Chapter 26: Vorrak
The next morning, Hope was woken by the unmistakable sound of Coach Finstock's voice. He did not look pleased with what he saw.
On the bus were seven sleeping teens: Hope curled up against Stiles' side, Scott slumped in the seat in front of them, Allison and Lydia dozing beside him, and Isaac and Boyd stretched out in the back. After everything that happened the night before, they had decided it was best to stay as far away from the motel as possible.
"I don't want to know. I really don't want to know," Finstock muttered as the rest of the cross-country team lined up behind him. "But in case you missed the announcement, the meet's canceled, so we're heading home. Pack it in. Pack it in!"
Hope gave a sleepy yawn, snuggling deeper into Stiles' chest. His arms were wrapped protectively around her waist, his back against the window, her head rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing.
Ethan quietly slid into Scott's seat, causing the boy to jolt against the window in surprise.
"I don't know exactly what happened last night," Ethan said softly, "but I'm pretty sure you saved my life."
Stiles let out a quiet scoff and motioned to himself, trying not to shift too much so Hope wouldn't wake up fully. "Actually, I saved your life. Not that it matters. Just a tiny detail, really."
Ethan ignored him. "So I'm going to give you something in return. We're pretty sure Derek's still alive."
Everyone's eyes widened. Hope sat up, ignoring Stiles' small whine of protest.
"But he killed one of ours," Ethan continued. "That means one of two things can happen: either he joins our pack—"
"—And he kills his own," Scott finished grimly.
"Or Kali hunts him down, and we kill him," Ethan said flatly.
There was a long pause before Hope offered a faint smile, her voice calm but resolute.
"Tell Kali… she might want to think twice."
Stiles sat up beside her, glaring at Ethan. "You know, your little code of ethics is borderline medieval. Just FYI."
Ethan rolled his eyes and moved toward the back of the bus.
Finstock began making his way down the aisle.
Suddenly, Lydia jumped up from her seat. "Coach, can I borrow your whistle for a second?" She didn't wait for an answer—just tugged it right off his neck.
Finstock blinked in confusion. "Hey, I'm gonna need that back," he said, continuing down the aisle.
Lydia examined the whistle closely. She wrapped her hand around it, then blew into it.
Allison, Stiles, Hope, and Scott exchanged confused glances. What was Lydia doing?
She pulled her hand away and held up her palm. Light-purple dust was scattered across it.
"Wolfsbane," she said.
Hope's eyes widened. "Every time Coach blew that whistle on the bus… Scott, Isaac, Boyd..." Her voice trailed off, her mind flashing to the dream. The same wolfsbane she'd seen there.
"Ethan," Lydia added, glancing around. "And you."
"We all inhaled it," Scott muttered.
"You were all poisoned by it," Allison said, her brows knitting in concern.
"So that's how the Darach got into their heads," Stiles realized. "That's how they did it." Without hesitation, he snatched the whistle from Lydia's hand, leaned toward the window, and hurled it out of the bus.
"Hey, hey, hey! Stilinski!" Finstock's voice boomed as he stormed toward Stiles, eyes wild. Stiles didn't care. That whistle nearly cost his friends their lives. Nearly cost Hope her life.
At that moment, the engine roared to life, and the bus finally pulled away from the haunted motel, carrying them back toward Beacon Hills—toward home.
___
"Good morning. As you all know, Mr. Harris is still missing—I mean, sick," Ms. Blake announced, her voice overly cheerful. "Anyway, I'm filling in while we all hope and pray for a more qualified substitute to take my place."
Hope narrowed her eyes at the teacher. She couldn't quite explain why, but something about Ms. Blake rubbed her the wrong way.
"Okay, so, let's get started, shall we?" Ms. Blake turned to write on the chalkboard.
Stiles leaned over to Hope and Scott, whispering, "Hey, my dad said the ER attending wasn't strangled. He died from asphyxiation, but they don't know how."
"Do you think the on-call doctor could still be alive?" Scott asked, his brows furrowed.
"I don't know," Stiles murmured, leaning in closer. "But, guys, there's gotta be at least twenty other doctors in that hospital. Any one of them could be next."
"That includes Melissa," Hope added, her voice low. She'd only met her once, but she could tell Melissa was the kind of person who radiated kindness.
Before Scott could say anything, his phone vibrated. He quickly pulled it out and ducked his head under the table. "Hey, Doc. Sorry, I'm in class right now. Can I call you back later?"
Hope and Stiles watched him closely, unable to hear the voice on the other end—just Scott's increasingly panicked responses.
"Doc—Doc? What's happening? Doc?"
"What's wrong?" Hope asked, alarmed.
"I think Deaton's being taken." Scott immediately began shoving his things into his bag.
Hope didn't hesitate. She grabbed her stuff and followed, refusing to let him go alone. Not before telling Stiles to behave through just her eyes.
Ms. Blake shouted after them about detention, but Hope just rolled her eyes and kept walking. Detention was the least of her concerns in her list of problems.
By the time they reached the animal clinic, it was already too late. The grim look on Sheriff Stilinski's face said everything.
Scott burst through the door, panting—and froze. The Sheriff and his deputy, Tara, stood solemnly in the middle of the room.
Hope reached out and took Scott's hand, squeezing gently. She knew what it was like to lose someone close. But for Scott, it was worse. Deaton might still be alive… and suffering.
"How did you know?" Scott asked, breathless.
"Stiles called me as soon as you two left school," Noah replied. Hope nodded and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry. His car's still here."
Scott stumbled back, sinking into a nearby chair. Hope sat beside him, her presence was the only comfort she could offer.
"We'll find him," she whispered, voice steady and full of quiet promise. "I swear to you, we will."
Noah looked between them, then down at the floor. "The back door was wide open." When Scott looked up, he added, "I need you to tell me everything."
Scott and Hope exchanged a loaded glance—too many secrets packed into one shared look.
___
Minutes later, Stiles arrived at the scene. The three teens stood in silence as the Sheriff and his deputy combed the clinic for any clues. But the Darach was careful—there was no sign a crime had even occurred.
Stiles leaned against the wall, fingers laced with Hope's.
Sheriff Stilinski placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. "We're going to do everything we can. But right now, the best thing you can do is go back to school."
Scott nodded numbly, his gaze flicking to Hope and Stiles. Without a word, he headed toward the back room, and they followed.
Once the door shut behind them, the air grew heavier.
"We have to tell him," Scott said quietly.
Stiles raised a brow. "You mean, like, tell him tell him? Or tell him something else that's... not that?"
"You know what I mean," Scott replied, dead serious.
"For once, I agree with him," Hope said gently, her thumb brushing Stiles' hand. "We can't keep him in the dark anymore."
Stiles pressed his lips together, glancing at his dad through the window. "You remember how your mom reacted? She didn't look you in the eye for a week."
"And then she got over it," Scott said softly. Hope nodded.
"It brought us closer."
Stiles shook his head, still watching his father. "I don't know, man. Look at him. He's already overwhelmed."
"He's overwhelmed because he doesn't know what's going on," Scott argued. "People are dying in his town—the town he's supposed to protect. And it's not his fault he's blind to it. But he will find out eventually."
Stiles looked away, voice low. "I get it, okay? Deaton's like a father to you. But this is my actual dad. I can't—" His voice cracked, and he looked at Hope, eyes raw. "I can't lose both of my parents."
Hope reached out, her voice steady and soft. "Stiles, I get it. But if he doesn't know what he's up against, how can he protect himself? Ignorance isn't safety—it's a blindfold in a battlefield."
He held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed.
"You can't always be right, love," she added with a small smile, nudging him gently.
Stiles let out a breath. "No. I'm not. You're right. I'll tell him."
"We'll tell him," Hope corrected, reaching out to take both their hands. "Together. We're a team. A pack."
The three shared a small, tired smile. Whatever came next, they'd face it—together.
The three of them hesitantly turned to face the door, opening it only to reveal the last person any of them expected to see—Marin Morrell, the emissary for the Alpha pack, standing in the center of the clinic. She was speaking with Sheriff Stilinski and Tara, her voice calm yet laced with urgency as she discussed the disappearance of her brother.
"Please, whatever you need—however you can help find my brother," Morrell said with a composed smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
The teenagers exchanged puzzled looks, Stiles raising a curious brow as Sheriff Stilinski excused himself, leaving just the four of them alone in the clinic.
Morrell's gaze shifted to the teens. Her expression hardened as she took deliberate steps toward them.
"Listen closely. No sheriff, deputy, or detective is going to find him," she said sharply.
"You don't have to ask us for help," Scott offered.
"I'm not asking," Morrell replied, turning her focus onto Hope. "I'm trying to help you. Your powers won't work—he's been cloaked with the Darach's magic. If you want to find my brother, you'll need the one person who can see beyond the veil of this world."
Two names flickered through Hope's mind. But Morrell only said one aloud: "Lydia."
And in Hope's mind, the second name rang clear: Evelyn.
___
Hope sat cross-legged atop a desk in Mr. Harris' classroom. Stiles stood at the front, placing a Ouija board on a desk with dramatic flair, while Lydia and Cora hovered nearby—Cora casting glares toward Lydia for a reason only the Hale girl understood.
"A Ouija board?" Lydia asked in disbelief, watching as Stiles carefully set down the planchette.
"Also called a spirit board," Stiles corrected, aligning everything in place. "It's worth a shot."
"A shot in the dark," Lydia muttered, shifting her gaze to Hope, The tribrid remained neutral.
"Just give it a try, okay?" Stiles pleaded. "This is for Deaton—Scott's boss. The guy who's literally saved our asses more than once."
"Do we all do this?" Cora asked, eyeing the board warily.
"Yeah," Stiles replied, though not entirely convinced himself. He looked at Hope for silent backup. She gave a small nod, hiding her amusement.
That was enough for him. He squared his shoulders. "Yeah."
All four of them placed their fingers lightly on the planchette. Stiles glanced around at the others. "Everyone ready?"
Lydia sighed, obviously skeptical. "Sure."
"Yes," Cora said with an eye roll.
Stiles took a breath, licking his lips nervously. "Where's Dr. Deaton?"
They stared at the board in silence, anticipation coiling in the air like a stretched rubber band.
Cora, Hope, and Stiles slowly turned their eyes to Lydia.
Lydia blinked, noticing their attention. "What?"
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Stiles asked, gesturing at the board.
"I don't know the answer," Lydia said, confused. "I thought we were talking to a spirit."
"Do you know any spirits?" Cora asked, tone sharp.
Lydia turned to Stiles, brows furrowing. "Is she for real?"
Before anyone could answer—
"Did someone say spirit?"
They all turned toward the door, startled.
A short blonde girl stood there, glowing almost unnaturally. Her golden hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders, her pastel-pink skirt and white crop top too cheery for the grim setting. A dimpled smile danced on her lips, and her blue eyes sparkled with uncontainable playfulness.
"I've never been to a school before," she said, twirling once. "Everything looks so fun."
"Who are you?" Lydia demanded, already suspicious.
"I'm your resident ghost-burster, spirit whisperer, Hope's ghost girl—basically anything spirit-related," the girl announced proudly. "Officially, I'm called a Spirit-Warden. But you can call me Evie."
She beamed. "And congratulations, guys—you summoned Tyler! He's standing right next to you, Stiles."
Stiles screamed like a banshee and scrambled behind Hope.
"Relax, he's not gonna hurt you. Much," Evie said sweetly.
Hope groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "She's a little... dramatic."
"Thank you!" Evie chirped.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. "What the hell is a Spirit-Warden?"
Evie straightened, folding her hands in front of her like a proud kindergartener during show-and-tell. "A Spirit-Warden is someone who guides, guards, and communicates with the souls stuck in between. I talk to the dead, calm vengeful spirits, and sometimes help the living... usually when they beg."
"So you're Hope's friend?" Lydia asked flatly.
"Technically, we're like best of friends," Evie smiled mischievously, Hope raised her brow at her knowing very well she was creating trouble for her but she was too cute to glare at.
"Betrayal," Lydia muttered under her breath.
"You'll definitely get over it," Hope said with a pointed look.
Cora sniffed the air, then snapped her head toward Evie. "Why do you smell like my brother?"
Evie blinked, cheeks tinting pink. "Oh. Um. Derek's kind of... clingy for someone who broods 90% of the time. We just made out-"
Cora gagged. "That's disgusting."
Lydia groaned, rubbing her temples. "Please. Spare us the details."
Evie cleared her throat and finally turned serious. "Right. Focus. Dr. Deaton is being held in the same vault, Erica and Boyd were locked. The Darach sealed the place with blood runes, which is why you couldn't find it."
The room fell silent.
Evie turned to Lydia, stepping closer. "And you—you're not just psychic. You're a Banshee, Lydia. You're drawn to death, and your gift lets you sense it—hear it—feel it. But it's more than just screaming."
Lydia blinked in shock. "What?"
Evie nodded. "You see auras—subtle patterns in people's energy. That's how you've always known when something was off. That's why the dead whisper to you."
Lydia stared at her, speechless.
"Cool, right?" Evie asked brightly. Evie had the ability to read auras too, she can tell which supernatural are which. She have never learned it, It's just comes to her.
"Terrifying," Lydia muttered.
"Welcome to my world," Hope said with a smirk.
The room had fallen quiet after Evelyn's reveal. The spirit board still sat in the center of the desk, untouched now, but heavy with energy. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, flickering once—then steadied.
Lydia rubbed her temples, visibly shaken. "Okay, this is officially too much."
Hope was about to respond, a teasing quip on the edge of her tongue—when everything stopped.
Time didn't freeze. It slowed. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
A cold draft whispered through the classroom despite the closed windows. The temperature dipped just enough to raise goosebumps across everyone's arms. Evelyn blinked, her expression unreadable.
Then—
A shadow moved.
Not on the walls. Not cast by anything visible. But it passed behind Lydia and Stiles like a memory, silent and graceful.
Stiles stiffened. "Did—did anyone else see—?"
Lydia whipped around, but there was no one there.
"No one's there," Hope said slowly, scanning the room. But her tone lacked conviction.
Evelyn, however, was still. Her bright aura dimmed for a heartbeat. Her smile faded—just for a moment.
Her eyes flicked toward the far end of the classroom, to a spot drenched in nothing but absence. And she whispered—not to the group, not to herself, but as if to something that had already vanished—
"…You're early."
But the shadow was gone. The cold receded. And just like that, reality resumed.
___
Evelyn was walking out of the high school—not before exploring it—when she got blocked by the twins.
"Oh! Hi again. Are you here for the cookies—"
She was cut off as Aiden slammed her head against the wall. She was out cold.
Isaac, Boyd, and Derek waited in silence in the loft. The floor was covered in water, live electrical wires floating across it. They were careful to stay away as they waited for Kali's inevitable arrival.
Isaac's eyes scanned the room, landing on the machine that worked as an alarm of sorts. It was the first time he had seen it without the large red light glowing.
"Isn't that light supposed to be on?"
Derek tensed, instantly alert. "Yeah."
"What does it mean if it's not?" Isaac asked.
"Someone cut the auxiliary power," Derek answered grimly.
"What about the main—" Boyd cut himself off when the loft's lights suddenly went out. All three immediately jumped to their feet.
Cautiously, Derek stepped into the water, Isaac and Boyd following. The electricity was gone. Their leverage—their entire plan for Kali—was useless.
"Derek, what do we do now?" Isaac asked.
"We fight," Derek said, eyes locked on the door.
Moments later, the entrance to the loft was forcefully pushed open, the sound of scraping metal echoing through the room. Kali stepped inside, a twisted grin playing on her lips.
"Gonna be honest, Derek," she began. "When Ennis died, I thought I'd just go for it—find you and kill you, wherever you stood. Then I remembered how you hide behind your teenagers, always so noble." Her grin deepened. "So I thought—what's a girl gotta do to get you alone?"
Kali paused just long enough for Aiden and Ethan to drag in a struggling Evelyn. Rage surged through Derek at the sight of Aiden's claws digging into her throat.
"This is getting old, guys. You're making me angry." Evelyn chuckled despite the pain. "And angry's not a good look on me."
"You and me, Derek," Kali said, "or they tear her apart. Deucalion will be mad I hurt his little pet, but he'll get over it. So what do you say? Think you can beat me one-on-one?"
Derek nodded subtly to Isaac and Boyd, signaling them to step away. They moved back to dry ground, Isaac already texting Stiles and Scott: We need backup. Now.
Hopefully, Derek could hold her off until the power came back on.
"I'm gonna rip your throat out," Derek growled lowly, "with my teeth."
The two Alphas lunged at each other—claws flashing, fangs bared. As they fought, Evelyn could do nothing but flinch each time Derek took a brutal hit. Isaac and Boyd wanted to help, but they couldn't risk it. One wrong move, and the twins would tear Evelyn apart. She looked bruised enough already.
Downstairs, Stiles, Cora, and Lydia were flipping breakers one by one, trying to restore power. Stiles sent a quick text back to Isaac: Hold on. Almost there.
Hope and Scott were still on Deaton's rescue mission.
Then—
The electricity surged through the water.
It burned every wolf in contact with it. Even Evelyn.
Derek and Evelyn both collapsed, twitching weakly.
She was used to electricity. But she never got used to the pain.
Kali was the only one with enough strength to remain standing. "Take her!" she barked at the twins.
The loft reeked of blood.
Evelyn knelt in the center of the room. Her golden hair was matted with sweat and blood from her head injury, sticking to her face as thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was rolling in—but it was nothing compared to the one rising inside her.
Derek was restrained by the twins, each gripping an arm, forcing his claws to stay extended. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might snap.
Kali stood across from Evelyn, barefoot and grinning, circling her like a predator.
"Such a pretty little thing," she purred, pressing her foot against Evelyn's shoulder. "So this is your weakness, Derek?"
"Don't touch her," Derek growled, red seeping into his irises.
Kali leaned down, her face inches from Evelyn's. "Poor girl. You thought he could save you."
Then she turned to Derek, venom in her voice. "You know the rules. Kill her, or your pack dies."
Boyd and Isaac were ready to move, but Evelyn's gaze stopped them cold. There was something in it—so intense they couldn't move.
Then she smiled.
Chillingly.
Derek thrashed against the twins, his claws trembling above Evelyn's chest. His eyes met hers—haunted. Desperate.
But Evelyn didn't flinch.
Her body shook, her breath ragged, her wounds deep. But her eyes—oh, her eyes—glowed with something ancient. Something powerful.
"Derek," she whispered. "Trust me."
"What?" he rasped, confused by the calm in her voice.
"I'm not your weakness," she said with a smirk. "I'm your weapon."
She bit the inside of her cheek, drawing blood, and whispered a chant older than time.
Words spilled from her mouth like smoke.
Everyone was thrown backward. Kali. The twins. Even Derek stumbled.
The lights flickered violently. The air grew cold.
Evelyn stood tall.
Power pulsed off her in waves, her eyes glowing with pale violet light.
And from behind her… the shadows moved.
Something stepped out.
Massive. Hollow-eyed. Skeletal. Smoke curling from its ribs, claws dragging across the floor.
It snarled—and the entire loft shook.
Vorrak had arrived.
Kali stared in horror. "What is that?"
Evelyn didn't look at her. Her voice came layered with something older than language.
"I am a Spirit-Warden," she said, lifting her hand. "And you just made a grave mistake."
Vorrak let out a deafening screech—thousands of voices in one—and launched at Kali.
She barely had time to react before she was slammed against the wall, bricks cracking beneath her body.
She was torn apart.
The twins ran. The loft turned icy. The lights burst overhead.
Derek rushed to Evelyn, catching her just before her knees gave out. She sagged against him, chest heaving. But that smile—gods, that smile—remained.
"You summoned that?" Derek asked, breathless.
"He's part of me," Evelyn murmured, resting her forehead against his. "I only call him when someone tries to take what's mine."
Derek kissed her—fast, raw, desperate. Behind them, Vorrak paced protectively.
Kali's body was a ruined mess, barely recognizable.
Derek held Evelyn close, and Evelyn—ever the underestimated one—proved once again:
She was no one's damsel.
She was the storm.
It had been so easy to fool them. To make them think she was just a sweet girl with no defense. Just a beam of sunshine who baked cookies.
They only saw what she let them see. The crazy part? It was locked deep inside.
And that's exactly where it needed to stay.
Isaac and Boyd stood frozen.
Hope, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Cora finally arrived—staring in stunned silence at the destruction.
Hope caught Evelyn's eye. Evelyn gave her a sweet, innocent, dimpled smile.
It had been so easy to fool them.