Welcome to A Beast is in the Heart, the next instalment of Empty Casket!

I would like to start off with a massive thank you to AshleyMarieD and Hurricane97, who reviewed the last chapter of Gods & Monsters. Ashley, I was thinking of reenacting that scene, but I thought the way I wrote it in the end was maybe a little more in character for their relationship, so I'm glad you liked how it turned out! And Hurricane, neither can I! I've had some basic ideas of how that's going to pan out, but nothing solid yet. I'm so glad you both enjoyed it, reading your reviews brightened my days greatly, so thank you!

I'm very excited for this next chapter, and I hope you'll all enjoy it as much as me.

I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.

"Why did I think this was a good idea?" Lydia groaned as she shifted around beside Jackson, trying to get comfortable on the forest floor.

"Bonding?" I thought aloud, frowning. I wasn't entirely sure why I had decided this would be the best way to spend Scott's birthday, nor how she had convinced everyone else of that, but she had, and now we we all pretending like it wasn't horribly uncomfortable to be sat on the dirt of the forest floor as the temperature continued to drop, the roaring fire in the centre of our little circle the only thing keeping us from freezing.

"I don't mind hating each other if it means we can go home," Isaac but in, looking around for some sympathy.

"No one is going home," Lydia said, dismissing the idea before anyone could agree. "We have a nice fire, a few blankets, and a beautiful view of the city..." She gestured her hands out at the clearing in the trees, overlooking Beacon Hills, all its lights twinkling in the darkness. It was a beautiful place to set up our little camp for the night, even if a few of us were more than a little miserable. "We're gonna celebrate Scott's birthday until the sun comes up, and then you can go home and do whatever the hell werewolves do in their spare time. Okay?"

"I should have worn jeans," I groaned, plucking at the surprisingly warm, but ultimately not warm enough, blanket draped over my otherwise bare legs. Shorts had seemed like a good idea during the mild October afternoon that we'd had, but as soon as the sun had gone down, I'd realised my mistake. Allison was the only other person here optimistic enough to share in my thinking; everyone else had left us to huddle under a blanket together beside the fire while they shook their heads in disappointment. I felt the other bare-legged girl nod beside me, dropping her head onto my shoulder and wriggling a little, emphasising her chill. Nobody paid us any attention.

"We should have gone bowling," Jackson grumbled quietly, shaking his head.

"Where are the marshmallows?" Stiles asked the group, grinning like a four year old when Scott threw them in his direction.

"What do werewolves do in their spare time?" Allison wondered aloud, pursing her lips in thought.

"Shave, mostly," Scott quipped, earning a loud chuckle from Isaac beside him. I think even Sonny quirked a smile.

"I need to pee," I decided, standing up and shivering instantly. It was so cold. Allison quickly grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself more securely, smiling up at me innocently when I scoffed. "Make the most of it. I'll be reclaiming my half when I get back." She grinned as I shook my head and wandered further into the cover of trees, until I could barely see the campfire anymore. It was there that I first heard the rustling.

I didn't think anything of it, at first. There were always small animals scurrying around the forest floor, or up in the trees. So I went about my business and started to make my way back to the group. That was when I heard my name.

I couldn't place where it was coming from, or who had said it. It almost sounded like it was in the wind, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I spun around, my eyes wide as I surveyed the empty scene behind me, on either side. There was nothing; no person, no sound, no movement. So I turned back, deciding the best course of action would be to get back to my friends, to tell them what I'd heard. But then I heard it again, closer now, right at my ear, and utterly heartbreaking. I jumped and spun around, coming face to face with my mother, her smile soft in the faint, distant glow of the firelight.

"I'm dreaming," I stated, not doubting the words for a second, even as my heart ached. She nodded, her smile growing sad.

"I need to show you something," she told me, lifting a hand to drop it to my shoulder and turning me gently, back to where I expected to the the fire, the silhouettes of my friends. Except, instead of that, I saw a old, grey building behind ominous looking gates, stretching up high above me. On top of the gates, spilling out from between the rails, sharp letters spelt out the words EICHEN HOUSE.

"What is this place?" I asked Mom, looking away from the spooky premises and up to her. Her expression was grim.

"This is the site of many deaths," she said quietly, not tearing her eyes away from the stone walls past the gates. "It's a horrible place, one I'd hoped you'd never have to set foot in. But you will."

I scoffed. "And why would I ever need to see the inside of this creep shack?"

"This place holds horrors that even the oldest witches have never seen before," she told me, finally turning to face me. "It's a special place, one that holds only misery, pain and death for anything not fully human. It's those deaths, the deaths of countless witches, that you need." She put a hand on each of my shoulders, looking at me so hard I thought she was looking into my soul, or something. It was eery. "Should you ever need guidance, Amber, this is where you come. Do you understand?"

"Not really," I admitted, unsure of what she was telling me, and a little scared as to why. She raised her eyebrows. "What's going on, Mom?"

"The witches here will help you," she said, obviously dodging my question. I shook my head.

"The witches here are dead," I reminded her, widening my eyes. She only smiled wryly.

"So am I," she responded, a glint in her eyes when I rolled mine.

"And you only come to me when I'm unconscious or drugged," I pointed out, and Mom laughed a little, ducking her head.

"I only come to you when you need me," she corrected, running a hand over my hair in a way that was so bittersweet and familiar, it hurt. "I'm always here, always, but when your defences are down and you're reaching out to me too... that's when I can really be here."

"Seriously?" I asked her, a little dubious. I knew the witches had different rules to everyone else on the other side; witches sought out the spirits of the ancestors all the time. But this was something different. Despite my doubts, though, she nodded, her grin bright.

"A little pushing on my side, a little pulling on yours, and I can be there whenever you need me." I watched her face for a second, just watched while she cupped my chin, dragged a smiled from me. "Just remember that, okay?" I nodded, too scared to look away. "You're never alone. Never."

And then I woke up beside the fire, curled into a tight little ball, a blanket wrapped around my body and no mother in sight. And despite the many times I'd woken up from a dream or a hallucination with my mom, feeling like she'd been ripped away from me once again, this time... This time, things felt a little less bleak.

"You're awake, then?" I heard Stiles say, picking my head up from the jumped folded under my head to see him looking down at me from one of the fallen logs we'd moved to surround the fire. I groaned, nodding, and pulled myself up to sit next to him. "Good. You're really annoying in your sleep."

I shoved at him, otherwise ignoring the jab. We hadn't bickered much all night, and I didn't want to ruin the roll we were on. "Why aren't you?"

"Well, someone needs to make sure that the fire doesn't go out and cause us all to freeze to death," he smiled, widening his eyes at me and reminding me that this whole thing was my fault. I rolled my eyes. "Plus, I, uh... I can't sleep without my pillow."

I turned to him, my eyebrows low over my eyes. "You have a pillow?" He nodded, his face telling me he already regretted letting that slip. "Are you six?"

"At least I don't talk in my sleep," he bit back, pointing at my face. "And I think you were drooling a little too."

"I was not!" I argued, shoving at his shoulder again before self-consciously wiping at my mouth while he laughed. "And I don't talk in my sleep."

"Uh, yes, actually, you do," he retorted, picking up his phone from the floor between us, unlocking it. "And it wasn't English, either. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure your language skills are just fine, but..." he tilted the screen so I could see it, see the definitely foreign words he had made a note of.

"That looks like a spell," I muttered, taking the phone from his hands to pull it closer to me. He nodded.

"It sounded like one," he agreed. It was long, and not a spell I'd ever seen before. Why would I be saying it in my sleep? "You kept saying it, over and over. I don't know if I got all the words right; like I said, it's definitely not English, and you were murmuring it, so I couldn't make some-"

"No, this is good," I cut him off, waving a hand distractedly in his direction. "There's more than enough here to figure out what spell it is." I passed his phone back, looking up to smile at him. "Thank you."

He shrugged it off, dropping his phone to the floor and avoiding my eye. "It's not a big deal," he said. He cleared his throat, changed the subject. I let him. "What were you dreaming of?"

"My mom," I answered honestly, and I saw his face fall in that 'oh, crap' way I'm sure the both of us have seen far too often. "It's okay, it wasn't... I knew I was dreaming the whole time, it ain't like I thought she was actually there. And afterwards, when I woke up and realised she was gone... Usually, I get really sad."

"I know," he murmured, urging me to continue with the tiniest smile.

"It felt different this time," I admitted, shrugging my shoulder and staring into the flames, recalling the conversation we'd had through the veil of fog that always seemed to accompany dreams. "I don't feel quite as alone. Like she didn't really go anywhere." As I said the words aloud, I remembered something else. "She told me about this place. Somewhere around here, I think. Eichen House?"

Stiles frowned. "It's the local mental health facility," he told me, watching as I grew confused. "Why would your mom tell you about Eichen House?"

"She said I might need to go there," I said, narrowing my eyes as I tried to remember what she had told me about the place. "She said it's this really horrible place, and that a load of witches had died there. So if I ever needed help, that's where I should go."

"Why the hell would she tell you, a witch, to go to the death site of so many witches?"

"Witches talk, Stiles," I informed him, a cryptic grin on my face. "Even after death. The spirits of dead witches can communicate with each other, and sometimes even their living family members."

Stiles' eyebrows rose. "Really?"

I nodded, humming. "They can even lend a witch their magic, for a while, if they think it's worth it. Dead witches are powerful witches. That's why they get to make all the rules."

"So, not to make you feel like crap, or anything..." Stiles started, wincing slightly. "But if dead witches can talk to their family from beyond the grave, why has your mom never contacted you?"

I shrugged. "I asked her about that, actually. She said she comes to me when I need her, because that's the only time that I really let her in, I guess. She can't come to me if I don't help her, or if I don't believe. So she just has to make the most of it when I'm sleeping or high on wolfsbane." Stiles snorted a laugh, ducking his head before we heard a light grumbling from my right, and we both looked over to see Allison, snuggled up a little too close to Isaac to be deemed entirely innocent. Then she rolled over flinging her arm across the gap in the space between her and the peacefully sleeping Scott. I huffed.

"If that's foreshadowing of how the rest of this semester is going to go, I'm just gonna jump ship now," Stiles decided, shaking his head as I giggled.

"Take me with you?"

"So, you just couldn't wake up?"

"Oh, no, I woke up," Stiles corrected me, widening his eyes. "I woke up, like, three times, only to find out that I was still sleeping. Then, when I finally really woke up, I woke up terrified and screaming so loud I freaked my dad out."

"It's freaking me out, and I wasn't even there," I admitted, stopping on our trip towards the school to face him. He could tell me all he wanted that he was fine, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the lack of colour in his face. "Stiles, if you need to talk about it, you kn-"

"I'm fine," he groaned, rolling his eyes at me.

"Stiles, this is serious," I tried, looking him dead in the eye and watching him crack under the pressure. "If you don't want to talk about it, fine, I get it. But please don't lie to me. We need to tell each other things like this. It's important, and we're gonna fall apart if we don't."

Stiles stared at me for a long moment, before he huffed out a breath and slumped, his hands slapping against his thighs. "I can't remember ever being so scared, and I have feared for my life more than once. It was... I don't know, I've never felt like that before. I felt cold, and alone, and completely hopeless. I was utterly petrified." Then Stiles smiled at me, with so much sarcasm it must have hurt. "Are you happy now?"

"No," I said immediately, making a face of disgust. "Not at all. I mean, I'm happier, but... hey, c'mon, that was a joke!" Stiles continued walking away from me as he shook his head, but I could hear his chuckling. At least he wasn't too scarred for life. I jogged to catch up, trying to apologise when Stiles stopped in his tracks, cocking his head. "What is it?"

"What the hell is Scott doing?" At Stiles' rhetorical question, I followed his frown, finding Scott jumping down the steps. It almost looked like he was running from something.

Stiles brushed past me and jumped forward, running up to Scott and drawing his attention back from wherever it was with a start. When I made it to them, Scott was trying to convince Stiles that he was fine. Given the wide eyes, the pale face, the shaky breath, I didn't believe him either.

"No, you're not," Stiles argued, despite Scott's complaints. "It's happening to you too. You're seeing things, aren't you?"

Scott frowned, his eyes still wide. "How did you know?"

"Because it's happening to all three of you."

I turned to see Jackson, Lydia and Allison come to a stop beside me, grim looked on all three faces. "Allison's been hallucinating too."

"So you're all going crazy now?" Jackson asked the group, shrugging. "Is everyone taking a stab at it?"

"Well, it didn't work out too well for Amber and I, so why not?" Lydia snapped back, raising her eyebrows at Jackson in warning. He folded his arms over his chest and pulled a 'you see what I put up with?" face, but stayed quiet.

"What happened?" I asked Allison, ignoring that lover's spat going on between us. Allison rubbed at her arms, barely meeting my eye.

"I was in the elevator in my apartment building, and the next thing I know, it opens up into a morgue." She sucked in a breath. "Kate was there."

It took me a minute, but I nodded. "And Stiles is dealing with terrifying nightmares and sleep paralysis, and Scott is..." I turned, raising my eyebrows at Scott in wait. He shrugged, very aware of all the eyes on him.

"Scott is having trouble controlling his wolf form," he answered quietly. "I keep seeing my shadow, and it's... it's not me."

"So, you're saying you can't control the wild animal that could take over at any second and kill us all?" I asked him, just for clarification. When he finally nodded, I smiled. "Great. That's great. It was getting a little quiet around here, anyway."

"We did die, and come back to life," Scott said, a little defensively. "That's gotta have some side effects, right?"

"We'll figure it out," Stiles said, cut off by the bell ringing in the distance. "But, for now, we keep an eye on each other. Okay?" He looked between Scott and Allison, both nodding, before he nodded himself. "Great. But we're late, so we should really..."

"Right," Allison said, pointing a finger in agreement and spinning on her heel, rushing off with Lydia to their art class.

The history class that Scott, Stiles and I were late to went about as smoothly as our morning did, getting off to a great start when our new teacher, Mr Yukimura, pointed out his teenage daughter, who was also in the class. Oh, and then he proceeded to tell us, essentially, that she had no friends. Which must have been absolutely mortifying. Couldn't keep me from giggling though. Not in a nasty way. Just... embarrassing dads, man. It don't get much worse than that. Stiles sent a grin my way when he caught me trying to smother my own laughter, feeling the pain, but Scott was somewhere else entirely. Scott was still staring.

I could've sworn there were heart eyes.

And as much as I would love to see Scott look at someone other than Allison like that, there was a line where heart eyes became creeper eyes, and I think Scott passed it about twenty seconds ago. So I swung out an arm, slapping at his forearm where it rested on his desk, and widened my eyes at him when he finally turned back to gape at me.

"What?"

"Way to be cool, Scotty," I said, smiling a little. "You look like a total creep. Get a grip." When Scott's face fell a little, his eyes moving in a way that told me he was trying very hard not to turn back around again, I sighed. "In the nicest possible way. Wingman style."

"That's my job," Stiles cut in, barely looking away from the board.

"Then do your job and keep your best friend from looking like an idiot in front of the first cute girl he's set his sights on in months."

"Or, we can focus on class for a change," Stile suggested, pursing his lips as he waited for my response. I just raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, fine. I'll get on that right after I stop experiencing paralysing night terrors. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," I agreed, grinning and turning back to Scott. "Got your back, buddy." That's when I noticed the panicked look on his face as he stared at the floor. Stared at his shadow. "Scott." He dragged his wide eyes up to meet mine, his hands clenching at the edges of his desk. "You're okay," I told him, keeping my eyes on his. "You're fine." He nodded, his eyes darting back to the floor for a second before he forced himself back into his seat and blew out a deep breath, eyes determinedly front and center. Stiles', however, slid over to mine again, his face telling me we were thinking a long the same track.

This was going to get ugly.

"I don't know how you can expect Scott to not act like a stalker while you're setting this example," Jackson grumbled, leaning against the locker beside mine as I waited for Josh so we could go home, watching me expertly spy on the new girl, Kira.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I murmured distractedly, narrowing my eyes. She was cute, that was for sure, and had the most eclectic fashion sense I think I'd ever seen. In a good way, I mean. Not like with Jeepers-Creepers-Jeffries. But that was all we really knew about her. We didn't know what she did for fun, or where she'd moved from, or what her home life was like, or how she would react to being introduced into the world where werewolves, witches and vampires lived, for the most part, harmoniously with humans.

We didn't know anything. And I didn't like it.

"Hey, okay, so we have a problem," I heard Stiles say breathlessly behind me somewhere. Jackson and I turned to the sound of his fast footsteps, followed a little slower by Scott. "It's not just a paranoia thing anymore. Scott literally just turned in our history classroom."

"What?!" I exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "How the hell did that happen?"

"I just..." Scott shrugged, not really sure of his answer. "It just started happening in the middle of the hallway, and I couldn't stop it. I managed to turn back eventually, but I had to dig my claws two inches into my own hands."

"Dude," Jackson said quietly, the expression on his face looking oddly like concern. "That's like... basic, first full moon tactics. Even I'm over that, and you've got months on me."

"I know, I know," Scott sighed, dropping against the row of lockers with a clang. "But it was the only thing that worked. Which means it's bad." Scott looked over to Stiles, a heavy look in his eyes when they flicked back to mine pointedly.

"What?" I asked, a little unsure if I wanted an answer. "What else happened?"

Scott raised his eyebrows at Stiles, waiting for him to look up at whatever was so interesting on his shoes and answer me. When he didn't, Scott did so himself. "Stiles can't read."

"Well, this day took a great-"

I threw my hand back sharply until I felt it make contact with Jackson's stomach, and spoke over the quick gush of air that left his lungs and the quiet choking sound that he sputtered out. Sure, Jackson was a werewolf with super-strength and whatever, but a little telekinesis to give my hits an added oomph usually did the trick.

"What does he mean, you can't read?" I asked Stiles, ducking my head and forcing him to look up from the floor. "Stiles?"

He huffed, looking up until he was staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. "I can't read," he said, confirming Scott's words. "All those dreams, where I thought I was waking up... I'm still not entirely sure I'm not dreaming. Because you can't read in your dreams, and..."

"And you can't read," I finished for him, slamming my locker door shut and ignoring the admittedly adorable way he was kicking the ground with the toes of his sneakers like a five year old. "What happened to us not keeping things from each other? We had this conversation this morning, Stiles."

"I know," he groaned, still not making eye contact. "I didn't want you to freak out."

"I was already freaking out," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I'm still freaking out, because y'all are seriously suffering from delusions, and hallucinations, and uncontrollable werewolf turning, and you're still keeping secrets."

"I'm sorry," he whined, throwing his hands out in the air before letting them slap back against his thighs. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this, but it's embarrassing enough waking up screaming and having my dad literally cuddle me back into a semi-normal state, and I can't believe I just admitted that in front of Jackson, and I didn't want to tell everyone about loosing the very ability that makes me usual to this group, another thing I can't believe I said out loud in present company, but can you please be mad at me later?" he begged, ignoring the fact that Jackson didn't even blink at either comment. A sign of how far he'd come, I'd like to think; he knew where to draw the line, and Stiles hyperventilating and actually admitting all of that in his presence was definitely the place for a line. "This is getting really bad, and we need to figure it out before it gets any worse."

"Allison's been having trouble with her aim lately," Jackson explained as I eyed Stiles' pleading frown. "Lydia's taken her out to the preserve to try to help her with that, so maybe we can try something similar."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked, a little dubiously.

Jackson shrugged. "You and I will go far out into the woods, away from the girls and any form of civilisation, and let it rip. See what happens. If you can't control it, we're far enough way from anyone to not cause any harm, and I'm there to help you shift back."

I pursed my lips; it sounded like a good plan. "What about me?" Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at Jackson. Ah, yes. The unwilling student of Plan-Making 101 had become the master.

"Go... do some homework, or something," Jackson finished lamely. Damn it, he had made such a good start. "Your problem with reading isn't as deadly as Scott's uncontrollable wolf or Allison's terrible aim with pointy things, and therefore is much lower down on my list of priorities."

"This is ridiculous," Stiles decided, slamming the book shut and throwing it from his lap to the floor. I sighed, looking up from the internet page on sleep paralysis on Stiles' laptop to where he sat a little further up the bed from me, his head in his hands, pulling at his hair.

"Okay, ignore what Jackson said for a minute," I said, moving the laptop off my lap a little more gently than Stiles had the book, shifting slightly to look at him properly. "Sure, you're having trouble reading. But you're worrying about that because not be able to read is a sign that you're dreaming, right?"

"I'm worrying about that because I'm a seventeen year old who has very important tests coming up in the next few months, and I have every intention of going to a decent college," he corrected, raising his eyebrows as he argued. I glared for a second, before deciding the conversation would only dwindle down into petty insults if I bit.

"Maybe the problem here ain't that you can't read." When Stiles opened his mouth to argue again, I held up a hand. "The main problem, the source of this problem, ain't that you can't read; it's that you don't know if you're dreaming or not. So, maybe, we should tackle that first. Maybe the reason you can't read is that you're constantly doubting whether you're actually awake, and your mind is thinking that maybe you ain't."

Stiles thought about it for a second, rubbing a hand over his face, before nodding.

"How can you tell if you're dreaming?"

"You look different in dreams," Stiles said quietly, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. "In mirrors, your face is different, or your hair. Your hands and feet would look disfigured."

"Okay, so just look down at your hands," I ordered, pulling myself up onto my knees and scooting closer, waiting for him to lift his hands closer to his face. "How do they look?"

"Veiny."

"They look fine, Stiles," I grumbled, rolling my eyes. "They look normal. Four fingers and thumb on each, and as moley as the rest of you." Stiles snorted. "Your mind may trick you into thinking you can't read, but I highly doubt it's going to add fingers to your hands. Unless this thing gets worse. In which case, all bets are off."

"So, I just need to check my hands," Stiles said, nodding. "I can do that."

I smiled, settling down more comfortably against the wall beside him. "Good."

"But what if that's not it?" he continued, blowing out a deep breath quickly. "Sure, if I can't read, I can check my fingers and whatever and tell myself that I'm awake, but that just means that there's a reason that I have suddenly, out of nowhere, lost the ability to read simple words." Stiles bit his lip, gesturing to himself with a bitter laugh. "I don't even know if I'd even recognise my own name."

"I saw Harris try to read your name, once," I decided to tell him, thinking back to that hilarious moment. "It was one of my first days at Beacon, and I think it was the highlight of my freshman year." Stiles chuckled quietly, a much more comforting sound than his self-deprecating laugh not thirty seconds before. This one made me smile. "He got so frustrated with everyone laughing at him that he threw the folder with your name on it into the trash and made the entire class swear to never speak of it again. You know, I think that might be where his hatred for you originated."

"I did always wonder about that," Stiles admitted, smiling gently.

"Hey, so what is your name?" I asked casually, hoping he'd answer out of reflex. "Coz I know it ain't Stiles."

"What's wrong with Stiles?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," I answered honestly, holding my hands up in surrender. "It just ain't a real name."

"Neither is Rosalind."

"Hey, it's a legitimate name!"

"Sure," Stiles scoffed, shaking his head in obvious disagreement. I folded my arms over my chest and huffed, deciding to do the grown up thing and move the conversation along. "Whatever. I was trying to make a point."

"That I'll be fine."

"That your name is stupid," I corrected, smiling innocently. "But yeah, what you said, too."

He was quiet for a while, nodding slowly, before he finally looked up. "I'll be fine."

I nodded, smiling. "You gonna be okay on your own?"

"Yeah," he promised, waving me off. "I gotta go out, anyway."

I waited a beat for him to expand, but he didn't. "That was awfully vague, Stilinski."

"I, uh... I gotta go pick up some flowers for my mom."

"Are you okay doing that yourself?" I asked him, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. "Your skill in putting together a decent outfit has only marginally improved since freshmen year. I'd hate to see what you would call a flower arrangement."

"Shut up, Wilson," he said, shoving me slightly as he got up off the bed. "It's not like I'm making the bouquet myself or anything. And, for your information, I happen to know quite a bit about flowers."

"Did you become an expert when you were you doing research for your paper on the history of the male circumcision?"

"No," Stiles argued, narrowing his eyes at me as I pulled on my boots and shaking his head. "My mom was a florist, and I spent as much time at her shop as a kid as I did at the station. Probably more."

"Your mom had her own store?" I asked him. He nodded. "That's so cool."

"It was very cool," Stiles agreed, nodding. "But we sold it after she died; Dad really knew absolutely nothing about flowers or business, and I was eight, so..."

"So you would have made horrendous business men," I finished for him with a shrug, standing up and heading towards his door. "Makes sense."

"And the next time you have a flower related emergency..."

"You're my man," I laughed, skipping down the stairs. "I'll have to remember that. Because I have flower related emergencies on the regular."

"Can I ask you something?" Stiles said suddenly, causing my to stop a minute later as I opened the front door. "It's kind of personal."

I hesitated. "Sounds fun. Sure," I decided, stepping it back so he could shut the door behind us and lock it.

"It's just... I have this place that I can go and talk to my mom. Whenever I want." Stiles looked at me weirdly, like he was scrutinizing me. I didn't like it. "Your place is two-thousand miles away."

I shrugged, a little self-conscious. "I never really went there when we lived in Nashville. Daddy and Josh did, on occasion. But, I mean... She ain't there, literally or otherwise, because they couldn't find a body for us to bury. So it was just a hole in the ground and an engraved stone."

"I don't go to the cemetery because my mom's body is there," Stiles argued, smiling a little, despite the topic of conversation. "It's nice, just having somewhere that I can be alone with her. Just the two of us."

"Cemeteries creep me out," I admitted, shuddering a little. "There's just... death. Everywhere. I don't like death."

"Death is a fact of life."

"And I don't like that particular fact of life," I told him, wrapping my arms around myself and leaning against the hood of my car. After a second, Stiles leaned down beside me. "It kind of scares me."

"I think it kind of scares everyone," Still said, shrugging a shoulder. "It's just not until they're staring it in the face that they realize it. And we have stared death in the face more times than I really want to remember."

I laughed a little, looking down at my hands in my lap, twining my fingers together. "I've always kind of had this weird connection with my mom. I guess it makes more sense now, but it's always been there. The night she died I had this nightmare, and I saw the whole thing happen, like I was there. The police never really gave us any details, just that it was an animal attack, and I didn't even know where it happened until Kate showed me those files, but everything was right. The street, the wolves, the scratches on the roof of the car. I had dreamt it all exactly as it had happened. And I kept dreaming it, nearly every night until all of this started happening."

"Like she was trying to tell you something."

I nodded. "That's my theory, anyway. But she was always in my head, in my dreams. I never really had to go and visit her, because she was already there."

"And now she talks to you whenever you're high," Stiles finished with a nod, drawing a chuckle from me.

"Exactly!" I agreed, holding my arms out wide before dropping them on either side of me. "She didn't ever seem the type to disapprove of recreational drug use, so I guess that makes sense." A shocked laugh burst out of Stiles at the admission, and I stood up as I grinned. "You have fun picking out pretty flowers; I need to go for a run before it gets much darker."

"I thought you stopped doing that when you realized werewolves enjoyed the chase," Stiles said, raising an eyebrow as he backed away, towards his Jeep. I scoffed.

"Please. If I can make it a year as a powerless teenager being chased by a coyote every night, I can sure as hell manage a werewolf or two as a witch."

Stiles hummed, dubious. "You know I'm gonna use those words against you the next time you try to back out of a potentially life-threatening situation, right?"

I's not like I lied or anything. I did need to go for a run. And if I didn't tell anyone that after I donned my workout clothes and left the house, I made my way through the town to the old, creepy building that is Eichen House, then that's nobody's business but my own.

It was exactly how I had seen it that night, but there was something else... It was like I could hear a sort of buzzing coming from beyond the gates. Quiet, excited buzzing, caught up in the wind and disappearing every few seconds, only to come back again with a force that had me taking another step back until, eventually, I was across the street and running in the opposite direction.

After I made it to the home stretch, running along the preserve, I heard the telltale crunching of leaves several feet behind me. It was light enough that I didn't worry too much; no wolf was that light on its feet. My usual running partner, however, was. I let out a little curse, pushing myself harder, faster, but I wasn't fast enough. Within a few seconds, the coyote was running alongside me, looking back at me every few seconds, before it jumped out in front of me, blocking my path. I didn't have time to do anything other than skid to a stop, kicking the dirt up under me and landing painfully on my side.

I hissed in pain when I landed, but otherwise didn't pay much attention as the coyote neared, sniffing its way closer. For a second, I had horrible flashes to those dreams that I had only that day been telling Stiles about; the canine was stalking its prey. But even as the coyote got within chewing distance, it didn't bare its teeth, or snarl at me. Just continued sniffing until it reached my face. I flinched way for a second, and then so did the coyote, backing away enough to lie beside me, lolling onto its side and huffing out a tired sigh.

I took that as a good sign, and slowly got to my feet, the coyote barely lifting its head to watch, its eyes flickering in the low light. I took a few steps backwards, feeling slightly at ease when the coyote did nothing but perk a little, before I turned and started up a slow pace again. I didn't get far, though, when the leaves sounded behind me again. When the fuzzy grey blur jumped into my path again, I managed to keep my balance, only panicking a little. If it wanted to hurt me, it's had two years of opportunities to do so. So I took a very risky chance, probably one that Stiles would chastise me for later, and I lowered myself to a crouch, watching the coyote do the same, until its belly hit the floor.

"Is this a game to you?" I asked the playful face as the coyote sat with its chin on its paws and eyes wide, not even a little contrite. I couldn't help it; I smiled. When I did, the coyote's ears perked, and I sighed again, deciding to play along. I jumped up and took off again, the loud rustling behind me enough to tell me that it was following. Well, chasing.

For the rest of my run the coyote jumped out of the shadows, launching itself into my path - or into me, in one instance, which I'm only eighty percent sure was an accident - and crouching, rear end high in the air like it was ready to attack. But it never did. It just let me take a wide berth and continue on. When I got a little more confident, I would feign left before stepping back. Judging by the coyote's reaction, this was what it wanted. It was a game. This coyote, who I'd been avoiding like the plague ever since we moved here, was enjoying my company more than my own cat did. So when I made it into the clearing of our house and slowed, I was surprisingly sad. It was weird, but I felt bad leaving the coyote out in the dark woods alone. It was that damn deer all over again, except this animal was actually alive.

When I stepped onto the driveway I turned, crouching down again, my heart only slightly picking up the pace when the coyote neared. It didn't approach me, however, instead following the line of the trees further up a little, closer to the house, before curling into a slight hollow in one of the trees, dropping to the floor in a loose ball. It almost looked like it had been there before.

"Good night," I murmured, watching the coyote with a frown when it dropped its head onto its paws and huffed loudly, eyes already drifting shut. I shook my head, laughing a little at how comfortable it looked in my driveway, and made my way into the house, very ready for bed.

It wasn't until I was drying myself off after my shower that I realised it wasn't actually buzzing that I had heard. It was whispering.

Thanks for reading, guys. Stay fetch.