Chapter 66: The Teacher

In order to unlock your true potential, you will be the one doing the killing.

"Farmers, bards, druids, soldiers, and kings."

"No."

"Slaves, freemen, warriors, artisans and nobility."

"No."

"Uh...Warriors, priests, mages, warlocks, and rogues."

"Wait, is that an actual theory?" Joe asked and leaned over to look at Erica's screen. It showed some colorful characters with larger-than-life weapons. Her face fell. "That's the base classes of World of Warcraft."

"Whatever. This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to help," Erica pointed out and went back to the search engine. She was in good enough shape to walk around the apartment now, so they had moved out to the living room where she used Joe's computer and Joe herself lay across one of the armchairs. "I'm sorry, but who cares about some random serial killer right now? We got actual mass-murdering psychopath Alpha werewolves to worry about."

"They might be related. The timing makes it too much of a coincidence."

Erica made an impatient sound. "It doesn't make any sense anyway. Virgins are not a social class. I don't go up to people and say 'Hi, I'm Erica Reyes, virgin', I say I'm a high school student or something."

Joe put down the heavy textbook on Celtic lore. "You're saying we're taking this too literal?"

"Sure, if that's what you got out of that."

"Virgins and warriors...they both represent only an aspect of your personality. You can be both," Joe said, thinking out loud to the generally disinterested Erica. "I'm worried this might be one of those where you need more victims before you can establish the next pattern. The only common link so far is the high school. Again."

Even the college student had gone to Beacon Hills High just a few months earlier.

Erica agreed with that at least. She checked the local newspaper again, but no new disappearances. "Yeah, Beacon High is kinda a hotspot for weird shit." Erica pulled up the missing poster for Heather, the first victim. "This one didn't go to Beacon High though."

"Really? Stiles said she was a Sophomore."

"Not at Beacon High. I've never seen her before and it says here she went to that fancy private school." Erica showed her the page. An outlier or representing some part of the pattern they missed? Erica fiddled with her frizzy hair and studied the picture of the pretty smiling blonde, but turned to Joe. "Where are you going?"

"Beacon High." She'd shrugged on a pair of shoes. "Gonna get my phone back."

Erica looked uncertain, mouth drawn in a line and eyebrows pulled together. "Shouldn't you wait until Jimmy gets back?"

"It's still in the middle of the day. School's gonna be full. They won't try anything in public," Joe said and hoped it was the truth.

Noticing Erica glancing at her hands, she held them out. Barely noticeable shaking. She'd slept better that night — felt awful to admit, but a few virgin sacrifices took her mind off her own problems.

"Scott, Isaac and Boyd are gonna be there." Not that she thought Boyd would do anything more than watch and possibly applaud if the Alphas came after her. "It'll be fine, Erica."

"That's what you said last time," Erica pointed out and Joe sighed heavily. "And look how that went. You nearly died, I nearly died, it was a lot of nearly deaths, Joe."

Slumping back down in the chair, Joe tried to give a brave smile. "If you don't want me to leave, I won't."

"It's not that. It's just, we're not any closer to beating Dickalion and his Douchebag crew. You said it yourself, we need Derek and Scott and the others."

"That was bef-"

Erica scoffed. "Before me, I know. I'm the problem. I'm your problem." She got up gingerly from the chair and went to the fridge, picking out a soda can. "They made me your problem."

"I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. Neither would Jimmy. You're not a problem, Erica, you're an advantage. And now you're hurt and Jimmy's not up to full strength yet and I..." Joe swallowed and dropped her head back. She finished weakly with: "And I'm not either."

The petulant teenager showed when Erica muttered into her can. "Would've been stronger if you did kill me."

"Jesus Christ, Erica. That's not the kind of strength I want."

"Maybe that's the kind of strength you need."

And at that, she left Joe in the living room, slamming the door to the bedroom behind her. Leaning forwards, Joe took a deep breath. She could either stay here and analyze everything to death or she could go to the school and potentially beat up the Pack's Emissary. Easy choice.

Jimmy had taken the car, leaving Joe to go on foot. Two birds with one stone, she could work out some excess energy. She wore running tights, a sports bra with a light top over it, and sneakers, allowing for full movement. Stuck to the crowded streets as she ran, no shortcuts through desolate alleys. No chance of an ambush.

The high school students milled about when she got to the school — must be between periods as the hallways were full. No one seemed to pay her any attention, she guessed the outfit made her look younger. As she didn't know the full name of the Emissary, Joe just headed for the direction of the administration's office. Either bluff or break into the database to find their roster. She kept a lookout for any familiar faces of the friendly kind as well, but it was impossible to tell one high schooler apart from the other.

At the sound of high heels tapping down the hall, Joe turned around. It was a teacher, but it wasn't her. This was a white woman; a pretty and slim brunette in a pencil skirt and a blouse, clutching a stack of books to her chest. Something about her looked familiar — Joe only realized she was staring when the teacher held her gaze, even looking over her shoulder before getting into a classroom.

The hallways cleared pretty quickly around Joe, everyone heading for a class or free period. Shaking off the weird feeling — she was so sure she'd seen that woman before somewhere — Joe continued down the hall.

Another set of footsteps clicked behind her, more evident from the lack of people now.

"I assume you're looking for me?"

Fists clenched, ready for a fight, Joe turned around. This was her.

Early to mid-thirties, thin medium stature with light brown skin and long straight hair. Dressed as a typical high school teacher with black slacks and a green top — pencil skirt and blouses were not that typical. Completely relaxed, not surprised to see Joe at all. Same small smile as when she'd first seen Joe at the diner and Joe could feel her hackles raise at the sight.

"Mind if we do this in my office?" the woman asked and tilted her head to have Joe follow her. Despite her misgivings, Joe did — it'd be fewer witnesses in the office.

"Are you seriously the school's guidance counselor?" Joe had to ask when they reached the door with the sign saying just that. The woman nodded patiently as she unlocked the door, holding it open for Joe. "Explains a lot."

"I'll have you know, I have a Master's in psychology." The woman indicated Joe to take a seat in front of the desk. "As well as three hundred hours of supervised training."

Something about those words rang a bell and Joe recalled a conversation with Stiles a long while back. "And you also teach French?"

The woman tilted her head, almost looking impressed. "You've done a background check on me?"

"Let's just say that I've heard of your work and I can't say I'm impressed," Joe leaned forward to read the nameplate on the desk, "Miss Morrell. Kids in this school are messed up."

Miss Morrell smiled again. Something familiar about that too, but not on this face. "Call me Marin."

"I'm not gonna call you shit. I want my phone. Walker told me you have it."

Putting her hands together in a pyramid, Marin leaned over her desk. "I don't have it anymore."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Joe rose from her chair in an instant, placing her fists on the desk and leaning over herself to stare down at the woman. "What is this, Super Mario? 'Thank you, but our princess is in another castle'? Who the hell has my phone?"

Marin did not back down an inch. That same Mona Lisa-smile always on her lips. "She does."

She. Joe took a step back, hands shaking.

"They want you back, Josefina." Marin pronounced the name almost with a French accent. Sho-se-fina. "They're not unreasonable. They can wait."

"No," Joe said, no hesitation, although not sure if she was answering or just denying everything.

"And he wants both of you," Marin continued as Joe kept backing away, stumbling over the chair. "Derek told you they came to see him? You must have felt it at least, when Kali impaled him on a steel pipe."

Instead of answering, Joe retreated blindly towards the door. Her chest tight, as if impaled all over again. "Shut up."

"Josefina, I'm on your side. You know that, deep down. I've been helping you. That is why I took your phone and told Professor Walker to cover for you."

"Cover for me by letting me be held captive for months." Refusing to acknowledge the contradicting statements, Joe focused on details. "How do you know Walker?"

"I've been an Emissary for a while," Marin said calmly. "Sarah and I go way back. And Bridget, of course, even longer."

Something about the way she said that. A small tilt to the head, a glint in her eye. It reminded Joe too much of the only other Emissary she had ever heard about. So much she forgot what Marin actually said. "You and Deaton..."

"Also go way back," Marin said, now with a half-smile, as if pleased with Joe.

"Oh my God. Do you lose the ability to answer questions when you take your druid-exam?"

Marin looked even more pleased with Joe and articulated each syllable carefully with her plump lips: "You didn't ask me a question, Josefina."

Technicalities, thought Joe and tried to get her bearings. "You've been answering my texts, right? How did you know about the jacket I wanted to give Scott?"

It might have been her imagination but Marin's smile seemed to stiffen a bit. "Do you remember everything from your time with," her straight white teeth came into sight momentarily, "them?"

Joe's hand was halfway up to her neck before she caught herself. Was Marin asking to give her a hint or because she didn't know? Every nerve ending in Joe's body screamed about this being some kind of trap. "Why would I talk to any of them about Scott's jacket?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

The words sent chills down Joe's spine — those were Derek's words.

"I wouldn't," Joe said, but could hear the hesitation in her own voice. "Right?"

"Are you asking me," Marin raised her delicate eyebrows up, "or telling me?"

"Both. I don't know. Uhm..." Without intending, Joe focused on her hands. Steady. So why did she feel so confused? The anger and intent she had entered the office with had waned. Joe rubbed her forehead to try and piece together her thoughts. "My car. Where's my car?"

"Your car? I don't know. What's so special about your car?"

"It's mine."

A small pause. "I see. There's a chance the same people who took Mr. Carter, took your car as well. If you want, I can look into it."

"No." The answer came without hesitation. Joe did not want to owe this woman any favors. Right now she just struggled to breathe. "I'll find it myself."

"Fine." Marin tilted her head to the side again, the lack of smile indicating that play-time was over. "You should get some sleep, Josefina. You look a little rough."

Another hint? Taunting? How much did she know?

"Now if you'd excuse me, Josefina, I have an appointment in a few minutes."

Somehow, Joe managed to get out of the office without passing out.

Marin's words roared in her ears. There was a power to that woman. With Professor Walker, Joe had been ready to fight hard from the get-go, but with Marin, she lost her nerve. Just in her head or a little Emissary juju? Could she picture that woman performing virgin sacrifices?

No, she realized. He wouldn't let her. It would make her too powerful. Or was that exactly why she was doing it?

Joe looked at her hands as she walked — still only a mild tremor. She took a deep breath and flexed them. Hard to tell if there was any improvement or not. So focused on her hands, she nearly missed the familiar lanky boy slouched in a chair outside the administration's office.

"Stiles?" she asked and he did a double-take in his seat, putting a magazine over his face. Eyebrow raised and Marin momentarily forgotten, Joe walked up to him. He had obviously been looking through the windows into the office and-

"Shit!" she yelped and ducked down. Sheriff Stilinski had nearly spotted her. In a crouch, she waddled over to Stiles and hissed: "What are you doing?"

His nostrils flared, annoyed at her presence. "Spying on our dads."

"Why?" She crawled into the seat next to him, keeping her head down. The talking inside was barely audible, just a murmur.

"They're investigating the sacrifices," he whispered.

Joe tried to glance through the windows, but only saw the back of a dark blue jacket moving around. "Have they found the Chemistry teacher?" Stiles shook his head no. "Wait, our dads?" She took another look and sure enough, Special Agent Rob Delgado in sunglasses and FBI-jacket. "Motherf-"

"He's heading the task force for the FBI," Stiles confided and looked in again. Unless he had somehow also acquired super hearing lately, she had no idea what he was hoping to gain. They were just talking in there, no maps or pictures. "They think it's a serial killer."

"Tough call with that victimology list. They're all over the place." Gender, ages, ethnicities, and status. No common link. Speaking of. "Hey, Stiles."

"Mm?"

"That girl Heather, the first victim," Joe whispered, leaning over to Stiles. "She was the only one without a connection to the high school. And she was the first victim. So she might be more significant than the others, more symbolic, you know? Do you think we can find out more about her? Do you know anyone at her school?"

"Uh, no," Stiles admitted, looking down at his hands. He swallowed. "But, uh, I was there when she was taken."

Joe blinked. "What?"

In a rush, Stiles explained that they had been childhood friends and she'd invited him to her birthday party and...

"And?" Joe prompted, still keeping half an eye on the men inside the office in case they suddenly appeared outside.

Stiles cleared his throat and the words came even faster, if possible: "And uh, she took me down to the wine cellar with the announcement that the only thing she wanted for her birthday was not to be a seventeen years old virgin. We, uh, didn't have a, uh, condom, so I ran upstairs to get one and when I came down, she was gone." He laughed awkwardly, picking at his fingernails. "I figured she'd just changed her mind and was too embarrassed to face me, so I grabbed Scott and left." He took a breath, obviously glad to be over with telling Joe that. "What? Why are you giving me that look?"

"Stiles, are you- or were you?"

He gave her a side-eyed look with his mouth locked in a tight ring. "Not answering is the same as answering here, right? There's no way out of that question." Stiles cleared his throat again as if shaking off the awkwardness. "Yes." He blinked. "Wait, you don't think?"

Joe shrugged now. "I don't know, but you said it yourself. You ran upstairs to get condoms, which by the way I am so proud of you for being responsible," Stiles looked like he wanted to sink through the chair, "and she was gone when you came back. You might have been the actual target."

"So it's my fault that-"

"No! No, no, no, no!" Joe exclaimed hurriedly, holding up her hands to stop him from talking. "God, no! It's not your fault, Stiles. The fault lies with whoever is actually doing the murdering. And it's just a theory, nothing more. But if it's true, then the high school is definitely the center of this whole mess."

Stiles gave her a panicked look. She'd been too loud. No chance of avoiding the inevitable. They both flinched as the door opened next to Stiles' head and even though he slid down with a magazine in front of his face, his father did not seem particularly fooled.

"Long time, no see, Joe," the Sheriff said tiredly, hands in his belt and leaning against the doorframe. "How's that degree coming? Heard you're getting published."

Trying Stiles' tactic, Joe also sank down in the chair and gave the Sheriff two thumbs up. She had to get out of there. Just make a run for it. She could not face her dad right now. Could not, would not, should not. If she saw him, she'd cave and come clean and he would be dead. And, depending on the outcome of her confession, she might be the one doing the murdering.

The Sheriff looked exasperated at Stiles, who tried to convey something with a lot of frantic hand motions. He gestured to Joe, to the door, shaking his head, miming to keep his mouth shut. Bless his heart, Joe thought, but the Sheriff had already said her name loud enough for everyone to hear.

Just as Joe got ready to actually sprint out of here, the Sheriff glanced inside the office for a second. He looked confused, almost non-verbally asking 'Are you sure?' then shrugged and started closing the door on them.

"You two, get to class or...go home. Just get out of here."

The door clicked shut and Stiles gave her a big relieved grin. "Close one."

"I think that counts as more than close, Stiles," Joe said and got up, careful to keep her back to the window. If she ignored him, she could pretend he wasn't there. If he thought she was angry with him, he was safer. And to be fair, she was kind of angry with him, she just didn't know if it was justified or not.

She kicked Stiles' foot to make him get up. "Dude, come on. What class are you skipping to be here?"

"Just English, of which I am pretty fluent," Stiles mumbled, but did get up to follow her. He checked his phone. "And it should be over right around...now!" On cue, the doors started opening in the hallways and students began filing out again. Stiles smiled happily at her. "And now it's lunch!"

"Whatever, smartass," Joe said and swatted lightly at his head. They stopped at a corner to avoid getting swallowed by the student mass. "Hey, listen, do you know where the Argents live? Scott said it was downtown, but that was all he said."

"Uh, yeah, I have the address." Stiles got out his phone again and sent it to her. "I'm assuming you're not planning a girl's night with Allison?"

Joe laughed without humor as she saved the address. "Just gonna collect some debt."

Her words drifted off. She felt watched, again, as if she was undoubtedly someone's sole focus of attention. Slowly, she looked up. The classroom door to where that teacher had gone through, the one in the pencil skirt, was open and people were coming out. Among them-

"Ethan," she whispered at the sight of one of the twins.

One of the Alphas. Here. At the school.

Like his brother, Ethan was lean and muscular with light brown hair and wearing a black leather jacket. He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Hands shaking, she put down the phone, not hearing Stiles' questions or seeing the hand waving in front of her face.

They were here.

Where was the other one? They were never far apart from each other.

Joe stared at Ethan who stared back, both unmoving. Tunnel vision crept in, blurring everyone else out. She curled her fingers into her palm and enveloped them with her thumb, keeping it aligned and tight to get maximum impact when throwing a punch. Clenched fists — Ethan noticed and he blinked, eyes opening to shine red.

Gritting her teeth, she began moving forwards and got one step before someone else jumped in front of her. Scott.

"Whoa, hey, Joe!" he said and put a calming hand on her shoulder. He'd blocked Ethan from her sight and she tried to peer around him, locate her target and Scott was mirroring her. "Joe. Joe!"

"What?" she snapped, finally paying him attention. Ethan was gone anyway.

He blinked, obviously taken aback. "Uh, hi? What are you doing here and," he lowered his voice and dragged her to the side of the hallway so her back was against some lockers, "why do you smell like you want to kill someone?"

"Because I want to kill someone." No need to sugarcoat it, but she tried to take a calming breath. She was supposed to be the adult here. "Why didn't you tell me they were at the school? Where's his brother?"

Isaac appeared from nowhere and leaned against the lockers at her side. "We sort of got him suspended the other day."

"And not to be the voice of reason here," Stiles slammed against the lockers on her other side, trapping her in a teenage boy cage, "but attacking an Alpha werewolf seems kind of dumb. As a human myself, I see many, many violent and painful problems with that, in fact." Stiles drew in a deep breath. "And not to be a creep, but you are definitely not concealing a shotgun anywhere on your person. At least nowhere that's still PG-13."

"Shut up," Joe muttered and shrugged Scott's hand off her. She pushed all of them away, to give her some damn space. Her hands shook and she flexed her fingers. "Go to class or whatever."

Stiles addressed his classmates. "Am I losing my mind or is she becoming Derek by now?"

"Okay, you know what, maybe Derek had the right idea?" Joe tore around and gestured at Stiles, who immediately retracted into the lockers. "I'd be constantly pissed off too if I had to spend all my time with a bunch of incompetent high schoolers." She gestured to the general direction of where Ethan had gone. "And by the way, those two are not high schoolers, and the fact that they're posing as some is so disturbing I can't even-"

"W-w-well, how old are they?" Stiles stuttered and straightened up a bit from where he had tried to physically conjoin with the metallic lockers.

Hand shook so much it was only a matter of time before Scott would notice. She rubbed her forehead, pressing her hand against her skin to keep it steady. "I don't know! I don't care." Out, she had to get out. "Oh, and by the way, your guidance counselor's one of the bad guys."

She was already halfway down the hall when she heard Stiles' call of: "Like evil druid kind of bad guy?"

"Maybe!"

I don't care what Duke says. Either you learn or you die, Sefina.

Running back downtown cleared her mind somewhat. It also made her break a sweat and that was one of the downsides with bangs, she thought, as she pushed them out of her face for the hundredth time or so. Rationally, she knew she should go back to the apartment. Go back to Erica and Jimmy, safety in numbers and all. Still, as she flexed her perfectly human hands devoid of claws, she felt she needed something to compensate.

The address Stiles gave her led to another high-rise apartment complex in Beacon Hills. This one also refurbished in the past decade or so, while maintaining a lot of the 60s style decor and accents. Stiles had not given her an apartment number, but he didn't need to. A sign in the entrance hall listed Argent Arms International in number 402.

The trembling started back up just by looking at the nameplate. Argent. Kate. Gerard. Hunters. According to Scott, it was just Chris and Allison here.

In the elevator, Joe rubbed her face, trying to work out the frown it seemed to be permanently set to these days. Maybe this was why Derek never smiled. Muscle memory setting the default to pissed off. Joe always had a case of resting bitch face, but nothing about her felt resting anymore. Bitch part checked out though.

Going up to one of the higher stories, Joe found herself outside apartment number 402. Same sign on the door here as in the entrance hall, so she guessed Chris must conduct some of his business from here. Swallowing, wishing the tights had pockets so she could put her hands in them, she rang the doorbell.

Not hearing anything, Joe looked at the peephole with what she hoped was a neutral friendly expression. The door opened a few seconds later to Chris Argent's confused face. He looked exactly the same as the last time she saw him, albeit even more tired if possible.

"Joe Delgado," he said and silently stepped aside to let her through. "I don't know why I'm not surprised anymore."

"Welcome back from France," Joe mumbled and entered the apartment.

Color-scheme and decor reminded her of their impressive house she had visited on a few notable occasions. Still, something seemed amiss, as if Chris had copied, but was unable to replicate exactly what she assumed was Victoria Argent's original idea.

Not in the mood for much more bullshit today, she turned with her arms crossed. "I want a gun."

"And here I was going to offer you coffee," Chris said with a small smile.

Her social skills were severely lacking lately, Joe thought. "Okay, fine, that sounds great. But I still want a gun."

Chris led her down the hall to the corner of the apartment, with a view overlooking Beacon Hills. No pictures on the walls, at least not yet, because they couldn't have been living here for long. They had installed one of the fancier coffee-machines, using capsules instead of grains, and he had two cups ready in just a minute. He handed her one and placed himself by the windows while she sat down in an armchair.

"How was France?" Joe asked after racking her brain for anything appropriate to say.

Chris gave a not-bad-nod. "Uneventful. How was California?" At her narrowed eyes, he explained. "Allison heard from Lydia who heard it from Stiles. As I said, we are not in the habit of stalking people. Besides I am staying out of," vague hand gesture, "all of this. Allison and I have a deal."

"Really?" she said, not answering his question. The less he knew about her three months MIA, the better. They sipped their coffees in silence for a while, each staring out the window.

"What happened with the shotgun?"

"It was stolen," Joe said, figuring it was as close to the truth she could get. Last time she saw it, it had been in the car. Alphas wouldn't have bothered to take it, it was probably wherever the car was — and judging by Marin's words, that might be in Mexico. "And I don't want a shotgun. I want a rifle."

At that, Chris raised his eyebrows and sighed. "You want a rifle?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"To kill an Alpha."

"Which one?" Chris realized his mistake when she raised her eyebrow. "I am trying to stay out of it, at least. Scott asked me for help to track down the beta killing machines during the night of the full moon. And I tracked, before you ask, didn't hunt." He took another sip of coffee. "Not a hunter anymore."

Not sure what to say to that, Joe just shrugged and finished her own coffee. Did that help or increase her trembling hands? Hard to tell. Was Chris being sincere in his statement about not being a hunter? Also hard to tell. Irony at its finest that she had missed out on the chance to be a walking lie detector, instead she only got this stupid healing and strength.

"Come on," Chris said after a while. "I want to show you something." Getting up, she followed him back down the hall into one of the first doors. His office, by the looks of it. Legitimate business, at least from what she could tell, with brochures, catalogs, and product samples.

What he wanted to show her, was less legitimate. He unlocked his computer to pull up a large interactive map, with different dots in the US, trailing down well into the Mexican borders. "Kate's movements. Lost her trail down south, but I've got feelers out in the border states if she shows up there."

With so much damage Kate was doing just in Joe's head, it was almost unbearable to think of her showing up again.

"And what are you going to do if she does?" Joe turned her head from the screen to look at him, but his expression was neutral as always. "You know what she is now."

"Bites from an Alpha either turns or kills," Chris said evenly. "Bites from a Demi? Who knows?" He snorted at her expression. "My family's been doing this for a long time, Joe. I know what a Demi Alpha is. And I know how they're made. I know your friend had to be regularly ingesting wolfsbane for months before being bitten. I know he had to keep ingesting it for months after being bitten, I know the toll it took on his body and how his control might have varied throughout the process."

He folded his arms and turned off the computer. "I've seen plenty of Omegas follow the same path, or try to. Where most fail is the discipline to their mind and body to rely only on themselves for strength, a discipline most commonly associated with monks."

"Yup," said Joe, thinking of the meditation tapes and chamomile-tea. He was not supposed to have caffeine, didn't even eat meat. She knew all of this. And she had also seen the consequences of him losing control, but at least it seemed those news hadn't reached Chris yet or he had at least not connected the dots. "Kate's still on the FBI's most-wanted list. I'm not worried about her right now." A blatant lie, but a necessary one. "I'm worried about the Alphas."

"You're not the only one," he said in a low voice, almost so low she didn't catch it. "As I told you before, the gun matters less than the accuracy. And with Alpha werewolves, even a headshot is only enough to slow them down."

Joe groaned and sat down in Chris's office chair. "So I need wolfsbane bullets? What else can kill an Alpha?"

"Apart from another werewolf?" Chris seemed to mull over the question, not noticing Joe's newfound attentiveness. "Keep them wounded long enough for them to die. Keep them from healing. Decapitation does the trick. A bisection is necessary to keep them from being resurrected. Problem isn't killing them, it's getting to that point. They're faster, stronger, and usually not alone."

"True power of an Alpha comes from its betas," Joe murmured, having been told it repeatedly lately. "And these guys straight up absorbed that power, which should have left them alone, but then another sociopath comes along and bands them together." She threw her head back with a groan. "Can I get an assault rifle that'll make someone's head just burst like a dropped watermelon?"

"I'm guessing your dad's lecture on guns ended with .22 pistols." Chris leaned on his desk as he explained. "You don't want an assault rifle, you want a marksman rifle."

"Like a sniper rifle?"

He snorted again. "Do you have the skills and training to take out these Alphas from a thousand yards? Thought not."

Chris got up from the desk and opened up what had looked like to be a regular filing cabinet, but with a serious heavy lock that he now opened. The drawers pulled out with a release of vacuum, signaling a bit more sturdy construction than she first realized and he pulled out a sort of Call of Duty-gamer's wet dream of a rifle. All smooth fiberglass in a dusty gray color and an optic scope on top.

"This is an eighteen-inch M1A with a suppressor and a Blackfeather RS stock," he explained appreciatively and turned the weapon over. "Semi-auto, medium power scope, red dot backup, and .416 Magnum caliber. Enough to take down the African Big Five, and as it turns out, most American ones. Never failed me once." Chris smiled at her over the rifle as he held it up to his shoulder. "You're not getting this."

Joe gaped as he put the rifle back into the filing cabinet. "What, but I thought-"

"You thought I was going to hand over an illegally modified military-grade weapon to a civilian? Look, if you want to protect yourself from werewolves, you'll do better with a taser wand."

"I don't want to protect myself, I want to-"

"Kill them, I heard." Chris's disappointed expression hurt more than she thought it would. "Allison and I made a deal to stay out of this. Something you might want to consider."

She threw her head back with a groan. "I can't. I can't stay out of this. They're after Derek and..."

To her utter humiliation, Chris nodded knowingly. "The mate thing." He gave her another disappointed look as if she should know better than to be surprised by now. "I was there when you tore Scott a new one, I can connect the dots. Sharing pain is the most obvious sign of a mate-pair. I'm guessing Kate knew, which is why she worked so hard on getting you away from him."

"Yeah, she figured it out before me," Joe muttered, now back at all the memories with Kate, none of the good kind. Drawing out the words, as if she hadn't chanted it to herself in vivid nightmares for months now, she said: "Separate the mates."

She must have looked pretty down, as Chris sighed and went back to the filing cabinet. He opened a different drawer and extracted a familiar-looking pistol. The 9mm, either the same or identical to the one Kate had used. Kate. Always Kate. Kate Kate Kate.

"For self-defense," he said and handed it to her along with a clip of ammo. "Regular bullets. It'll slow them down. Give you time to get away."

Not what she had envisioned, but what she was getting. "Thanks."

The top she wore was loose enough to conceal the pistol stuck in the waistband of her tights. Chris offhandedly told her they made special clothes for concealed carrying and he had a brochure if she wanted. She declined his offer and thanked him again before heading out to the elevator. Half the day had gone by and she had to get back to the apartment. The thought made her pause in the hallway — why did she need to get back to the apartment? Because of Jimmy?

There seemed to be a lot of people living or working in the building, but Joe got lucky and the elevator was empty when she stepped in. She hit the button for the ground floor, but for some reason, the elevator went up first to the penthouse. Maybe some override-function because whoever lived in the penthouse was probably rich enough to own the entire building.

Joe leaned against the wall, waiting for the doors to open so she could roll her eyes at whoever thought their time mattered more than hers.

The doors opened to an empty hallway. Joe rolled her eyes anyway and leaned forward to push the button again. The doors closed maybe an inch before a slim hand shot in and stopped them.

Black painted fingernails. Not claws. Not yet.

Joe would recognize that hand anywhere and she backed into the wall again.

"Hello, Sefina," said Kali and came into the elevator. She smiled. "Going down?"

..

Another "short" one to catch our collective breaths.
Not the showdown with Marin as some might have expected, but those druids aren't lightweights either.

Cannot express how much I'm loving all the theories you guys are coming up with. Some are better than what I actually have planned, but gold stars to all of you basically.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think ❤ There was some site-wide glitch when I posted the last chapter that prevented some of you to leave reviews, so fingers crossed that's been cleared. Based on the official FFN-Twitter, they had troubles with PMs, reviews and e-mail alerts. (If the site is down or something and you can't contact me via PM, you are welcome to do so via twitter: fr_alv)

(This is the second chapter in a row without Derek, but he's back in the next one. Don't worry ❤)

(Also, can everyone see the hearts? I was so excited when I figured out how to make them ❤❤❤)