CHAPTER FOUR
THE FUNERAL CRASHERS
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A clawed hand.
Isaac's words flooded through my brain for the rest of the day. A clawed freaking hand. A human hand with freaking claws for fingernails. The only time I've seen a hand with claws was on a werewolf. Meaning that a werewolf had been in the graveyard with Isaac last night. Meaning that someone was a werewolf.
Scott wasn't going to go crawling around a cemetery and eat a liver. Neither was Derek, despite the fact that close to no one has seen him since he took the Alpha power away from Peter. So this meant that there was a new werewolf in Beacon Hills. One that had to be lucid enough to eat a liver. Lydia had vanished right before Isaac's account. Meaning that Lydia truly could have been the one dining on a liver from a dead body.
But it didn't add up. Lydia still very much had her wound when I last saw her. And if the wound someone magically healed before I got back with her food and clothes, than she must have sniffing magic fairy dust under the moonlight for that to happen.
"What? A hand with claws?" Stiles exclaimed as he and Scott surrounded me at my locker.
"I know, it doesn't make sense," I replied, grabbing my Chemistry textbook. "But that's what Isaac said he saw."
"Are you sure he saw that?" Scott countered, looking utterly doubtful.
I shrugged, closing the locker. "I don't know. Isaac doesn't really seem like the type to make up that kind of a story. And it's not like he was drunk and seeing things; the kid was operating a grave digging machine. Last time I checked you weren't supposed to do that kind of shit while working with machinery."
"So do you think it's Lydia?" Stiles asked, grabbing the book from my hands.
He left me no room to argue that I could hold it before starting down the hall. Scott had already fallen in step with him and I jogged to catch up.
"I can't see Lydia Martin eating a liver," Scott replied.
I nodded. "All I know is that now Isaac thinks I know something about what's going on."
"You do sort of know something," Stiles pointed out. "We all do."
"Yeah, no shit. But I'm not going to tell him that," I replied. "What would I say? Oh, yeah hey Isaac, by the way the towns infested with werewolves. And besides, it's not like I'm going to end up talking to him again."
Stiles and Scott sighed as we headed into Mr. Harris' room. Scribbled across the board was the word 'test'. Great. Just what I need today.
"You have got be kidding me," I muttered as Stiles and I made out way to our table. Harris ended up sitting us back together considering we just kept moving seats. Dude catches on fast.
"What?" Stiles asked, sliding my book across the table to me.
I gestured to the board. He looked and groaned. "I know! People are dying and he gives us a test!" He laughed.
"Everybody can be quiet now," Mr. Harris said, pretty much appearing out of nowhere. He had a stack of tests in his hands. "You have the whole period to complete the test."
The class fell silent as he began slapping the tests on the tables. Stiles slid the second one over to me and I smiled in thanks. I slipped a pen out of my bag when Stiles leant forward.
"Okay, it's causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but he's right," Stiles whispered to Scott.
Jackson apparently had told Scott and Stiles that if Lydia was indeed turning, we should basically run for the hills. He had said something about scratches and claws and their sex life that made Stiles and Scott completely uncomfortable.
"I know," Scott replied, not even turning around.
I bit my lip, deciding against joining in the conversation. I scribbled my name across the top of the paper before reading through the questions that would plague me for this period. Question one...oh my God, I'm going to die. I looked back up, figuring my best bet was to just join the conversation and forget this stupid test that was hell bent on ruining my life.
"What if the next organ she steals is from someone who's still alive?" Stiles whispered.
"This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris said suddenly, causing me to jump in my seat. The Devil's incarnate was at the front, glowering at my boyfriend. "If I hear your voice again, I might be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career."
I sighed, back to the test apparently.
"Can you do that?" Stiles replied. A few of the kids around us had their hands over their mouths, stifling giggles.
"There it is again: your voice," Harris droned. "Triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly and violently. See you at detention at three."
I groaned loudly. Really Stiles? Looks like I'm going to be waiting for him for an entire hour after school.
"You too Miss Bradley?" Mr. Harris questioned.
I shook my head. "No sir." I'd rather die a horrible death than be stuck in a room with you for an hour.
Only seconds later Jackson sprung up from his seat, hand clutched to his face. He raced out of the class, ignoring Mr. Harris' calls.
What the hell was his problem?
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"How did Stiles manage to get detention within the first five minutes of class?" Allison questioned me as we headed to our lockers at the end of the day.
The luxury of having last name initials close to each other had granted us the gift of being locker buddies. This was good for the most part. Except for the period of time when we weren't talking to each other. Then it was just awkward. But after that was mended, it just allowed more time to gossip with each other.
I shook my head. "It's Stiles."
"Fair point," she nodded, spinning the combination.
I did the same, breathing a sigh of relief when it popped open. I slipped the text book into the cold metal container, happy for it to be out of my hands.
Allison tried to force a smile as she slipped the dress off its hook. Her attire for Kate's funeral was sealed in a plastic garment bag. I knew she was trying to fake happiness and not break down. It's not every day your aunt dies. Even if she did kill people.
"Check the locker vent, bottom," I said vaguely, grabbing my coat out.
She gave me an odd look but nonetheless complied. She looked down before pulling out the slip of paper I had seen Scott slip in earlier. That should cheer her up. Opening it, her brown eyes scanned the short but sweet message. And just as I thought, they lit up instantly.
"How did you-"
"I saw him break in earlier," I laughed, before digging through a pile of books for my English worksheet. "Came up to me, said hey and then just started opening it. I chose not to ask." She giggled, re-reading it.
Seconds went by before someone commented, "Nice dress."
I pulled back to see Matt Daehler smiling at Allison.
"Nice camera," she replied with an angelic smile.
My eyes flitted down to where the camera was clutched in his grip. I looked back up at him to see him staring oddly at me. I shot him a forced grin before looking back at my locker. The thing was, I really couldn't say anything about Matt. I didn't know him. But that camera was always strapped to his side, like it was an appendage. He was always taking pictures around school and at lacrosse games when he was benched.
And sure, it'd be a normal thing. There are people who take candid's around school and game photos. But those people are in the Photography Club or are on the Yearbook team. Matt was none of those things, just a boy with a camera which left the question:
What was he taking pictures of?
"No, not her sister, her aunt. The one who murdered those people," someone from behind said.
I saw Allison stiffen. I glanced behind me to see to slightly familiar juniors talking. They kept glancing at her, laughing.
"You mean that crazy bitch that killed all those people," the other one laughed.
"Yeah," the first one replied. "The fire, all those animal attacks. It was her aunt!"
Matt glanced over at Allison before looking away. Mainly because I was giving him a look that would kill if he made any kind of smirk. I turned my attention back to Allison who was staring dead on with her locker.
"Are you kidding? She sits next to me in English!"
"Find a new seat."
And that was it for Allison. She slammed the locker shut gave me a fleeting glance and stormed off. I had to hand to her. She acted strong. She had her head held high and acted like she didn't care. And then she got yanked into a classroom, meaning Scott was nearby.
Alright, Scott does some damage control. I, on the other hand, had some heads to rip off.
I left my locker wide open, not even caring as I stalked over to them. I was a woman on a war path. "Hey, why don't you keep your mouths shut?"
"Excuse me?" the first one questioned.
"Listen bitches," I snapped. "No one talks about my best friend like that. You don't know anything about what happened, okay? So just keep your freaking mouths shut and I won't be tempted to tear them off. Got it? Good."
They just scoffed at me before haughtily stomping away.
"Bitches," I muttered, stalking back over to my locker.
"That was cool, what you just did," someone said from beside me. Matt.
"Oh uh thanks," I replied. He smiled and walked away.
That kid wasn't normal. And not in a good way either.
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"So let me get this straight," I said while looking over at Stiles. Harris had finally let him out of detention and now we were speeding down the street to the cemetery. "He kept you later because your dad kept under a twenty four hour hold? Might I add, because he chose not to tell the cops he told Kate how to get away with freaking arson?"
"He says I'm his new project for the semester," he grumbled, gripping the wheel. "Said I'll be exposed to the greatest discipline."
I raised an eyebrow. "What the-"
"I know," he replied. "I don't get it either."
I shook my head. "Oh no, I totally get it. He's the Devil's spawn and is therefore evil. Simple as that."
"Sorry you had to wait for me."
"Eh, it wasn't so bad," I shrugged. "Got to finish my English homework and I'm halfway through my new book. So all in all, it was good hour and a half. Well, it wasn't for you..."
"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he turned into the woods near the cemetery. "Keep making fun of Stiles. See what happens," he said, making it seem like he was threatening me.
I held my hands up. "Oh I'm so scared. What are you going to do? Push a vending machine on me?" I teased.
"Okay, that was one time and I didn't know it was going to tip," he muttered, parking the Jeep. Seconds later we were exiting it. Stiles grabbed a tie from the backseat.
"A tie? Really Stiles?" I laughed as he grabbed my hand with his free one.
"It's a funeral."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, a funeral that we're secretly crashing. Don't think you're going to need the tie babe."
Instead of making a sarcastic remark, he smiled. Like an overly happy, kid in a candy store smile. I chose against asking, deciding to focus more on finding Scott. It was a small cemetery; we should be able to find him easily.
We finally found the giant crowd we were looking for. In a small gated off section of the cemetery, surrounded by what looked like hundreds of photographers and journalists, was the Argent family. They were seated in front of what I was assuming was Kate's grave. Allison was seated, her scary ass mother was dressed in a fur coat and Mr. Argent stood off to the side. The only person who wasn't identifiable was an elderly man with snow white hair. He was surrounded by two other men who slightly resembled secret service members.
Stiles and I exchanged a look before we spotted a familiar werewolf crouched behind a statue. Slightly crouched, we sprinted to where he was, landing in the leaves behind him. Scott jumped and twisted around, calming instantly when he saw it was only us. I shot him a weak smile.
"Who the hell is that?" Stiles asked Scott, gesturing to the man.
As if they had werewolf hearing, the entire Argent family glanced our way. Quickly, Scott and I pushed ourselves backwards and tugged Stiles down with me.
"And this," I whispered lowly, "is why you do not talk during stakeouts."
"Well excuse me for being curious," Stiles mumbled.
Scott rolled his eyes as we still ducked behind the statue. "Well, he's definitely an Argent."
We leaned back around, thankful to find that the Argents were now talking instead of looking our way. I couldn't understand what they were saying. They were too far out of an earshot.
"Scott, what the hell is he saying?" I asked as creepy old guy seemed to be asking Allison a question.
He gulped. "That's her grandfather. He says his name is Gerard."
My eyes widened. "That creep is her grandfather?" He nodded.
"Hey, maybe he's just here for the funeral," Stiles tried. "There can be non-hunting Argents right?"
"My money's going to be on no," I said.
Scott nodded in agreement. "I know what they are. They're reinforcements." Stiles cringed.
I let out a sigh. "Meaning that our lives are about to get a whole lot freaking harder. Just fantastic."
Something grabbed my elbow from behind and suddenly the three of us were yanked to our feet. Stiles spastically waved his hands around. We all looked behind us and groaned. Stiles dad had one hand on Scott's collar, the other grabbing both mine and Stiles jackets.
"You three," he fumed. "Unbelievable."
I shot a glare at Scott and Stiles. "And this is why you don't crash funerals."
Ten minutes later, the three of us found ourselves cramped in the backseat of Mr. Stilinski's squad car. I was picking at my nails while Scott was playing with something in the ceiling.
"You know," I began, glancing at Stiles. "When I agreed to become your friend and then your girlfriend, that didn't give you the option of landing me in the backseat of your dad's car."
Scott chuckled and Stiles' rolled his eyes.
"Shut up," he mumbled. "It was Scott's idea anyways."
I giggled, before kissing him on the cheek. Scott faked gagging, earning him a smack on the arm.
"Four five one Adam," the police scanner buzzed from the front.
Papa Stilinski, who had been ignoring us up to this point, grabbed the radio. "I'm sorry. Did you say four five one Adam?"
"Disturbance in a car," Stiles whispered to us, his inner police code dictionary coming out.
"Yeah, we've taken a heart attack victim DOA. But on the way to the hospital, something hit 'em."
I glanced at the guys in confusion. Did he just say something hit the ambulance? Stiles' dad seemed to possess the same confusion as me, repeating my thought into the radio.
"Copy that," the other officer replied. The three of us started leaning forward in our seats. "I'm standing in front of it right now. Something got in the back. There's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere."
"Alright unit four, what's your twenty?"
"Route five. I swear I've never seen anything like this," the other police man replied.
As Papa Stilinski continued conversing with the guy, Stiles quietly began opening the door. Great, first I get stuck in a cop car, now I'm breaking out of it. Stiles grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the car behind him. Scott followed and we made a mad dash for the Jeep.
We had a situation to handle.
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Scott had run off into the woods a little while ago, doing some crazy werewolf sprint that I didn't think was possible, supernatural or not.
Stiles and I had chosen to get closer to the scene of the crime, now standing amongst the cops. There was indeed a lot of blood which was keeping me from looking in the direction of the ambulance. Mr. Stilinski had shown up seconds after we left the cover of the trees. To be honest, he didn't look all that shocked to see us here.
"I swear to God, somebody needs to find Lydia," I mumbled, rubbing my arms. Of all days I choose to wear the three quarter sleeved coat. And if I was freezing with just my arms bare, I didn't even want to consider what Lydia was going through.
"Don't worry, Scott said he'd find her," Stiles reminded me. He was standing in front of me, occasionally looking around me to see the bloodbath of the ambulance to which I would roll my eyes at. Only Stiles could be curious about a blood covered vehicle.
He kept going on about finding Lydia and how everything was going to be okay but I tuned him out. My eyes widened as there was movement in the trees a little ways away from us. No one seemed to notice the pale figure creep out of the woods, seemingly stuck in a trance. My heart began racing. A flash of strawberry blonde was all I needed to gasp.
"Lydia?" I murmured, low enough that only Stiles could hear me.
He nodded. "Yeah, we're going to find-"
I put a hand up and he shut up instantly. "Stiles, do me a favor and keep facing the way you are."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because if you turn around I'm not risking the chance of you gawking at my naked best friend," I grumbled before stepping past him. "Lydia?"
She didn't look up, just kept her arms pressed to her chest. Her hair was wild, like she was living in the woods her whole life. Twigs and leaves stuck out of it.
"Lydia!" I called again, gaining the attention of the sheriff and a few deputies whose eyes widened at the sight of her. "Lydia!"
The last call seemed to gain her attention and she stared straight at us. I glanced behind me and sure enough Stiles was still facing the other way. Thank God.
"Well," she began, throwing her hands out, making me and most of the police department avert our eyes. "Isn't anyone going to get me a coat?"
I looked over at Stiles' dad who sighed. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to me. Clearly I was in charge of clothing my friend.
I smiled in thanks while adding, "Make sure Stiles keeps looking that way," before jogging over to Lydia.
I handed her the long green coat which she immediately slipped on. Once it was zipped and covering everything, I launched myself at her, tightly wrapping her in my arms. She returned it after a moment, but I could sense she didn't know why I was hugging her.
"Oh my God," I said. "I was so worried. Are you okay? Are you hurt at all? Cold?"
I shot the questions out quickly, glancing her over for any visible wounds. She was shivering and looked in need of a shower but that was it.
"Why am I out here?" she asked me. I raised an eyebrow. "Carson? Why the hell am I naked in the middle of nowhere?"
My eyes went wide. She didn't remember anything.
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