Chapter Text
In the land of Beacon Hills, where things like fairy godmothers and spells actually do exist, being born as the middle child is akin to being cursed to a life of mediocrity. Except curses aren't usually wasted on middle children - they're saved for the eldest (who go looking for trouble and invariably find it) and the youngest (who have trouble thrust upon them in a spectacular fashion).
So when Derek's mother passes away and his step-father Chris informs the three Hale-Argent children that there isn't enough money to keep them all in school, Derek isn't too surprised to be told that he will be the one staying behind while his older and younger sisters are sent out into the world to make their fortunes.
"Laura, you're going to work at the Daehler blacksmith's." Chris says gently. Laura smirks and punches Derek in the arm, sort of a tough luck, brother dear gesture that makes him wince only a little. Allison sits beside them, freshly sixteen and smart as a whip. The thing that makes this all so un-fairytale-like, Derek thinks to himself, is how equal they are all treated. Chris has sent them all to the best comprehensive in this side of the country, and never once has he shown favouritism. Derek knows where he's going to be placed: here, in the Argent sculpting workshop, the most famous one for miles around.
"Allison, you'll be going off to my friend Erica Reyes in the mountains. She works with animals, and as the youngest, you would do very well there." Allison's eyes grow wide and she lets out a little gasp of happiness before remembering herself.
"Papa!" She says, voice hushed. "Isn't Mrs. Reyes an animal witch?" Chris nods and takes her and Laura's hands into his.
"My darlings," he says. "I trust that you two will seize this opportunity to chase your dreams." Both girls let out yelps of happiness and rush to hug him, and Chris winks at Derek from a pile of hugs, curls and skirts. When both girls dash upstairs to pack their suitcases, Chris passes Derek the keys to the shop.
"And this shop is yours, my son." Chris' voice is thick, and Derek awkwardly puts an arm around him.
"Thank you, Father," he murmurs, and grips the key tightly in his hand. It's just as he expected, then. When Chris goes upstairs, Derek heads to the back to finish the small wooden horse sculpture.
"It's all for the best," he tells it. "Laura would turn up her nose if she was ever told to take over the shop, and Allison would just feel stifled here." His hands gentle the wood as he cuts small shavings away to form its mane, falling into deep concentration.
Derek is only a little worried when Allison sets off to Mrs. Reyes' estate - Wizard Stiles' huge black castle has been floating through the hills above town for the last few months. Derek's not sure that he believes all (or any) of the rumors about the Wizard, because what would be the point in collecting souls of virgin girls? It doesn't seem very hygienic. But even if Allison does run afoul of Wizard Stiles on her journey, she'll manage to get away from him, no doubt through the help of a lumberjack passing through the area, or a bevy of friendly woodland animals. She's the youngest, after all.
He doesn't worry about Laura at all, because if he did she'd probably just punch him in the arm again.
There isn't much time to miss his sisters. Derek's days are quickly filled with Chris giving lessons on the finer points of salesmanship. Taking full responsibility for the workshop means that Derek has to sell the things he makes, but he can never manage to have an immediate rapport with customers like Chris does. He tends to loom.
"Maybe don't stare so much?" Chris suggests one afternoon, after one lady spends an hour looking around the shop but ends up leaving with nothing. "You're a good boy, Derek. You just scare people off before they get to see it. It would help if you tried talking to them a bit, as well."
But Derek's best friends have always been his sisters, and now that they're gone he really doesn't see the point in talking to anyone else.
He gets into the habit of talking to the sculptures more.
"You're an intellectual," he mumbles gruffly to a rather sullen-looking carving of a dwarf. He compliments a delicate statue of a fairy girl on a rock and tells her that she's interesting, and so on so forth. When he has to watch the shop, he whittles little charms that ladies like to purchase as he sits at the counter. Chris despairs over the wood shavings, so Derek sweeps them up before he comes back.
"Have you seen Jackson Whittemore's clothing...? Such an odd style!" Derek lifts his head at the mention of one of the boys from his old school. A few girls cluster outside the store, looking in and admiring the painted fountain ornaments, are talking about him.
"Honestly, I'd be surprised if anyone wants to marry him," one of them comments as the whole group chatters. Derek resumes carving a little swan, and threads string through it before hanging it in the display window as a small lucky charm. It is ever so small and light that Derek feels sorry for it as it dangles above a heavy marble piece.
"Your soul is beautiful and someone rich will see that and marry you," Derek says feelingly, before remembering that he's supposed to clean the counter before Chris comes back. He hurries over to the broom and forgets about his carving.
The next day, Jackson Whittemore comes in and buys the swan. His clothes are strange, a little, like puffed sleeves and trailing tails from his shirts and tights. Derek rings up his purchase and Jackson gives him a nervous smile before backing out of the shop hastily. Derek frowns at the mirror and tries smiling. No chance. He looks demented.
Three days later, the gossiping girls who seem to have made the bench outside the shop their meeting place are twittering over the way Count Danny took one look at Jackson and whisked him out of town. For a minute, Derek thinks that it would be nice to be whisked away like that. But then he remembers that he’s the middle child, and that his place is here at the shop.
“Still,” he tells an intricate carving of a frog, “it’s a bit lonely around here.” He sighs and blows the sawdust away, holding up the carving to the light to check its form. “I bet you’re not lonely - you’d have a whole pond full of friends.”
The week before May Day, Derek realises that it’s been a month since he’s spoken to anyone. Chris has been travelling from one wood show to another, sending short encouraging letters accompanied by shipments of rare oaks and teak and rosewood. There’s no need to talk in the shop - every item is labeled with its price, and even though Derek knows that some people are starting to wonder if he’s gone mute they don’t stop buying things.
“I’ll visit Laura next week, she’s only three streets away,” he decides, while carving a fierce lion out of mahogany. This sculpture will be life sized, and probably won’t sell, but there’s something in the grain of the wood that guides Derek’s chisel just so. It’s not until he’s whittling in the final details of clever eyes and sharp claws that he realises he’s spent the whole night in the workshop. “I can be brave like you,” he tells the nearly completed lion.
Derek ignores the fact that he used to go to Daehler’s every week to gaze longingly at their bright swords, and that there had been nothing brave about that.
+
Gossip swirls around the shop when the womenfolk come in to buy the fairy statues. Fountains are all the rage now, Derek is told, and they coo over his gruff manners and strong shoulders. They talk about how Prince Isaac has fallen out with King Camden, his older brother, and has run away from the castle or is now in exile. Derek remembers that the Prince came through Beacon Hills a while back, but no one knew because he was in disguise. And Count Danny was searching for the Prince when he saw Jackson Whittemore and fell madly in love.
+
When May Day comes around, Derek bathes thoroughly and puts on a leather jacket over his plain shirt. Chris leaves early, telling him to go out and enjoy himself as well. He looks at himself in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair. Same face, as always. Nothing new. His jacket makes him look dangerous, which he likes. Chris had bought it for him when visiting the capital city. Better than all those Norfolk jackets that the men around here like to wear, at any rate.
Derek locks up the shop and heads down the street, stopping nervously before Market Square. Couples stroll through the square holding pastries, and Derek can just see the entrance to Daehler's crammed with young men jostling about. He tells himself that he is eighteen, honestly, he should be there with them, shouting and shoving and trying not to get caught nicking a dagger. But it's all so juvenile and friendly that Derek wants to turn back and head into the quiet safety of the shop.
He squares his shoulders bravely, then sidles down to Daehler's by sticking close to the shops. He can see people being accosted by other people left and right, greeting and hugging and offers of buying a drink. He fervently hopes that no one accosts him or offers to buy him a drink.
But someone does. He's a little taller than Derek, but when Derek looks down, the man is obviously wearing boots with a heel on them. His sleeves are billowing in the latest fashion and his shirt is tight around his lithe body as he steps on front of Derek, smiling brightly. Derek shrinks back a little from that glowing grin and tries to slip out.
"Don't look so scared, I only wanted to buy you a drink," the man says, tilting his hips. His black trousers are tight in all the right places, and he is utterly unlike Derek- slender yet lightly muscled where Derek is built, and a sincere gaze coupled with an upturned nose that makes him look childishly charming.
“Not thirsty,” Derek says, and pushes past the man. “I’m on my way to see my sister.”
The man is light on his feet, and catches up quickly, spinning so that he’s walking backwards with Derek, smile just as broad as before. “Maybe I should escort you!” he says brightly. “Since you seem so scared.”
Derek stops abruptly, and scowls at the man. “I’m not scared,” he growls. “I’m just in a rush.”
“Of course.” The man is still smiling, but there’s an edge of pity lurking at the corners of his lips that make Derek’s insides crawl. “I’ll let you go, then.” He bows deeply, almost overbalancing when his long sleeves catch on a flower pot. A self deprecating laugh, and the man is gone, lost in the crowd of people.
Derek shakes his head to clear it of the echoes of the laugh, then takes a deep breath and starts off again. Dhaeler’s is only three storefronts away. He just has to get in there, say hello to Laura, and then he can go home, to where it’s quiet.
A sudden volley of bangs makes Derek flinch. He looks up to see Wizard Stiles’ castle hovering on the hillside right outside of town, bright explosions of colour bursting out of its chimneys.
Well, quieter, at least.
When Derek finally gets into the shop, he shoves past the shouting people. He blames his sudden boldness on the encounter with the odd man, and finds himself behind a pimply youth who is trying to catch Laura's eye.
"Laura!" Derek shouts, and she looks up from flirting with two boys at the side. For a moment, something unfathomable flits across her expression, but she's smiling again.
"Derek!" she yells back, excited. "Let's go round to the back, brother dear!" Groans of disappointment come from all sides, and some lads start pouting. Derek elbows his way through them as Laura smiles and shouts that she'll be back soon. They make their way past roaring fires and sizzling rods, winding around stools and scattered weaponry until they reach the back of Daehler's. Laura snatches a piece of sweetmeat out of the larder at the back and passes it to Derek as they finally sit down a safe distance away from the crowd, near a pile of unbalanced swords and a curiously creepy-looking blacksmith.
"Well, you look like you need the nutrients. And I've got something to tell you," Laura says. And twiddles her thumbs nervously. Derek stares at the familiar gesture and horror fills his middle.
"Allison?" He asks, voice rising a little.
Allison - and it can only be Allison, because Laura has always been too strict with herself to develop nervous habits - flinches, and smiles weakly. She’s missing the deep dimples, and her skin is too fair, but the tilt of her head and the way she’s wrapped her hair up in a messy bun is all Allison.
“Well, that’s not fair,” she says. “I had this whole speech planned. Okay, Laura planned it, but you’ve gone straight to the end of it without me being able to lay the foundation and -”
Derek reaches out and wraps an arm around Allison, pulling her close. He’s missed this - the easy comfort they always gave each other. He likes Chris, he does, but he always feels awkward hugging the man, like their bodies don’t fit quite right together. “Start from the beginning,” Derek says, just like he used to say when Allison would come home upset from school, too worked up to explain why she was angry, only that she was.
Allison takes a deep breath, and leans into Derek. “I love Dad, I do, but he gets these ideas in his head and he doesn’t listen. And one of those ideas is that I should go off and be an animal witch, but I don’t want to, Derek. I want to meet someone and fall in love and get married and have ten children. But Laura likes studying, you know she does. Can you imagine her somewhere like this? She’d go crazy in two days. So we swapped places.”
Derek thinks about Laura, who has never had time for false praise, dealing with the madhouse outside. “She’d probably stuff a hammer down someone’s throat just to shut them up,” Derek says, and it’s something that he can honestly understand wanting to do. Allison, on the other hand, likes people in a way that neither Derek or Laura can really understand. It makes sense, he supposes, that they would have wanted to swap their stories. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
"I didn't want you or Dad to worry," Allison says, and presses her nose to Derek's shoulder. Allison smells like fire and cold vats of water and metal , so unlike her usual scent back at the shop. He tells her so and she laughs weakly before sits up straight, rubbing her fist over her eyes.
"I'm just so glad to see you," Allison murmurs. "You were always the one who took proper care of Laura and I. Talk about subverting traditional sibling roles." Derek has to laugh at that, and kisses his younger sister's cheek.
"I'm happy if you are," he tells her honestly. She shakes her head firmly and places a firm hand on his jacket.
"I don't think- well, yes, but I don't think you could just be sculpting your whole life, Derek. You've got to go out and see the world. There's loads out there. Dad is stingy with free time, you and I know that. He's always been just a little out of focus since Mummy Hale passed away." Talking about his mother stings, and Derek finds himself putting the food down in favour of wrapping Allison up in another hug. Her thick apron bunches up between them and Derek disengages, staring at them.
"It must be uncomfortable," he says awkwardly, gesturing to the heavy fabric.. Allison looks down and giggles.
"Don't worry, Derek," she reassures him. "It'll be fine. D'you have a date this May Day?" Her eyes are shining, and Derek has to duck his head and growl because she's teasing him the way she used to tease him back in school about not talking in front of other people. Then someone shouts from the front- "Laura!" and she stands up with a jolt.
"Right," she says regretfully, and pulls him through to the back, picking a small silver chain and fastening it around his wrist. It's well-forged, the links sliding smoothly, inlaid with tiny precious stones. He lets her finish tightening it, finally reconciling this pale, Laura-looking Allison with the Allison he grew up with.
"Be seeing you, Ally," he says, and she smiles, eyes too bright, and pushes him out of the shop through the less-crowded back entrance. "Take my advice and ask Dad for a break," Allison tells him as the shouting from the front intensifies. "Goodbye, Derek."
+
Allison’s words sit in Derek’s head for the next few weeks, and half the time he wants to walk out the door of the shop and never come back. He wants to go visit Laura, find out if she’s as happy as Allison seems to be, and then he wants to keep on going. Allison is right - there is a whole world out there and Derek’s never seen anything but Beacon Hills. He’s never even accompanied Chris on one of his trips to a distant wood wholesaler.
But then Derek remembers that he’s the middle child, and that even if he did set off to find his fortune, or whatever fool notion he’s got clanging around his head, he wouldn’t get very far. “I should be happy,” he reminds himself while carving yet another of the tiny trinket that have become so popular lately, “with what I’ve got.”
But he can’t really bring himself to believe it.
He’s struggling with a particularly stubborn piece of oak when one of the twittering girls from out front comes in and thrusts her hand into his face. “You told me this was the same type of swan that you sold to Jackson,” she says.
Derek leans away from her so that he can actually see what’s in her hand, which, yes, that’s what he sold Jackson. He raises an eyebrow at her.
She glares back. “I’ve been wearing this all week and nothing has happened for me! It’s defective, I want another one.”
Derek rolls his eyes and returns to his carving, twirling the chisel in his hand as he studies the block of wood. Maybe a serpent?
“Hey!” the girl trills. “Give me one that works!”
Derek can’t help but scowl at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that carving,” he says. “Maybe you should waste less time gossiping.”
The girl gapes, then drops the swan on the counter and flounces out of the shop. “You’ll never guess what that brute just said to me!” Derek hears her say, but the rest of her complaints are quickly drowned out by the clopping of hoofbeats.
A grand carriage drawn by four great horses pulls up in front of the shop.
A lady with long flame-red hair sweeps into the shop. Her dress is white and immaculate, cascading in folds, and her eyes are a sharp violet. She stands in the middle of the shop, looking very out of place, and taps her cane. Immediately, a young man scrambles into the shop from the carriage. His hair is curly and golden, and he stares in horror at Derek.
"Well?" the lady demands. "Show me some sculptures!" Derek leads her round to the marble sculpture side, and she begins dismissing them almost immediately.
"Ugh, clever," she says to the one of an elf. "Friendly," she sneers at the one of a child reading a book. "Oh, good luck in love," the lady cries out at the sight of a clay vase across the shop. "Haven't you got anything interesting in here?" Derek grits his teeth.
"This is just a small shop in a small town, Ma'am, and if you're looking for something interesting, why did you bother coming in here at all?" Too late, he notices the frantic gestures that the golden-haired boy has been making behind the lady's back. She draws herself up to her full height.
"I always bother when someone tries to set themselves up against the Witch of the Waste," the woman says disdainfully. "I've heard of you, Derek Hale, and I don't care for your competition or attitude. So I came to put a stop to it." She makes a waving motion with her hand in his direction, and Derek feels a pang of fear.
"You're the Witch of the Waste?" he asks, voice still holding steady. She turns and her skirts billow around her as she prepares to leave, opening the shop door.
"Oh, by the way, you won't be able to tell anyone that you're under a spell." She leaves and the golden-haired man dashes after her, slamming the door shut.
The second the door shuts, Derek’s head begins to swirl. He stumbles backwards, thunking into the wall, and falls to the floor, landing on his ... paws?
Derek blinks, and lifts what used to be a hand, calloused from years of woodwork, to his face. Definitely a paw. He scrambles through the door that leads from the shop to the rest of the house, stumbling when he instinctually tries to stand on two legs but falls back down onto four. The large mirror in Chris’s bedroom confirms it.
He’s not a man anymore.
The Witch of the Waste has turned him into a giant, black wolf. His eyes are the same hazel green that they’ve always been, but that’s the only thing about the wolf in the mirror that says Derek Hale.
“Well, that’s different,” Derek says to his reflection. And he feels a surge of relief because he actually said that - in human words and not yips and barks. At least the Witch hasn't taken everything from him.
Except she might as well have, Derek thinks, looking around Chris’s room and realising that he can smell things that he never could have as a man. Things like his mother’s perfume, seeped into the table where she used to put her makeup on, even though it’s been years since she was alive.
Derek can’t stay here. There’s no room for a man sized wolf in Beacon Hills. Plus, Chris will likely try and shoot him. He’s always had a thing for animal pelts.
Derek put his front paws on the door to turn the shop sign to 'closed' and snuffles around the kitchen, grabbing a hunk of meat between his jaws and slinking out the back door. He contemplates visiting Allison, but doesn't want to be seen by the people in the town. He leaves town by the park and stops when he's a safe distance away, dropping the meat and devouring it messily. He does try to hold it between his paws like a human would, but it keeps falling. When he finishes the meat, something catches his attention. Something black in a bush! He bounds over eagerly, sniffing, and finds a scarecrow.
"Huh," Derek says, nudging it with his nose. He pushes it out of the push and grabs the stick with his powerful jaws, lifting it up and setting it firmly in the soil. "There," Derek pants. "Good deed, huh? That's something Laura probably wouldn't do." The scarecrow flutters in the wind, rags flapping. The withered turnip head creaks a last time before Derek walks on. He supposes that he might look for a cure, though that might be difficult. He pads up the hill and sees a shepherd, but the man runs away before Derek can approach and ask for directions.
"How unkind!" Derek shouts after him, and continues on his way. Something golden glints in the distance and Derek races up the hill toward the shine, only to find a birdcage with a beautiful canary inside. It tries to scratch him with tiny claws, and he huffs a breath at it.
"Stop," Derek says sternly. "I'll open this." He extends his claws, and is nearly aback by the sharp edge and wicked curve of them. He brings them down on the lock, slashing it open. Something glints in the air, too fast to catch. The bird flutters out and chirps at him indignantly before flying off. Derek looks down at his paw where the mysterious shine was, and finds that Allison's chain is still wrapped snugly around it. The fact that there still is something on his person that reminds him of being human soothes him a little. Derek keeps on climbing the hill, glancing down at the chain every few steps. It clinks when he shakes his paw, and he tries to smile with a wolf-mouth.
Maybe his third encounter will be more gracious - and Derek knows he’s due for a third one any minute now. That’s the rule of adventures, after all.
He rounds a bend in the winding trail that leads out of Beacon Hills, and walks straight into a herd of sheep. They startle, and begin bleating loudly, backing away from Derek.
“Get away from them!” someone shouts out, and a rock comes flying through the air, missing Derek but making a large enough noise that he flinches back. A second rock lands a bit closer. “I’ll not have you eating my sheep, wolf!”
“Stop it!” Derek snarls, peering through the fleeing sheep to spot a shepherd.
“You can talk!” the man says, freezing mid throw.
“I can talk,” Derek agrees. “And I don’t want to eat your stupid sheep. Which are getting away,” he adds, nodding after the herd.
The man regards Derek in suspicion. “How do I know you’re not just going to attack me the moment I turn away?”
Derek huffs. “I’m not a man-eater, I’m a --” For a moment, he feels a strange force around his throat, stealing his words away. So, that’s what the Witch had meant. He clears his throat with a growl, and tries again. “I’m not hungry right now. You’re safe from me.”
The man backs away slowly, tense like he’s waiting for an attack. When he’s quite a distance away, the man shouts out, “Tell the Wizard I’m sorry for throwing rocks at his pet!”
“I’m not a pet,” Derek snarls, but the man is too far away to hear him.
It's nearly evening, and Derek is beginning to feel cold. Or actually, his human side tells him that he should be feeling cold, what with the wind blowing so strongly over the hilltop. He travels slowly along the grass, feeling a tad out of breath, when Wizard Stiles' castle begins to pull into view. The thin chimneys puff out spires of smoke, and the castle moves inexorably towards him. Derek has a sudden image of curling up beside a warm fire, gnawing on some meat.
"Can't be half bad," Derek says to himself. "He only likes the hearts of young girls, and I am neither young nor a girl." He places himself directly in the castle's path and stands with his feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Stop!" Derek howls, and to his amazement, the castle does. It screeches to a halt before him, and he leaps forward eagerly... Only to encounter an invisible barrier. Derek lets out a snarl and slashes at the air to no avail. He pads around the castle, keeping right beside the barrier. There are various doors embedded in the castle walls, but all of them are protected. Derek keeps at it until he finds a small, shabby wooden door near the belly of the castle and lets out a triumphant shout, gripping the knob with his teeth and turning it. The door opens to a warm room and the castle immediately creaks deafeningly, starting to move again. Derek makes a running leap and tumbles inside, the door shutting after him immediately as he crashes into a chair and laughs dizzily.
When he finally calms enough to look around, he finds himself in what must be a backroom of the castle. It’s small, filled to the brim with interesting looking jars, books, bundles of parchment, and dried herbs hanging from the dusty rafters. Derek’s new, more sensitive, nose can pick out something that smells the way home feels and it makes Derek want to curl up in front of the merrily crackling fire and take a nap.
Except that next to the fire, holding a poker like it’s a sword, is a young boy who can’t be much older than Allison. His eyes are wide with fear, but his jaw is determined. He looks like he might slash at Derek at any moment.
Derek sighs. “Why must everyone try to attack me?”
"You're the one who came barrelling in like a crazy cat," the boys says, and puts the poker down before moving over and depositing some coal in the fire. "What do you want?" It's then that Derek notices that he can't even feel the castle lurching forward any more, and the room is as still as a nervous mouse.
"This castle is rather sturdy," Derek says in surprise. "Also, you're look like you're used to talking animals." He tries to gesture to himself with a paw but fails, and Derek shifts closer to the fire before scratching his ear with a hind leg. Aw, what the hell, he's always wanted to try that out anyway.
"You get used to loads of things while travelling with Wizard Stiles," the boy tells him, moving over to the table to shuffle through some papers. "Can I help you? I'm Scott, Wizard Stiles' assistant." The boy looks so proud of himself that Derek hasn't got the heart to tell him that it's a shame he's working with an evil wizard, and flops down beside the fire.
"You can't help me," Derek says morosely, staring at the flames. The fire crackles a little at his words, and Derek huffs a breath at it before falling asleep. Scott stares at the black wolf on the hearth rug and takes a spare blanket from behind the table to spread it on him before creeping upstairs to his own bedroom.
+
Derek wakes when a loud crackle filters into his dreams of flinging carved swans at the people outside of Daehler’s. His day feels like a dream, too, and he takes a moment to look at his paws, reminding himself that this is real. He really is a wolf now.
A wolf who has invited himself into Wizard Stiles’ magical floating castle, he reminds himself, looking around the now gloomy room. Scott has gone somewhere, and there is still no sign of Wizard Stiles. Derek tries sniffing the room, to see if he might pick up something, but there is nothing new. He huffs and curls up again by the hearth, using his teeth to pull the blanket back over himself.
The fire is nearly dead, down to a pile of smoldering wood. Derek wonders if Wizard Howl uses some sort of magical wood, because the edges of the flickering flames are are glowing a rose-red color, more like strawberry hair than the red of a normal fire. He has burned a lot of offcuts at the shop, but he has never seen a fire quite that color before.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to stare?” someone asks from the fire place, and before Derek’s eyes the small fire unfolds itself into a face. “Although I understand why it might be hard to tear your eyes away from me.”
Derek doesn't trust himself to speak, and instead, peers closer at the fire. There's an unmistakeable face with bright blue flame eyes. A wave of small green fires trail down its head, threading through the vivid red hair before vanishing into the embers. It's almost feminine and beautiful.
"You're still staring!" The fire reminds him cheerfully, and it seems to smile. Its voice is light and crackly, musical in a way that reminds Derek of warm nights in the shop with Allison and Laura by his side.
"Sorry," Derek says politely. "I don't mean to be rude. Do you need an extra log?" The flames seem to bow until Derek realises that it's nodding, and immediately picks up a log from the pile nearby, dropping it on the ashes and pushing it towards the fire with a careful claw. Tendrils of bluish-green wisps reach for it, pulling it close.
"Thank you. I'm Lydia, by the way. I'm a fire demon." Derek rests his head on his paws, falling back into a lying down position.
"I'm Derek." Lydia squints at him a little before waving a curl of flame excitedly.
"I recognise that spell!" She says brightly. "It's really strong. The Witch of the Waste, wasn't it? You can't tell anyone you're under one and," she pauses to peer at him closer, "you're actually rather handsome for a human." Derek covers his nose with a paw, feeling the heat from where Lydia was approaching.
"Yes. Could you take it off, please?" Lydia shakes her head and gestures to the fireplace.
"I'm just as much of a prisoner as you are. I'm under contract to stay here, and the spell is rather heavy. I could break it, though, if you helped me..." Her voice trails off, and Derek waits patiently as Lydia crackles to herself in between the two logs.
“If you help me with my problem, when I’m free I’ll be able to rid you of yours,” she says finally, as if making a proclamation. “All you have to do is break this contract I’m under.”
“Is it with Wizard Stiles?” Derek asks.
“Of course,” she says, and sighs prettily, sinking into wood a little bit as if burdened by the weight of the world. “I’m fastened to this hearth and I can’t stir so much as a foot away. I’m forced to do most of the magic around here. I have to maintain the castle and keep it moving and do all the special effects that scare people off, as well as anything else Stiles wants. Stiles is quite heartless, you know.”
“I’m not surprised,” Derek says, because anyone who eats people would have to be heartless. Derek has been a wolf now for more than half a day, and his stomach roils at the thought of eating another human being. “But why would you enter a contract like that? Don’t you get anything out of it?”
“I thought the price was worth it,” Lydia says. “But I didn’t really know what it would be like. I’m being exploited!”
Derek sighs, and rests his head on his crossed paws, watching Lydia eating away at the wood. It’s not much different from what Derek’s life has been like, he thinks - chained to the shop with nothing to do but carve wood. “All right. What are the terms of the contract? How do I break it?”
Instantly, Lydia brightens, excitement making her grow into a large flame. “You agree to a bargain?”
“If you promise to break the spell on me,” Derek says, because he has sisters after all, and he knows the importance of making every bargain clear, “then I will help you get free of this contract.”
“Done!” Lydia cheers.
"How do I break your contract?" Derek asks curiously, rousing himself from his position. The bright blue eyes flicker at him guiltily before Lydia looks away.
"I can't tell you outright," she admits. "But I have given you a clue." Derek frowns at that and rolls over so that he's on his back, rubbing his fur against the hearth. He sighs in satisfaction at the heat and the softness, and realises that he can't go back on his bargain with the fire demon.
"I'll be keeping a closer ear out in future," he promises. "But it means that I'll have to stay here with Wizard Stiles!" Lydia giggles a little from her comfortable seat in the fireplace.
"Yes, you do. And if you weren't in wolf form, he might actually have asked you to." Derek frowns at her, not entirely sure what Lydia is implying. He pants for the sheer hell of it, and lets his tongue loll out as he cocks his head.
"We'll get to it in the morning," he tells her. "Goodnight, Lydia." She puffs up a little.
"Goodnight, Derek," she replies, and starts crooning a soft song about saucepans. It's only as Derek's about to fall asleep when he realises her might be beguiling or bewitching him, or something...
Derek falls asleep before he can complete that thought.
+
The next morning, Derek spends some time exploring castle. Except that he quickly comes to realise that something isn’t quite right. There should be room after room, but Derek can only find one bathroom, a small courtyard, a cranny underneath the staircase, and two bedrooms upstairs that his nose tell him must belong to Scott and Wizard Stiles. There is mess and clutter everywhere, and Derek flinches at whatever it is he smells coming from the bathroom sink.
He raises onto his hind legs and looks out the small window next to the door. Through it, he can see a busy village street, with a woman sweeping her door stoop clean of leaves while children play tag nearby. Curious, he uses his teeth to open the door that he had come in through the night before. Outside is the hilly area around Beacon Hills, rolling by slowly as the castle drifts.
Thoughtfully, Derek closes the door and looks at the window again.
There is a clattering sound from upstairs, and Scott comes down the stairs, freezing when he sees Derek.
"You're still here," Scott says politely. "Is something the matter?"
"I'm a wolf," Derek begins, but stops almost immediately. Damn that spell! He's going to hunt down the witch and make her take it off.
"It's not something we can choose!" Scott tells him cheerfully. "At least you're a talking one." He looks around the room and starts hunting for something. Derek drops a couple of logs into the fireplace and huffs away as much ash as he can. Lydia pops up and smiles at him, tapping her nose and winking. Scott comes up with bread and cheese, then immediately looks guilty.
"Can wolves eat cheese?" He asks guiltily. Derek sniffs at the air and tries to scowl at Scott.
"There's perfectly good bacon and eggs in that drawer, you know." Scott looks mildly upset and puts the bread and cheese down.
"Lydia won't let anyone fry on her. Only Stiles." Derek snorts and trots over to the table to pick up a heavy frying pan, carrying it over by mouth.
"Lydia, get ready," Derek says through a mouthful of metal. She makes a face and blazes up, shooting a jet of flame and barely missing the pan. Derek yelps but holds steady. She needs him.
"I'm a fire demon!" She protests. "The indignity of being cooked on, how dare y-" Lydia is cut off by the pan on her head.
"I hope everything you fry up burns," she mutters.
“Well?” Derek says, when Scott does nothing but gape. “I can’t exactly crack the eggs.”
“Right!” Scott says, and joins Derek by the fire. He drops some bacon in the pan and starts cracking in the eggs, when the door bursts open. Both Scott and Derek swing around to look. “Hello, Stiles,” Scott says helplessly.
Standing just inside the doorway is the lean man that had cornered Derek and called him frightened. “Hello,” he says slowly, eyeing Derek. “I thought we agreed that just because something followed you home, doesn’t mean you have to keep it?”
“That was one time,” Scott protests. “And everyone should have a pet.”
“Not. A. Pet.” Derek growls, because really, he’s a man. Well. Wolf-man. He’s not a puppy, anyways.
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Who on earth are you? Where have I seen you before?”
“I’m a total stranger,” Derek says firmly.
“He says his name is Derek,” Scott offers. “He showed up last night.”
“Hmm,” Stiles says. “Wait, is Lydia letting you cook?”
“Derek bullied me!” Lydia says piteously from underneath the pan.
“He doesn’t have fingers, though, so I’m doing the actual work,” Scott adds.
"Hmm," Stiles says noncommittally. "Lydia doesn't like anyone to cook on her but me. Scott, get six more rashers of bacon and two eggs, please." Scott dutifully gets the food while Derek knocks around looking for the plates and finally unearths them from one of the cupboards, putting them onto the table. Stiles is frying the eggs up beautifully (Derek likes his egg yolks runny) and tossing the egg shells to Lydia, who crunches them up and glares balefully at Derek.
"Plates here," Derek announces, and Stiles brings over the food. Lydia blazes up and her head disappears into the chimney, freed from beneath the confines of a rather dirty frying pan.
"You know, I can't find the rest of the castle," Derek says. Scott and Stiles burst into laughter, and Stiles gives him eight slices of bacon and two eggs. Derek places his two front paws on the table and eats right beside them, licking up the yolk from the plate enthusiastically.
"The castle isn't actually, you know, real," Scott explains. "The only real part is the parts you've been to. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and a little courtyard. They're the inside of Stiles' real house just on the fringes of Beacon Hills. No one knows, though."
"Yeah, rushing about scaring half the animals on the hills to death in a great big castle is a brilliant idea," Derek deadpans, and watches Stiles' eyes shine with mirth.
"Lydia runs the castle, otherwise she'd be incredibly bored. In addition to that, I am rich and powerful and have a reputation to keep up."
"And people to get away from," Scott adds thoughtfully, digging into the last slice of bacon. Derek's ears prick up at that, and he leaves the plate alone.
"You could always say that I was a ferocious beast that terrorised some far-off land and you captured me and that I'm now the protector of your house," Derek suggests, drawing the idea from one of his favourite books when he was young. Stiles stays silent and passes all the plates to Scott, who brings them over to the sink to wash out before disappearing up the stairs.
"Bathtime, Lydia!" Comes Stiles' voice from upstairs, and Lydia comes back down the chimney only to flare up strongly. Derek dumps a few logs on her and she waves gratefully, a small tendril of fire twitching while the rest of her flame body glows white-hot.