Chapter Text
A soft bell chimes above the door as it swings open to admit another customer, the light brush of fresh spring air sweeping through the coffee shop, the delicate floral scent of the flower pots out front mingling with the sharper scents of coffee and fresh baked pastries typical for the shop on a Sunday morning. Stiles looks up from where he’d been putting a fresh batch of croissants in the display case to see one of his favourite regulars stepping through the door, a soft smile on her face.
“Ah, good morning Missus Hale,” Stiles says cheerfully, placing the last croissant in the display and setting aside the baking tray to meet her across from the register.
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s just Paige, Stiles?” she asks, a flustered but pleased blush on her cheeks. Stiles grins at her.
“I continue to do it because you know you love it, no matter how many times you protest.” It was honestly adorable, the way she still got that surprised blush and shy smile every time she heard the name, as if she still found it a little unbelievable even a year into her marriage. Paige and Derek Hale might be the cutest newlywed couple Stiles has ever seen. It makes his teeth ache. “What can I get you this morning?”
Paige orders her usual drink and a ham and cheese croissant while her eyes scan over the selection of pastries and treats in the case next to the register. She tilts her head.
“I don’t see an Alexa’s Choice this week?” Paige asks, raising an eyebrow. Stiles smiles and nods further down the counter at a tiered cupcake stand, a small chalkboard sign in front declaring them ‘Alexa’s Choice’ in swirly pink writing. Paige breaks into a wide smile when she sees it.
“They got their own special display this week, so they don’t bump into each other in the display case. We went fancy this week; funfetti cupcakes with tri-color batter and buttercream frosting. She saw the unicorn horn sugar toppers when we were at the store yesterday and got inspired.” Stiles shrugs, smiling wryly. “I did my best.”
Pink, blue, and purple buttercream frosting had been piped onto the top of each cupcake in a big swirl, the white and gold edible unicorn horns sticking up out of the middle. He’d used white frosting and a petal-tip to create little ears on either side of the horns, a pink dot in the middle of each. He could admit that more than a few of the ears looked a little wonky, but he’d tried his best. Rainbow pastel sugar pearls had been sprinkled unevenly over the top as the finishing touch.
“And who are we supporting this week?” Paige asks, nodding to indicate she’ll take one. Stiles grabs one off the top tier and sets it on a small plate.
“The kids program at the public library,” Stiles answers, sliding the plate across the counter to her. He rings up her order and turns to start making her drink, speaking to her over his shoulder. “Derek working today, or are you going to get to enjoy a day off together?” Her husband works with the local fire department, so Stiles knows he doesn’t always have the most normal shifts.
Paige sighs, peeling the wrapper off her cupcake. “He’s off, but I’m not sure how much we’re going to enjoy the day. His Uncle Peter is back in town today and there’s gonna be a big dinner at the house tonight to celebrate his return.” She takes a small bite of the treat, letting out an excited hum when she sees the middle. “These are really cool, Stiles!” She waves the cupcake at him, the bite she’d taken revealing the marbling effect of the pink and blue batter swirled through the white. Stiles shoots a smile at her as she continues talking distractedly, licking a bit of icing off her finger. “Anyway, he’s been tense all weekend because of it and I doubt that will change between now and then.”
Stiles knows there’s some sort of weird tension between Derek and his uncle Peter, but he doesn’t know the story behind it. He suspects it has something to do with the scarred claw marks he’d spotted once raking from the top of Paige’s left shoulder down across her chest, but he’d never asked. He’d only been in town six weeks, he certainly doesn’t want to make any enemies this soon by poking his nose where it didn’t belong. (Not so obviously, at least. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been doing his own snooping on the side).
Stiles is curious at this news, though. He’d met every other member of the Hale pack by this point except for Alpha Hale’s younger brother, Peter, who’d been out of town since Stiles moved to Beacon Hills. It had been mentioned that he’d been away on business, but he’d yet to receive a solid answer to what, exactly, that business was. The little tidbits that had been dropped here and there had piqued his curiosity about the man, but not nearly as much as the unspoken cues that often accompanied them.
While most of the Hales avoid his shop and this end of town as much as possible, Stiles suspects it won’t be long before he sees the wolf. If the rumours he’d heard in the wider supernatural community were true, he suspects the man will want to find out as much as he can about the new supes in his territory.
Snapping lids onto two to-go cups, Stiles turns back to the counter and slides one towards Paige.
“Here’s your drink,” he leans forward over the counter and lowers his voice, speaking out of the corner of his mouth while he side-eyes the two other customers seated by the windows. They don’t appear to be listening, one engrossed in his newspaper and the other filling out a crossword, but Stiles is well-acquainted with the gossip mills that are small towns. “I added a little something to help with the nausea.”
Paige inhales sharply, eyes widening as one of her hands flutters over her stomach before dropping to her side.
“How–?” she asks, but Stiles merely winks at her as he leans back and pushes the second cup towards her.
“This is for Derek, on the house. Hopefully it can help him relax a little so you can enjoy the afternoon together.”
Paige’s mouth forms a soft ‘o’. Her forehead crinkles as she puts her hand on the cup but doesn’t take it. She looks at Stiles apologetically.
“Thank you, Stiles, but Derek doesn’t really like—” Stiles shakes his head, cutting her off.
“It’s a lavender tea, not coffee. My own blend.” Paige grins at him big enough to show off straight white teeth, accepting the second cup and prepackaged sandwich.
“Thanks Stiles, you’re the best!”
“Go ahead and say that a little louder, maybe spread it around town a little!” Stiles calls after her as she heads to the door, hearing her chuckle. “I could use the free publicity!”
As with most Sundays, the early morning is slow, peaceful. Stiles opens the store on his own on these mornings, coming in an hour early and enjoying the serenity and routine of getting the ovens going and the smell of fresh baked goods that slowly fills the back kitchen. Serving the customers like Paige that trickle in and out during the early hours creates a comfortable rhythm.
Stiles never expected to own and operate a coffee shop, but after a month in business, he’s not once regretted his decision. Really, if you’d asked him years ago, there’s not much about his current life he would have predicted, but circumstances change. He hadn’t felt so settled in…perhaps ever. Certainly not any time recently. Maybe when he was a kid, before his mom got sick.
He suspects a not small part of that may be due to his proximity to a thriving Nemeton for the first time in his life.
(As opposed to the thick, oppressive toxicity of a Nemeton that had been twisted and weakened and betrayed, its influence spreading like poison through the veins of the land and turning a once peaceful town into a monstrous hellscape. He hadn’t even realised how much that darkness had seeped into his skin and sunk into the soul until he’d gotten far away from that town and learned what it felt like to breathe for the first time.)
“Morning, boss!” The perky voice of Stiles’s first employee breaks through Stiles’s concentration before he can follow that thought in a dark spiral down memory lane. When he looks up, Erica is emerging from the back of the shop with a bounce in her step and her blonde ponytail swinging out the back of her uniform cap. He glances at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that it’s almost eleven.
“Good morning, Erica, you’re looking bright and sunny this fine morning.” He moves out of her way as she tosses him a bright grin, letting her take over people’s orders as things pick up. Eleven a.m. on a Sunday always brings an increase in business, with the after-church crowd and people who had enjoyed a relaxing morning getting ready to go about their day.
Stiles gets lost in the rhythm of business, helping Erica with people’s orders and rotating out the next batch of goodies whenever he gets a chance. They treat their customers to big smiles and easy chatter as they work, Stiles greeting the customers he’s starting to recognize as regulars and getting the latest small town gossip in return.
Stiles had always been good at talking to people, and he’d figured out early on that engaging people in conversation kept them distracted when the line got long. It had been a necessary discovery when Erica was starting out, her work slower as she learned the job and was more likely to get flustered by impatient customers.
The difference between this Erica and the girl he’d first hired is stark.
The girl he’d first interviewed had been quiet and shy, shoulders curved inward with an air of defeat, already resigned to inevitable rejection yet trying her hand anyway. But there had been a spark of determination in her eye, as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders to meet his eyes as she answered his questions, the kind of desperate need underscoring her behavior that said she wasn’t afraid to put in the work if she got to have this.
That look had hit a little too close to home for Stiles. He’d looked at her and seen himself, sixteen and (nearly) friendless, already beaten down by the universe but still determined to keep her head high and go down swinging. Seeing the difference now makes all the struggle that followed worth it.
Because it turned out that Erica hadn’t informed her parents she was applying for a job, and they hadn’t been happy when they found out. Worried about her safety and believing her incapable of safely working with her epilepsy, they’d protested heavily. So when Erica expected him to decide she was more trouble than she was worth, Stiles had instead sat down with them and talked it out, supporting her in her desire to prove herself capable and win a bit more independence in her life.
In the end they’d capitulated, even with heavy reservations. They’d made a deal and figured out what would work best for her to do her job safely and successfully.
The difference a little bit of belief and support could make was staggering. The more comfortable she got with her job, the more her shoulders relaxed; the more she interacted with customers, the straighter her spine and easier her smile. She wasn’t just proving herself to her parents; she was proving herself to herself just as much, and Stiles can’t help but feel proud as he watches her grow more into her own with each day that passes.
“So,” Erica leans a hip against the counter during the next lull between customers, crossing her arms casually as she looks at Stiles. “Where’s the Munchkin today?”
Stiles’s lips quirk as he wipes down the counter. “Two guesses, first one doesn’t count.”
“What’s the library doing today?” Erica laughs, taking a sip from the water bottle she keeps below the counter.
“They’re doing a space themed ‘crafternoon’,” Stiles smiles as he tidies. “They’ve got a special display with all the kid’s space-themed books and they’ll be doing a storytime with a book about the solar system, followed by an arts and crafts hour where the kids are encouraged to make space-related crafts. She has, of course, been looking forward to this all week. She already checked out three of the books they’ll have on display so she’d be ‘prepared’. I got a full run-down of all the planets in our solar system this week and a thirty minute rant about the planetary status of Pluto last night.”
Erica snorts as the bell above the door rings.
“Can’t wait to hear all about it,” she says, turning away to greet the customer who’d just stepped in. If Stiles remembers correctly, her name is Mrs Merriweather and she owns the plant nursery over on Baker Street, so he knows Erica will be fine handling this one. The only customers she still really struggles with are other kids her age, which Stiles can’t exactly blame her for. High school students are assholes.
Stiles takes the bin of dirty dishes from the end of the counter and carries it back into the kitchen, pushing easily through the swinging doors. Being alone in the backroom instantly eases his shoulders, an instinctive reaction by this point knowing there’s less need to hide here in his own domain with nobody watching.
He sets the bin next to the sink full of soapy water and takes the plates and cups out one at a time, dipping them in the water and lifting them out to the drying rack. The act is technically unnecessary, his magic doing most of the work, but he’s found it’s better to temper some of his desires to do everything with a wave of his hand, even when he could. If Erica were to pop her head back and see the dishes he’d just brought back already washed and dried, there would be questions. This way is still quick and efficient, but easy enough to look natural if interrupted.
Besides, he’d always found that just waving his dishes clean left a strange almost metallic after taste on them. At least this way they simply smelled like nicely scented dish soap instead.
He wouldn’t be able to run this coffee shop without magic, at least not the way things currently are. He knows he’ll have to hire more employees eventually, but for now he’s managing with two high school students and a part-time manager that helps out when the kids are in school. Despite the small staff, his magic saves him from having to work crazy hours; with a couple waves of his hand and a bit of concentration, he can tidy up shop for the night, keep his dishes clean, heat his ovens to the perfect temperature, and handle any messes that may occur in moments. His food trays and racks have permanent charms on them to keep the food essentially under stasis at all times, keeping the ready-to-bake doughs preserved until they go in the oven and then keeping the pastries warm and fresh when they come out. Not to mention the spells he’d done to prevent slips and spills and other preventable minor or major disasters possible in a food industry setting.
He’d found it all came down to balance and moderation. He’s come a long way from where he used to be, strong and confident in his magic and aware of his limitations. His magic — or rather, his energy — wasn’t limitless, so he moderated the way he used it, avoiding unnecessary or suspicious feats while easing the workload and maintaining efficiency. Hence why half his kitchen magic consisted of permanent charms or spells, rather than expending his energy on the same thing day after day.
Plus, he had mundane shortcuts too. Stiles was certainly no baker. He ordered pre-made dough for all the baked goods that he could just pop onto trays and slide into the oven. He’s hoping to partner with local bakers to offer a wider selection; he’d already scouted the local farmer’s market and scooped up Miss Shirly Ann Tremblay, a retired nurse who made the best homemade pies in town. His display cases now feature a pie or two of hers each day, and he keeps a small fraction of the profits from each slice sold while the rest goes back to Shirly Ann.
(He’s pretty sure she’s using the extra earnings to save up for a seniors' singles cruise next winter, but he’d cut her off before she could say anything more. There are just some things you don’t need to know about little old ladies.)
So far, Stiles has been greatly enjoying this choice. As each day passes, Stiles finds himself a little more hopeful that he may actually be able to settle down here and build a good life for himself and his daughter. They’d been on the move for too long now. While he’d enjoyed his work, or at least found some level of satisfaction in it, Alexa had changed everything. Becoming a dad had changed everything.
As far as he’s concerned, it’s changed things for the better.
No more running. It was time to set down roots.
And where better to set down roots than at the base of a Nemeton?
Peter sighs as he steps into the pack house, inhaling the familiar scents of home and pack. Hearing the number of heartbeats currently in or around the house, part of him wishes he’d delayed his return one more day so that he wouldn’t be returning on a weekend when most of the family was home. Still, two months was a long time to be away from his pack and territory; he’d delayed long enough. He knew he’d made the right decision when tension started easing from his shoulders the moment he’d crossed the boundary line into their territory. Despite the small inkling of unease he feels stepping through that door, he finds himself breathing just a little easier in his pack’s ancestral home.
Footsteps thunder through the house, and he drops his luggage to brace for impact.
“UNCLE PETER!” three voices chorus just before the bodies they belong to collide with Peter. He grunts as he gets a head to the sternum, two sets of arms wrapping around his waist while his third attacker jumps on his back, wrapping their arms around his neck.
“Uncle Peter, you’re back!” Peter looks down into the sparkling green eyes of Lucas, his youngest nephew, the seven-year-old’s gap-toothed grin horrifically endearing with one of his front teeth missing.
“Hello, brats,” he greets, patting Lucas’s back before running a hand up his and Kyle’s spines, ruffling their hair in greeting. Kyle’s twin, Max, digs bony knees into Peter’s spleen as adjusts himself on his back, grip tightening around his neck to lift himself up higher.
“What did you bring us, uncle Peter?!” the eleven-year-old shouts in his ear, making Peter wince. Then he affects a scowl, growling and giving a little shake that makes the demon spawn tighten his hold with a happy shriek.
“Oh, I see, you brats couldn’t care less that your poor uncle’s been gone two months, you just care about what he’s brought you.” Peter stoops to scoop Lucas and Kyle up in one fluid movement so that they’re draped upside down over his arms, carrying them into the adjacent sitting room. They shriek and squirm and laugh before he dumps them onto the couch, shaking Max off to tumble into a heap on top of them.
Max lands on his brother and cousin with a laugh, his twin letting out an ‘oof’ as he gets an elbow to the gut. Kyle shoves his brother off him, knocking Lucas off at the same time as he squirms out from the bottom of the pile with a grumpy pout.
“Why does the fragile one always end up on the bottom?” Kyle grumbles petulantly, making Peter snort.
“Even normal human children can roughhouse far worse than that,” he states, “and you’re the one always insisting you can keep up with your wolfie counterparts just fine. Your brother’s inhumanly pointy elbows shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Did I hear something about presents?” Cora enters the room, followed closely by her cousins Georgia and Rebecca. Peter rolls his eyes at the teens, retrieving one of his bags from the entryway.
“Vultures. Vultures, the lot of you. None of you care about your poor dear uncle Peter.”
“I don’t think poor or dear are words that have ever been used to describe you, Uncle Peter,” Georgia snorts, flopping onto the other couch and kicking her legs up onto the cushion. Rebecca sits in the remaining space by her sister’s feet while Cora leans her shoulder against the wall by the entryway with crossed arms, observing them with a tinge of dry amusement and a tiny smirk. Peter can’t help an answering smirk when their eyes meet, making the amusement in her eyes grow as he turns back to the room and drops his duffle bag onto the coffee table.
“I hope you lot greeted your uncle properly and didn't just immediately demand gifts,” Peter’s sister Andrea rounds the corner with a stern, narrow-eyed look at the boys on the couch, her eight-month-old daughter cradled in her arms. As one of the few humans in the house, she hadn’t actually heard what had been said beyond the initial screams of his name, but she knows the brats well.
Lucas, Kyle, and Max all look up at Andrea with innocent expressions, batting their eyelashes at her and making her scoff. She steps up to Peter and pulls him into a one-armed hug, making sure not to squish her sleeping daughter between them.
“Welcome home, Petey,” she murmurs, going up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss over his cheek before stepping back, running her hand over his shoulder and down his arm as she goes.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that,” he grumbles with a growl and sneer, flashing his fangs over her shoulder at his snickering nieces. It doesn’t have any effect on them and he grumbles some more internally. He’s losing his touch. The brats aren’t nearly afraid enough of him any more.
Andrea’s husband, Ryan, enters the room next, followed by his eldest sister and her husband, the only other people he can hear in the house. Talia’s already rolling her eyes at them as she rounds the corner, one part fond and two parts exasperation, an expression Peter is familiar with. He flashes her a grin that arguably has a little too much teeth, which she ignores.
“Welcome back, Peter, you’ve been missed.” His Alpha greets him, grasping the side of his neck before running her hand down his arm much the same way their sister had, renewing the scent of pack on him after so long away. He’s a little impressed not to hear a single flutter in her heartbeat. He supposes that the three terrors on the couch probably would have missed him tossing them around during ‘training’ time. He’d stopped deluding himself that any of his pack would truly miss him during his absences years ago.
“So, where are our presents?” Max blurts out, and his mother whips her head around to glare at him.
“Maximilian Hale, I know I taught you better than that,” Andrea hisses. Max ducks his head sheepishly, shoulders rising up to his ears, though he watches Peter from beneath his eyelashes with an air of excitement and expectation.
Peter rolls his eyes and unzips his duffle. He starts with the youngest, handing Lucas three scarab beetles preserved in a glass frame and a book on magical bugs & insects native to the African continent. The twins get a flying carpet to share, Peter having decided that Andrea can deal with whatever fights ensue which he’s sure she’ll curse him for later (Andrea barely manages to prevent them from testing it out immediately right there in the living room). To Cora he hands a gemstone-encrusted jewelry box, which she tries not to wrinkle her nose over and offers unenthused thanks, and two beautiful thin intricately woven scarves for Rebecca and Georgia in pink and orange, respectively. If there are protection runes interwoven in the delicate patterns around the edges, well, he doubts they’ll notice.
Peter monitors Cora’s reaction out of the corner of his eye as he hands Maddox the bottle of spiked locally made wine he’d picked up for him, noticing the moment she realises that something is off about the weight of the box. She lifts the lid to glance inside and hastily shuts the box again, her wide eyes fly up to meet Peter’s. He winks at her before turning his attention back to his sister, tracking Cora’s progress as she scuttles out of the room. He hopes she knows to hide his real gift somewhere it won’t be found by curious little fingers or overbearing mothers; he doubts Talia would be pleased to find Cora keeping an ornate dagger hidden in a jewelry box on her dresser.
For Andrea, he presents her with a blessed statue of Bastet with protective and healing charms for new mothers, and then clasps a smooth carnelian anklet around Violet’s ankle, magic making it seal smooth to her leg in a perfect fit, the Tjet inscribed on the front for protection, health, and safety. Once he’s given Ryan the can of specialty tea he’d found at a market to help with sleep and rejuvenation, he turns to Talia, the last in the room without a gift.
“For you,” he says, offering her an amulet on a delicate silver chain. It’s inscribed with a depiction of the god Thoth. She takes it, a hint of suspicion in her eyes before she studies it.
“Thank you, Peter, it’s beautiful.”
“You’re welcome, dear sister. I thought it well-suited for our Alpha.” Perhaps the god of wisdom and knowledge would have a good influence on her. One could only hope. He glances around the room. “There are several faces missing at the moment. I expected mother and your eldest demon spawn to be home at least.”
“Mother and Laura are at the shop getting food for your welcome home dinner. The whole pack will be here for it tonight.” The thought of a mandatory family dinner has his smile tightening, along with his stomach. It’s just another way of informing him that Derek and Paige, the only pack members who do not live in the pack house, would be joining them. Oh joy. That isn’t a recipe for disaster at all.
Maddox returns from the kitchen with a bottle of white wine and champagne flutes, handing them out to the non-breast-feeding adults in the room for a small toast.
“To your safe return and successful trip, Peter,” his brother-in-law toasts him, and Peter feels grateful that, for all her faults, his sister did manage to find and marry a good man. Honestly, he appreciated how well he tempered his sister and provided a much-needed level head. He’d mediated between him and Talia on multiple occasions, Andrea too impatient and frustrated to deal with their little spats and Ryan preferring not to get between his Alpha and anyone else. Maddox, at least, knew his sister wouldn’t take a bite out of him.
Talia turns to him after the toast, Maddox and Ryan drifting away to their own conversation and Andrea leaving the room to change a suddenly stinky diaper.
“Did everything go alright with your trip?” Talia asks, keeping a sharp eye on the boys currently fawning over a flying carpet, though her attention is solidly on him all the same.
“Everything went smoothly, as expected.” They’d found a wayward sphinx in the preserve a few months ago, discovering that it had been trafficked by a fugitive werewolf hoping to make it up to Canada to sell it for enough money to start over. After some investigation (and some pointed questioning from Peter), it had been revealed that he’d been sentenced to death by his pack in Egypt for crimes against the Alpha and his family and he’d run rather than face their sentencing. After contacting his original pack, Peter had agreed to escort both the ‘wolf and the sphinx back to their home country for the pack to deal with accordingly.
They’d gained the Alpha’s appreciation and respect for this decision, as it would have been their right to execute the wolf in their territory rather than allowing the Alpha to mete out justice owed, and for returning the sphinx, a highly respected and endangered species that would have gone for a pretty penny in foreign black markets.
“As you know, the handover went smoothly, we gained the respect of the Alpha and he invited me to stay with his pack for the time it took to hash out an alliance between their pack and ours. I did the politics and diplomacy and charming, signed the papers, schmoozed to my heart’s content, and won us a strong international ally. Then I stayed for a vacation.”
He’d kept Talia apprised of the situation at every step of the way, her involvement necessary in the alliance negotiations, Peter acting as her representative in the foreign country. He’d gotten along well with the pack though, and he hadn’t seen reason to decline when business had concluded and they’d invited him to stay, far too interested in what the country had to offer. He’d spent the next six weeks travelling the country learning as much as he could, meeting local packs and other supernaturals, gaining access to more resources and sites through their connections than he’d ever dreamed of seeing. He’d spent days buried in ancient tomes and scrolls, visiting tombs and pyramids and temples hidden from oblivious humans, studying up on extinct supernatural species and soaking up as much of the local magic systems and practices as he could. It had been a wonderful change of pace, to be surrounded by like-minded individuals, to be tapped into broader supernatural circles and news channels in a way he rarely experienced back home. He’d come back with a pocketbook full of new contacts and an entire suitcase of books and artifacts and relics he’d been gifted or allowed to purchase.
“And how were things here? Anything of note that didn’t come up in our conversations while I was away?” He hadn’t heard anything particularly exciting, but his sister didn’t always feel the need to fill him in right away if she felt like the pack had things handled. The thought of informing him about non-urgent things slipped her mind entirely.
Talia tilts her head consideringly, pursing her lips. She starts to shake her head before seeming to remember something, perking up.
“Ah, yes, there was one thing. A new werefox family moved to the area, a father and daughter,” Talia says. Peter stiffens, fingers spasming on his glass before he forcibly relaxes his muscles. “He contacted me about a week after you left, requesting formal permission to enter the territory. I thought at first he was looking to join our pack, but he declined, assuring us that he didn’t want any trouble and simply wanted to move to the area, preferring to keep to themselves on the other side of town.” She takes a sip of her drink, still surveying the pack around them.
“I’ve kept an eye on them, of course, but everything’s gone smoothly thus far. He bought a house on the other side of town along with — oh, what was it called, that old coffee shop on the corner of Parkdale and Adelaide that closed down recently?” Her brow furrows before clearing. “Oh, yes, Beacon Brews. He bought the shop and reopened after some small renovations, calls it Black Fox Brews now, currently employs a couple students from the high school. I’ve only heard good things about him and his daughter — she’s a sweetheart from all accounts — and the townsfolk seem to like them. He was introduced to the whole pack when he first moved here but hasn’t had much interaction with us beyond that, sticking to his word to mind his own business and keep out of our way.”
“And you didn’t feel like this was something I should know?” Peter asks, voice strained. Talia raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.
“As I said, there hasn’t been any cause for concern yet, and I’m telling you now. The only thing of note was that he requested occasional access to our Nemeton; the old tree seems to have drawn him here for some reason, forming a fledgling connection with him, and you know I prefer not to interfere with the Nemeton in things like this. He promised to give warning if he ever needed access to the Preserve to visit it and said he’d steer clear of the Preserve beyond that.”
Peter clenches his teeth, drawing in slow, measured breaths through his nose to hold in all the words clamoring to get out. A new, unknown were in their territory was bad enough, but the Nemeton being involved set off all his internal alarms. Sure, their territory had been peaceful for generations, the Nemeton healthy and thriving, but a connection to a Nemeton was no small thing, not something that happened randomly or by accident. It was practically unheard of for a were to experience such a connection rather than a magic user. Peter doesn’t like not knowing anything about these newcomers or what this might mean for them and their territory.
“Do you know anything else about them? Will there be anyone else joining them? Where did they come from? Do they have pack? An Alpha? Do we need to be concerned about someone going feral in our territory?” Far too many unknowns. For all they knew, they could have other pack members out there waiting to join them, slowly encroaching on their territory.
Talia shakes her head. “It’s just the two of them. He said they’d travelled around a fair bit but were looking to settle somewhere more permanent now that his daughter is getting older. He mentioned that they’d been part of a pack before but it seemed like there was some painful history there that I didn’t want to push too hard at without due cause. They have an Alpha, him, and you know foxes are different from wolves. They don’t need the big packs like we do. They keep each other stable as long as he’s an Alpha. He assured me control wouldn’t be an issue, and we’ve had two full moons without problem since their arrival.”
An Alpha. A new Alpha living in their territory. Sometimes he wants to throttle his sister.
“Yes, well, I think it’s best if I unpack now,” Peter grits out through a false smile, fingers still tense on his glass. He downs the last sip of champagne and leaves the thin flute on an end table, striding back to the foyer to retrieve his remaining bags.
His shoulders ease a little as he makes it up to the second floor landing, the air up here cooler and quieter. He can hear Andrea in the nursery, talking quietly at Violet as she changes her, and everyone else downstairs or outside. He heads to the west wing, the house large after generations of holding a large, strong pack. The air in his room is stale when he opens the door, telling him that his space has been undisturbed in the time he was gone.
At least they gave him that courtesy.
Peter leaves the door cracked open as he sets his luggage on his bed, opening them up and immediately moving his clothing to the laundry hamper, wanting to be rid of all the foreign scents they’d picked up as soon as possible. He takes more time with the souvenirs and treasures he’d brought back with him, carefully organizing his new prizes amongst his full bookshelves and atop his dresser, placing others in the carefully warded safe in the back of his closet.
His mind wanders while he does so, muscles tense and movements carefully controlled as he keeps some of his senses tuned into the rest of the house.
The atmosphere in the house has been relaxed so far, but Peter knows that peace won’t last. Oh, he’s sure there won’t be any outright drama or hostility, everyone behaving cordially with each other, but the tension between Derek, Peter, and Paige has been undeniable — and unavoidable — for years now. Even if the girl has seemed surprisingly okay with him in recent years.
Though she has attempted to mend fences between him and his nephew on several occasions, Peter suspects those fences have been broken beyond repair, as they have been ever since Peter’s near-fatal mistake when Derek was in high school. One poor choice, and his nephew and his nephew’s first — and only — love nearly paid the price.
Peter’s eyes wander over to his dresser, glancing at the brown leather corded bracelet sitting innocently amongst the gifts that are still awaiting the arrival of their intended recipients.
He shifts uncomfortably, skin prickling beneath his shirt. The stale air in his room is stifling, his wolf agitated at the lack of pack scents in this room in the pack house. He opens the windows to let in some fresh air, enjoying the familiar scents of the preserve filtering into his space. He considers going for a run before dinner, to settle back into the land and work out some of the tension that came both from long hours traveling and his return to his family. Then, remembering the other source of his tension, Peter makes a different choice.
“Where are you going, Peter?” Talia calls from the dining room as Peter slips past the doorway, keys in hand.
“Don’t worry, dear sister, I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He opens the front door to leave but leans back around the corner just long enough to toss her a smirk with his parting words. “I just felt like going out for a coffee.”
“Peter, you better leave that werefox alone!” Talia calls as Peter walks out the door. He chuckles under his breath as the door shuts behind him.
“Don’t worry, Alpha, I have no intention of causing trouble.”
He didn’t lie, he has no intentions to cause trouble. However, if something happens while he’s there that leads to trouble…well, that isn’t his fault.
Peter parks a few doors down from the coffee shop, scanning it as he approaches. The shop itself isn’t new, he vaguely remembers noticing a coffee shop on this corner before. But it’s different now, a new sign above the entry and flowerpots outside the window. Bistro tables line the exterior side wall, the large windows now featuring decals of steaming coffee cups and the silhouette of a black fox head. The entrance is set back from the sidewalk, a cheery welcome mat laid out in greeting in the recess in front of the door. Peter can admit it has a certain sort of charm.
A small chime signals his arrival when he pushes the door open, but the shop is busy enough that his entrance doesn’t draw attention. There are three people in line and two working behind the counter, so Peter meanders to the back of the line, using the wait to take in the shop around him.
The front of the store is bright and airy with large windows letting in an abundance of natural light. The sun shines pleasantly off light oak tabletops of bistro tables that match the ones outside, painted white wrought-iron chairs adding to the aesthetic. Long trailing stems of fake English Ivy add a subtle green touch where they hang from iron hooks at the top of the supports between windows.
The open airy feel of the front transitions into a warmer and cozier atmosphere further into the shop. The long L-shaped counter and thick shelves on the wall behind it are made of gleaming dark walnut wood, the wall behind it painted a burnt orange that contrasts nicely with the neutral light brown of the rest of the walls. Where the side windows end and solid wall begins, the seating transitions from bistro tables to two-person booths, two larger booths tucked away at the back near the restrooms and kitchen doors.
Peter’s not sure what the shop looked like before, but he can admire the changes the new owner has made, the shop having a cozy, intimate and welcoming atmosphere that is visually appealing. There’s even a chalkboard menu high up on the wall above the shelves, all the menu options hand written in various colours of chalk. It adds to the shop’s charm.
As the line moves forward, Peter switches his attention to the people working behind the counter. A subtle, deep inhale doesn’t help him much; the scents of the baked goods, freshly brewed tea and bitter coffee dominate all other scents in the store, along with the scents of the many customers that have come and gone throughout the day. He detects an underlying musk that reminds him of wet earth and damp leaves which he assumes belongs to the foxes, but it’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from. The scent seems sunken into the entire shop, which makes sense for the owner. Without the assistance of scent and the meager information from Talia, he switches to deduction instead.
Talia didn’t tell him much about the newcomers, but he had gotten the impression that the daughter was young, so most likely not the blonde teen currently taking people’s orders. The man working next to her is trickier, a lithe brunet that Peter would place in his mid-twenties. While weres do age slower, he still seems a little young to have a shop and a child. Peter focuses his hearing for a moment but can’t make out any more heartbeats in the back of the shop, so these two seem to be the only ones working at the moment.
“Hi, welcome to Black Fox Brews, what can I get for you today?” The girl behind the register greets when he finally reaches the front of the line. This close he can smell that she’s fully human, though there’s a slight chemical tang to her scent that indicates some strong medication. He flashes her a charming smile.
“I’ll take a flat white, please, and one of those delightful looking scones there.” He points to the display case.
“The cranberry explosion or lemon-poppy seed?”
“The cranberry explosion.”
She nods and taps his order into the machine, accepting his card while her coworker makes his drink. She uses a small pair of tongs to grab a scone for him, placing it on a little white plate with a knife and single pack of jam since he’d confirmed he’d be eating in.
“Thank you, dear,” he says as she slides the plate across the counter to him. He leans over it a little, tilting his head at her with another disarming smile. “Could you tell me, would the owner of this fine establishment happen to be in today?”
Still standing with his back to them, the man behind her snorts softly, and the girl’s lips twist in amusement. She turns, glancing behind her as the man turns to the counter with Peter’s drink in hand.
“That would be me,” he says lightly, passing him the coffee mug. “Stiles Stilinski, at your service. Please, call me Stiles.” Peter’s eyebrow twitches as he draws in another subtle breath. This close that faint earthy musk is stronger.
So, the young man is the fox after all. He wonders what kind of name Stiles is. He’s positive it’s not his full name, more likely a derivative of his surname. His urge to investigate him grows.
“Well, Stiles, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Peter dips his chin in polite greeting. “My name is Peter Hale. When my sister mentioned your new shop, I found I simply couldn’t resist coming to see it for myself. My compliments to you, it’s wonderful what you’ve done with the place.”
The young man’s lips quirk, amusement shining in his eyes and sweetening his scent, though it retains a strangely sharp undertone that prickles the underside of Peter’s tongue. He doesn’t seem at all fooled or surprised by Peter’s easy words.
“Well, thank you for the greeting and compliments, Mr Hale,” he says. “Please enjoy your coffee.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Peter takes his plate and drink to one of the small tables by the window, sitting with his back to the door to keep the workers in sight. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the man prepares the next two drinks, moving smoothly behind the counter and chatting easily with his customers. This late in the afternoon business seems to be slowing down, a half dozen other customers scattered amongst the shop, most of them occupied with their phones or laptops or one of the newspapers Peter notes came from the small rack next to the door. Three teenagers giggle together at a table by one of the front windows.
He’s almost finished his scone — which, yes, he can admit is quite good, though nothing particularly special — when he overhears ‘Stiles’ murmur to his coworker (Erica, he notes) that he’s going to take a five minute break. To Peter’s surprise, he rounds the counter to approach Peter’s table rather than going through the staff door to the back, slipping easily into the chair across from him with a small grin.
Peter raises an eyebrow.
“Can I help you?” he drawls. The small grin ticks up into a faint smirk, the sun shining through the windows pulling out the golden undertones in his whiskey brown eyes, making them gleam.
“No, but I believe I can help you.” He settles back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and placing his hands casually in his lap. “You know, when Paige mentioned this morning that you’d be back in town today I knew it wouldn’t be long before I saw you, but I really didn’t expect it to be this soon. You’ve only been back, what, five hours?” He checks an imaginary watch on his wrist.
“And why would you be expecting me?” Peter asks, ignoring the rest for now. He can ruminate on that later.
Stiles’s eyes crinkle as his smile grows, speaking easily though he keeps his voice low.
“I’ve heard rumours about you, you know? Protective and ruthless in defense of your family, not afraid to get your hands dirty and take out a threat. You’ve just arrived back in town after two months away to find out someone new and unknown has moved into your territory and set up shop while you were gone. Even if half the rumours I heard were untrue, I was sure you’d be at least curious enough to check it out.”
Peter can’t help preening a little in his seat, pleased and smug in equal measures at the reputation he’s managed to cultivate. His family may not be all that impressed with it, but at least it gets respect in the broader supernatural community. It’s come in handy for him on more than one occasion.
This man in front of him seems to respect it too, Peter notes, not in an awed or even overly impressed way, nor is he cowed or nervous. He meets Peter’s eyes confidently, utterly at ease in his chair across from Peter, confident and unbothered by the thought of Peter investigating him. At most he seems amused, pleased even that Peter had done as he expected. He doesn’t have the air of someone condescendingly overconfident in his ability to win a fight if Peter were to decide he posed a threat. Rather instead the confidence seems to stem from the assurance that Peter won’t find him to be a threat at all. He doesn’t give Peter the impression of someone who has something to hide.
Not that Peter wouldn’t still be investigating him, of course. First impressions rarely told the full story, and Peter couldn’t forget that this man is both an Alpha and someone a Nemeton has taken attention to. He could never be too cautious, especially with the safety of his pack or territory on the line.
“You seem well-aquainted with supernatural gossip channels,” Peter says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee as he continues to hold the man’s gaze, refusing to look away. Amusement gleams like light off a polished dagger in his eyes, an edge sharp enough to cut if you weren’t careful. When he grins, his front canines appear sharper than before.
“You could say that. I’ve spent a lot of time moving throughout a variety of circles the past several years or so, including several packs aware of your reputation. Satomi Ito, in particular, has mentioned you and your pack before.”
Peter’s eyebrow raises, his intrigue piqued once more.
“You know Satomi?” That could certainly be a point in his favour, the older Alpha an ally of Talia’s and highly respected by most shifters, Peter included. Peter wonders if Talia was aware of this and had just failed to mention it to him when he voiced his concerns. He finds it hard to believe she wasn’t.
“Hers was the last pack we stayed with before moving here,” Stiles answers. “She spoke highly of your pack and encouraged my decision to move here when I confided in her that I was feeling the draw of the Nemeton.”
“That’s another thing,” Peter raises his eyebrow slightly, gaze sharp while his posture remains casual. “It’s quite uncommon for a Nemeton to call out to a shifter in such a way. Do you happen to have magic practitioners in your lineage, perhaps?”
“I dabble.” Stiles’s lips pinch as if resisting the urge to laugh.
An Alpha werefox who dabbles in magic, travels around the country, and is known by Satomi Ito. This man just gets more and more intriguing.
Peter doesn’t know yet if he likes that.
Before Peter can say anything in response, Stiles glances over at the counter where Erica is serving a short line of customers. He stands from his chair, pulling a business card out of the pocket of his apron to place face down on the table between them.
“Here, my card,” he says, long fingers tapping the back of the white card before sliding it to him across the table. Humour practically dances in his eyes as he meets Peter’s again. “To save you some time in your investigation. I’ve gotta get back to work, but let me know if you want a list of the Alphas I’ve worked with in the past to vouch for me. If you still think it’s necessary after taking a look at my card, that is.” He winks and saunters away, returning to his place behind the counter and seamlessly slipping back into the rhythm of work. Peter purses his lips and picks up the card, flipping it over while keeping a shrewd eye on the still smirking man.
At least, he does until he actually looks down at the card and registers what it says.
The Mad Fox Creations.
Peter is going to kill his sister.
“TALIA!” Peter yells as he strides through the door of the house, causing Andrea to jump where she’s attempting to feed Violet at the dining room table. Violet starts crying, earning him a glare as his sister attempts to soothe her. The kids in the living room all crane their heads to look at him while his mother, Maddox, and Talia emerge from the kitchen to see what the shouting is about. He notices that Derek, Paige, and Laura have joined the other kids in the living room and internally winces, but he has more pressing concerns.
“Peter, what on earth? What is it?” Talia frowns at him as she approaches, managing to exude concern and irritation at the same time.
“You failed to mention that the new werefox in town is The Mad Fox!” Peter waves the business card in emphasis, incredulous and demanding at the same time. When Talia simply looks at him in confusion, Peter wants to grab his hair in frustration. “Dear god, please don’t tell me you honestly haven’t heard of him at all.”
His family members all look lost, glancing between themselves to see if anyone knows what he’s talking about. Talia’s lips pinch, eyes hard.
“No, I have not, but you’re going to tell me what I need to know right now, Peter. Is he a threat to us?’
“I’ve heard of him,” Warren speaks up before Peter can answer, emerging from the back hall with a furrowed brow and pinched lips. Everyone’s attention turns to him. As one of the only two pack members unrelated to the Hales by blood or marriage, Peter isn’t surprised that Warren would be the one to recognize the name. Warren and his brother Michael had joined their pack as adults and maintained their contacts with outsiders, unlike the rest of Peter’s fairly isolated pack.
Warren raises his hands in reassurance when Talia and Maddox look at him in concern, noticing some of the kids creeping closer out of the corner of his eye, the others clearly leaning in to listen.
“He doesn’t have a bad reputation, despite what the moniker might suggest,” Warren clarifies. He meets Talia’s eye, stopping at the base of the stairs. “It’s a strong reputation though. From what I’ve heard, he traveled around for a few years as something of a freelancer or consultant, building a name for himself. He has powerful magic, offered his services to packs or other supernatural creatures. He could make charms for any number of things, identify the source of a pack’s problems, provide advice, cast protective spells, help packs learn how to defend themselves. But he became known for his ruthlessness in defense of others when a hunter group targeted a pack he was helping and he decimated them all. Took out the entire hunter clan by himself.”
The eyes around them widen, the youngest kids looking between themselves in excitement and awe at what they’re hearing. The adults’ expressions reflect more concern.
“Around four years ago he took down an Alpha that was trying to kill off a smaller pack in a bid to take over their territory,” Peter adds, the bare hint of admiration in his tone hopefully going unnoticed by those around him. So he’d been intrigued by everything he’d heard over the years, so what? Peter is sure the rumours have been blown out of proportion anyway. Surely he couldn’t be that good… “They didn’t have any solid fighters, and the Alpha nearly killed one of their children. But then the man known as ‘The Mad Fox’ showed up and took him out. He hadn’t even been hired by the pack, just heard of what was going through word of mouth and showed up to help. Didn’t let them pay him afterwards, either.”
It’s this last statement that eases some of Talia’s concern, though there remains a crease in her forehead, wariness lurking in the back of her eyes. A sudden change in Warren’s expression distracts them before she can say anything though, his forehead pinching with a frown as he tilts his head.
“Never heard anything about a kid, though,” Warren says, a hint of confusion colouring his tone. Then his expression smooths out again, head lifting again as a new thought seems to pop into his head. He gazes past them as he muses, “I suppose that would be a good thing, though. Means he did a good job hiding her, keeping her secret. Job like his is dangerous; lotsa people who’d want to hurt him or get revenge would be willing to go after his kid if it was known he had one.”
Talia, Andrea, and Maddox look conflicted, somewhat appeased by the knowledge that Stiles had done well protecting his child, but not liking that he had put her in that position in the first place. The younger kids are still caught up in their awe and excitement over the things they’d heard, the boys whispering together on the couch, but Derek and Paige have drifted closer, their hands clasped as they watch with silent concern. Laura, too, has remained worried, eyes mostly on her mother as she hovers just outside the rough circle they make in the entryway.
Peter tilts his own head in consideration, Warren’s point bringing to mind something he’d previously dismissed as irrelevant.
“Actually, I think I remember hearing something about it, though the context was lacking. About a year ago, one of my contacts mentioned that the Alphas from the St. Louis and Branson packs in Missouri had been overheard gossiping about The Mad Fox after he helped both their packs. They spoke vaguely about a companion he’d had with him; one described her as ‘a cute young thing,’ while the other mentioned ‘a darling young lady’ that he had with him. It was assumed he had a—” Peter’s eyes cut over to the kids still listening in “—paramour, travelling with him.”
“Well, he did say he was settling down for her,” Andrea pipes up, still sitting at the dining table, bouncing Violet on the table to keep her calm as she keeps one ear tuned avidly into the conversation. Peter nods.
“He caused quite a stir for a few years, but the height of that was about four or five years ago now; the rumours have been less frequent in recent years. According to my most recent intel, as well as this,” Peter holds up the card between two fingers, “it seems his days of travelling consultation are over; he’ll be sticking to selling his products through his online shop now and doing consultations by correspondence only.”
“Must be a busy fellow, being a single father and running not just one business but two,” Peter’s mother observes, speaking up for the first time. There’s a spark of interest in her eyes that immediately sets Peter on edge. “And doing well, from everything I’ve heard around town so far.”
Paige tilts her head with a thoughtful hum, drawing their attention.
“You know, this makes so much sense now that I know he has magic,” she says. “I think he puts some of it into his drinks at the shop, and maybe his baking too.” Derek goes rigid beside her, emitting a low growl which she ignores. Talia and Maddox also tense quite noticeably, though she’s not looking at any of them as she thinks. “I know sometimes I’ll go in with a headache or in a poor mood from a bad day and they’ll seem to just disappear after stopping in there for a drink and a treat. I always just thought it was because it was such a nice atmosphere and he’s so friendly that it would relax me, but he’s even admitted to adding a ‘little something extra’ to help with whatever’s been bothering me. I always just thought he meant like some sort of natural remedy or an extra splash of something sweet to brighten my mood. Like the lavender tea he gave me today, to help Derek relax.”
Derek’s growl gets louder, face contorting into a snarl, and Paige whacks his stomach.
“Oh relax, you grump! I’m fine. He’s only ever helped. He always seems to know just what I need. I don’t think he’s doing anything harmful.”
“Well, be that as it may, I think I should still have a discussion with him about using magic on citizens of this town,” Talia says, lips pursed and expression severe.
“I can do that.” The words slip past Peter’s lips before he’s even realised he’s thinking them, but he doesn’t regret it. Even if he hadn’t thought about it, he knows there’s no way he’ll be staying away from that shop. He still has investigating to do, after all, and finding out this man’s identity — or alternate identity, rather — has only made Peter ten times more intrigued. He’s heard many impressive things about The Mad Fox over the years, and many of those things seem incongruous with the young, unassuming, coffee shop owning single father now inhabiting his town.
Though, when Peter remembers the calm confidence and mischievous sparkle in his eye, he thinks maybe they’re not so incongruous after all.
“I’d been planning to investigate further anyway,” Peter continues smoothly. “I’ll make sure there’s no threat to our pack, or the town. You are so busy, dear sister, there’s no need to concern yourself over this without need.”
Talia narrows her eyes at him for a moment, lips pursed as she debates the situation. Finally, she offers him a stiff nod.
“Fine. But you will keep me informed about everything you find, and let me know immediately if there is any sort of threat.”
“Of course, Alpha.”
Looks like there’s going to be a lot of coffee in Peter’s future.
He can’t say he minds much at all.