CHPT 72: With the Wind…

Following breakfast at the Argents home— claimed by Marco, all that was left was school. A mission all on its own since Deucalion's…. vaporization didn't mean the remaining alpha pack members weren't gone with the wind just yet.

They could want revenge. Sure, Marco put the fear of the gods in the twins, but there was another. A woman. And she may fill in where the Demon Wolf fell out.

She could be stalking the halls of Beacon Hills. Waiting for the time to st—

The end of class bell rung again, vibrating Marco's skull and shaking his psyche out of its previous placement of alertness.

"I'm really getting tired of school…" He thought to himself as he placed his hands on his desk and stood up.

As he slung his backpack over his shoulder, he scanned the room of leaving students.

Geometry tended to drain the life force from the students in his class so they moved with less animation than usual. He didn't understand. Geometry was and is as close to magic as humans have gotten in a long time.

Either way, he scanned the students. Smelling their bags and the fading tidal wave of colognes and perfumes that deep fried his olfactory nerves with each inhale.

He looked beyond the crowd and to the rush of young bodies filing through the hallways.

Still nothing.

"Is…. Uhm… is everything alright, Mr. Mihos."

Marco got moving and headed towards the door, causing the exiting students to move faster and trip on their way out like they were being chased.

"Everything is fine."

But why?

Why was everything fine?

Marco walked down the halls, eying the clock that sat, nailed to the wall a dozen feet above. It read one-thirty.

Scott, Stiles, Alison, Lydia, Erica and Isaac all walked the long halls of Beacon Hills high and still, everything was fine.

Cora, Derek, Chris, Victoria, Deaton and Boyd held the perimeter for miles.

The supernatural world of Beacon Hills had eyes everywhere.

And still.

As Marco entered his English class, he pulled out his phone and took a seat at the back of the classroom.

He opened up his messaging app.

Nothing.

Alison, Scott, Deaton— talking about the cats obviously, ...

He froze as the names of his siblings and distant family appeared on the app.

New messages. As if they'd risen from the dead and the first thing they did was acquire cellular devices to blow his phone up.

"Remember to listen…"

"The land under the sun misses its last warrior."

"Anhur doesn't enjoy repeating himself, brother. And you should understand that dynamic. I was the same when I was your Alpha, was I not?"

Marco shut his eyes and remained still as the phone in his hand turned to millions of crystals of sand.

His second eldest sisters voice faded with the rising tide of hot winds blowing. Carrying away the old memories and bringing him into the current moment.

He was barefoot. Naked. Transformed….. no, his true self. Not what barely blended in with society.

What was meant to stand amongst the Grey Lions as its finest specimen, crafted by war and strife. Synthesized by nature, death, familial bonds that transcended human bounds.

He opened his eyes.

Amidst the waves of debris and sand in the air they glowed like jewels. Like the finest rubies from the tombs of Pharaoh's. They mirrored the gods hovering above him. The backdrop of the sun was somehow less bright than them. As if their father didn't want to steal their glory.

Marco didn't like thinking of fathers and thievery.

"What am I doing here?"

"You came here on your own. Perhaps you're in need of guidance, Menes." Anhur replied to Marco's thoughts.

"You're in a state of limbo. The war is over, allies will return to their posts and take on local disputes their own way. You harbor a grave injury. Something incurable, yet you've found your peace…. Now you wonder… what do you wonder, Menes?" Bastet questioned from beside her brother.

Marco swallowed a heap of dry saliva and dropped his head in a bow— forgetting it was disrespectful to hold a gods gaze if only for a moment.

"What do I wonder... I…. I don't know."

Anhur and Bastet drifted across the skies, riding the airy white clouds like chariots. The ghostly figures of the Grey Lions chased after them through the sands. Both quadrupedal and bipedal beasts with stony skin and blackish gold manes. Leaping and bounding across the sand dunes and cliff edges revealed beneath with every gust of sun kissed wind.

Marco turned, watching them go.

"You know, Menes Louwe. As you've begun to listen to us, you should do more listening to yourself. Not the urges, not the revenge, not the tactile mind. Yourself. The cub that watched his sisters run as you do now. Listen to him. You've already started to. Continue."

A heavy wind smashed into Marco's back, throwing a wall of sand over him that went white as paper…

Fit with writings and crappy industrial renditions of colors.

"Hello…. Marco!"

Marco blinked twice and the white paper coloring continued to cover his vision.

He reached up and moved the paper out of his face to find Lydia and Stiles standing in front of him.

Stiles turned at the sound of the paper crunching.

"Hey! That was my homework, you behemoth." Lydia snatched the paper and sat down to his left.

"Hey… you were glowy eyed for a second there. Everything ok? Please tell me everything's ok because the suspense is liquifying my brain I don't know if I'll make it thro—"

"Shut up." Marco swept his dreads behind his ears, "We're fine if you haven't noticed anything as I haven't."

Stiles nodded, "Good."

Soon after Scott and Alison entered the room, meeting eyes with them and nodded before taking a seat.

As soon as they sat down Lydia looked down at her wrist.

"I noticed something."

Stiles cursed to himself, "What?"

"Our teacher isn't here."

Marco side eyed her.

"There's no luggage or food at the desk. And class started a minute ago…. Scott is always a minute late to this class. I added another minute since him and Alison have started sneaking around to mash face again." Lydia explained.

Scott cringed as he sat at the front with Alison.

Marco felt his pulse quicken.

"Would they do it here? In front of all the students? In broad daylight? Fine by me I don't give a fu—"

"Ahh, excuse my lateness everyone I'm still learning the building layout!" A man in his early thirties said as he entered the classroom, pushing his glasses further up his aquiline nose.

He was dark skinned and thin. Awkward but warm as he smiled at the students.

"My name is Mr. Redding. I'm your substitute teacher for… well a while. Your previous… new English teacher had a family emergency and had to terminate her career at this school effective immediately."

"What?" Marco felt the confusion ripple across the classroom.

Scott looked back at Stiles, Lydia and Marco.

The three shrugged.

And class went on as if nothing too outlandish had happened.

In fact, the rest of the day went that way.

Mundane.

Anxious.

Uneventful.

Two hours later and the day was less bloody and deceitful than Marco was prepared for.

"Nobody say anything!" Stiles spastically explained as they all exited the Beacon Hills highschool doors and headed for their cars.

"Anything." Erica cheekily replied before winking at Stiles.

"We're going back to meet up with Derek and the others at the factory outside of Beacon Hills to discuss the day. They should already be there. That way if they're at any of your homes we can approach as one." Marco explained.

"Makes sense." Scott replied just as his phone started buzzing.

He took it out while smiling at Alison and answered.

"Hey, Derek we were just heading ov—"

Scott stopped dead in his tracks, causing the cars rushing up the parking lot to screech to a halt in a symphony of honks.

Marco caught the conversation even so.

"Jackson isn't in his grave."