Archive of Our Own

Erica's face hurts and she's bleeding from the scratch down her left side. But that's nothing compared to the situation she's in now. She turns, leaning her weight against the metal door behind her, and sees that Allison is straining with the effort to keep the door shut, as the werewolves from outside try to shove their way into the room. Erica tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and glances around the room for something they can wedge between the door handle and the filing cabinet next to it.

"Spell it shut," Allison says, through gritted teeth.

For a moment, all Erica can do is stare blankly at Allison's furious expression. Then, she grins and makes a considering sound. Mostly, she's trying to hide the rapid beating of her heart and the uncertainty that has tainted all of her actions since the start of this mission.

She's not ready, plays as a constant loop in her head.

"Spell it shut," Erica repeats, slowly.

Allison rolls her eyes.

The insistent pounding from outside the room is the only thing that stops Erica from making a smart comment. She exhales and tries to clear her mind in the same breath. Lydia had always said that spell casting was easier that way. Erica inhales, pictures the lock on the door, leans into the tingling in her fingers, but when she tries to push the magic out, she can't.

There's another full body slam against the door.

"Shit," Erica whispers.

She can feel the beginnings of panic that she tries again to push away. Right now, Erica can't afford the rapid flow of memories that push themselves through whenever she practices with Lydia.

"She's not ready," Lydia had said, when Morrell assigned Allison and Erica together.

"She will be," Morrell had said, with a private smile at Erica.

The thing is, Erica's fucked. She had never been able to get over the fact that for most of her life, she'd been branded ungifted by her mother's coven of witches. Erica grew up around children who pointed at her and laughed, secure in the knowledge that they had what she didn't. Erica hadn't been good enough for sixteen years, and then, suddenly, she had been.

Her magic had burst free when she turned sixteen, wild and powerful, until she was stronger than even her mother had been at her age. The coven had sent her to Morrell in Beacon Hills, who had paired Erica with Lydia, the most talented witch that the covens had seen in their lifetime. Lydia was supposed to help Erica control her magic. The problem was, no matter what they tried, it was never enough.

Erica was never enough.

She exhales, shakily, shudders when the wolves outside start howling.

We're going to die, Erica thinks, the thought sharp and final.

She feels her magic pull back into her, loses even the sensation in her fingertips.

"Fuck," Erica says.

Allison exhales hard through her nose, and Erica remembers she's not alone. She tilts her head down a little so that she's looking right into Allison's brown eyes.

"Hey," Allison says, smiling despite the effort she's putting into keeping the door closed. "You can do this."

Erica gasps without meaning to. "You mean, I have to do this or we die," she says, trying to shake off the pang of emotion at the center of her chest.

Allison shrugs helplessly at her. "Please," she says.

It startles a laugh out of Erica, and just like that, it all snaps into place. She can feel the thrum of magic underneath her fingertips and the heat that spreads from the center of her body, until she's covered in warmth.

Lock, she thinks, and the door does.

She adds reinforcement spells, and one for luck, just in case. Her body hums its approval, her magic a tangible floating thing inside her. Erica exhales, and the grin she turns on Allison is sincere and playful.

"How's that?" she asks.

Allison steps away from the door, leans down to pick up her crossbow, and aims her last arrow at the door. Erica pulls her magic tight around both of them, but crosses her arms and gives Allison an unimpressed look.

"You have to believe your spells will work," Lydia had said. "Always."

There's a loud thump, followed by furious howling. The door holds.

Erica lets out the breath she'd been holding. "See," she says, winking at Allison. "Told you it would hold."

Allison shakes her head, but her smile is fond, even as she turns away. Erica licks her lips, rubbing her lipstick off in bits. When this is all over, she's going to have to find a bathroom to reapply the red.

"We should search the room," Allison says. "Maybe there's something we can use."

Erica turns her full attention on the room, for the first time. They're in a warehouse, on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, right at border, where the pavement gives way to open forest. Morrell had heard rumors of rogue werewolves that were eating humans, and as head of the Beacon Hills Containment Facility, it was her job to check the validity of the rumors.

More than one rogue werewolf usually meant Morrell would send the more experienced hunters. But Allison was the equivalent of three hunters, and even with Erica not quite trained, they should have been enough. Except that Erica didn't know how to sense people the way Lydia did, and the two of them had run right into the two werewolves cornering a young girl.

There had been a lot of yelling, some well-placed spells from Erica that annoyed the wolves more than stopped them. The girl had fled as soon as she could. Then, Erica and Allison had run for the nearest safe place, neither of them fast enough to outrun a werewolf, but small enough to slip through the small opening between the warehouse doors. The chains keeping the doors shut had bought them enough time to throw themselves into the room, and now, here they were.

"Is that a James Baldwin poster?" Erica asks, catching sight of the black and white picture near the back of the room. "Nice."

She walks over to it, glancing at the brick walls, the rows of filing cabinets lining two of the four walls. There's a giant wooden desk in the center of the room, its surface clean and empty, except for the desktop to the left corner.

"Are there cameras?" Allison asks, striding past Erica.

Their shoulders brush as Allison eases her way between Erica and the side of the desk. Erica, who had stopped just on the other side of the desktop, just raises a perfectly done eyebrow. She watches as Allison drops into the high-back chair in front of the computer.

"Yes," Allison says, dropping her crossbow at her feet.

"What?" Erica asks, taken aback by the sudden joy on Allison's face.

Allison isn't the type to smile much, unless she's with Lydia.

"We have internet connection," Allison explains, the methodical click of keys a kind of relaxing tune.

"Are you writing a strongly worded email to Morrell?"

Allison rolls her eyes, finishes her email, and pushes her chair back. "Come see," she says. "I was perfectly nice."

Erica can't tell if Allison is joking or not. She glances around the room again, at the locked door. They're stuck in this room together until Morrell sends someone to help them, or until the werewolves get tired.

Or as long as the spells hold, comes the same nagging train of thought.

Erica sighs, decides she had nothing better to do, and walks around the desk. She takes a deliberate step in front of Allison, and leans down to read the email. It says:

Erica laughs. That's twice now, that Allison has taken her by surprise. Three times, Erica corrects, when she feels Allison's hands on her waist. Erica turns to look over her shoulder, sees the mischievous light in Allison's eyes, and lets Allison pull her onto her lap.

"Sit," Allison says.

Erica looks at her, the stare assessing. Allison lifts her chin but keeps her hands on Erica's hips.

Erica's smile is intimate now, slow and heady, full of confidence, because this— Allison's darkening gaze, her wandering hands—is something Erica knows very well how to handle.