Allison was raised to be a hunter.

She doesn't ever remember being told that the things that go bump in the night are real. So many hunters had moments of awakenings, usually the murder of loved ones, but the Argents have been hunting for hundreds of years. She remembers the shadows and the far reach of demons, and has since she was able to remember things.

Dad was pissed when she struck out on her own. Argents stay together. She promised to come back to the house in Beacon Hills, but only when she was ready. Only when she's figured out who she is, aside from an Argent.

But then Mom dies, and Dad stops coming back to Beacon Hills. He ranges farther and farther, and when Scott calls them with a problem in Beacon Hills, Dad passes on Allison's number. He can't bear to go back.

She's there in two days, driving in after destroying a vamp nest in Chicago. Scott meets her at his place, out in the woods where his pack has plenty of room to range. "So," she says, sitting down across from him. "What is it?"

"A haunting," Scott says.

"You can take care of that on your own - you wouldn't have called me." Allison leans back in her chair and waits. Scott's a nice guy, very capable; right now he looks scared. Something else is going on.

"It's not just one ghost. They appear and then disappear." Scott grimaces. "Two people have already died, and there are five survivors. One of them saw a woman, one saw a vampire. One saw a demon. One saw a man. And one saw a wolf."

"So Beacon Hills is getting edgy."

"And we're the only pack in the area."

"Are people threatening you?" The Argents haven't always been friends with wolves, but Allison's never been one to obey tradition. Even Dad has come around, eventually.

"Not yet, but people aren't exactly friendly when I go into town. And they're starting to get to Mom."

Definitely a problem, then. "Any newcomers?"

Scott shakes his head. "I've done my best to ferret it out, but nothing that I've noticed."

A resident of Beacon Hills, a longtime one, had to be involved. "This doesn't sound like a ghost," Allison says. "A spell gone wrong, maybe, or some kind of demon, but not a ghost."

"That's what I was thinking. We can pay."

"Scott. You know I don't want that."

"That doesn't mean I don't want to give it to you."

Allison's never been that hard up for cash - she does odd jobs, and takes money for her actual jobs sometimes. But it feels wrong taking money from Scott. "I'll do the job, and then you'll put me up for awhile. Deal?"

Scott smiles. As always, it's like the sun coming up. Allison's kind of glad she doesn't swing that way, or she'd have such a crush. "Deal."

The Argent house is kept relatively clean by a service that comes by once a month and makes sure nothing is getting too dusty, but it still feels a little funereal when Allison lets herself in. A few lightbulbs have burned out, and there's a very fine film of dust over the side table in her room. She sits down heavily in her bed and looks around. The walls are painted light blue, the decor impersonal. She hasn't lived here even semi-permanently since she was fourteen, and she's twenty-eight now.The coverlet is dark blue; she gets into pajamas and slips under it, putting her traditional knife and gun next to her. If it's a demon behind all this, they might sense her arrival. No sense in being sloppy. She's already double-checked all the locks and warded the house.

But sleep doesn't come easily. She knows it's a little ridiculous to think of Beacon Hills as her hometown; she didn't exactly grow up here. Dad and Mom took her all over the place, and she was homeschooled for all of elementary school, only going to middle and part of high school here. But part of her still feels like it's home - a touchstone, anyway. The Argent property, such as it is.

She's going over who it might be in her mind, an action as regular and predictable as her love of burgers when she's on the road. But she doesn't really know the Beacon Hills population well enough to say, and she's never known a demon with those powers of projection. So in the end, she rolls over and begins meditation, focusing on the image of a clear, quick-flowing stream until she falls asleep.

She has hazy dreams, red hair and frightened eyes. When she wakes up the next morning, she writes them down in her journal. It might mean nothing, but on a job implying some kind of psychic projection - well, Allison's not making any bets.

After some eggs and toast the next morning, Allison hits the streets. Scott's an unconventional Alpha, and a few of his pack live in town. She visits Stiles first.

"Allison Argent," he says, opening the door. He's a freelance writer, as far as Allison knows; the wrinkled plaid and laptop he's balancing on one arm support that. "What's up?"

"You know what's up," she says. "Scott called me in."

"Ah." Stiles sighs. "I kind of figured. Come in."

They settle in Stiles's office, Allison on the other side of his desk. There are papers everywhere - copy, some of them, but some of them research. Stiles might be human, but he's got more ways of finding out information than anyone at the Roadhouse, even. That's part of why Scott keeps him around.

The other part, of course, being their bond.

"Scott's been worried," Stiles says. He steeples his hands, one leg bouncing up and down in a quick rhythm. "Me, I've been equal parts curious and worried. What the hell kind of demon can project these images?"

"Nothing I've heard of," Allison says. "I doubt it's a demon. More likely, it's a psychic. Might be being controlled by a demon, though."

"Beacon Hills isn't that big, and I've dug through police reports, land purchases, new utility hookups, you name it." Stiles shakes his head. "No one new has come to town. No one with human needs, anyway. So how has a psychic been keeping it under wraps for so long, if they're powerful enough for this? Scott should've sniffed them out."

"I don't know," Allison says. "You've answered my questions about newcomers, though." She turns the thoughts over in her mind. "Is it possible someone's returned who already had a house here? The Argents -"

"Keep everything hooked up, yeah." Stiles stabs a finger at her. "It helps to have more money than God."

"Stocks," Allison says, spreading her hands.

"Yeah, yeah." Stiles shuffles through some papers. "Maybe someone young - probably someone young. Staying with their parents? Let's see." He grabs a sheet of paper and squints at it. "Aw, fuck. Of course."

"Oh?"

Stiles waves the paper. "Beacon Hills events. I've been trying to figure out - not important. What's important is, the high school reunion is in three days."

Allison's stomach sinks. "That's a lot of people staying at their parents'."

"You bet it is." Stiles makes a face. "Also, I have to go."

"I don't," Allison says smugly. She started traveling once she turned fourteen. "Homeschooling and then a GED."

"We can't all be nomadic monster-killing badasses," Stiles says. "At least the reunion will give us a chance to sniff out a psychic."

"If that's it."

Stiles nods. "But it's my class, so it's been ten years. That's plenty of time for psychic power to develop where it didn't exist before. Or was dormant."

He speaks with more authority than he ever has before, in the times Allison's stopped by and hung out with Scott's pack. "You've been boning up on your paranormal knowledge."

Stiles looks moderately embarrassed. "It's been a year since me and Scott - I just feel like I should know things."

"I'm happy for you," Allison says.

"What about you?"

She spreads her hands. "I'm a hunter. I pick up nice girls, and then I leave them in their nasty-free towns."

"Nice girls, huh?"

Allison laughs. "Yeah, Stiles. Nice girls."

Stiles turns to his computer and opens up a file, tapping a couple times and making the printer start up. "The graduating class of 2014," he says. "You can't interview all of them, but this comes with superlatives."

"And a psychic might have a bit of an edge in that department," Allison finishes for him. "Excellent. Thanks, Stiles."

"I want this solved," he says. "Boyd's been seeing his sister."

Allison blinks. Scott hadn't told her that.

"Scott's keeping it under wraps, but he can't tell me what to do." Stiles hands over the paper, looking vaguely pleased with himself. "You'll solve this, and then I'll tell him I've been meddling in Boyd's business."

"Smart." Allison stands. "I'll see you when I see you," she says, and heads for the door.

"Be careful!"

She doesn't look back. "I always am."

As soon as she's back at the Argent house, she studies the list. One name pops out right away. She'd forgotten about Lydia.

Even in middle school, Lydia had been queen bee. Allison hadn't been unpopular, exactly; Lydia being queen bee aside, their school wasn't really the type to have a ton of bullies. But she'd always watched Lydia from afar, and it wasn't until Allison made out with Christie from Boston when she was fifteen that Allison realized she'd had a crush on Lydia.

And apparently, in high school, Lydia had really wiped the floor with everyone. Valedictorian, prom queen, mostly likely to succeed and most likely to go through six husbands in six years - the latter being an unofficial superlative put out in the student-run, adults-unaware yearbook.

Allison isn't going to jettison her theory about exceptional students being a good starting point. But thinking of interviewing Lydia kind of makes her want to.

She calls Stiles and gets Lydia's parents' address, then goes over. They're out, judging by the number of cars in the driveway; or at least, Allison assumes the cherry-red convertible is Lydia's. She hesitates for a second before telling herself to get it together, and then she knocks.

Lydia answers. "Can I help you?"

"Hi," Allison says. "Um, I'm Allison Argent. I'm here about the, ah -" Beacon Hills knows about the supernatural; they're one of those towns for which it's a not-quite-secret that plenty of people acknowledge. It's still hard to say ghostly sightings.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Hi, Allison. I remember you from middle school. You were a lot mousier then. And yes, you can come in and ask me about the ghostly visitations." She turns and walks into the house, flicking a finger in an apparent summons to Allison. "You're lucky I'm staying here until I get an apartment."

"An apartment?"

"I'm solving a Millennium Problem," Lydia says. "And my fashion line is doing well enough that I have plenty of funding. Maybe I'll study werewolves, too."

Lydia hasn't changed a bit. Allison smiles in spite of herself, and follows Lydia into her living room. "You sound pretty sure you'll solve a Millennium problem."

"I built a fashion empire in five years," Lydia says. "Merchandising in Target for everything from shoes to activewear. I manage the business side wherever I choose to stay." She arches an eyebrow. "And I got a math PhD in four years. So, yes, I feel pretty confident."

Not capable of seeing the future, then. That's a bit of a relief. "So," Allison says. She pulls out a pad of paper. She could use a tablet like Dad, but it's easier for her to remember things if she physically writes it down. Lydia's eyes flick down to the pad of paper and she twists her lips a little, like she wants to laugh.

Allison frantically pushes down a blush and says, "So, have you experienced a visitation?"

"No," Lydia says. "Do you think someone could've come to the town thanks to our werewolves?"

That makes Allison go still with wariness. "I don't think."

"Oh, relax." Lydia waves a hand. "I'm not saying I'm going to lead a witch - wolf - hunt. I'm saying it's kind of weird that no one talks about magic or werewolves in Boston or New York, but in this tiny town, we all know they exist."

"There are towns like that," Allison says. "Outsiders just view them as crazy."

"The truth will come out eventually." Lydia says it with shrewd certainty.

"Be that as it may, I'm mostly just conducting interviews right now."

Lydia taps a finger against her dimple. It's - distracting. "Well," she says, drawing the word out. "I will say, I think it's entirely possible that whatever it is came here because Beacon Hills is one of those towns."

"So you think it's a newcomer?"

"I remember plenty of violence growing up here, but never anything like this." Lydia crosses her legs. She's still sitting bolt upright, perfect posture. "So yes, I think it's a newcomer."

"Psychic manifestation doesn't always happen early, which is why I'm here." Allison's not going to beat around the bush. "Have you noticed any manifestations of your power? Psychokinesis, hearing voices, anything like that?"

"Of course not. Don't you think I would have opened with that?"

It's been years since Allison knew Lydia. But Lydia doesn't blink. She looks a little impatient, like she's disappointed in Allison for thinking she'd keep something like that a secret.

But this is professional. Allison's not going to dwell on what Lydia thinks of her. "Can you think of anyone else who might have that manifesting? They'd be fairly young, possibly show signs of extraordinary ability of some kind early on."

"So like, half of Scott's pack?"

"Do you know all the members?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "It's obvious. Especially since Stiles has long since given up on his whole thing for me. I only go for guys when they're a little more interesting than a nerdy kid in love with his best friend, you know?"

She's still kind of casually cruel, that much is obvious. Allison says, "Sure."

"But he's happy now. So." Lydia shrugs. "I can't think of anyone. Sorry."

Allison can't either, but that's never stopped her in towns she's never lived in, so it's not going to slow her down in Beacon Hills. She thanks Lydia for her time and leaves, stopping by two or three more houses before she calls it a day. Boyd doesn't know anything; neither does Danny (who now works in New York) or Jackson (a Wall Streeter, not that Allison sneers at them, or anything). At the end of the day, she orders dinner and eats it while examining some of the stuff Stiles sent over.

Her gut says Lydia has something to do with it. A PhD and a fashion empire in ten years is - that's exceptional. That's something worth watching. But Allison's a seasoned enough hunter to know that a person's gut can be wrong. She might be focused on Lydia, but her reasons for being so are - well, they're not entirely professional. And she knows it. So she tries to focus on other people.

Stiles is actually a good candidate. Or, he would be if he wasn't so close to Scott. If he was being interfered with demonically, Scott would be able to tell. Werewolves have a downright creepy ability to scent all kinds of things on a person.

God, she's going in circles. At ten, she puts the papers away and goes to bed. She'll pound the pavement early tomorrow.

She dreams.

This time, she dreams of Lydia. She's lying in bed, red hair fanned out, the slightest smudge of not-fully-removed makeup around her eyes. Her sleep clothes are so much more casual than what she wears normally, just a tattered shirt from her own line, and some shorts. The sheets are twisted around her feet. Dream-Allison feels a tug of affection - for all that Lydia's neat and put together during the day, she's refreshingly normal at night.

But then her brow wrinkles. She twitches, and her hands close into fists. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, and Allison -

Wakes with a shudder to see a ghost over her bed. It's woman with half her face rotting away, a knife raised in her hand. The salt around Allison's room is unbroken; this is a projection.

A dangerous one.

Allison doesn't even think. She raises her gun and shoots, rock salt flying through the projection. It doesn't make it disappear, but it flickers, and Allison picks up her knife and leans forward, slashing it through the projection. It's silver tipped and holy water dipped, as deadly as a hunter's knife can be. The projection screams - a harsh noise, ripping through the air - and disappears.

Allison flops down on the bed, her sudden sweat making her shiver. Well. Now she knows who's projecting.

She should feel vindicated. Instead, she's just scared.

She visits Lydia the next day. She might be scared, but she's totally unwilling to let that control how she acts in Beacon Hills; her father would be ashamed. As soon as Lydia sees that it's her, she tries to shut the door, but Allison's ready for her. She jams her foot in and says, "You knew it was you yesterday."

"And I'm a great liar; what's your point?" Lydia scowls at her.

"My point is, this is dangerous and needs to stop. And you need to help me make it stop."

Lydia stares at her for a long time. Allison waits; it's nowhere near night. She can take a few minutes to let Lydia deal with reality.

Lydia takes a step back, slowly. "Well." She smiles. It's bright, brittle, and entirely fake. "I guess you'd better come in, then."

Allison walks in warily, one hand on her knife. But however Lydia's projecting - or whoever's making her project - whatever it is, it's not happening during the day.

Lydia's incredibly poised as she sits down on the couch. "I wasn't sure how to approach it," she says. Her lips are still thin, her diction precise. Allison, who's been reading people to save her own life since she was fourteen, can tell she's terrified.

"You could have started by being honest."

"Of course. But how am I supposed to know you can be trusted?"

In spite of herself, Allison's kind of hurt by that. "I'm a friend."

"Of who, exactly?"

"Of - this is stupid. You know my family's lived here, we protected the town until Scott came into his own, we still come back, we're -"

"Yes, I know. Very impressive." Lydia doesn't look impressed. "But this is an entirely new thing, isn't it? It's coming from my head." She narrows her eyes. "And it's obvious you're scared."

That makes Allison uncomfortable; she does her best to be unreadable on jobs. "I'm not scared."

"You're also a liar."

"No, I'm - come on, Lydia. Can we please just talk about this without sniping at each other?"

Lydia looks at her seriously, and for a moment Allison's reminded of the girl from middle school - not how bright and fierce she was, but how easily she completed problems, how smart she was in spite of her obvious need to rule the school socially.

But Allison blinks and that moment - whatever it was - is gone.

"Fine," Lydia says. "Have it your way. I don't know what's going on. I started being able to move objects that I wanted to about three months ago. I do plan to solve a Millennium Problem and I am extremely rich, but that's not why I came back to Beacon Hills. This is the only place I know of where I could get advice - talk to Scott and Stiles, that kind of thing." She tosses her hair and stares at Allison, like a challenge.

"That makes sense to me," Allison says. It's the best peace offering she can give.

"Well, I'm glad it meets your approval. The apparitions started a few weeks ago. I don't know what's causing them." The fear shows through a little more when Lydia adds, "And it's killing people."

"That's not you," Allison says. "No offense, I mean, you're powerful, but you're not powerful enough to go on a murder spree without even being in the same room as your victim."

"Morbid. Very morbid. But comfortingly so."

"That's what I was aiming for." Allison sighs. "Okay, so there's someone in or around town who's doing this, someone we don't know."

"Don't you mean something?"

"Demons have personalities."

"Does that make it harder to kill them?"

"No," Allison says. She sounds flat even to her own ears. "Their hosts, sometimes. When they're not too far gone."

"Stiles has told me." Lydia presses her hands together in her lap. "I want this solved. What can I do to help?"

"Not much, since you're untrained."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Yes, Allison, I'm untrained. Do you really want to get into a fight over my ability to learn things?"

"Psychic phenomena -"

"Is probably not as difficult as mastering the finer aspects of quantum physics in an effort to understand mathematical representations of space. I think I'll be fine."

Lydia really hasn't changed. "Fine," Allison says. "I don't have any ability myself, so I'm going to have to kind of play this by ear."

"Before we get all student-teacher, do you mind telling me what, exactly, I'll be doing?"

Allison doesn't want to freak her out, but she also wants to solve this case, and Lydia's her best lead. Lydia's the lead. "You're not being possessed."

Lydia's eyes widen a little, so Allison quickly says, "Not like with Peter. But a demon can take leaking psychic energies - which you have, since you haven't learned shielding - a demon can take those and manipulate them. Manipulate your brain. Not climbing inside, but just kind of...tugging. It leaves an imprint, a faint sense of the demon. We might be able to use that to track it."

"Me."

"What?"

"You meant, we might be able to use you to track it. You, meaning me." Lydia rolls her eyes. "And here I thought leaving Beacon Hills would get me out of all of this stuff."

"It has a tendency to follow you."

"What would you know about that? You chase it."

Allison doesn't answer that one. Instead, she says, "Okay. Focus on a single point."

"A single point -"

"Not mathematically. A rock, a fountain, something in your mind. Come on, I saw you with Wheel of Time books in middle school, I know you know what I'm talking about."

Lydia sighs, but then she's silent - and a moment later, the TV turns on.

"That's what I'm capable of doing. And I didn't feel anything demony."

"You're too outwardly-focused. It's common, with new psychics." Allison decides not to tell her how powerful people who manifest late tend to be. Either it'll go to her head, or it'll terrify her. "You should pull all that energy in, and see if you can detect anything off about it."

"Such specific instructions," Lydia says, but she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Allison waits.

"I feel...strange," Lydia says. She wrinkles her brow. "I don't know why."

"That's the point of the exercise," Allison says. "You should be able to feel yourself - the energy flowing through you."

Lydia nods. "This overturns at least three papers I've read this week," she says absently as her hands twitch on her knees.

Allison laughs. "You knew about this stuff already."

"Werewolves can be reconciled with the - oh."

"Lydia?"

"Darkness," she says. "Pain."

Allison's stomach clenches. "Yeah, I was - worried about that."

"Obviously." Lydia's hands twitch on her knees. "It's...it's a woman. I think. Is there such a thing as female demons?"

"Definitely," Allison says. "What else are you getting?"

"Close." Lydia winces. "So close, and not happy, and -" Abruptly her whole body jerks and she opens her eyes, breathing hard. "I think she almost caught me."

If the demon can reach back along their connection, then Allison's worried. More worried than she was before, anyway. "Almost being the key word." Allison does her best to smile at Lydia. "So that's that, huh?"

"I hate useless phrases like that." Lydia glares, like doing so will make Allison apologize and completely change her phrasing. "How do we find it?"

"You're a kind of homing beacon," Allison says, "But you obviously need more practice."

Lydia looks nettled, but doesn't say anything.

"Next time, I'll set up some basic wards, and we'll try a spell."

"You're a witch?"

"I'm a hunter. I know spells for that."

Lydia cocks her head, expression distant. For a second, she looks - bigger than she is. "You'd be a good witch," she says.

And as abruptly as it began, the moment's over. "Thank you," Lydia says. She stands. "Let's reconvene around...does six work for you?"

"Sure," Allison says. "I'm going to interview Scott's pack today."

Lydia sniffs. "Don't come back smelling like dog." She moves towards the door.

Just before she closes it behind Allison, she says, "And be careful. Please."

She shuts the door in Allison's face.

The road out to Scott's house is long and winding. Stiles, Allison knows, stays in town easily half the time; she's not sure how that works, with Scott and Stiles's whole thing, but it seems to go okay for them. Scott lives out near the state park, about twenty minutes outside Beacon Hills proper. To get there, she turns into a gravel road that turns into dirt about half a mile outside his rambling house.

Derek's sitting on the steps. He doesn't smile when he sees Allison, but then, Derek rarely smiles. She smiles at him, and says, "Is Scott here?"

"Is this about the killings?"

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't." Allison's not the most responsible Argent steward. Of the legacy, maybe, but not the house.

"He's inside."

Derek doesn't move, so Allison awkwardly sidles past him. The tone inside the house, though, is completely different. Scott and Stiles are wrestling on the floor, and Cora and Boyd are laughing, egging them on.

It's not Derek's fault that his family issues are, well, legion. But Allison's still glad he's outside.

"Hey, Scott."

Scott stops, with a wiggling Stiles in a headlock. "Oh, hey."

"Hey." Allison laughs a little, in spite of herself. "Got a minute?"

"For you? Ten." Scott release Stiles, kissing the back of his neck before standing. "You want to interview my pack?"

"If you could collect them, that would be great."

Scott goes outside and howls with easy authority. The pack collects quickly: Stiles, Derek, Boyd, Erica, the twins, Isaac, Danny, and Cora. Only Danny and Stiles are human. Once they're all assembled in the living room, Allison says, "The town sees you all as the source of most supernatural things in Beacon Hills."

"Which is wrong," Cora says, scowling.

"I know. I hunt demons for a living - well. As my calling." Allison shrugs. "Werewolves are low-key. Sometimes you guys are murderers, but most of the time you're just fine. You're not my concern."

"The psychic," Boyd says.

"Yes," Allison says. Then, "Wait, how did you know?"

"My sister was a psychic."

Allison remembers the accident. She says, "Got it. Well. I have the psychic, and she knows it's a demon holding her, but we don't know where that demon is. Have you guys sniffed out anyone new lately?"

"You mean, aside from the nine million people packing the town for our crappy reunion, including their husbands, wives, ugly children, and broken-down grandmas?" Erica rolls her eyes. "No. Not that we can tell."

"Erica," Scott says. He widens his eyes at Allison. "We'll look. But it will be hard, with the reunion."

"Which is probably the plan," Allison says. "Using Ly - using the psychic's power, the entire town could be in danger."

"Lydia," Stiles says.

Allison doesn't so much as blink. "I'm sorry?"

"Using Lydia's power, you mean."

Stiles stares at her, and - he was frank and kind of scary when he was sixteen, with an edge of power he didn't know what to do with. Not power like Scott, but power like Allison: the ability to identify the truth and adapt to it, even when the truth is completely crazy. She knows now that she can't lie to him.

"Yes. Lydia. But she's under my protection."

"The pack -"

"Is yours and Scott's responsibility, I know." Allison holds her hands together so that she doesn't do anything stupid with them. "But this town is also the Argents' to protect, and psychic or not, Lydia's human. I'm helping her. Don't get in my way."

"We won't," Scott says. "But what if we helped her sniff out the demon?"

He means literally sniff, Allison knows - werewolves and their freaky sense of smell are something else.

"That would be helpful," Allison says. "We'll have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I'm doing witchcraft."

Any other wolf would snarl. Even Isaac looks on the verge. But Scott, being who he is, just looks kind of discomfited. "Okay. Tomorrow. But early, right?"

"Early," Allison says. "I promise."

Scott nods. "Good. Now let's order lunch."

That's how Allison ends up sprawling on the porch with half of Scott's pack. Scott is propped up against the porch bannister, one arm loosely around Stiles as he eats his pizza. After a few minutes of silence, he says, "You ever wonder what would've happened if you'd stayed for high school?"

"I've heard high school is awful. And I'm not particularly interested in testing the theory." Allison raises an eyebrow. "Plus, a hunter has to earn her stripes somehow."

"Not literal stripes, I hope," Stiles says.

Some hunters get tattoos for big kills, but that's not really Allison's style. So she says, "No."

"Good to know." Stiles angles his pizza so that the cheese slides off and into his mouth.

That makes Allison laugh a little. Some things never change.

She leaves just as the sun's going down, heading straight for Lydia's. Her car is just a standard Toyota hatchback, but she's got all the usual supplies in the back. She brings her witchcraft duffel to the door.

Lydia opens the door when she's still coming up the steps. "My parents are gone," she says.

Lydia's parents were rarely around, even in middle school. Allison nods.

Lydia visibly hesitates, then says, "I felt you coming."

"How far?"

"I'm not sure. Before you turned onto my street."

Allison doesn't shiver, doesn't let Lydia see just how scary that is. But she does say, "Impressive. Going to let me in?" and hefts her bag.

"Obviously." Lydia rolls her eyes and walks into the house. Allison blinks when they go upstairs and into an unfinished room. "My dad likes to remodel things, and always forgets he travels," Lydia says. "Will this space work?"

"I'll need to mark up the floor."

"Good," Lydia says, a little sharply. "Then he can wonder."

Allison nods and drops to her knees, pulling out a piece of chalk. The diagrams for mental amplification are relatively simple, flowing lines and characters, of medieval-era Muslim origin. They fostered psychic training in their universities, and used the spells to amplify natural ability, control overly-strong amateur ability, and otherwise train and seek out innovation in the realm of psychic ability. Allison draws out protection, control, and a few Celtic runes for seeking. Hunters don't bother with why various regions' cultural and religious symbols work for the occult. Allison has some private theories about the universality of human nature, but she's not Ash: she can't pull off saying that at a hunter bar without sounding like an idiot.

"Okay," Allison says after she draws out the salt circle and lays out the basil and heather. "You ready?"

"This looks like a bad TV set," Lydia says.

"Not that far from accurate." Allison shrugs. "It'll work, though. Do you want to do this or not?"

"I do," Lydia says. "Believe me, I do."

"Good. Then let's do it."

Lydia sits at the center of the circle. Allison opens the book with the tracking spell - an old leather-bound journal with Grandpa's scribblings in it - and says, making her voice as hypnotic as possible, "I want you to focus on the air around you."

She's not sure if Lydia's brow-wrinkle is condescension or concentration, but either way, Allison feels the shimmering of amplified psychic energy in the air.

"Okay," Lydia says. "I think I've got it. What now?"

"Now, you focus on the demon, and I - chant."

Allison reads while Lydia mutters under her breath. Allison's magical aptitude is so low it's almost laughable, but she can still feel the expansion of Lydia's mind, the way she settles into her power.

After almost five very long minutes of Allison repeating the spell and the power growing, Lydia says, "She's west of here. In the hills."

"Where?"

"She's avoiding the werewolves to the north." Lydia shakes her head. "She's...hungry, she wants people, but she can't -" Lydia's eyes fly open.

Allison shuts the book. "She almost found you?"

"She's off 299," Lydia says. "Maybe fifteen miles east of here."

"And -"

"I'm not a wizard," Lydia says, rolling her eyes. "If I'd pressed any closer, she would've felt me. And I'm already probably going to be possessed tonight, so -"

"No," Allison says. "I won't let that happen."

"What are you going to do, read spells all night?"

"I warded the room," Allison says. "We can sleep in shifts. Trade off."

"Oh, so it's a sleepover now?"

Allison refuses to blush. She refuses. She - she's blushing. "Not like that."

"Fine," Lydia says. "I suppose, if you can keep me from being all - controlled, that I can put up with a temporary roommate."

Allison really hopes it's not permanent enough to warrant the word. "Also, it'll keep people from dying."

"Whatever." Lydia waves a hand. "I assume you have stuff in your car. Go get it. I'll order dinner - it's late."

This is about as domestic as Allison's ever been - or at least, as much as she's been since she left home. It's kind of disconcerting. She smiles uncertainly and goes downstairs.

They eat Thai while poring over the books Allison has on demonic psychic influence. Everyone knows about the Winchester case, but since it was largely one of ineptitude, Allison's not too interested in studying it. There are other cases, though, psychics whose minds have been influenced by demons. They're disturbing to read, especially if Allison's control slips and she imagines them happening to Lydia.

Around ten, Allison says, "We should start our shifts. Do you want first watch?"

"First watch." Lydia looks at Allison with an oddly pitying expression. "Wow."

Allison shifts, uncomfortable. "It's a common expression -"

"Oh, honey, I know. In some circles, anyway." Lydia picks up their dishes and says, "I'm not tired. You can have it. I'll set up an air mattress."

Twenty minutes later, Allison's trying to sleep. It's even harder than it usually is; even with her hand on the hilt of her knife, Allison's uncomfortable. Lydia's sitting in a chair at the doorway, a gun awkwardly propped in her hands, the circle of salt unbroken. It's enough, or at least, it will hopefully be enough; the air smells like basil and heather, and Allison's staring up at a symbol on the ceiling. But the commonality in all the accounts Allison read earlier is that the demons were taking advantage of people with relatively small psychic potential. Lydia's in a whole different category. Allison doesn't want to call in the cavalry, but she doesn't like her chances against a demon with that kind of power.

At least she has Scott and his pack. Eventually, she falls asleep, running over the protection spells in her head.

They each get six hours of sleep - not enough, but better than nothing. By eleven, they're driving out to Scott's. They'll probably have to follow in a car if Scott gets the demon's scent, but first they have to make it out west. "I'm absolutely sure," Lydia says when Allison asks her again. She says it with an eyeroll, in fact, and adds, "Plus, we need to get this wrapped up quickly. The reunion's in two days, and I am not missing it because of some demon."

"That's definitely a priority," Allison says, as dryly as she knows how.

"Of course it is."

They meet Scott and Erica outside of Scott's house. Ms. Morrell is there too - Marin, Allison supposes she should think of her as. She knows through Scott that Erica and Marin have been involved for awhile, and that Marin is an actual, legitimate witch, which is a relief. They could use one of those. "Hey."

"Nice knife," Marin says.

"I've seen bigger." Erica curls her lips.

Allison laughs. "Good to see you again, too. Are we going to do this, or what?"

"Oh, we are," Erica says.

"Marin's going to get the scent from your memories," Scott tells Lydia. "And then we'll hunt."

His smile looks sunny enough, but Allison knows him well enough to see the sharp edges. She nods and says, "And we'll follow in the truck."

"Come here," Marin says, holding out her hands.

A few minutes later, Scott and Erica have changed and are howling, following the scent. They keep to the side of the road, so Allison can follow them, Marin in the front seat and Lydia in the back.

Ten miles in, Lydia says, "I should let you know if I feel anything, right?"

"Absolutely," Allison says.

"I feel something."

The wolves stop dead. Allison slams her foot on the brakes and pulls over to the shoulder, pulling out her bow. It won't kill a demon - that's what the knife is for - but it'll slow it down.

"Over there." Lydia nods at the opposite side of the highway. "There's a - house. About half a mile off the road."

This is weird, Allison thinks. Demons normally prefer living where, well, people are. They don't like ramshackle shacks in the middle of nowhere. There's no one to feed on, no one to fuck with. Demons, Allison knows, exist in no small part because of the chaos of humanity. Hence, they tend to stick to cities.

"I know it sounds off," Lydia says. "But -"

"We believe you." Allison doesn't like the placating tone in Lydia's voice. Lydia should, ideally, sound domineering at all times. "Let's go."

They go single-file into the woods, Erica and Scott flanking Allison, Lydia, and Marin. Lydia gets tenser the deeper they go into the woods; she's almost vibrating when they come to the edge of a clearing.

There's a cabin in the center of it, a single tendril of smoke rising from the chimney. It would look idyllic, were it not for the wilted, tangled flowers surrounding the foundation. Allison approaches cautiously, bow up.

The demon greets them at the door.

It - she - is in a human body, with long, dark hair and sharp eyes. She smiles, and her teeth are regular human teeth, but Allison feels like they should be pointed.

"Well, well," she says.

Erica growls.

"Erica," Marin says.

The growling stops. The demon's smile gets wider. "Living in sin, I see."

"Who isn't, these days?" Marin says. "Allison. Shoot her."

"I don't think you want to do that," the demon says.

Lydia starts screaming.

Allison doesn't panic. She expected this. She's got maybe fifteen seconds before Lydia loses the battle with the demon and it has complete control of her mind. Fortunately, those are fifteen seconds where it will be distracted. Allison lets one arrow fly, reloads, and lets another go. The demon snarls and charges for her, but Allison's ready, knife in hand -

And suddenly she's pinned to the ground, along with everyone else. Fuck.

"You know," Lydia - the demon - says, "This was altogether too easy."

"You haven't won." The demon's host is lying on the ground, twitching. Lydia's body is twitching too, her eyes hooded, her mouth in a sneer. "You haven't come close to winning."

"You dull girl. Do you really think -"

"Lydia!" Marin says. "I call to the true source of all Creation -"

As the spell went on, Allison felt the magic gathering, gathering - and when it hit a point, she struck, jumping over to the demon's prone body and plunging the knife into its heart. It wasn't an angel-forged blade, but it had been made by the most powerful witch in North America, and a heart-strike would kill the demon. Yellow light streaked through the host's body, and it - and the demon - were gone.

"Well," Lydia says before Allison even has time to draw breath to ask her if she's okay. "That was embarrassing."

"I wanted a fight," Erica says. Growls, really. When other people look at her askance, she says, "Not that I'm not glad this ended so quickly. Obviously."

"I think that went well," Scott says. He turns to Lydia, brow furrowed. "That is, if you're okay."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"You're -"

"I'm fine." Lydia glares at all of them, her gaze landing on Allison like she's daring her to say something. Allison holds up her hands, her bow heavy in one of them.

"Good," Lydia says. She turns up her nose - actually raises her head, in a move Allison remembers from middle school, though her crush was a lot more innocent back then - and says, "Let's go, then."

Lydia wants to pretend she's not a member of Scott's pack, and Allison supposes she's technically not. But they all end up back at Scott's anyway, devouring Chinese and watching the Days of Our Lives episodes that Stiles has, for some reason, insisted on keeping on the TV's drive.

"Will you be staying for the reunion?" Scott says.

Allison laughs a little. The sound comes out harder than she intended. "The reunion for a graduation I didn't attend, you mean?"

Scott looks embarrassed, which makes Allison feel a little bad. "I just - we like having you around."

Allison forces herself to soften her tone when she says, "No. There's a job in Kansas City that I got a call about yesterday. The - whatever it is - is only killing every month or so, so there's plenty of time for me to drive down."

"And no other hunters who could take care of it?"

That comes from Erica, which surprises Allison. They don't exactly know each other. "Sure," she says finally. "But no one who - hunters have networks. If Ellen thinks I should take this job, then I'll take it."

"It's good that you let some woman order you around," Lydia says.

Allison wants to leave. She feels almost trapped, like people want her to stay to control her, like her grandfather wanted her to stay, and she can't -

"Guys, ease off."

Scott's the happiest person Allison knows, but when he gets authoritative, people listen. Everyone lays off Allison after that, and they have a good night of hanging out and fucking around before Allison finally goes back to the Argent house to collect her things.

She's driving out of town when an unexpected bolt of nostalgia hits her, and she stops on a hill, pulling off to the side of the road and going out to stare at the lights of Beacon Hills in the distance. It's not something she ever really thought about, having a long-term home; she was raised to this life. She's not like the hunters who had a wife die, or a child, or a husband, and who long for the days when they had a white picket fence and some idyllic suburban life. Her family are hunters; it's what defines them. She's not going to just give all of that up.

A breeze starts up and makes her shiver. Scott is - was - is so happy, and always has been, even in the days when he was building his pack and encountering difficulty. She shouldn't intrude on that. And Lydia - well. With Lydia, it's a dumb crush, that's all.

That's all.

She puts a hand on the hilt of the knife at her hip and squeezes it. This is who she is, and she's going to go down to Kansas City and do some cleaning up. No more thoughts about settling down; it's not happening, anyway.

She goes back to her car and turns the radio on. AM, classical music. Exactly what she needs as Beacon Hills recedes into the distance.