A/N: Sorry for the really shitty summary, but I had a nice one all planned out and then it ended up being to many words. Here's the original: Different had always been normal. Strange had always been normal. Anything just out of the ordinary had been normal. So when 17-year-old Evan Foster was tossed out of her foster home in a California-Arizona border town and shipped off to Beacon Hills, it was just something completely regular in her eyes. Well, about as regular as a witch being tossed into a town full of werewolves can get; I mean, what could possibly go wrong? (Hint: almost absolutely everything.) [Post 3A; Intended Isaac/OC]. I just wanted to make sure you read that. That is all, you can get to reading now. c:

(Also sorry for the terrible pun I made with the chapter title. It'll make more sense once you get to the end of the chapter, if you even catch it.)

"There's nothing to be scared of," I whispered to myself as I held the apartment key in my hand, which was shaking lightly. I was the only person in the hall and I was just staring at the door to the apartment that now belonged to me, looking at the number that was plaqued onto the door; 2B.

I managed to get the key into the slot without dropping it. I twisted it, grabbing for the door knob next and turning it gingerly before kicking the door lightly with my foot. The room was dark, and from what I could barely make out, thick curtains were drawn, blocking any of the midday sunlight from filtering into the room. I shoved the key into my pocket, exchanging it for my phone, deciding to use it as a light until I could find a light switch. I stepped in, leaving my suitcase and backpack in the hall. I was hit with a vaguely musty smell as soon as I stepped foot into the apartment, like the smell of a place that's in the woods and hasn't been used for months and your just letting fresh air into the place now - that kind of musty smell. I scanned the wall to the left, which was not that long and had a coat-hanger/keyrack hanging on it, as well as a place to stuff umbrellas into. No luck with a light switch on that side. I switched to the other wall, which was equally as long, and found the switch. I flicked it on, revealing a living room at the end of the short hallway. I reached back outside from the threshold of the apartment, grabbing the handle on my suitcase and one of the arms of my backpack, pulling them both inside and shutting the door firmly behind me.

The first thing I noticed was that there was a thin layer of dust covering everything. Not enough to be bothersome, just enough to be seen. I tugged my belongings behind me as I walked into the living room, noticing an island and a kitchen to my right. I set my suitcase next to the couch and my backpack on it, interested as to what else this apartment had in it. Making my way into the kitchen, I dragged my hand across the counter, throwing up some of the dust that had settled there. A swiffer was going on the to-get list. The kitchen itself was fully stocked; a stove, an oven, a toaster, a microwave, a fridge and even a dishwasher. Wow. I peaked into the fridge, only to find it empty. Damn. I'd have to go and get some groceries later. (And by groceries, I mean dinosaur chicken nuggets and oven curly fries. Don't judge.) There was a small hallway that led off from the kitchen, which I discovered held the washer and dryer, along with an ironing board. Sadly, there was no laundry detergent or dryer sheets. Yep, I'd definitely need to go grocery shopping. I walked back into the kitchen, but this time I was surprised by something I had not seen on my first entry to the kitchen. There was a series of cupboards opposite the ones I had passed by at first, across the island that divided the small kitchen; the cupboard in the middle had a small triquetra carved into the bottom center of the wood. I knew that symbol, or at least knew of it. I approached the cupboard and pulled open the door gingerly, not sure what I was about to find in it. There were glass bottles in it. Not like Coca-Cola bottles, or bottles you assume that witches' brews come in, but those similar to what candles come in; a wide, circular jar with a metal top. There were about seven or so jars, each one of them labelled. Huh. Those'd be useful. I shut the cupboard door and continued my exploration of the apartment.

I went back to the living room, surveying the medium sized room; it was actually pretty big for an apartment. There was a single three-cushioned couch, a rug, and a television mounted onto the wall, which was facing the kitchen and where the heavy curtains were drawn. There was a hall in the corner farthest from door, which lead to two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The master bedroom had a master bathroom and a walk-in closet, which was a pleasant surprise. For once, I'd actually have a room to myself, a closet to myself, abathroom to myself. No more sharing, all of it was mine. I walked back out into the living room, grabbing my belongings and putting them into the master bedroom, unpacking my things. Clothes in the walk-in closet, hair brush and deodorant in the bathroom, personal belongings in the beside dresser. I plugged my phone charger into the first outlet I could find. I pulled the last thing out of my backpack, and set it on the bedside dresser; a framed picture, cracked in the lower right corner, with a picture of two women kissing either side of my cheeks when I was younger, probably about five. The woman to the right looked exactly like me - the same fair skin, the same blonde hair that was so blonde that it was almost white, the same debateably blue-grey eyes. The woman on the left was quite the opposite - she had tanned skin, dark frizzy hair and hazel eyes. After looking it over, I set the picture face down.

After I was settled, I immediately though about taking a nap, my four-hour bus ride from my border-town foster home to Beacon Hills taking all life outta me. Granted, I did sleep on the bus a little, but the constant stops woke me every time. I jumped down on the bed, face-first, which was a total mistake because I sent up a flurry of dust that had gathered on the soft duvet, sending some of it up my nose and in my mouth. Totally a big mistake. I just sighed into the vaguely dust-covered bed spread. I reached back, not lifting my face from the duvet, and into my back pocket, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper and bringing in front of me. I propped myself up on my elbows and held the piece of paper, uncrumpling and unfolding it so I could read what it said.

Evan -

As soon as you reach Beacon Hills, go to...blah blah blah...and call Alan Deaton. He runs the local animal clinic, and will be able to help you. I've already called ahead to let him know your coming. Please, be safe, and don't get into any trouble. I don't want to have to run all the way to Beacon Hills just to sort out your crap. Call if you need me.

Love, Sophie

I crumpled the paper back up and shoved it into my pocket. I let out a sigh and rolled off the bed, grabbing my phone from the charger and walking back out to the living room, out the door of the apartment. I dialed in Deaton's number as I locked the door behind me, heading down the hall and to the stairs.

.

I entered the animal clinic warily, and there was a stout man standing behind the front desk. He glanced up, looking at me as I walked in.

"Evan Foster, I presume?" he asked. I just nodded, and he smiled. Just from his smile, I got the impression that he was one of those people you could trust completely and tell everything to. He walked from behind the desk to where there was a break in the same wood that lined under the desk, a gate. He pulled it back and motioned for me to go in. I followed his direction, walking through an open doorway into what I assumed was an operating room. There was an x-ray holder and medical posters plastered everywhere, and there was a line of jars similar to the ones that were in my cupboard at home lining one of the counters.

"So, how was your trip?" he asked, closing the gate and following me.

"Long and boring," I groaned, leaning against the operating table. He didn't seen to mind, and smiled again at my response.

"Typical of long bus rides. How have you found Beacon Hills so far?"

"Well, I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, but I haven't had any time to explore yet."

"Do you have any supplies?"

"Sophie packed me some stuff, and there's a cupboard in the kitchen that's stocked, but I don't know how old the stuff is."

"I could provide you with more, if you ever need it. What's in the cupboard should be fine to use, as long as there isn't any mold growing on it."

There was a short silence, a sort of uncomfortable one.

"Did Sophie tell you?" I asked in a quite voice. I wasn't sure if she would've, but it seemed like a thing that would be important to know.

"Yes, she did, but she didn't explain it all too far. She was hoping you would tell me yourself."

"Well, then I'll just start from the beginning. Of course, you know my mom was a druid, witch, whatever you want to call it. I inherited that. It started happening when I was really little, and at first I just thought they were -" I stopped talking, feeling the air shift. Something was coming this way. The bell that hung on the front door of the clinic could be heard ringing, along with shuffling footsteps. Two boys stepped into view, just outside the barrier that divided the front of the clinic from the operating room. One of the two - the shorter, tanner one - smiled and tapped the barrier.

"Gonna let us in?" the short one asked in the politest-sounding way possible with a crooked grin. The taller one - fairer than the shorter one with curly blonde hair - said nothing, instead just standing silently behind his companion.

"Yes, of course," Deaton said, walking from where he was standing in the operating room and over to the gate, opening it and leaving it hanging open this time. Ahh, that's why the air had felt strange. He walked back into the operating room with the boys in tow, and I crossed my arms over my chest. There must have been something vaguely intimidating about me, because the boys strayed off to the side and the taller boy refused to make eye contact; I mean, hell, I'm pretty sure I was the exact opposite of intimidating. Five foot five of of fair skin and blue eyes, lots of sarcasm, but nothing to be very afraid of. Before the three of them could say anything, I was speaking.

"Introducing me to the local werewolves?" I said, raising my eyebrows at Deaton. The two boys looked a little shocked, while Deaton had a bemused expression on his face.

"How did you know that?" asked the short one, his eyebrows bunched together in frustration. I ignored him, but instead looked him over briefly, before resting on his shirt sleeve; well, more of what was partially hidden by his shirt sleeve. I pushed off the operating table and went over to him, pulling up his sleeve so I could get a good look at it. He looked a bit surprised to have me tugging at his shirt.

"Yeah, what I saw," I muttered. I took a step back, looking at the pair together. "You're the alpha, with your second in command." I squinted, looking intently at the alpha's face. "True alpha, too. I can feel it. So thick you could cut it with a knife. That was quite a show you put up there, crossing over that mountain ash." I looked over my shoulder, back at Deaton. "You're an emissary to a true alpha?"

"How do you know all this?" the alpha asked, while the mouth of his second in command was hanging open slightly.

"Well, the bus, a little bit of Sophie and just general knowledge."

The alpha just leaned around me, looking to Deaton and gestured to me with a confused look.

"Scott, Isaac, this is Evan Foster. She's a druid -"

"Witch," I cut in. "I prefer to be called a witch, since I can do things that druid, ya' know, can't."

"She's a witch, and she has a special gift."

"I can see things," I clarified. "The future, the past, I sometimes have hyper-realistic dreams. It's crazy weird. As for how I knew that other stuff, well, the bus; dreams. I saw you. Well, not exactly you. Parts of you. Your tattoo, your glowing red eyes, the point you passed through the mountain ash. Sophie had already told me there were werewolves in Beacon Hills. And just the general knowledge of know what the energy of a werewolf feels like. I used to live in a house of six of them, I think I can tell when a werewolf enters a room with me in it." I wiggled my fingers like a dancer would do with jazz hands. "Special gift."

"And she'll be working here, with you, Scott."

"I'm the Luke Skywalker to his Yoda," I whispered, nudging Scott in the arm, and he just gave me a confused look. "Don't tell me you haven't seen Star Wars."