Chapter 23: Spirit-Warden
Derek kicked open the door with his shoulder, Hope cradled in his arms like she weighed nothing. She groaned weakly, but didn't protest.
Stiles followed close behind, panicking in full Stiles-mode.
"Oh my god, is she dying? She looks like she's dying. Is she gonna heal? Did the witchy poison slow it down? Should we take her to Deaton? Or like, I don't know, a hospital?—Wait, hospitals are bad—should we—"
"She's fine," Derek cut in, his tone final.
"Okay, well she doesn't look fine, Derek! She looks like she got hit by a bus, backed over, and then cursed by a pissed-off forest hag—"
"She's breathing, isn't she?" Derek growled, heading toward the bedroom.
"Barely!"
Derek laid Hope down gently on her bed, brushing her hair out of her face with an unexpectedly soft touch. She was pale, but alive. Healing—slowly.
"Don't let her do anything stupid," Derek muttered, not looking at Stiles as he stood.
Stiles blinked. "This is Hope Mikaelson, doing stupid is literally her whole brand."
Derek didn't answer. He just sighed, turned, and walked out.
Derek stepped into the dark kitchen, his senses prickling. A soft clang echoed from the far side of the room. He froze. Someone was here. He moved quietly, crouching low and peeking around the corner—ready to pounce.
Instead of an intruder, he saw…
… a girl.
In an oversized cardigan and mismatched socks. Her golden hair was braided loosely to the side, and she was humming to herself as she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven.
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze. Unbothered. Calm. Eerily so.
"Either you're Hope's very intense boyfriend, or a burglar with excellent bone structure," she said casually, placing the cookies on the counter.
Derek straightened, confused but cautious. "Who the hell are you?"
"Evelyn Graves," she replied smoothly. "Most people call me Evie. Spirits call me a nuisance. You can pick whichever."
"…Spirits?"
She nodded, popping a cookie in her mouth. "Dead people. Restless souls. Screaming echoes of trauma. You know, the usual."
Derek blinked. "You're joking."
Evie smirked, then tilted her head like she was listening to something no one else could hear. "Oh, he doesn't believe me. Benjamin, can you knock over that mug, please?"
CLATTER! A mug on the counter slid off and shattered on the ground.
Derek stepped back instinctively, eyes narrowing.
Evie grinned. "Thanks, Benji. You're a gem."
"You're serious." Derek stared at her.
"Deadly." Her eyes twinkled with a dark amusement. "Well, mostly deadly. Depending on the day."
Derek leaned against the counter, arms crossed, finally letting out a breath. "You live here?"
"I'm the part-time house ghost with baking privileges," she said, sliding a cookie his way. "Try one. I swear it's not cursed."
He took it. Ate it. And, unfortunately for him, it was delicious.
Evie watched him with curiosity. "You've got that broody, guilt-ridden, 'I've seen too much death' look. Werewolf, I'm guessing?"
Derek raised an eyebrow. "You say that like you've met a lot."
She shrugged. "Eichen House had a weirdly active supernatural wing. I was the freak they locked up because I talked to things no one else could see." Her voice was light, but there was pain under it.
Derek frowned, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
"You don't have to look at me like that," she said. "I made friends with a poltergeist named Martha who taught me how to play poker. I think I came out ahead."
A small laugh slipped from Derek before he could stop it.
"Wow," Evie grinned. "Did Derek Hale just laugh? Alert the ghost of your childhood, I think we just witnessed a miracle."
He shook his head, amused. "You're… strange."
"And you're intense. But oddly magnetic. Like a haunted statue."
They stared at each other for a beat too long—until Stiles shouted from the bedroom, "She's glowing weirdly! Is that supposed to happen?!"
Evie sighed and turned. "Duty calls."
She paused before leaving the kitchen. "You can crash on the couch, if you're staying. Try not to brood too hard—it's bad for the furniture."
She disappeared down the hall.
Derek stared after her, lips twitching.
"…Haunted statue?" he muttered. But he was still smiling.
___
Stiles sat beside Hope, watching her with wide eyes as a faint golden glow pulsed beneath her skin. He leaned forward.
"Okay… so this is fine, right? She's just glowing like radioactive fairy dust and not, like, melting from the inside out. That's normal for hybrids? I don't know the rules anymore—"
Suddenly, the door creaked open. A girl in a cardigan stepped in, hugging a steaming mug and holding a plate of cookies like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Hey," Evie said, keeping her voice soft, eyes flicking briefly to Hope. "She's stable. The dead are quiet. That's usually a good sign."
Stiles spun around so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
"OH MY GOD WHO ARE YOU?!" he shouted, scrambling up and holding a pillow like a weapon. "Do not be a demon. Please, for the love of every obscure Bible verse I've read in panic, do not be a demon!"
Evie blinked, then broke into a laugh.
"I'm Evelyn. I bake cookies. Talk to ghosts. And apparently now I terrify hyperactive humans with hero complexes."
Stiles dropped the pillow halfway. "Wait. You're real?"
"I mean, I hope so," she said, walking past him to check on Hope. "Otherwise I owe a lot of spirits a refund."
Stiles watched her like she might explode into bats at any moment. "Okay, nope, rewind. Talk to ghosts? That's a thing? That's an actual thing? We have a ghost whisperer now?! What is this, Scooby-Doo—are we forming a band next?!"
Evie grinned, not looking at him. "Technically I'm a Spirit-Warden. Ghost whisperer is cute though. Very early-2000s."
Stiles blinked, shook his head like it might reset reality. "You mean… you can actually see them?"
She looked at him with a glint in her eye. "Right now? There's a guy named Samuel in the corner who's very confused why you're the loudest person in the room when you're not even the one dying."
Stiles turned slowly. Stared at the corner.
"...He's here right now?" he squeaked.
Evie nodded.
"Is he judging me?"
"Absolutely."
"Cool, coolcoolcool." He looked like he was about to cry. "Why is this my life?"
Evie bit back a laugh and handed him a cookie.
"Here. Sugar helps with the existential dread."
He accepted it like it was holy. Nibbled it. Paused.
"…Okay. This is really good. Like suspiciously good. Witchcraft good."
Evie leaned against the wall, smug. "Thank you. Martha taught me. She died in 1892. We don't speak of the raisins incident."
Stiles stared at her. "You're like… the weird goth cousin of Luna Lovegood and Wednesday Addams. And I think I'm terrified of you."
Evie winked. "Good. That means you're smart."
Just then, Derek appeared in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "You two bonding?"
"Is that what this is?" Stiles asked, halfway through another cookie. "Feels more like emotional whiplash with snacks."
Evie tilted her head again, listening to something no one else could hear.
"Samuel says you scream in your sleep," she said casually to Stiles.
Stiles immediately choked on the cookie.
"I do not!"
Evie just sipped her tea, grinning. "Sure, scream king."
Derek's lips twitched. He was definitely enjoying this too much.
___
The moonlight filtered in through the curtains, soft against the room's stillness. Hope stirred on the bed, a faint groan escaping her as her lashes fluttered open. Her limbs felt like lead, and a dull ache thrummed behind her eyes.
"Hey," a gentle voice said.
Hope turned her head—slowly—to find Evie perched on the edge of her bed, holding a mug of warm water and a plate of cookies.
"I made the cookies," Evie said, as if it was the most important fact in the world. "They're chocolate chips with a dash of ghost trauma."
Hope blinked at her, a groggy smile tugging at her lips. "Evie?"
"You're alive. Which is annoying. I told the spirits not to bet against you, but Casper owes me now." She helped Hope sit up carefully and handed her the mug.
Hope sipped the water, her throat dry as sandpaper. "God, you came."
Evie gave a dimpled smile. "You called."
Hope gave her a puzzled look. "How did you get in?"
"Samuel helped me break in."
"I won't even ask who that is." Hope laughed, knowing very well it would be another ghost.
Evie leaned back a bit, letting the silence hang before she spoke, quieter now. "Your boyfriend is a piece of work, and your broody friend is quite hot. Honestly, very hot. I might have a crush. It seems too soon, doesn't it? And he already knows I'm a nutcase."
Hope's expression softened. "You're too good for him. We've already seen a psycho hunter, a murderous lizard, and a pack of Alphas with a superiority complex. There's nothing wrong with adding a mix of Spirit Wardens who bake delicious cookies."
Hope had found her in Eichen House. Evie was seventeen then, now eighteen. Strapped to a bed. Talking to a boy no one else could see.
They called her dangerous. Delusional. Said she made up the dead. But Hope believed her. Her first words to her were, 'You're not crazy. You're gifted. And if you trust me, I'll get you out.'
And when Evie touched her, she saw the real soul—not Hope Mikaelson, the legend, the tribrid—but someone lost, someone who just wanted to belong. It didn't take long for them to become friends.
Hope was the one who helped Evie escape the asylum. She used her magic to short out the entire west wing and walked her out like they were just going for coffee. Hope also made sure to erase Evie from everyone's memory in the asylum.
Evie had no one who visited her there. She had been abandoned the moment she was admitted—at just five years old—too young to understand that normal people couldn't see what she could.
They told her she'd get better. And it did get better—after she realized she wasn't normal and that was okay. The people she eventually lived with made her feel like she fit right in. In fact, being surrounded by a crowd crazier than her made her feel as normal as she ever could.
Now, she made a living exorcising ghosts. It paid well. She had partnerships with a lot of spirits who haunted the rich, and she became their savior. She never charged the poor, offering her help free of cost. That, she figured, helped balance the bad inside her with some good.
Evie leaned over and tucked the blanket tighter around Hope, brushing her hair back from her face.
"You were the first person who didn't flinch when I talked about the dead. You didn't look at me like I was cursed." She paused. "So yeah, I bake now. I talk to ghosts. And I make sure your pulse stays steady when you're too stubborn to rest."
From the corner, Stiles peeked in with a blanket wrapped around him like a burrito.
"...Can I just say," he whispered, "this is weirdly touching and I'm not emotionally equipped for it."
Evie looked at him. "I'll call Samuel. He cries during sappy moments too."
Stiles made a strangled noise and disappeared.
Hope chuckled softly and shook her head.
"You've really settled in."
Evie tilted her head, thoughtful. "I go where I'm needed. And you? You're always in the middle of a supernatural disaster. It's honestly impressive."
Hope nodded slowly, her smile tinged with fatigue and gratitude.
"Thanks for being here."
Evie handed her a cookie, eyes soft.
"Always, Hope. I'm your ghost girl now. Like it or not."
___
The living room was warm, lit by the low flicker of lamplight and the soft hum of late-night quiet. Hope was curled up under a blanket, a plate of half-eaten cookies resting in her lap. Evie sat beside her, cross-legged, sipping hot chocolate from a chipped mug that had seen better days.
Across the room, Stiles sat at the very edge of the couch like a man watching the final, most unhinged season of a show he thought he understood. Derek stood nearby, stoic and brooding as always, arms crossed, jaw set, looking like he was doing the math on just how many red flags had just been tossed into the room.
Derek blinked hard. "Okay, rewind. You broke into Eichen House and found her? Why were you even in there?!"
Hope looked up from her blanket cocoon and smiled faintly. "I didn't break in."
Evie lifted her mug. "She had a keycard."
For the first time Stiles wasn't looking for answers or panicking, he already knew she worked there but he never knew she helped someone escape or she even had friends outside their pack.
Hope shrugged, the picture of casual chaos. "I work there."
Silence.
"You what?"
"I work there," she repeated, slowly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Psychiatric assistant." She didn't elaborate much.
"You've been working at a psych ward," Derek said, pointing an accusing finger at her, "and just… forgot to mention it?"
"Do I look like someone who gives people reasons to worry?"
"Yes!" he cried, voice cracking slightly. "Yes, you absolutely do! This is literally the kind of thing you bring up in supernatural Scooby meetings!"
Derek looked at Stiles who was unfazed. "He knew?"
"Obviously." Hope muttered. Stiles was the only one who knew about her Job at Eichen House. Though Hope never mentioned Evelyn.
Evie, entirely unfazed, raised a brow. "To be fair, she's the only person in that hellhole who didn't look at me like I was about to start levitating furniture."
Hope smirked, turning to her. "Everyone else saw a threat. I saw someone who needed help."
Evie smiled, soft but mischievous. "And I saw someone way too emotionally repressed to be working with trauma patients."
Hope pointed a cookie at her. "Says the girl who has tea with ghosts and names them."
"Jeremy had personality, thank you," Evie replied with mock indignation.
Stiles threw his hands in the air. "You're both unhinged."
"Also true," Evie said, with a satisfied sip of her drink. "You should've seen her interview. Her first question was literally: 'How many of your patients are haunted?' Like, girl, please."
Derek, who had been processing everything finally broke in, his voice calm but edged. "You really trust her?" He asked like she was not just sitting next to Hope.
Hope turned her head, gaze locking with his. There was no sarcasm this time, no smile, just truth.
"She was locked in a cell for a gift no one could explain. I wasn't going to be the person who left her there."
Evie grinned wide. "And now I bake cookies and talk to dead people instead of screaming into the void in a padded room. Yay, progress."
Stiles buried his face in his hands. "This is so far beyond my paygrade."
Evie leaned closer to him, conspiratorial. "Wanna meet a ghost who thinks you're cute?"
"Nope." Stiles stood and left the room in record speed, muttering to himself about sage and salt and maybe moving to a ghost-free island.
Hope and Evie collapsed into laughter, the kind that made your chest hurt and your eyes water. Derek, still watching them, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
But Hope didn't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched.
Neither did Evie.
___
The room was quiet now. Dimly lit, peaceful for once. The chaos had gone out the door with Evie's sarcastic exit and Derek's usual brooding silence. Now it was just Stiles and Hope.
She was curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, blanket draped over them both like a fragile shield. His fingers threaded absently through her hair, slow and steady, as if afraid that stopping might somehow unravel her.
Stiles stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and haunted with thoughts he couldn't say out loud—not when she was awake, not when she was looking at him like he was just another piece of normal to anchor herself to.
"Are you asleep?" he whispered.
She didn't answer.
He exhaled softly, a little laugh tangled in sadness. "Good. I mean… not good. I just… I hope you're asleep, because I don't think I'd say any of this otherwise."
His voice dropped lower, quieter.
"If you ever die… I think I'd break. Like full-on, no-saving-throw, catastrophic failure." He laughed, but it cracked. "You take care of everyone else like it's second nature. Like you were born to carry the weight of the world and still make it look easy."
His fingers paused for a moment in her hair before moving again, slower.
"But who's gonna take care of you when you fall apart, Hope? Who's gonna hold you up when you finally get tired of being the strongest person in every damn room?"
He swallowed hard.
"I'd be honored to be that guy. I would. But I'm just… me. Stiles. Human. Fragile. Slightly sleep-deprived. Possibly allergic to emotional stability." He chuckled weakly. "I mean, I have a bat and sarcasm and a genius-level IQ on a good day—but that's about it."
He looked down at her, heart thudding in his chest.
"And still, I'm falling. Hopelessly, stupidly, terrifyingly in love with you."
A silence followed, thick and aching.
"I don't know how I got this lucky. To have you. To be the guy you trust enough to fall asleep on."
Unseen to him, a single tear slipped from the corner of Hope's eye, trailing silently down to the fabric of his shirt.
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
But her hold on him tightened—just a little.
And Stiles kept playing with her hair, never realizing that she had heard every word.
___
Stiles woke up to warm sunlight on his face and something soft brushing against his jaw. Then again on his cheek. And again—lower this time. Lips. Her lips.
Hope.
His eyes fluttered open to find her straddling his lap, a sleepy grin on her face as she trailed gentle, lazy kisses along his jawline and down his neck. Her hair was tousled, falling around them like a curtain, and she smelled like his hoodie and vanilla.
"Good morning," she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.
He blinked, still half-dreaming. "Is this heaven? Did I die? Be honest."
Hope laughed softly, her voice low and husky with sleep. "Nope. Still Earth. Still our bed. Still very much alive."
She kissed him again, slower this time, lips lingering just a second longer, hands pressed flat against his chest like she was anchoring herself to him.
He grinned up at her, his hands settling on her waist. "So… not that I'm complaining, but what's all this?"
"I'm skipping school today," she whispered against his lips. "And I'm meeting up with Erica later, but I figured… I could start my day by completely distracting you."
"Oh, you succeeded," he breathed, eyes darkening. "Fully derailed. No thoughts. Just you."
Hope chuckled, then rolled off him and stood, stretching like a cat before tossing him a smirk over her shoulder. "Also, I made you breakfast. Eggs. Toast. Something that vaguely resembled bacon."
Stiles blinked. "Wait—you cooked?"
She turned halfway, winking. "I can do soft and domestic when I want to."
He groaned dramatically. "God, I'm gonna marry you."
Hope tossed a pillow at him. "Eat first. Worship me later."
And just like that, she sauntered off toward the kitchen, leaving him dazed, grinning, and completely, hopelessly in love.
___
Derek's place smelled faintly of dust and old wood, sunlight slanting through the windows in lazy golden beams. Derek stood by the railing, arms crossed, brooding in his natural habitat. It was quiet—until the front door burst open.
"You brought the pizza!" Hope exclaimed with the kind of joy usually reserved for weddings and miracle recoveries.
Erica barely had time to breathe before Hope launched into her arms. "Careful! It's hot," she laughed, holding out the greasy, glorious box like it was a gift from the heavens.
Hope took it reverently, cradling it with both hands. "You are my favorite person alive. Don't tell Stiles."
Erica smirked. "Too late. I already texted him. He said, and I quote, 'As long as I'm second, it's fine.'"
Hope collapsed dramatically onto the couch, flipping open the box and inhaling like it was oxygen.
Derek watched them silently, brows furrowed. He waited until Hope was mid-bite before speaking.
"How did you not lose control during the full moon?"
The room stilled. Hope paused, chewing slowly.
Erica's smile faded, her tone turning more serious as she sat beside her.
"It was the rings," she said. "The ones Hope gave us. They didn't just help—they gave us full control. Boyd and I were completely in control, even at the peak of the moon. It was like we were… ourselves again."
Hope just shrugged and reached for another slice. "You're welcome."
"But then they noticed," Erica continued. "The Alphas. They figured out something was up."
Derek's eyes sharpened. "What did they do?"
Erica exhaled. "Tried to take the ring off Boyd. Thought it was some kind of trick. One of them grabbed his hand and tried to rip it off. The second he touched it…"
She trailed off.
Hope, still munching on her slice, helpfully filled in, "Oh, yeah. It explodes if someone tries to take it off forcefully. It was laced with dark magic."
Derek blinked. "It what?"
Erica nodded. "The ring. It lit up, then burst. Took the guy's hand with it. Dead before he hit the floor."
"Real dramatic. I wish I was there to see the gore." Hope said dreamily.
She said it like she was discussing a movie scene, not an actual death. Erica was watching her, half in awe, half exasperated.
"And you didn't think to tell us it could do that?"
Hope tilted her head thoughtfully. "I did forget to mention that part, didn't I?"
She took another bite.
Erica gaped. "You forgot to tell us that your magic murder-jewelry explodes?!"
Hope chewed, unbothered. "Slipped my mind. I was multitasking when I made them. You're lucky they don't sing."
Derek just stared at her. There was that quiet storm in his eyes again—the one that teetered between admiration and deep, deep concern.
Erica leaned closer to her, narrowing her eyes. "Remind me never to piss you off."
Hope gave her a dazzling, unapologetic smile. "Smart girl."
The room went quiet again, but it wasn't heavy. It was a weird kind of peace—the kind that settled in when you realized the most dangerous person in the room was also the one most likely to bring snacks and save your life.
Derek rubbed a hand over his jaw, muttering to himself.
Hope just sat there, swinging her legs off the couch, pizza in hand, eyes full of mischief, magic, and something ancient no one could quite name.
She didn't always play by the rules.
But damn, were they lucky she was on their side.
While Hope was enjoying her time off, another dead body was found during cross-country practice. Stiles was trying to convince Scott that it had something to do with sacrifices, but Scott didn't believe him.
Meanwhile, Isaac's growing anger toward the twin Alphas wasn't helping the situation. He blamed the death on the Alpha Pack without hesitation.
Stiles found himself missing Hope—she was the only one who always believed him, no matter how crazy his theories sounded. He started texting her every ten seconds, filling her in on everything.
He told her that he was sure there was something more going on, that this wasn't just a simple murder and that the werewolves weren't behind it. These were sacrifices.
Of course, Hope believed his theory.
__________
Evelyn "Evie" has a rare and eerie blend of supernatural abilities, heavily tied to death, spirits, and dark energy. She is known as a Spirit-Warden.
Here's a breakdown of her powers:
---
1. Spirit Channeling
Primary ability. She can see, hear, and communicate with ghosts and spirits—willingly or unwillingly.
She can summon spirits, often those with unfinished business or strong emotional ties.
Some ghosts attach themselves to her, forming bonds (like her named ghost friends—Jeremy, Samuel, etc.).
In battle or crisis, she can borrow energy from spirits to enhance her strength, senses, or heal others.
---
2. Aura Reading
She can see the energy aura around people, which lets her detect supernatural beings, emotional states, and even curses or enchantments.
This makes her excellent at detecting lies, hidden injuries, or dark magic.
---
3. Death Sense
Evie can sense when someone is about to die or if a location is soaked in death energy.
Sometimes, she'll get visions or flashes from particularly violent deaths or emotionally charged events.
---
4. Pain Transfer & Soothing Touch
She can absorb emotional or physical pain from others, usually through touch.
This makes her incredibly valuable for stabilizing someone in trauma—but it weakens her depending on how much she takes.
---
5. Medium Healing (through spirits or Hope's magic)
Evie herself isn't a traditional healer, but with the aid of ghosts or Hope's enchanted items, she can act as a bridge to help heal injuries—especially ones caused by supernatural forces.
---
6. Energy Anchoring / Tethering
If someone is dying or slipping into unconsciousness, she can anchor their spirit to their body, buying time for real medical help.
Works well in near-death or coma-like situations.
---
7. Subtle Hexes & Protections
She has limited magic knowledge, especially in spirit-based protections and hexes. Most are passive enchantments taught by Hope or learned by accident through ghost encounters.
---
Evie's Strengths:
Emotional intuition, compassion, loyalty.
She's calm under pressure and good at comforting those in pain—living or dead.
Ghosts are fiercely protective of her and sometimes help her without being summoned.
Evie's Weaknesses:
Overuse of her powers drains her, especially pain transfer or spirit channeling.
Some dark spirits can try to possess or manipulate her.
Strong emotional trauma can leave her vulnerable to spiritual overload.