The text message lay between them in the hospital room, an intangible cord of tension binding them together. The reference to mountain ash shivered recognition along Stiles's spine, a phenomenon plucked directly out of the pages of his favorite horror novels now horrifyingly real. Sheriff Stilinski, his complexion pale beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights, grew more and more beleaguered by the growing bizarreness. Scott, though still frail but his werewolf instincts now extremely attuned to the underlying tension, observed Damien with a mix of fear and growing dependence.
"Mountain ash?" Sheriff Stilinski whispered, his voice almost too low to hear. "What does that even mean?
Stiles, even though he was scared, couldn't help but clarify. "It's… it's a kind of supernatural barrier, Dad. A natural one that can keep some creatures away. Werewolves, actually. If you want to meet up with Damien where mountain ash can't go." His eyes went wide. "That means they're either something else… or they know we can't get protection.
Damien's thoughts ran wild. The careful selection of scene was worrying, yes. It implied a high degree of understanding of Beacon Hills' supernatural weaknesses that made him uneasy. Was this the initial anonymous one, ratcheting up the stakes? Or someone new altogether?
"We must be cautious," Damien said, his eyes scanning the anxious faces in the room. "It might be an ambush.
Scott, though weakened, was firm in his speech. "I'll come with you." What had happened the night before created a tenuous bond between them, a shared experience in the face of the impossible.
"No, Scott, you have to rest," Melissa broke in, her protective nature taking over. "Whatever this is, it may be dangerous."
"But if they know about mountain ash…" Scott protested, his words tense. "They know things. Perhaps they can assist me."
Sheriff Stilinski sighed, raking a hand through his already unruly hair. "This is crazy. Completely crazy. But… perhaps Scott's right. If this individual has knowledge, we have to learn what it is." He glanced at Damien, a begrudging trust in his expression. "I'll accompany you both. Stiles, you remain here with your mother and Scott."
Stiles's reaction was swift and anguished. "What? No way! You can't leave me out of this! This is like, the ultimate supernatural meet-cute! We need a sarcastic observer!"
Damien, for all his seriousness, couldn't resist a small, wry grin. Stiles's absolute dedication to being a part of things, whether or not there was danger involved, was nearly admirable.
"Stiles, somebody specifically invited me to meet *me*," Damien replied, his voice stern. "A big group will frighten them away, if they are a friend. And if it's a trap, fewer targets are preferred."
Grumblingly, Stiles acquiesced, but not before issuing a series of dire warnings and requests for constant feedback.
As the night deepened over Beacon Hills, Damien, Scott, and Sheriff Stilinski drove out into the distance of the town on the cryptic instructions suggested in the text – "where the mountain ash cannot reach." It took them out of the known limits of the Preserve and into a more industrial zone, an assemblage of old warehouses and forgotten factories which seemed to have an aura of neglect and hiddenness.
The air here was not the same, denser, almost stagnant. The faint thrum of otherworldly power that pervaded the Preserve was muted here, there a sense of emptiness, a lack where the natural boundaries had no power.
They left the Sheriff's cruiser parked by a dilapidated brick warehouse, its windows years ago broken, the blackness within appearing complete. The stillness was creepy, punctuated only by the distant roar of cars on the highway and the occasional scurrying noise inside the abandoned structures.
This makes me creepy crawlies," Stiles had texted them beforehand, a feeling Sheriff Stilinski decidedly shared, his hand never far from his sidearm.
Damien, his Lycan senses tingling, experienced a crawling feeling on the back of his neck. They were under observation.
A figure stepped out of the warehouse shadows, their shape blurred by the blackness. As they moved out into the dim moonlight spilling through the hole in the roof, their appearance was… surprising.
It was a woman, hardly more than Scott's age, with silver hair of unbelievable beauty falling down her back. Her eyes, an icy blue, shone with a familiar intensity. Coralia Laurent.
Damien's breath hitched. His birth mother. Here?
"Damien," she said, her voice low and carrying a strange mix of urgency and resignation. "You came."
Sheriff Stilinski's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing the woman from the brief description Damien had given of his birth mother. Scott, still weak, looked from Damien to Coralia, confusion etched on his face.
You sent the message?" Damien questioned, his head spinning. Why would his birth mother bring him to this unsafe location?
Coralia nodded gravely. "I know what you are, Damien. And I know what's going on in this town." Her eyes flashed to Scott, a flicker of something inscrutable in them. "The Alpha… he's a danger to everything."
"You know about the werewolves?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, his tone tinged with incredulity.
Coralia faced him, her face stern. "Sheriff Stilinski, you have no conception of the world that lies outside your own. A world my son is now in." Her eyes shifted back to Damien. "Your father… he was a Lycan. A strong one."
The disclosure struck Damien like a body blow. Lycan. His dad. The silver hair. It all fell into place, the jagged images of the merge suddenly making sense in an awful way.
"And you?" Damien whispered.
Coralia's eyes were so full of emotion. "I am… bound. Tied by blood and by promise." She stepped closer, her eyes burning. "There are things you should know, Damien. Things about your family, about the nature of the power that sleeps within you. And about the old forces that are now massing in Beacon Hills.
The location, dark and free from natural defences, was now a circle of secrets, the secrets of Damien's past and the treacherous future of Beacon Hills slowly coming to light under the wary gaze of a confused Sheriff and freshly bitten werewolf. The game, Damien knew with a building sense of horror, was a much more personal affair than he could ever have thought possible.