ISLEWORTH

November 11, 2016

CHAPTER ONE

A SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN THE COUNTY OF BEACON HILLS

No one believed us when we told them why we went into the woods.

Of course, it didn't help that it was midnight at Sisterhood Camp, and neither me nor Ava had been on our best behavior. Erica was the good one, and Riley was so quiet she always avoided detection, whether she was good or bad. Riley wouldn't have been caught when the rest of us were if she hadn't wanted to see it, too.

It was the end of a hot, muggy August, and I had hated every second of my week at Sisterhood Camp. I was never a fan of anything remotely organized and hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, but my mother had thought it would be a good idea to get me out of the house. She probably thought it would help me maintain my sanity after the divorce, and she'd never been so wrong. Sitting around campfires and being forced to sing songs with people you don't even know is not a good way to maintain sanity.

I was up to my usual tricks around midnight. My cabin counselor was never particularly adept and was out cold, and had been for at least thirty minutes. Two of my other cabin members were whispering to each other and giggling, but I didn't care about what. Instead I quietly climbed out of bed, pulled on my dinosaur socks and my hiking boots, and snuck out of the cabin with my flashlight.

Once I was outside I paused and released a breath. The air was sticky warm and it smelled like honeysuckle. I turned and crept off the main path, walking over mulch and dry grass to reach Ava's cabin first. It was the closest.

When I drew closer to the cabin I found Ava already sneaking out. I beamed at her. "Hey!" I whisper-shouted, quickening my pace.

Ava glanced over and grinned back. "I am so ready for this," she told me. Her accent was thicker then. She glanced back to double-check that her cabin door was shut before turning toward me. "Where did you see it?"

"We have to get Riley and Erica first," I answered.

"I'll get Erica," said Ava. "You get Riley. We can meet by the flag."

We nodded at each other, already determined, and then turned to go in our different directions. I was about three feet away when I heard Ava trip over a bush, and when I looked back, she was still standing, arms out for balance. I snickered to myself and turned around to resume focusing on my own path.

Riley's cabin was the furthest away, and it was closest to the dark lake. It wasn't hard to follow the smooth, wide dirt path to the cabin itself, and it was even easier tonight, since the moon was full. I was pretty sure I wouldn't even need my flashlight. But I remember reasoning that I could use it for a weapon, just in case.

I had to sneak into Riley's cabin to find her. Her counselor was in the bathroom, the fluorescent light on and the shower running. I tip-toed over to where I could see Riley's long black hair splayed out all over her glow-in-the-dark Buzz Lightyear pillowcase. "Hey," I whispered when I reached her. I leaned over and shook her shoulder. "Ri, wake up."

Riley rolled over and glared at me. "What?" she groused. Then she did a double-take and rubbed her eyes. "Kalyn?"

"Come on," I said, gesturing with my head. "I'm gonna show you and Ava and Erica where I saw the wolf."

Immediately Riley's face brightened. "Count me in," she answered, already climbing out of bed. I moved so she could put on her scuffed sneakers. After Riley arranged her black jacket on her pillow in a way that almost made it resemble her hair, we made sure her counselor was still in the shower—she was, and quietly singing Britney Spears—and snuck out.

When we made it outside and a few feet down the path, Riley and I both relaxed a little. "I'm gonna be so mad if we don't see it," Riley told me.

"I'm sure we'll see it," I answered. "It probably lives there."

In hindsight, the whole plan was really stupid; but in our defense, we were nine. Finding a wolf in the woods at midnight on the night of the full moon was a cool idea, not a stupid one. None of us even thought it might be stupid.

Riley and I met Ava and Erica at the silver flag pole in the middle of camp. Erica's blonde curls were piled on top of her head and she looked tired, but she always did. "Do you think it's a werewolf?" Erica whispered when Riley and I reached her.

Ava glanced at her, already scoffing, but I shrugged. "Could be," I said.

Riley elbowed me in the ribs. "Could not."

Erica and I exchanged glances. Both of us believed in things like werewolves. We both believed in mermaids and unicorns, too. How could anyone tell us we were wrong? The existence of such creatures couldn't be disproved. And I never trusted anything the government or science told me, with the exception of cool planet facts, so no amount of disproving would work anyway.

I led the way into the woods. We passed the director's cabin and the cafeteria, and soon we were out in the trees, walking along one of the back hiking paths. As we drew further and further away from the camp, Ava's voice grew louder and louder. "Kelsey said Chad from the Boy Scout camp kissed her," I heard her say.

"Gross," said Riley. "He has a pizza face."

All three of them laughed, and I smirked to myself. Then I focused on finding my way to the last place I saw the dark shape in the undergrowth, where I'd heard bushes rustling even more than usual and turned and glimpsed something alive. Something big.

We reached it in a matter of minutes. I slowed down and led the way off the path. "Shh," I hissed back to my best friends, as we approached the location. All three of them went silent as we crept together through the grass and the leaves. I impatiently swatted aside an elephant leaf as we went: and then I stopped.

Erica, Ava, and Riley all stopped beside me. I could hear all four of us breathing, and that was it, besides the occasional owl hooting and some general rustling of leaves and undergrowth. Then, as we scoured the site for any sign of movement, I saw it.

"There," I whispered, pointing and smacking Ava's arm. "There!"

In the undergrowth, several yards away, two bronze-colored eyes had appeared. There was some shape low to the ground, lingering there. "Oh my God," whispered Erica. She grabbed my other arm. "Does it look like—"

But we couldn't figure anything else out, because that was when the camp director caught us. Roughly five people crashed into the woods, flashlights bright on our faces and the woods around us. Neither Ava nor Riley had gotten the chance to find the bronze-colored eyes in the undergrowth, but Erica and I saw them. We knew something had been out there, and I knew I'd seen a wolf the night before.

Of course we couldn't focus on this, because we were marched back to the main building, where the museum-type exhibits about the camp were, and told we were going to receive disciplinary action. "Why were you out there in the first place?" demanded Mrs. Fisher, the camp director. "What on Earth has gotten into you four?"

"We wanted to see the wolf!" said Riley.

"Werewolf," Erica corrected.

All of the counselors exchanged glances. None of them were amused. "There aren't any wolves in California," said the camp director's assistant David. He was always patronizing and derisive and then was no different. "There haven't been any in years. And werewolves don't exist."

Both Erica and I were used to hearing this, and we looked at each other and rolled our eyes. That only served to make the counselors angrier. "There was something," Ava offered, while the counselors tried to decide what to do with us. "We didn't get to see what it was."

"It certainly wasn't a werewolf," remarked David.

"We're sending you home tomorrow morning," said Mrs. Fisher with authority. "And that's final."

I thought about Sisterhood Camp that night more than I usually did. Some days I forgot that had happened at all, and other days Ava brought it up; and on other days, like that one, I certainly remembered.

This time it was a cold and dark January night upon which I had another encounter nobody but Ava would believe. I had a lot of those, especially from middle school. It would have been an otherwise typical Saturday evening; I was one of the last cashiers at the supermarket on Carson, and Ryan the bag boy was trying to fit Frosted Flakes in a plastic bag with kettle corn.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said to me, as he went about this. Both of us were kind of ignoring the customers—although, for the record, I always made sure to greet them and smile. "How could there be a photograph if the government is covering it up?"

"The government screwed up!" I protested as I pushed the correct buttons in the cash register. "There are bound to be mistakes in cover-ups this big!" With that I looked down and counted out the change, and then turned toward the older woman waiting for Ryan to pass her the Frosted Flakes. "Your change is five thirty-eight."

"Thank you," said the woman, gingerly accepting the change.

I vaguely side-eyed her but dismissed it, instead turning back toward Ryan, who was handing the woman her plastic bags. "Nibiru is real," I told Ryan. He managed to give the lady her bags and turned toward me, too, putting one hand on his hip and raising his eyebrows. "Doomsday is on its way. The government knows we'd panic if we knew."

Ryan snorted. "How can you speak on behalf of the government?"

"The government isn't here to defend itself," I replied. Ryan laughed, and I turned to find our last customer, a frazzled twenty-something with three bags of frozen chicken strips, a bottle of expensive wine, and a head of lettuce. "Hi," I said politely to her as I started scanning her items. As I scanned them she somehow also produced a box of oatmeal and a can of chicken broth. "Fan of chicken?"

The twenty-something girl looked at me suddenly, and for a second I was sure I'd managed to offend her. Then I was sure she'd either died or fallen asleep staring at me. "Yeah," she said, after we'd maintained eye contact for way too long. I decided she hadn't slept in days. "Sorry. Yeah, I like chocolate."

I didn't bother correcting her and instead glanced back toward Ryan, who was studiously putting away the twenty-something's groceries in plastic bags. "If you were a government, would you want your citizens to panic?" I asked him.

"I wouldn't be a government," said Ryan firmly.

I decided this was as good as the conversation was going to get. I missed Wesley, the usual bag boy at my register. We always talked about conspiracy theories and he was always up for learning more. I'd tell him about Nibiru the next time I worked with him. I considered—that would be Wednesday, probably, since Meredith had asked for my Sunday shift.

The twenty-something finished checking out and soon Ryan was helping her carry her groceries out. She was the last customer in the store, and I closed my register. Lindsay Hart, the night manager, was closing up Customer Service, from what I could see.

We went about our usual nightly routine of closing the supermarket. Ryan, Lindsay, and I parted ways in the parking lot. "Have a good night, you two," Lindsay called as she clicked over to her Honda in her black heels. Ryan and I answered with similar sentiments, and then the two of us split up, too, Ryan heading over to climb into the Lincoln idling by the curb.

I'd obtained my mother's sedan for the evening, and it was parked under one of the few flickering lights in the parking lot. I headed over, swung open the driver's side door, and threw my bag into the passenger's seat. Then I climbed in and started the car. At least I was on time, I noted. My mother had the late night/early morning shift at the hospital and she always took the car after I returned it.

Normally I would have taken the highway, because on most occasions nobody was out. But the DJ on the pop radio station I usually had on reported that there was congestion on the northern-bound highway due to an accident. This was truly unfortunate not only due to the accident, but also because I knew there was construction going on, and that would have slowed everyone down anyway.

I decided to take some back roads to reach my house hopefully on time. I didn't really know these particular back roads, and it was currently even harder to distinguish landmarks from the dark line of trees alongside the streets, given that it was midnight. I took a couple of turns I thought I knew and soon reached the back of a neighborhood near mine. The only reason I recognized it was because I remembered back when Erica had lived over here—there was a river in the woods behind this neighborhood. We used to catch tadpoles there together.

There was a deserted three-way stop behind this neighborhood, and trees on all sides of the road, besides the one with the one-story houses on it. Even though nobody else was out and driving around, I halted at the stop sign. Right as I started to move forward again, though, a dark shape materialized in front of my car—but my foot was already on the gas pedal and it was too late, I rammed into it with my mother's car—

"Shit," I blurted. I stopped the car, slamming it into park and rather frantically yanking on the emergency brake. I jumped out of the driver's seat and ran around to the front of the car. Had I hit a deer or a person? Or was I just as crazy as Poppy Trent used to tell me?

I discovered that, although the crazy part was debatable, I really had hit someone.

For a second I stopped and stared, wide-eyed, at my unintended victim. He was just laying on the ground, eyes closed. All I could tell was that he was kind of a big dude, muscular and probably tall. There was a lot of him. "Uh," I found myself saying. "Sir?"

He didn't answer. Which made sense, as I'd just run him over.

I glanced around the three-way stop a little guiltily, like that rude old lady might emerge from the woods, waving her box of Frosted Flakes at me and blaming me for killing her son. But I saw no people emerging from the woods and no headlights from any direction, and even the backs of the houses I could see didn't have many lights on. All I could see were the graffiti-littered stop signs and the cracked empty roads, and, of course, the dark woods on all sides.

Shit, I thought, looking back down at the dude. Did I just murder a guy?

I told myself not to panic. I didn't know if he was dead. Running on that thought I moved to kneel down beside the guy. I hesitated to quickly glance over him—there were no blossoming bloodstains on or under him, and nothing looked terribly broken, but considering I'd literally just mowed him down with my mother's car, he might have had internal bleeding or brain damage.

I shifted slightly in order to cautiously lean over and put two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse.

Which was definitely there.

"Oh thank God," I blurted. I released a breath of relief and leaned back again, looking down at the guy. His neck had been kind of bristly, like he needed to shave.

A beat later I realized that I had somehow managed to take down some random ridiculously good-looking guy. Nope, I thought, he didn't need to shave, the beard stubble was A++, 10/10, would stare at his face for days. Then I grimaced. Damn, I thought. This was quite a predicament.

Before he could wake up and get angry, I straightened up. Then it occurred to me that I should definitely call 911 just in case. I hurried back over around the open driver's side door and leaned into the sedan to pluck up my phone from where I'd left it in the cup holder.

I leaned back out and started to dial 911; as I did, I half-automatically turned to take a few steps back around to the front of my car. Except this time when I reached the front, there was nobody on the broken asphalt in front of my bumper. "911, how can I help you?" said a woman on the other end of the line.

Next thing I knew someone was snatching the phone out of my hand from behind. I turned: the guy, upright and looking totally fine in more ways than one, had taken my phone. As I watched, increasingly bewildered, he said into the phone, "It's a false alarm." Then he hung up and looked straight at me.

For a second we both just stared at each other. Oh my Lord, I thought, tempted to laugh, because the guy was even hotter than I'd originally thought, and this was truly saying something. He had short black hair, flicked up a little in the front, a sharp angular jaw with that delicious beard stubble, broad shoulders, visibly muscular arms, and absolutely lovely green eyes.

Stupidly, beyond a both appreciative and embarrassed Fuck me, my next thought was that his eyes reminded me of The Great Gatsby. Which was ridiculous, partly because that was what I was thinking and partly because I knew the green light Jay Gatsby had stared at from the end of his dock had probably been fluorescent. A fluorescent light would have been more reminiscent of the lights in Beacon High's hallway than anything. I could only justify this comparison with my car's headlights.

"I'm fine," said the guy, when the silence had already been way too long.

I blinked at him. You're telling me, I thought. Dammit, I really needed to say something that was not inappropriate or incoherent. Get it together, I told myself. "I did just run you over, though," I pointed out. "With a car."

"And I'm fine," the guy repeated. His expression was stony. "Don't call anyone."

"But—you might have some kind of internal—"

The guy held my phone out. I took it back from him, and our hands brushed briefly. "You just bumped me," said the guy. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, because the dude had been flat out on the ground. "It's fine." He took a step backward. "You can go ahead and leave. I won't press charges."

"Uh, yeah, you were unconscious," I said. "This could be a concussion talking."

"I'm not sure that's how concussions work," said the guy. This managed to surprise me even more, because he said this with a hint of dry humor, and he'd just been run over by a freaking car. "And anyway I'm fine."

"Stop saying that!" I protested. I turned to look back down at where he'd been before, gesturing emphatically at the spot with my phone. "You can't be fine, I just—"

Then I stopped, because when I turned to look back at the guy, he had vanished.

That was truly the spookiest part of the whole encounter. I looked around the three-way stop, trying to find him, and didn't. I thought I saw a shadowy movement in the woods to my right, where I knew the river was, but then it was gone and everything was still. I was just standing there by my mother's running car in the headlights, my radio blasting a dumb Old Spice ad, gawking at nothing.

I slowly backed around the front of my car and the open door, doing my best to look all around me as I did.

Still nothing. It was like he'd never been there.

That did it. I fairly flung myself into the driver's seat and slammed my door shut, and locked my car. Then, just in case he was waiting in the backseat with a knife, I whirled around to lean over and check.

I was totally alone.

Yikes, I thought, quickly stepping on the gas. This was what I got for trying to avoid traffic. And, argh—I was going to be a couple minutes late. It was a wonder my mother wasn't calling me already. She had a sixth sense about these kinds of things. She always knew when I was doing something stupid.

I considered telling her about the whole thing, and then briefly considered telling my twin brother, who was probably home too. But I already knew they'd both look at me funny and my mom would suggest I get some more sleep, and Scott would claim I was crazy. And I was most certainly not crazy. I might have believed in conspiracy theories and werewolves but I knew for sure I'd hit someone with the front of this car. There was no way I hallucinated that.

That weirdo had to have really been there. Maybe he lived nearby, and maybe he'd been high or something. He hadn't smelled like anything but maybe I'd been too distracted by his incredible jaw to notice.

Anyway—I really needed to go back to reading manga before bed instead of novels, because The Great Gatsby? Really?

Maybe there was some irony in it. Half the characters in The Great Gatsby died being run over by a car. I snickered to myself and then felt scandalized.

Okay, I told myself, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. No more thinking about the strange Gatsby man or being run over by cars. I had enough to worry about in the coming days. If that dude had really been hurt, he totally would have said something. I decided to leave him off my list of things to worry about.

I was not good at self-discipline.

"Macey, I'm not kidding," I said into my cell phone the following afternoon, while I tried to shove my feet into my hiking boots. It was a little difficult just using one hand and with wool socks on. "I ran some super-hot guy over last night and all he would say is 'I'm fine, don't call the police.'"

Macey Conrad was one of my current best friends. She wanted to be a radiologist, and mired herself in all things medical; she was even a student trainer, though she hated people. She liked to say she was in it for the money. Presently she scoffed. "There's no way."

"There is a way, and this guy found it!" I retorted. Then I growled in irritation and set my phone down to lean over and lace up my hiking boots.

When I picked the phone back up Macey was saying, "…but come on, Kalyn. I'm serious here. You're not messing with me, are you?"

"Why would I mess with you?" I asked. Before she could even answer I sighed. "Okay, fine. But this time it's for real. I accidentally hit a guy with my mom's car in the middle of the night last night after work."

Macey's silence in response told me enough. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and then walked across my bedroom to grab my sketchbook from where it sat on my desk. Then I grabbed a couple of mechanical pencils, my half-finished big white eraser, and my wallet. I was halfway out of the door to my room when I doubled back to grab my black snapback and pull it on; and at long last I managed to turn off the light and get out of my room.

"Anyway," said Macey in a very subtle transition, "what are you wearing tomorrow, do you know yet?"

Tomorrow would be Monday, and the first day back at school after Winter Break. "Probably skinny jeans," I reported. "Given that our dumb school won't let us wear leggings." I'd gotten detention for it last semester. Leggings were super comfortable and easier to move around in than sweatpants, but apparently they were "too suggestive" for our dress code.

Macey snorted. "Yeah, I'd wear them if I could, too." She sighed. I heard someone say something from her end of the line. "Gotta go," she said a second later. "My dad wants me to do chores. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya," I said, already hanging up.

I had barely reached the foot of the staircase. I paused there to listen, and try to figure out where my mom was; I was supposed to check in with her before taking off with her car again. (I hadn't told her about running the hottest guy I'd ever seen over, because she believed in me even less than Macey did.) I figured she was probably in the kitchen from the sounds of movement there.

I walked around the banister and wandered over to the kitchen, adjusting my grip on my sketchbook and two pencils as I did. In a few seconds I found my mother rummaging around in the refrigerator. There was a glass jar of mayonnaise out on the Formica-topped counter already. "So I'm gonna head out," I said, remaining at the doorway.

Mom turned around. Her dark curls were pulled back in a ponytail, per usual. "You'll be back in two hours, right?"

"Yes ma'am," I answered.

"Good," said my mother. She nodded at me and then turned to lean back into the refrigerator. "Call me if anything changes, or if you have any problems."

I was already stepping back into the main hallway. "Will do," I said. I turned and managed to take two or three steps before my twin brother appeared from the living room and nearly slammed into me. "Sorry," I said, dodging him, and he mumbled something in response. His black hair was messy and sticking up in odd places, like he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

We didn't say anything else to each other and instead continued on our own ways, ships passing in the night. This was the way Scott and I tended to interact. We really didn't have much in common—we went to the same high school and had the same birthday, but that was it. I liked aliens and cool rocks and Scott liked dogs and parkour. Our after-school activities were totally different, too—I was in the Photography Club and on Yearbook, and Scott was on the lacrosse team. Our lack of a relationship didn't seem to bother him, and it didn't bother me at all. I liked my friends better than him anyway.

I had to stop by the coat closet to dig out my winter coat; then, on my way out, I grabbed my mother's car keys from the hook by the door, where we always hung them. In a few seconds I was out in the lovely cold winter air, and I headed over to the driveway, where the sedan was parked.

I hadn't been out here yet today. Out of curiosity I paused by the front bumper to bend down and run my hand along it, checking for dents or scratches, anything that would prove I'd run a dude over the night before. I thought there might have been a tiny dent, but I couldn't be sure it hadn't been there before. Besides, if that guy had managed to dent the bumper, he definitely would have been hurt.

Oh, well. Even if there was no hard proof I at least knew it had happened, and that was all that mattered. And Ava would believe me, I decided. Ava always did.

I climbed into the car and set my sketchbook and pencils, and wallet and phone, aside on the passenger's seat. Soon enough I was backing out of the driveway and pulling out into the road. On my way out of the neighborhood I waved at Mrs. Pat, who, like the trooper she was, was out walking her dog in the cold. She beamed and waved back. She was adorable and always invited me in for tea and told me stories about her grandchildren in Boston.

Sadly I had to take the northern-bound highway this afternoon, which meant I had to deal with some construction traffic. This highway was the one that curved around the outskirts of Beacon Hills and would lead up to the edge of town, where the entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve was. I loved hiking there and went all the time, whatever the weather. It was also good for sparking my creativity and giving me things to draw, or sketch and later paint.

The world outside seemed to darken slightly as I drew further and further away from Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was an interesting place—even during the summer it always looked like autumn. Trees were more often dying than not, and there was always a coating of dead crunchy leaves on the forest floors. Of course everything looked particularly gray and dead now due to the season.

I reached the Beacon Hills Preserve about ten minutes later than usual due to the construction traffic; once I hit the entrance I turned down the long, winding path that would lead to the medium-sized parking lot. I slowed down significantly as I drove, half-watching the road and half-glancing out the window. I loved the woods.

There were no other cars in the parking lot with the trailheads. I parked by one of the big boards with pictures of the main trails and headed over to briefly glance over the map, trying to decide where I wanted to go today. After a few seconds of debate I turned on my heel and headed for the somewhat easier trail that would end a little ways out from the waterfall.

I glanced around appreciatively as I walked, and I couldn't resist the temptation to stop a few times and take pictures with my phone for Flickr. I was always hopeful I could get a good enough shot that my follower count would rise, but I was also fairly certain that would only happen if I traveled somewhere like Italy or Germany.

It didn't take too long, all things considered, for me to reach the end of the trail. Once I did I paused to turn and look down at the waterfall, the white water crashing against smooth rocks and steadily carving out the banks of the river. A cold wind ruffled the curly ends of my hair, and I squinted upward to briefly watch the wind rustle what very few dead leaves were left, shriveled and curled, on the branches of nearby trees; they were silhouetted against the gray January sky. I caught a glimpse of the bright cold sun before I turned to walk to my stump.

This particular stump was one of my preferred places to sit and draw. It was grown over with moss and cracked, but it had been there for as long as I could remember. It was a little ways off the path and into the woods, and I had to step over some undergrowth to reach it. Once I did I seated myself and pulled out my phone to set an alarm, and make sure I gave myself enough time to get home. I made sure to remember the traffic in my calculations.

I sat there for a good forty-five minutes or so, working on my latest character design. I loved coming up with characters like they'd be in a manga or an anime, but I sure as heck couldn't write one myself. I just thought about random scenes now and then and drew them. For the record I also did a lot of landscapes, and, as you should have guessed, a lot of mythical creatures. Lately I'd really been into sirens from Greek mythology.

My nose was starting to feel frozen and my fingers were getting hard to move by the time I finally shifted around. When I did I glanced up and over at the waterfall, the top of which I could see through some trees and undergrowth. As I looked at it I realized belatedly that there was rustling coming from somewhere behind me, and it was way more noticeable than usual. That meant there was something unusual doing the rustling.

I couldn't help it. I was about to have to leave anyway to make it home on time, and I was curious. I stood up and flipped my sketchbook shut; then I put it under my arm and turned to scan the nearby trees.

There was, of course, nothing. This seemed to be the theme of my life. Right as I started to turn again, though, I heard it. This time I could sort of pinpoint where it was coming from, and I walked around the old tree stump in order to wander a little further off into the woods. As I went I tried to decide what animal I was about to find. It wasn't going to be a person, since there had been no other cars in the parking lot—

I saw a dark shape out of the corner of my eye and immediately turned.

Then I halted and stared, because there was a man standing yards away. I'd been wrong about the car thing, that was for sure. What the hell was he doing, wandering aimlessly? Which direction had he even come from? Then I realized that not only was this a weirdo in the woods, it was a weirdo I'd encountered before: none other than the Gatsby man.

I noted first that he looked pretty damn fine for having been run over by a car. I did my best to give him a quick once-over. It was easier to make out his features in the broad daylight—that razor-sharp jaw was glorious, and his black leather jacket fit him well. He was definitely the hottest guy I'd ever seen in my sixteen years of life. Did running him over count as a meet cute? Or was it too violent?

"This is private property," said the guy, glowering and interrupting my Lifetime romance thoughts.

I blinked at him. "I hit you with my car."

He looked back at me, face inscrutable, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. When he didn't say anything, just stared at me, I felt compelled to add, "But I have to say, you look good for having been run over. Sorry about that, by the way. Running you over."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the man.

Why the heck would he deny that? This was making less and less sense. There was no way I'd imagined the incident at the three-way stop: I'd never seen this guy before in my life, and I knew I 100% would have remembered. There was no way I had hallucinated him then, and there was no way I was hallucinating him now.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Look," I said. "I'm glad you don't want to press charges or anything. But cavorting around three-way stops when it's too dark for drivers to see really isn't the best way to spend your time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the guy repeated. He was starting to look a little annoyed. "And this is private property."

"I've been hiking here for years," I retorted, mostly to be contrary. I didn't hallucinate, dammit. "It's owned by the county." Then, before I could stop myself, I burst, "And I ran you over with my car! At least be a little mad about it!"

He just looked at me.

"I'm not crazy!" I added.

For a moment we just stared at each other. I was sure I was beginning to look crazed; I could feel my eye twitch. Why would this random dude appear out of nowhere twice just to piss me off? Maybe I really was crazy. Maybe Poppy Trent and Angelie Warner had been right all along—

"The county line ends back there," the Gatsby man said, gesturing with one of his hands still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fine," I said, throwing my free hand in the air. "Fine. You win. This is private property and I made you up. Alright. I'll see you around, probably, since my mental stability is apparently awful, and school certainly won't help." With that I nodded once at him—he actually nodded back—and then turned around and started to march back over the underbrush.

In hindsight that was probably a stupid idea, given that there had been a strange, albeit hot, guy behind me, but nothing happened. I just walked to the hiking trail, where I took a few steps in the direction of the parking lot and the trailheads, and then turned back. As I hadn't turned a corner I should have been able to see the Gatsby man—but he had vanished into the woods. Which should have been difficult, considering the trees were all dead and the bushes were all limp, and there was really nowhere for him to hide.

I stared for a second. Then I rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Nope, still gone.

After a moment I scoffed to myself. Then I turned and resumed wandering back along the trail. Okay, I mused. I trusted myself more than a weirdo that appeared in really odd, random places at odd, random times, which meant for some reason either we kept happening to bump into each other or he was stalking me.

Maybe he was stalking me. I personally thought I was pretty cute and I was a pro at eyeliner. But those weren't good enough reasons to stalk me. I wasn't that interesting of a person, I was just weird; and that certainly wasn't a reason to stalk me, either. If he was stalking weird cute girls he should have been stalking my whole friend group.

Whatever. I'd just have to keep a baseball bat handy by my bed. Or a pair of scissors, or stilettos. Whichever seemed easiest.

Although, I thought fairly, subconsciously glancing back just before I rounded a corner in the trail, I couldn't really say that the guy had seemed creepy. Because he hadn't. Strange, but not creepy. I briefly struggled with finding a good word to describe him in my head. Then I thought about The Great Gatsby.

Sad, I decided. He'd just seemed sort of sad.

Welcome, one and all, to this incredibly eventual Derek/OC. There isn't much you need to know; I'm just going to be filling out the world, as in adding characters, backstory, and lore, and at some point we'll go full AU. It'll be great :D Right, and general endgame pairings (outside the Derek/OC, of course) haven't been decided yet! Let me know what you think when we get going :3

I hope y'all enjoyed this first chapter! All of them are pretty long. Ah, and they'll each be named after famous paintings!

Finally, I don't own Teen Wolf! Boy do I wish I did.