"Hey, lizard girl and Violet Parr, get out of my way."

Tracy Stewart and Corey block the doorway, scolding at me, as if saying, Did you just liken us to a reptile and Incredibles character? "Theo didn't say you were coming," Tracy says.

"And I didn't know Theo put you in charge," I say sourly.

"I can't let anyone in," Corey says.

"I'm not anyone, little boy," I scoff. "Think of me as your...First Lady."

"Yeah, okay," he laughs. "Nice try, your highness."

With a fluid, quick motion, I pull the pistol out of my belt and hold it to his head. I tilt my head to the side. "Let's try this again, Corey."

Theo sits on a musty armchair covered in cracked amber leather. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the chimera with a gun to his head. "Arden," he says, grinning casually. "You have a gun." He says this as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

I shove the smaller boy out of the way and sheathe the handgun. "Get back to the door," I say. "And make sure that I don't have to pull a gun on you again."

He looks at Theo for permission and once Theo nods, he leaves. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I'm going to see my mom's lawyer and then I'm leaving town," I announce.

"Why?" he says, furrowing his brows.

"I need to see the lead you gave me," I say. "I need to see Isaac."

"Why are you leaving now?" he asks, toying with a lock of my hair.

I cock my head to the side. "Why am I leaving? Because it's more important to me than your little pack of fifteen year old lab creatures."

I turn on my heel and make start towards the door. "Wait, Arden," he says. "I thought this is what you wanted."

I purse my lips. "I wanted you, Theo," I say softly. "And if this is what it costs then I'm going to have to deal with it, won't I? We all want different things, Theo. Answers, power, revenge. But all I want is for you to stay. I want you to remember that I'm here and I sacrificed everything to be here."

"I know," he says softly, his face centimetres from mine. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face. "And I love you. You remember that, yeah?" I nod slowly, pressing my lips together in a firm line. "I need to go see Stiles. We need to find Lydia."

I stand up straighter, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Why do you need to find Lydia?"

"Because I'm going to go get myself a hellhound," he says. A hellhound? "Come with me to Stiles before you leave, please."

"Theo, I really ha —"

"Please, Arden," he says. "I need backup and you're the only one that he's comfortable around."

"Maybe that's because I don't have a three foot tail coming out of my ass," I mutter. "But yeah, whatever."

"Thank you," he says. "I mean it."

"Now, come on," I say, walking towards the exit. "I think I've had enough chimeras for one day."

"But —"

"Yeah, yeah. I know you're a chimera. But the difference is, I enjoy your company."

"How adorable," he says, his voice thick with mockery.

"I have a gun under here, asshole."

We get to the car and I unlock the doors. "Huh, new car," Theo comments.

"It's my mom's," I say. My voice catches a little on the word mom, but I remind myself that crying isn't going to bring her back.

A quiet, "Oh," is all he says. I get into the driver's seat as Theo sinks in to the passenger's side.

By now it's gotten light, the sun hanging like a beacon over the asphalt on the road. "If you ever need anything, you know I'm here," Theo says, breaking the silence.

"I know."

"You don't trust me," he says suddenly, a hint of accusation in his voice.

I take my eyes off of the road for a moment, glaring at him. "Of course I trust you," I say. "It's just with all this pack business and my mom and senior year. It's hard to be positive."

His hand reaches for mine and he encases it in his long, slender fingers. "We'll kill the pack, Arden," he says. "We'll finish all this."

"Here," Theo says abruptly, looking out the window at a small abandoned house. I give him a funny look and pull over. "Sorry, scent sensitivity," he mumbles.

"I will forever be creeped out by that," I declare.

Theo grins at me before getting out of the car. He approaches the door of the house with light, casual strides as if he's not talking to Stiles for the first time since he killed his best friend.

Of course, Stiles isn't nearly as forgetful as Theo. As soon as Theo steps into the building, Stiles wastes no time cutting to the chase. "You killed my best friend," he says. He sits on a set of stairs leading up to a dark upstairs area, his arms resting on his knees and his hands folded.

Theo lets out a small laugh, raising his eyebrows. "Let's be honest, Stiles, was he still really your best friend?"

Stiles stares coldly at Theo. "Are you going to let my father die?" he demands.

"If I wanted him to die I wouldn't have told you where you can find him," he says.

"Then why are they saying his body is shutting down?" Stiles questions, narrowing his eyes at the boy in the doorway. "That some toxin's poisoning him and they don't know how to stop it."

"I'm not the bad guy, Stiles," Theo reasons. I raise my eyebrows. "I'm just a realist. I'm a survivor.
If you knew the things that I know —"

"Yeah, but what do you know?" Stiles cuts in.

"I know what's coming," he says. "I know what the Dread Doctors created and I know what Parrish is. Lydia figured it out. I saw it in her memories."

"Right after you drove her out of her mind," Stiles mutters. "Collateral damage."

"But if she's right about Parrish being a hellhound, then things around here are gonna get a lot worse," Theo says, ignoring the human's remark.

"I don't care," Stiles says, raising his voice.

"You should," Theo says. "Because if your dad does survive he's not gonna be sheriff of anything much longer."

"What's happening to him?" Stiles demands in a raised voice, getting to his feet. "Hey, tell me." He took a step forward. "Tell me, The—"

I slam the butt of my gun into his skull with a swift movement. Theo looks at me, furrowing his eyebrows. "What?" I say. "He wouldn't shut up."

"There's a reason why you're my girl," he says, his mouth curling into a smile.

"Hey, watch it, Theo," I say, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. "I'm nobody's bitch," I mutter and stride back to the car.

Theo catches up easily, my short legs no match for his long steps. "You're leaving now?"

I look down, biting my lip. "Yeah."

He takes me in his arms, holding me against him. I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek and his arms around my waist. "You take care, Arden," he says. "I'll tell you if I find anything new about the pack."

He pulls back just enough so I can see his face. He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. "Try not to kill too many people before I get back," I say, smiling at him.

He laughs a little. "Come here," he says and inclines his head to give me a kiss. "I'll see you in a few days, yeah?"

I nod. "I should get going," I say. "Bye, Theo."

"Bye, baby." I raise my eyebrows. "What?" he says. "I think it's cute as hell if I start to call you baby."

"Stop distracting me with pet names," I say. "I have a lot to do today."

"Ah, alright, Arden," he says. "Go follow the lead and get back as soon as possible." He gives me a kiss on the nose and I scrunch up my face.

"See ya," I say, ducking into the car.

He grins. "Bye. I'll see how long things hold up without you to keep me in my place." He waves me farewell and I smile and wave one last time before driving off.

The next stop is to sort out everything about my mom's funeral. It's a somber chore, for sure, but there's only so long I can put it off. I bite my lip to suppress the wave of melancholy washing over me. I will not cry.

I arrive at the memorial director's office. I sling my handbag over my shoulders, checking that my weapons were properly concealed. I wouldn't want to walk into there with a pistol and knives on show.

I walk into the office. "Uh, hi," I say. "I'm here about my mom. I called earlier."

"Arden Caraway?" the man asks. He's a middle aged, balding man whose face is pink and pudgy.

"Yes," I say.

"Sit down," he says and motions towards the chair on the other side of the desk. "I'm sorry to hear about your mom."

I sit down, fiddling with my bag straps. "Thanks," I say awkwardly.

"Now, let's start with the funeral," he says. "I understand that you're going to your mother's lawyer after this. You're the only one in her will and so you're the one in charge of all of this." He waves his hand around.

"Oh," is all I say.

"And since you turned eighteen a few days ago, you have control over all the inheritance," he says. I purse my lips. That's a lot to handle right now. "So let's get started on the funeral, shall we?"

I nod. "Of course."

He goes through details about the location, the burial and the cost. After grimacing at the cost and fussing over the coffin and flowers, we had finished the meeting. It's so hopelessly final to be fretting over something as small as which floral arrangements she'd like that I almost broke my no crying rule. In the end, I decide on carnations and crimson roses.

The next stop is to my mom's lawyer's office. Her lawyer, by the name of Adrianne Jenson, is a women with a stern face, dyed blonde hair and a voice lacking emotion. When she gives her condolences, it hardly seems sincere because of her professional, level voice. "Sit down, Arden," she says. Once I sink down into my seat, she begins. "Your mother left everything to you. The house, the car, her money."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Okay," I say quietly.

"Of course," she continues, "you will be in charge of her funeral and grave." I feel a lump in my throat as she goes on about coffins and plots. "All in all, you'll have about four million in assets."

I jerk upright, gripping the armchair. "Four million? My mom worked as a journalist in the local newspaper," I say. "There's no way that she could've earned that much. I think you have something wrong."

"No," she says matter-of-factly. "That's correct."

"I'm eighteen," I say, raising my eyebrows. "I should be getting a job at a convenience store. Not four million dollars from my dead little-known journalist mom."

Adrianne cocks her head to the side. "It is what it is," she says, shrugging.

"And there's nobody else at all on the will?" I ask.

"No. Only you," she says. "Of course, you do have the choice to share everything with someone should you get married. But for now, it's all yours."

"No relatives?"

She shakes her head, adjusting her glasses. "Just you," she seems to be growing impatient with me.

I swallowed hard. "I don't think I can handle that," I say. "I can't even hand my math homework in on time. I'm sure as hell not responsible enough to handle money and a house."

The lawyer sighs and for the first time I see a hint of emotion in her eyes. "Honey," she says. "You've grown up a lot faster than other girls your age. Sometimes things happen and we don't think we can handle them, but in the end, sometimes there's no other choice. Sometimes we just have to handle them as well as we can." She stands up and begins to guide me out of the office. "I'll tell you if there's any new advancements in the case, Arden. Your mother would want you to know the truth."

I feel the fierce wave of anger in the pit of my stomach again. I wouldn't have to do this if she wasn't killed.

"I should be on my way," I say. "Thank you for everything."

"If you need anything, Arden," she says, "I'm here."

I nod and muster up a small encouraging smile. When she walks back inside, I realise that it's time for me to leave. It's time for me to find out about who did this to my mom.

* * *

Twelve hours. That's how long it takes me to get to Portland. And then some, if I'm including the various McDonald's stops.

Either way, I get there at about seven o'clock in the morning. I have no idea where I am and the only thing keeping me awake is the cheap coffee I drank on the way here. My first priority is getting to a proper coffee shop ASAP. The only stuff I had on the road was the cheap, oily type of coffee with an insipid taste.

I choose a friendly looking place on a small road. It has a charcoal painted exterior and the name of the cafe is in a light azure. There are pot plants on each of the tables, bright green plants sprouting from them.

"Hi," the man at the counter says, a friendly smile plastered across his face. "What can I get you?"

"A large latte," I say. "And make sure it's strong, because I've been awake for way too long."

He laughs: a boyish, loud chuckle. "Of course. Here's your table number."

"Thanks," I say. I hand him five dollars and tell him to keep the rest as a tip. I sit down at one of the timber tables.

I pull out my phone and check the address of Isaac. It's at a college, I know that. The thing is, I can't seem to find my way from here. I tilt my head to the side, trying to look at it from all different angles to try and distinguish what the hell is going on in the map.

"Huh, I thought sirens were meant to be smart," a voice says. A tall black-haired young man with stubble grins at me.

I cock my head to the side. "Don't remember reading that in the rule book," I say wryly. "Who are you?"

"Malachai Parker."

"Huh," I say, knitting my eyebrows together. "Who the hell names a kid Malachai?"

He ignores me. "How about you, siren? What's your name?"

"Arden Caraway," I say.

He sits down across from me. "What's a siren doing in Portland?"

I frown. "Wait," I say. "How do you know what I am?"

He shrugs. "I'm a witch," he says nonchalantly. "It's a presence sort of a thing."

"Oh, a witch, now?" I ask, my voice laced with dry humour. "Let me guess. Hogwarts actually exists." This prospect excites me more than it should.

"You know, usually I'd be superjazzed to gouge out a siren's voice box — especially one as annoying as you — but I'm curious. What's gotten you into such a dilemma with street directions?"

"I need to find a werewolf at this address," I say. The old couple passing us gives me a weird look and I return it with a frown back.

"A werewolf, you say?" he says. I'm not sure whether I should be telling this Malachai guy as much as I am. Never mind, I can always kill him. "I know where it is."

The waiter brings my coffee over. "Thank you," I say. I turn back to the witch. I let my siren voice come through as I speak my next words, cloudy and dreamlike. "Take me there."

He blinks. "Are you trying to do that mind control thing on me? Because I happen to think that's a crazy violation of privacy. Like, shouldn't that be against the supernatural law?"

I focus harder, clenching my jaw. "Take me to the address," I say again, using my powers.

He laughs, long and loud. "Stop it," he says between hysterical laughter. "I'm going to suffocate." I stare at him, focusing all my energy into my siren powers. He continues to laugh. "Oh, my god. Stop that. It's not going to work. I'm a witch." He pauses. "And that grimace isn't doing you any favours either."

I furrow my eyebrows, snapping out of my concentrated mode. "Well, then. Take me to the address, sans the siren powers."

"And why should I do that?"

"I have a gun, Malachai," I warn.

He rolls his eyes. "So dramatic," he mocks. "Why is it that you supernatural creatures think people will just do anything you want them to without a please and thank you?"

I force my lips into a fake sickly sweet smile. "May you please take me to Portland State University?"

"Well, now that you say it like that," he says, "for sure."

"Are you serious?" I ask eagerly. "I don't have to perform some blood sacrifice for once?"

He waves his hand around in a dismissing way. "I'll tell you if I ever need anything in the future," he says.

"Yeah? And how will you know where to find me?"

"Locating spell," he says before muttering, "idiot."

I scowl at him. "So are you going to show me how to find the college or not?"

He gets to his feet. "Come on," he says and makes a start towards him. I sidle up to him as he winds through the streets. "Why do you need to find the college so badly?" he asks.

"I have a friend that lives there," I say quickly.

He sighs. "Of course you do," he says. "You know, that's always code word for something like an enemy you need to kill or someone who has information you need."

I knit my eyebrows together, shaking my head. "Nope, don't think so," I lied. "Just a friend."

"Ah, here we are," he says. I look up to a grand, white building.

I look over to him. "Thanks," I say. "I, uh, if I ever need a witch's help, I know where to come."

"Don't get killed up there, siren," he says. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will do," I say and smile at him as he walks away. Huh, who knew witches actually existed? I follow the signs to the dormitories. I look down at the crinkled piece of paper in my palm. The building should be around here somewhere. After asking a few students where it is, I finally find the building.

I walk into the common area and ignore the stares, navigating my way to the second level. Room 36. I study the numbers on the doors as I pass until I find Isaac's room.

I raise my fist and knock on the door. I hear a scuffle inside and a muffled "Coming!" I wait patiently for him to come to the door.

I breathe a sigh of relief when the door begins to open. But the sigh turns into a slight gasp as I see who's behind the door. Because standing there in a white shirt, jeans and a maroon scarf is someone I already know.

"Isaac Lahey?"