Chapter Text
Stiles is in the middle of his final exams when he finds out that the Conclave is going to be held on Stoddard territory. Somehow, he isn’t surprised. There were four families that had offered to host: Nazario, Aronsson, Winchester, and Stoddard. It had been done by random drawing by Julien Argent, and the Stoddard family’s number had come up.
“And I’m sure that this has nothing to do with Sally at all,” Stiles says, practically rolling his eyes into the next hemisphere. But he doesn’t say anything about it. He’s not thrilled with the idea of having the Conclave on her territory, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever had any trouble acting outside her territory. Being in Wyoming instead of New England probably wouldn’t slow her down a bit.
Surprisingly, Stiles is going to the Conclave as an invited guest. Chris had been talking to the other heads of the families, and he had made a push to get some non-hunters invited. The entire purpose, he said, was education. Why not invite their supernatural allies? Who better to explain the purpose of the Alpha Pack than the Alpha Pack themselves? After all, they were in the business of protecting innocents, just like the hunters.
A lot of hunters had hated the idea, of course, but with help from his allies, Chris manages to get it pushed through. The Hunter Council, comprised of the heads of each family, is eleven people. Now that Sam is on it, having taken over Henry Argent’s territory, Chris had the extra vote he needed.
So Stiles is invited, basically as a liaison between the hunter and the supernatural community, along with Justin. Chris invited Dr. Deaton to represent the Druidic Council. Lorelei was invited to represent Oblivion, but declined the offer. And Stiles quietly, under the table, invited Ian. It’s not even that he thinks Ian deserves an invitation, but he wants the backup. Nobody is comfortable with how likely this is to end in disaster, even without Sally’s machinations.
After listening to all this, Sheriff Stilinski invited himself to ‘represent mundane law enforcement’. Stiles is interested to see how that’s going to go, since he has no doubt that the hunters won’t want him there. Tom clearly gives zero fucks about their opinions, and Stiles always enjoys watching his father shut someone down.
The Conclave is going to be held at a resort on an island just off the coast of Maine. Stiles packs extra sweatshirts. The Stoddards have rented the entire lodge for the week, so it’ll be just invitees and a few staff members. Stiles thinks about how isolated it’s going to be and hopes that they find his body if Sally throws it in the ocean.
After some discussion, they decide to make a road trip out of it. Derek hates flying on general principle, and Stiles hasn’t been fond of it ever since Sally sabotaged their plane. He’s going to be nervous the entire time and it just won’t be good for him. It’ll take four or five days, but he’d still rather drive. Tom dryly asks if he plans to rent a school bus, but in the end they decide to caravan. They stop frequently and eat at greasy restaurants and have a good time.
They get to the island at about three PM, so they’re a little early, but from the other cars Stiles sees in the parking lot, they’re not the first to arrive. The island isn’t far from the mainland, connected only by a narrow bridge. Stiles supposes that they’re lucky they don’t have to take a ferry. He parks in the lot next to the lodge, which is a lot bigger than he had expected and beautifully rustic. The others pull up next to him as he’s grabbing his stuff from the trunk and Derek is hopping out of the front.
Weapons are to be peace-bound and unloaded at all times during the Conclave, and Stiles had thought long and hard about what to bring. In the end, he brought his .38 on general principle, but he left his baseball bat at home and brought his modified lacrosse stick instead. It’s weighted so he can use it like a staff, and he’s worried more about fighting humans than werewolves.
The front doors of the lodge are propped open, so they cross the deck, which is scattered with cushioned chairs and little patio tables, and head inside. They come into a wide open foyer, the back of which is lined with alternating French doors and bay windows with cushions. The floor is solid wood paneling, and there’s a fireplace on the wall opposite the entrance. It’s an enormous room, with several sets of chairs and sofas, as well as a grand piano. There are staircases on either end that lead up to a balcony, which is lined with doors and hallways.
“Nice place,” Tom says, glancing around. Stiles sees a little sign that says ‘registration’ with an arrow to the right, so he starts to follow it.
Before he can go more than two steps, he hears the clunk of boots and a man comes down the hallway. It’s Jim Stoddard, and he’s just as big and imposing as Stiles remembers him being. He’s wearing a huge frown with his impressive beard, and stops in front of Stiles with his arms folded across his chest. “You brought your entire pack?” he says, tone incredulous. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Well, let me tell you,” Stiles says, because it’s an opening too good to pass up. “I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. This is Derek, my lupa. You might remember him from such misadventures as Kate Argent murdering his entire family without provocation or cause, or his sister spending three years in a hunter prison despite having done nothing wrong. Oh, and this is my father, Sheriff Tom Stilinski, whom you might remember from when Gerard Argent tried to kill him to hide his involvement in a crime.”
Jim Stoddard’s jaw twitches.
“And as to who I am, my name is Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles continues. “You might remember me from incidents in which Vivien Nazario turned automatic weapons on me and my pack in a forest, or Ruben Gutierrez trying to frame me and have me killed, or Eli Whitaker trying to destroy me and my entire pack, or Henry Argent trying to assassinate me, so yes, since you ask, I did bring my entire pack. Is that a problem?”
“It’s not what we agreed on,” Jim says, with a thin smile.
“You didn’t tell me who I could bring,” Stiles says. “It’s not like you’re the only Stoddard here. There’s got to be four or five of you, plus the freelancers who work with your family. So why are you allowed to bring all of them, but I’m expected to come all alone and vulnerable?”
“Bringing your entire pack is a sign of aggression.”
“No, it isn’t. You know enough about werewolf packs to know that separation is uncomfortable for us, so bringing them along everywhere I go is pretty much just par for the course. Also, packs get very unhappy when their alpha walks into danger without them.”
“The whole idea is learning to show that we’re on the same side,” Jim says.
“Then fucking show me, Stoddard,” Stiles says, getting in his face. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s you guys who need to start making that clear. Not me.”
Jim opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, Sally bounces down the hallway, dressed only in a neon orange bikini and denim cutoffs. “Uncle Jiiiiiim,” she says, hanging on his elbow. “The pool is too cold and I’m already bored, can I go to Bar Harbor for a bit?” she asks, exaggerating a pretend accent and saying it ‘Bah Hah-buh’. Then she perks up and says, “Oh, hey, Stiles!”
“Sweetie, I need you to finish – ” Jim frowns and then turns back to Stiles, who’s already shepherding his pack towards the registration desk. “We’re not done with this, Stilinski.”
“I look forward to the continuation,” Stiles says over his shoulder. On the one hand, he appreciates Sally’s intervention, because it got him out of the argument. On the other, he’s not exactly comfortable with the fact that Sally clearly wants him and his pack on the island. She probably has horrible things planned for them.
Tom shakes his head a little as Stiles walks up to the registration desk. It takes a few minutes and they fill out some paperwork and then get their keys. The lodge is old-fashioned, and the keys are real keys, not electronic, brass with a plastic tag with the room number attached. There are only two keys to a room, which is going to be interesting since they’ve crammed the pack into two adjoining rooms, each with two double beds. They’ll be happier that way anyway. Tom has the room across the hall, a single.
The rooms are nice, open and airy. Theirs are on the back side of the lodge, so they have a view of the lodge’s expansive back deck and the rocky drop down to the ocean. There isn’t really a beach. The carpet is pale blue and the furniture dark wood, with cream, patterned wallpaper. Stiles drops his stuff on the bed and says, “Come on, let’s explore.”
Stiles is terrible at estimating distance, but he thinks the island is several square miles. The lodge itself takes up the northern end of the island. The back of it gives way to the ocean, but off to the side there’s a pool and a hot tub and a huge grassy area. It’s set up with badminton courts, horseshoes, and croquet. Then the southern part of the island is forest. He thinks about exploring it, but it’s getting close to five thirty, and dinner is scheduled at six, so they head back to the lodge.
“This place is really nice,” Stiles says, and Derek nods a little, sketching. The lodge itself has a game room in the basement, with pool tables and air hockey. There’s also a small library with a collection of puzzles and board games, and several common rooms overlooking the ocean. He could definitely see spending a week’s vacation here and loving every minute.
The pack heads into the dining room at quarter to six to see that it’s about half full. The room is easily large enough to accommodate the hundred-or-so people who are going to be attending. Stiles scans the room for familiar faces.
“Hey! Stiles!” A head of red hair bounces out of the crowd and Stiles finds his hand being shaken enthusiastically by Calvin ‘Sketch’ Maguire, who’s now Calvin Arnelle. “Long time no see!”
“Hey, how’s married life treating you?” Stiles asks, as several of the other werewolves greet him as well.
“It’s the best,” Sketch says, grinning, and looks over his shoulder as Wednesday emerges from the crowd. She’s wearing black jeans and a black lace shirt, along with her usual combat boots and black eyeliner. Her dyed black hair is pulled back into a sensible braid.
Stiles is actually fairly up to date on Wednesday’s life. She’s become downright chatty – for her – following her daughter’s birth. She sends pictures and they text semi-regularly. Stiles knows that they named her Morticia Elizabeth Arnelle and call her Morty for short and he laughs about it every time he thinks about it.
“Where’s Morty?” he asks.
Wednesday frowns at him. “Home, with my grandmother. I sure as hell wasn’t about to bring her here. She’s barely a month old, for Christ’s sake.”
“Good thinking,” Stiles says. A few other people are coming over to say hello. Sam Argent is there with his younger brother, Leo, and Wednesday’s younger sister is also in attendance, looking nervous and shy. Jackson came along with Deaton, and he scowls when Stiles waves him over but comes over anyway, nudging Danny’s shoulder. Stiles sees Annika, and waves to her, but she pretends not to see him and turns away. Stiles can hardly blame her for that. She hasn’t talked to him much since Jonas’ departure with Oblivion.
The room is getting noisy and crowded. The alpha pack isn’t there yet – Stiles would be able to sense them – and he hasn’t seen Ian although that might or might not mean anything. But all the hunters are there, and Stiles is enjoying standing in a knot with actual friends, who are standing between him and the nasty looks that some of the other hunters are sending his way.
Gradually, everyone finds their seats. It’s set up like a wedding, with multiple tables and little placards. Stiles’ is printed, along with Derek’s, but the rest are handwritten. Stiles recognizes Victoria’s elegant script. The tables seat eight, so most of his pack is at one table, and he’s at another, with Derek, Scott, Allison, and Jake. Tom seats himself there as well. There’s an empty chair with a placard for Justin. Sketch is seated with them, even though Wednesday is at another table. There are no other placards for the alpha pack, although Stiles is roughly one thousand percent sure that they’re all coming.
He’s annoyed to see that their table is in a corner, pretty much as far away from the main table and the servers as possible. Then there’s a buffer zone with what he assumes Stoddard terms ‘monster sympathetics’. Wednesday is seated there, placing herself back to back with Sketch at their table, along with Chris and Victoria, Julien and his wife, Sam Argent, Deaton, and Jackson. Wilma is sprawled out at his feet, enjoying all the attention she’s getting. Hunters might not like werewolves, but they love dogs.
It would be easy to raise a fuss about the seating arrangements, but he just can’t bring himself to actually care that much. If seating him at a monster table is the worst thing that Stoddard does at this Conclave, Stiles will be extremely surprised. In a matter of picking his battles, this one barely registers.
Sally is at the table with her father and uncle, of course, and Stiles is interested to see who else he can manage to recognize in the room. Unlike the Conclave Chris had hosted, there’s a ‘kids table’, and with Allison and Jake’s help, he manages to figure out who’s there. Sam’s younger brother is seated there, along with Izzy, Wednesday’s sister. There’s two blond teenagers that Allison says are Mikael’s younger daughter and his niece, the daughter of his sister, who had died about a decade previous. Her adult son is in attendance as well, at the table with Mikael and his wife.
From the Winchester family, there’s a coltish young woman of about fifteen, who looks about as happy to be there as her grandmother. Then there’s a black boy of about the same age who’s somehow related to Stella Jones, although they know she doesn’t have children. Angela Peretti’s niece is there, livening up the table with a bright smile and slightly accented English. Vanessa Nazario’s granddaughter rounds out the complement and spends most of her time flirting with Sam’s younger brother.
There are enough names to make his head spin, but Stiles takes notes to keep it all straight. Not just for the Conclave, but for future inroads. It looks like there are at least two more teenaged Stoddards there – Jim’s children, Jake thinks – but they’re seated at the Stoddard table, not with the other kids.
The Gutierrez family is in attendance, which surprises Stiles. They’ve been pretty much ostracized, but apparently that hadn’t stopped them from coming to the Conclave. Stoddard might not want to be associated with them, but he’s probably just fine with having them present to do his dirty work. Less surprising is that the entire set of five siblings is there. Luis is still in jail and Hector had left the country after killing Lilliana Santos, but every other living Gutierrez of their generation has decided to come. They look like a small army, and they’re seated at a table by themselves, speaking in Spanish to each other. Of course, Stiles speaks fluent Spanish, along with about half of his pack – Erica was raised bilingual, and a lot of them took it in school – but he doesn’t bother to listen in after the first five minutes of them complaining about everything. Like Stiles and his pack, they’re tucked away into a corner of the room.
Stiles decides he doesn’t give a shit about any of that at the moment. After some debate and some chatting, Wednesday and Sam drag their table over so they can put them together. It gives everyone a little less room, but it’s a nice show of solidarity, and Stiles appreciates it. It’s fun to catch up with Sam and Wednesday while they eat their salads. The main course is steak, although Stiles called ahead and they have a nice pasta dish for Mac.
As everyone is clearing their plates, there’s the clink of someone tapping a glass, and everyone directs their attention towards the front of the room. The man standing up at the head table is Ned Stoddard, and it’s the first time that Stiles has gotten a good look at Sally’s adopted father. Most people have described him as Jim Stoddard’s quieter, softer brother. He looks small in comparison to Jim, even though he’s at least six feet and broad shouldered, with the same brown hair but only a scruff of stubble in contrast to Jim’s beard.
“Good evening, everybody,” Ned says, in a mellow baritone. “Welcome to Maine and the fifteenth Conclave. Thank you all for coming. We have a few quick announcements to make. We’ve rented the entire lodge and surrounding island, so if there’s anything you need, please let the staff know. There is a storm forecast for tonight so I did want to let you know not to try to cross the bridge in high surf. They’ll put a barrier up if it’s too dangerous.”
He clears his throat and continues, “This year’s Conclave is a little different from previous years, as you all know. I want to welcome our other guests and hope that you’ll all extend them the same hospitality that you would another hunter. We’re all on the same side here. As a reminder, weapons are to be peacebound and unloaded at the Conclave at all times. And as a matter of courtesy, I’d like to ask the werewolves to remain in their human forms whenever they’re in a public space.”
That seems reasonable enough to Stiles, and he nods a little just in case any of the hunters are looking at him.
“We’re going to start tomorrow morning with a seminar from Chris Argent on how to evaluate a werewolf pack.” Ned clears his throat. “It’s not mandatory, of course, but we do recommend that everyone attend if at all possible. Again, please let me know if you need anything.”
He takes his seat and everyone goes back to their own conversations. Stiles looks at Chris and says, “You hate public speaking.”
“You’re not wrong,” Chris says, glaring at him. Stiles bites back a smile and changes the subject, wondering when dessert is going to be served. He forgets about it a minute later when the doors to the dining room swing open.
When Justin enters with the Alpha Pack behind him, the entire room goes still. He has such presence to him, augmented by his size and his swagger. It’s somewhat impressive, Stiles muses, until Erica mumbles, “Walk into the club like ‘what up I got a big cock’,” and Stiles nearly chokes trying not to laugh hysterically. It doesn’t help that Justin, of course, hears her, and turns and gives her a smirk and a wink.
Jim Stoddard is immediately on his feet, and several of the other hunters look like they’re thinking about getting up as well, but Justin forestalls him with a friendly smile and an extended hand. “Hey. Justin St. John. Sorry I’m late. Our plane got delayed, we were coming from Nigeria; you know how it can be with international flights, customs and everything.”
Jim’s mouth has that tight, tense look to it. “I see your entire pack is in attendance.”
“Sure, sure,” Justin says. “Packs don’t split up easy, you know.” Without waiting for Jim to protest, he says, “This is Yasmin Ortega, my lupa.” He goes on to introduce the others. Derek is already on his feet and heading over, catching his sister in a bear hug. Several of the hunters look away uncomfortably, remembering what happened to Cora, and several of them dart looks at the Gutierrez table like they’re half-expecting a war to break out.
It nearly does, because Cora gets a look at them and her lip curls up in that expression of contempt and anger that Stiles recognizes easily. “What are they doing here?” she asks.
Loudly enough that everyone can hear, Derek says, “Wasting oxygen.”
Several people snicker. A few people clear their throats and look uneasy. But then the oldest Gutierrez – Stiles can’t remember his name, but he has the most wrinkles and a lot of gray in his beard – stands up and says, “Miss Hale. We would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize for what happened to you. If there are reparations we can make, by all means, please, address them immediately. We would rather not have this unpleasantness hanging over our heads any longer than necessary.”
Stiles can see that what he means is that he doesn’t want Cora deciding to murder them in their sleep, but as apologies go, he’s seen worse. Cora’s narrowed her eyes at him, and Stiles expects her to make a sarcastic remark, but Cora’s grown up a lot in her year with the alpha pack. “Your prison’s been emptied?” she says, and Gutierrez nods. Then she says, “I don’t want your reparations. Tell me what reparations you made to Liliana Santos’ family.”
Gutierrez grimaces a little and says, “Of course, it was unfortunate that my brother Hector decided – ”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses for what your brother did,” Cora says. “Tell me what you’re going to do. Tell me about the college fund you started for her daughter. Tell me about how you helped Rick Santos get a new job after he lost his old one sitting in jail for six months after being accused of killing his wife. Tell me that you’ve apologized to her family.”
“All this will be done, of course,” Gutierrez says.
“Good,” Cora says. “We’re done here.”
Derek gets an arm around her shoulders and pulls her towards Stiles’ table. Justin follows, along with the others, and he sees the servers nervously hovering. “Hey, just in time for dessert! I guess our timing was good after all.”
This gets a nervous laugh, and Justin doesn’t even seem to notice that there aren’t placards for the rest of the alpha pack. He grabs a side table and hauls it over (with as little effort as a human would need to move a single chair) and gets everyone seated. Stiles stands to greet him and the others while the rest of the hunters look on nervously.
Ned is on his feet again, getting everyone settled down. He says, “I understand that we have something special for dessert.”
Victoria rises smoothly to her feet. “I’ve brought some homemade pastries,” she says, with her warm, generous smile. “I hope everyone enjoys them.” She heads over for the tray to help serve. Along with the variety of tarts, macaroons, and dumplings, there’s strong black tea. It’s flavored with vanilla and almond, and amazingly good.
“Allison, your mother is a goddess in the kitchen,” Stiles says, savoring the first bite.
“My mother is a goddess everywhere,” Allison says, laughing.
Stiles agrees, grinning, his gaze following Victoria around the room as she makes sure everyone has been served. His gaze catches Sally Stoddard, who grins back merrily as she lifts her cup of tea to her lips.
He’s not sure what happens next. One moment, Sally is drinking tea. The next, her entire body jerks and spasms. The tea cup falls out of her hand and hits the floor with a thud that isn’t audible from Stiles’ side of the room. He’s on his feet before anyone else realizes what has happened, and then Ned catches his daughter as she pitches backwards, her entire body convulsing.
“What the hell?” Stiles asks, as chaos erupts everywhere. Someone shouts ‘She’s choking!’ and there’s a clatter as the table is shoved out of the way. Stiles makes it through the crowd to see Sally give a final spasmodic shudder and twitch.
“Sally? Sally!” Ned is trying to make her comfortable and clear her airway. But then something even stranger happens. Sally gives a convulsion like she’d just had an electronic shock. She lurches upright and coughs hard. Then she reaches up and wipes her mouth.
“I’m all right, Daddy,” she says, still coughing. “Think I got a nut down the wrong tube.”
Everyone starts to relax. Ned is hovering anxiously and Jim is frowning. Nobody is paying attention to Stiles, who quietly picks up what’s left of Sally’s pastry and puts what’s left of somebody else’s on her plate.
“Are you sure?” Jim demands. “That didn’t look like someone choking to me.” His gaze singles out Stiles. “It looked like someone tried to poison you.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Jim,” Sally says, and then giggles a little. “Who would want to poison me?”
“Someone who doesn’t like us,” Ned says quietly, smoothing down her hair. “It’s all right, though, you’re safe as long as I’m here.”
Jim is still glowering at Stiles. It’s a clear challenge, and Stiles walks over, picks up the pastry he had put on Sally’s plate, and takes a bite. “Tastes fine to me,” he says.
Some of the tension leaves Jim’s shoulders. He looks over at Sally and then back at Stiles. “Okay,” he says. “Ned, why don’t you get her a glass of water.”
Ned nods and gets his daughter back into her seat. Stiles turns and walks away. He catches up with Victoria just as she’s sitting down at their table.
“Cyanide?” he asks quietly.
Victoria says nothing.
“Smart. The almond tea. Nobody noticed the smell.” Stiles picks up his own tea and takes a drink. “Was it in the tea or the pastry?”
“The tea,” Victoria says. “Faster acting in liquid.” She’s quiet a moment. “It’s what she used on Franklin. So it seemed appropriate.”
Stiles nods.
“She hurt my husband,” Victoria says. “I told you that I would deal with it.”
“That you did.” Stiles takes another sip. “Am I right in assuming that there was enough cyanide in that cup to drop an elephant?”
Victoria nods.
“Interesting,” Stiles says. “Then the question is, why is Sally still alive?”
Victoria nods again, and they both look across the room as Ned fusses over Sally. The blonde sees them looking at her and smiles. Ned puts a glass of water down in front of her, and she takes a drink, then puts it back down, idly stirring it with one finger, making a little whirlpool. “Why indeed.”
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