#thereesesnetwork

Lydia wished she could say seeing a familiar face was great, a refreshing reprieve from the revolving faces of hospital staff she didn’t care to learn the names of. But the fact was she didn’t have much trust for Ms. Morrell. Lydia still hadn’t forgotten what Stiles told the pack about their encounter in Eichen House and found that the woman wore too many face to hold much of the banshee’s trust. Objectively she could understand the emissary’s point of view, but given the fact that Deaton did everything in his power to help Stiles, she really couldn’t see where Morrell’s loyalties lied.

“The longer we sit here not talking the longer you’re away from your friends,” Morrell noted catching Lydia’s gaze. “The doctors just want to know you’re okay.”

“Then tell them I’m fine so I can get the hell out of here,” she glared. “We both know I don’t need therapy.”

“Maybe, but don’t you think after everything you’ve been through you owe it to yourself to talk about things?”

“Talking about them won’t make them better,” she countered, pursing her lips. “And the longer I’m here, the more risk there is for my friends.”

“I know you want to help, but sometimes before you can help others you have to help yourself.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, focusing her attention towards the window. “Is that the emissary credo? Risk others while you sort out your own stuff?”

“Think of it more like when you’re on an airplane and they tell you that you should secure your mask before helping others. Do you know why do they say that?”

“Because there’s a greater risk of you passing out while trying to help,” she said still not looking over. “And you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead.”

“It’s interesting how well that analogy can be applied to other situations,” Morrell shifted in her seat, leaning closer. “I know you don’t trust me, you’re body language alone tells me that, but it’s my job to help when I’m needed. And Lydia, I’m not sure you realize how much help you could use. You’ve lost people; people you cared deeply for, you were thrown into this other world with a force not many survive, and you’re still standing. But you have to be willing to help yourself or nothing you’ve endured will matter in the end.”

Lydia had a retort poised on her tongue, ready to cut Morell’s comments down to size, but she stopped. The light from the window seemed to catch on something from the corner of her eye, and gleamed bright enough for her to turn her head. She saw it like a picture developing under chemicals, pulling itself more into focus. A pendant wrapped in delicate silver loops, glowing and simmering with blues and purples. She looked up, as more started to appear before her. A girl appeared before her the necklace sat just at her throat, the chain just brushing against the edges of her copper brown hair. Silver eyes staring back at the banshee, like they held secrets not even the girl could comprehend.

“Lydia.” She pealed her gaze away focusing back on Morell.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“You seem distracted by something,” the emissary looked at her like she could read the thoughts running across Lydia’s brain, but that didn’t mean she was going to share.

“You’re right,” Lydia made sure her smile held no contempt as she met Morell’s gaze. “I need to start taking care of myself. And if you can convince them to let me go home, I’ll even promise to come to you once a week. But I cannot stay here one more night.”

Morell gave her a nod. “I will see what I can do. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” Lydia replied. And she would, because now she knew who the people who took her were after. She just had to find the girl before they did.

--

On a scale of one to twenty, twenty being the dumbest thing he could ever come up with, Stiles knew his plan was at least a thirty. But what choice did he have really? Lydia would never remove herself from things if she knew someone’s life could be on the line. So he had no choice.

Dr. Fenris walked with him until they reached the end of the hall. “I shouldn’t let you down here. Do you realize how dangerous this is?”

“I thought you had his system pumped with wolfsbane?” Stiles focused on the door in front of him. “And besides he’s the only one who can help me.”

“Just because someone can help doesn’t mean they will, or that you should take it.”

Stiles raked a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t have another choice.”

“I’m only giving you ten minutes with him,” the doctor said as he reached forward and unlocked the door.

“I need at least an hour. Please, you’ve heard the man talk, it’s gonna take me ten minutes to get him around to the right subject.”

The doctor sighed looking tired. “Fine thirty minutes, not a moment longer.”

“Okay, deal.” He nodded and stepped into the room. It looked different than he imagined less like a hospital and more like Silence of the Lambs complete with a psychotic prisoner.

“Well,” Peter Hale swung himself from the bed, coming closer to the glass wall. “To what do I owe the visit Stiles?”

He gritted his teeth, only a sentence out of the man’s mouth and Stiles already wanted to deck him. “I need you to tell me all you know about gypsies. And I need you to tell me now.”

“Because of you and your alpha friend, I’m now the proud resident of what I can only assume is not a government sanctioned ward in a psychiatric hospital. I constantly get thrown into an adjoining cell with a crazed man with a third eye, and you should hear the screams at night.” He slapped his hand against the glass, a low growl from passing his lips. “So really tell me, why would I help you?”

“Because you love it when people owe you favors,” Stiles moved closer. “And if you help me, I’ll owe you one.”

“Fair enough,” he smirked. “Now it was gypsies you said.”

--

Lydia found that there was no greater negotiator than her mother. In fact if she let her continue, Natalie would probably have talked the hospital into throwing in lunch in the cafeteria.

“Seriously Mom I just want to get out of here,” Lydia groaned as she slipped on a pair of flats. It must have been the first pair of shoes her mother saw when she entered her closet, because they both knew how much Lydia detested being shorter than 5’4”. “I mean I think I’m starting to smell like hospital.”

Melissa had wandered up with another stack of discharge papers a smile on her face. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Lydia smiled back as she pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. She’d done it three times already, taking her hair down and then putting it back up again. It’s something she had done a lot shortly after her parents separated, a nervous tick, but once she’d grown conscious of it the actions had ceased. She’d be willing to bet it had to do with the girl, or well both girls. In her mind they looked to be about the same age, but Lydia could tell they were at least a generation apart, and connected. There wouldn’t be a reason for her seeing both of their faces in the same day if they weren’t. She wasn’t sure how, but she had to find out anything she could on them. One of them was already dead; she wouldn’t let the same thing happen to the other.

She looked back, noticing both her mother and Mrs. McCall looking at her. “Sorry zoned out. What?”

“Melissa was just telling me how she was surprised Stiles wasn’t here. I didn’t realize you two were so close?”

Lydia knew her mother well enough to know when the woman was fishing for information. So instead she turned back to Melissa. “I would have called him but my phone was lost while I was… away, and someone didn’t grab the charger for my new one.”

“Sorry if I was a little preoccupied, my only daughter coming home and all,” Natalie nudged her arm, but was still smirking. “Seriously though what’s going on with you and him?”

“Nothing we’re just friends.”

“Ah,” her mother raised a brow. “I remember the days of ‘just friends’ with boys.”

“Oh god, I’m going to walk away now,” Lydia held her hand out. “Can I borrow your phone for a minute?”

“Sure,” Natalie said, dropping the device into her hand with a wink. “Tell Stiles I said ‘hello’.”

She rolled her eyes at her mom, walking a little ways from the two women. She didn’t want either to overhear any of her conversation. Not that Melissa wasn’t well versed in the supernatural, but she couldn’t very well explain it to her mother now could she?

She clicked in Stiles number, not really sure when she’d committed it to memory, and waited for him to pick up.

--

His phone flashed Mrs. Martin’s name, and without even picking up her knew it was Lydia. But he couldn’t very well answer at the moment, not when he was sitting across from Peter. So he clicked it over to silent, slipping it back into his pocket.

“By all means, take your call if it’s more important than our conversation,” Peter rolled his eyes. “I mean you did come to me remember?”

“Yea and for the last twelve minutes you’ve given me not a damn thing I could need or want to know about gypsies,” Stiles said.

“Oh you wanted relevant information? I thought we were just exchanging tales,” Peter smirked. “Now why don’t you shut up, I’m getting to the good stuff.”

Stiles glared, but settled back in his chair waiting for Peter to continue.

“Now where was I? Ah right, the gypsies come in tribes, much like the werewolf comes from a pack. They’re loyal people, traditional, highly volatile when angered. But most importantly they’re the only ones who learned how to harness the energy of the earth.”

“Energy?”

“Some call it magik. But it’s more than cheap parlor tricks,” Peter explained, grabbing a book from his table. “It’s life; it’s the wind above us, the ground below. It’s everything, and they taught themselves how to use it.”

“Okay fine, then why take Lydia? Why would they need a banshee if they have so much power?”

“Because being able to harness and manipulate life energy means nothing, if someone took secrets to the grave.”

“They took Lydia because they wanted information from some dead guy?”

“Guy, girl? Who knows, but Lydia isn’t like other banshees, you know that. Look at Meredith? She was driven crazy by the voices in her head and now has a permanent home here at Eichen House. But Lydia? She thrives in her power, she’s connected in a way no other banshee before her has ever been. That’s why they took her.”

“But they let her go because they got what they wanted.”

“Did they?” Peter opened his book, flipping the pages idly. “Or did they let her go because she could do more for them out in the real world? Think about it Stiles? Wouldn’t Lydia serve a greater purpose if she could lead them directly to whom or what they’re looking for?”

“They think she’ll take them right to this person.”

“I’d say the person is a girl, young girl to be more specific,” Peter added.

Stiles groaned. “And what you make you think that?”

“See the Pink Moon is upon us, and well remember how I said the gypsies were people of tradition? Every hundred years or so they perform a ritual under the Pink Moon to renew their power. They say that if the ritual is not completed before sunrise that night the tribes’ lose access to the energy.”

“Let me guess you know what the ritual entails don’t you?” Stiles glanced at his watch, nervous that Peter would stall the last bit of their time, and he’d still have no clue how to help.

“Well I don’t want to brag but, I knew a girl once who was a little loose with her tongue in more ways than one.”

“Oh my god, I so do not need this kind of information. If you’re reached you max of helpful words I’m gonna go.”

He stood from the chair, moving towards the door.

Peter snapped the book shut the crack echoing so loud Stiles could help but turn. “If their looking for a young girl, then you might want to make sure they never find her. The ritual isn’t just a ritual. It’s a sacrifice. Every hundred years they sacrifice the oldest child born of the youngest born to the Elder tribes Priestess.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means that the tribes are broken up into categories of strength. The Elder tribe elects a Priestess when her youngest daughter has her first child that child is sacrificed. There are no negotiations, no skipping a year. By sunrise on the next full moon, that girl will die.”

“And you care?”

“Not even a little bit,” Peter shrugged. “But I am a man of my word. You asked for the information I had and I gave you it.”

“With a little too much detail,” Stiles replied with a shudder.

“Anyway I just want to make sure you’re also a man of your word?”

“What you want to cash in your favor so soon? I figured you’d wait at least a couple of months on that.”

Peter smiled, sighing. “I just want your promise, that if and when the time comes, you’ll remember how helpful I was. So no matter what I ask or when I ask it you return the favor in kind.”

He hesitated near the door, trying with all his energy to even out his heartbeat.

“Come on Stiles, it’s like you have anything to worry about while I’m in here right?”

“Fine,” he said. “What the hell sure, I’ll return the favor.”

“Good, I’m glad you came today. It was nice to catch up,” Peter reclaimed his seat as Stiles made his way to the door. “One more thing, if you don’t mind. How’s Malia?”

“She’s fine,” Stiles said before closing the door behind him.