Lydia wished she was useful for more than picking up pizza for Chris and Alan. The window of the pizza shop looked dark from the parking lot but the neon "open" sign was still on. Lydia shrugged and got out of her car. She'd rather pick up the pizza, anyway. Better that than loading wheelbarrows of ground up mountain ash into the Argent's truck.
Lydia knew that something was wrong the moment she stepped through the door. The floor of the pizza shop had tiles but this building had carpet. It didn't smell like pizza. It smelled like yellowed paper and soured ink. Everything felt old.
A used bookstore. It happened again. Lydia aimed for the pizza shop and ended up downtown in a small building overflowing with decaying books. She took a step forward, knowing what she was about to see.
The body was slumped over the cash register. A woman no younger than sixty, sixty-five. Claws stuck out of her still fingertips and a spark of yellow remained in her sightless eyes. Scabs had started to form over a bite mark on her shoulder. Lydia realized with a start that the woman hadn't been a werewolf long before she was sacrificed by Gerard or Peter. Not even long enough for the bite to heal.
Lydia screamed.
•••
"Wait, what? Say that again," came Deaton's voice through Scott's cell phone.
Scott put Deaton on speaker so that Derek and Isaac could also hear. "I said that Stiles' eyes are red!" he repeated. "Like, Alpha red."
"That's impossible." The three boys could almost see Deaton shake his head. "When a human is bitten by a werewolf he either becomes a beta or he dies."
"Or turns into a kanima," Chris added behind him. "And there are plenty of other shape-shifters we've never encountered."
"Are you sure it isn't just the light? Maybe he has golden eyes that look a little... orange?"
"It's red," Isaac insisted sarcastically. "Want us to send you a picture?"
"How is he feeling?" Deaton asked.
Derek stepped closer to the phone. "He passed out again. But I've been watching him and I swear he's healing quick."
"Is there still black blood?"
"Yes but not half as much." Derek looked at the two betas beside him in the hallway. "He's getting better – we can all feel it."
There was silence on the other line for a long minute. And then Deaton said, "I'll do some research, boys. But remember, we have to get this trap at the Hale house set up by tomorrow night. That's when the Alphas will go after Scott."
Isaac's left eyebrow lifted. "How do you know that?"
Scott answered for Deaton. "It's the full moon."
"Exactly."
Suddenly the McCall's front door burst open. So engrossed in the conversation were the werewolves that none of them heard the person's approach until he or she was inside. "Stay here!" both Derek and Scott barked at Isaac, who took a defensive position outside of Scott's bedroom where Stiles slept. The two wolves raced downstairs. Scott reached the bottom step first and a pale, sobbing Lydia Martin threw her arms around his neck.
"Dead body," she hiccuped against him. "D-Dead werewolf. They're still going after werewolves – they're making people werewolves and then killing them, Scott!"
"Oh no." Derek fished his phone out of his pocket.
Scott made sure Lydia had her footing and then held her at arm's length. "Which one – Gerard or Peter? What did you see?"
"Come on Cora, pick up!" Derek growled at his cell. "Pick up!"
•••
It was 7AM and Alan Deaton didn't bother knocking on his sister's office door. He didn't bother with a greeting or small talk, either. He marched right up to the guidance counselor desk and said, "I need a favor."
Marin Morrell wore a slimming black and gray pant suit. Calmly she swallowed a mouthful of yogurt and then said, "I don't recall owing you a favor."
Alan had been up all night, and looked it: ruffled clothes, bloodshot eyes, fingers stained with grounded mountain ash. "You don't recall me stitching up Enis?"
"Enis died. You failed."
Deaton raised his fists and mimed choking her. "I told you Deucalion murdered him!"
"And I told you I don't believe that."
"I've got to invest in video surveillance," Deaton muttered to himself. "Look, Mare, it's not even a favor, it's just a question: have you ever heard of a werewolf skipping the Beta status and going straight to Alpha?"
Marin frowned. "You mean being born an Alpha? Of course not – werewolves become Alphas by killing, you know that, or a Beta can transform into a True Alpha like your little protege. Either way they start as a Beta."
Deaton dragged his fingers down his face. "I wish Elyse was still alive. She'd know. Maybe I can find another Druid Priestess..."
Marin threw her breakfast in the trash. "Deucalion ripped her apart. No other Priestess is going to risk his wrath. If she'd just left Isaac to die at that bank we'd all be better off." Marin folded her arms against her stomach. "Just out of curiosity, who did Derek bite?"
"Stiles. And it wasn't Derek, it was Scott."
"Scott?" Marin walked around the desk to confirm the truth in her brother's eyes. "Scott bit him?"
"He had no choice. Stiles would've died."
"Alan..." Marin's voice dropped an octave. "We have records – rumors, really - of maybe three or four True Alphas in all of recorded history. Do you know how many of them sired Betas?"
Alan's eyebrows crept up his forehead. "No."
"None." Marin's blank expression morphed into genuine concern for Stiles. "Alan, we have no idea what happens when a True Alpha bites someone. Whatever Stiles is turning into... we might not have a name for it."
"He might not turn into anything. His body has been fighting the bite for two days. I'm not convinced he'll survive another hour."
"I bet he'd be dead already if Derek bit him – if anyone other than a True Alpha bit him. I bet Scott's unique power gave Stiles' body the ability to adapt to the bite."
"So what do we do?"
Marin shrugged. "This is new territory, Alan. I suggest you don't let him out of your sight, and take notes."
Alan glared at her and turned to leave. Before he got out the door, Marin spoke up. "I heard that Stiles was dead. Killed from the cave collapse."
He rounded on her with an uncharacteristically furious face. "Don't patronize me, Marin. We know that people are being turned into werewolves and immediately ritually sacrificed. Lydia found the bookstore clerk yesterday, and Scott's lacrosse coach and his English teacher were both found dead this morning, and they all had claws. And now Cora is missing. That means the Darachs didn't believe our lie that Derek, Scott and Stiles are dead. If they did they'd just come straight for Scott to finish their ritual."
Marin wore a smug, amused expression. "That banshee sure comes in handy. Too bad she won't be any help now that Gerard is up to full strength. Against him, Peter and the Alpha Pack, Alan, your little wolves don't stand a chance."
"I should warn you about something. If Stiles dies, nothing will stop Derek and Scott from going after Kali and avenging him. Nothing." Alan walked right into her personal space, right up to her face. "And give Deucalion this message from me: come to the Hale house tonight and he'll see that the pack stands more than a chance, because it has me now."
Marin's jaw dropped. "You can't. You can't do that, Alan. If you use your powers to fight you'll give up being an Emissary, give up your immortality!"
"So be it. There's no higher calling for our kind than helping a True Alpha."
"There are so few Druids left! Even fewer Emissaries!"
"Scott is worth it. I'll see you tonight, sister." Deaton slammed the door on his way out.