For a split second, he thought everything would be okay.

Then he saw his mom's bloodshot eyes, the tears, her quivering jaw. "What happened?" she cried. "You promised you'd look after her!"

"I was!" he cried. Tears fell from his eyes and he hurriedly wiped them away. "I did! Alicia was still skating, but I got tired, so I sat down. But I was watching her the whole time!"

"Vernon." The policeman interviewing him leaned forward. "We just want to find your sister, but to do that, we need you to tell us everything."

"I told you." His head kept turning between his parents and the cops, begging one of them to believe him. "I was watching her. I didn't wanna skate anymore. I was tired. And I swear I was watching her."

His mom shook her head as she sobbed. He curled deeper into the hard plastic chair. He wished he could bury himself in his hoodie－or, even better, in his bed at home. He wanted to wake up from this terrible nightmare.

Someone gripped his shoulder firmly but gently. He didn't dare look up. Because if he looked up and it wasn't his dad, if his dad blamed him the way he blamed himself…

He didn't want to say it, but that day in the station, he knew…he knew that Alicia was…was…

He ripped the radio out of the wall.

The radio wouldn't die. "Is she dead? Is it my fault? Is she dead?"

Shaking, he hurled the cursed box across the room, walked over, and stomped it to pieces. Plastic and metal flew across the carpet.

"Is she dead?" he sobbed.

After all these years, that was the question that haunted him. The police had never found Alicia. There was no ransom demand (not that his parents were rich enough to meet a ransom demand in the first place). No body. Just an empty hole where his vibrant, energetic little sister used to live.

"Is she dead? Is it my fault?"

Is my baby sister dead because of me?

Stiles reached the door first and tried to open it. Crystal frowned when it didn't budge.

"That wasn't locked before," Lydia panicked.

Crystal's stomach twisted itself into knots as a high-pitched noise ripped through the air. "What the hell is that?"

Allison frowned worriedly. "Sounds like someone turned the handsaw on."

"Handsaw?" Stiles repeated in horrified disbelief.

"Move!" Crystal didn't wait for him to scuttle out of the way before she twisted the doorknob, slamming herself into the wooden door at the same time. It hurt－she'd definitely have bruises in the morning－but it did the trick. The door cracked loudly and flew open.

Oh, shit.

She'd been so busy worrying about her friends, she'd forgotten there was another werewolf trapped at the Glen Capri.

"Ethan, no!" Stiles lunged for the werewolf who was about to cut himself open with the rotating blade.

Crystal's focus narrowed in on them as they struggled.

He was too close to the saw. One wrong move and Stiles would be the one ripped apart. She'd be impressed with Stiles holding his own against an Alpha later; for now, she could only hold her breath as she watched, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to move if something went wrong.

Stiles fell backward, taking the handsaw with him, and Crystal moved. One moment, she was by the door, and the next, she was grabbing Stiles tightly before he landed face first on the saw. The blade slowed to a stop.

Stiles gulped as he straightened. "Thanks."

Snarling, Crystal whirled on Ethan. How dare he－

Ethan's face was eerily blank as his claws shot out. Instead of charging at her or Stiles, he turned his claws on himself.

Crystal didn't move. She hadn't forgotten that Ethan was the reason Erica had been taken, the reason Cora and Boyd were locked in a bank vault for months, and the reason Derek was missing. And Ethan was the reason Stiles almost got his head split open.

A little voice that sounded like Scott reminded her that Ethan wasn't Deucalion. He certainly wasn't Kali. He wasn't even Ethan right now.

She pushed the nagging conscience down. Poisoned or not, Ethan was an Alpha, and he'd hurt her friends.

So did Peter.

Peter won't hurt them anymore, she snarled.

Yeah, but that's because you gave Peter a chance. Maybe you should give Ethan one, too.

Stiles and Allison had lunged forward and seized Ethan's arms, struggling with all their might to pull his claws away from his bloody, healing chest.

Her vision shifted. Stiles and Allison became pillars of fire, strong and bright and dancing in panic. Ethan, oddly enough, looked perfectly normal.

Not mine.

But if she didn't do something, Stiles or Allison could get hurt. She refused to let that happen.

She lunged forward to grab Ethan's blood soaked hand. Immediately, he yelled in pain and recoiled, pulling away from their grip. His eyes lost their glazed look.

"What happened?" Ethan looked around wildly between them and the barely-remodeled room. "What did you do to me?"

"What did we do?" Crystal snapped. "You're the one trying to rip your chest open!"

Ethan pulled his unbuttoned shirt tightly around himself and shoved past them, all but running out the door.

"Ethan, wait!"

"Just let him go, Stiles!"

Stiles didn't listen. He hurried after Ethan.

"Come on." Allison tugged on her sleeve. "We've still gotta find the others."

Crystal growled but followed them down to the parking lot. She could hear Stiles pestering the Alpha with questions and the Alpha snapping a reply. But she also heard the fear in Ethan's voice.

"Great." Stiles threw his hands up when Ethan ran off. "Now what?"

"I'll get Scott. You guys grab Isaac and Boyd." Allison headed back upstairs.

"Be careful!" Crystal leaned against the handrail and frowned down at Stiles, who was staring between her and Lydia with a furrowed brow. "What?"

Lydia turned. She must have seen something else in his face, because her "What?" was a lot more exasperated.

"Nothing, I just－"

"Stiles," they both groaned.

He sighed. "Okay. Just…how did you hear the couple in the other room? The same room where Ethan almost killed himself. Out of all the rooms in the motel, you heard ghosts in that one."

"I don't know." Lydia's voice trembled. "I just did."

"Okay, but something's going on with you. Both of you." He waved his hand to include Crystal as well.

Crystal shrugged defensively. "Okay. So what? It's not like we poisoned the others."

"Poison?" Lydia repeated, horrified.

"Yeah. Between Scott's black blood and everyone acting strange, Peter's pretty sure all the werewolves were poisoned with wolfsbane."

"I thought you said Peter didn't know what was happening!"

"I lied. I didn't want to freak you guys out even more."

Stiles waved his hands to grab their attention. "Okay, but usually wolfsbane would kill them."

"Not necessarily. There's one type of wolfsbane that makes werewolves see things."

"There's LSD for werewolves?"

She shrugged. "I guess. Peter wanted to use it to distract you guys the night I brought him back to life, but I talked him out of it."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "How would he use it?"

Crystal glared at him. "He didn't do anything."

"That's not－I never－" He threw up his hands. Turning to Lydia, he frowned. "Lydia?"

Lydia wasn't looking at them anymore. She was staring across the deserted parking lot. "Do you hear that?" she breathed.

The hairs rose on the back of Crystal's neck. "Hear what?"

"A baby." She moved forward, trembling, until she was crouched near the edge of the grate in the middle of the parking lot. The other two followed her warily. "There's a baby crying."

Stiles stayed beside her but didn't pull her away from the grate. "What else do you hear?"

"I hear water running."

Something pressed into Crystal's leg. A small hand wrapped around her fingers. Startled, she looked down.

Large brown eyes stared up at her.

"Heather?"

The four-year-old Hale wore the pajamas she died in: a long-sleeved pink and white top and matching pants. She tugged on Crystal's limp hand. "Hurry! He needs help!"

"She's drowning the baby!" Lydia pushed herself up. "Someone's drowning!"

The thing inside Crystal screamed. She looked down at Heather. "Where?"

Heather pointed to the second floor, where another little girl was clinging to the railing.

"Crystal!" Helena yelled loud enough to wake the whole motel. "Help him!"

"Crystal, come on!" Stiles hollered, already running.

Crystal beat Stiles to the stairs and flew up them three at a time, barely pausing to throw the door open before she raced inside.

"Boyd! Isaac!"

She found Boyd at the bottom of the overflowing tub, wearing nothing but a pair of dark jeans and a fucking safe on his chest.

She lunged, scrambling for the edge of the safe, but it was too heavy for her to move. Of all the times for her newfound strength to fail her, why did it have to be now?!

Stiles crashed beside her and plunged his hand in the icy water, fumbling for the drain. He shook his head after a moment. "I－I can't. He blocked the drain. I can't get to it."

"Take a side." Crystal shifted so they could both tug at the safe. It didn't budge.

"Is he dead?" Lydia's panicked question made Crystal's chest tighten. "How long can werewolves hold their breath underwater?"

"You think I know?" Stiles retorted.

"I'm more worried about his ribs," Crystal told them. "If they break and puncture his heart－"

Stiles backed up, slipping on the wet tile. He gasped when his arm hit the heater on the wall.

"Wait. Wait, that's it. Crystal, you gotta overheat again."

"What?"

"You got really hot before you touched Ethan, and that snapped him out of it. I think heat's what does it."

"He's underwater!" Lydia cried.

"Doesn't matter." Crystal tugged off her jacket and tossed it to Lydia. Moving to crouch by his head, she reached into the freezing water and gripped Boyd's shoulder. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for the fire in her veins.

It tried to escape her grasp almost immediately. That was okay. She didn't need it for long. Just long enough to burn through the wolfsbane.

Boyd woke with a violent burst. He jolted out of the bubbling water, eyes blazing and fangs ready to rip someone's throat out. The safe flew across the room until it crashed to a halt by the toilet.

"Boyd," Crystal sighed in relief.

"Crystal?" He looked around. "What happened?"

The three of them helped him up. "You were poisoned," Stiles offered helpfully. "We think someone's making you guys hallucinate so bad you're trying to kill yourselves."

Boyd nodded slowly. "Where's Scott?"

"Allison's looking for him," Lydia said. "Peter and Cora are on their way to get us."

"Have you seen Isaac?" Crystal wondered.

Boyd pointed to the other room. "He's under his bed."