Bloodlines

“This is just complete bullshit.” A growl flew into Eliza’s right ear. She half-glanced at Jane who was slumped over the metal railing with a deep-set scowl on her face. Jane’s eyes were scanning the area, something she did out of habit. What kind of habit, Eliza didn’t know. But, Jane was constantly doing it.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame.” Eliza echoed Dan’s words from the car that morning.

Jane stopped scanning long enough to glare hatefully at Eliza. Then her dark eyes locked in on something in front of the school: a black car parked the wrong way with its driver too old to be going to school and too young to be picking up kids. Jane would have thought he was picking up a sibling if she was some simple-minded civilian.

“At least you’ve got that older, mysterious woman thing about you.” Eliza sighed, kicking the metal railing for something to do as they waited to be picked up. “I mean, you’re still mostly the same age as everyone else. You’ll just turn nineteen in a few days.”

“God, I need a cigarette.” Jane mumbled, ignoring Eliza, “Why doesn’t anyone have cigarettes I can bum?”

“Because the legal age is eighteen and you’re the only one with a nasty smoking habit in Beacon Hills.” Eliza said with a look that made Jane want to smack the smart ass out of her. However, Jane kept her eyes locked on her target. “What are you—Oh,” Eliza smirked, “See something we like?”

Jane rolled her eyes, wishing Arnold would just tell Eliza what was really happening instead of having to deal with her naivety. Some days Jane just wanted to hit her.

“I get it, I get it,” Eliza went on, oblivious, “He’s got that dark and handsome thing going, probably tall to wrap up the whole package with a scruffy, sexy bow. You’re probably the closest thing here to his age.” She glanced at Jane’s face, raising her brows; “I hear the best way to catch a guy is to look at him like you want to murder his family. So keep up the good work.”

The man in the black car—who had been listening to their conversation the whole time—finally glanced lazily over at the pair of girls. Jane visibly stiffened and Eliza mistook it for nerves. She let out a sympathetic sigh, her attention slipped to the man. His vibrant eyes almost seemed violently blue.

The blue SUV pulled up and Eliza broke Jane out of her trance: “Your dad isn’t going to be picking us up with my dad.”

Jane looked puzzled for a millisecond. “Okay?”

Eliza shrugged, “He just told me to tell you.”

“Well, thank God, because if you hadn’t told me, and he didn’t show up, I would be a puddle of tears right now.” Jane took off elegantly down the steps, throwing open the passenger door in her forceful way.

“No need to shoot the messenger.” Eliza muttered, following in suit.



Once Eliza and her father dropped Jane off, Arnold suggested they take some father-daughter time in the form of grocery shopping. They stopped by the local shop: Quikway.

Eliza grabbed the metal cart with an advertisement for Oreo’s on the child seat once they entered the automatic doors. She liked to man the cart, mostly because she could just lean against the handle and slide it around while her father did the grunt work.

They were in the meat section. Arnold was immersed in his grocery list while Eliza rested her chin on the handle. She was thinking about all the diseases that were being transferred to her body from the grimy cart, but she was too tired to care. She’d had an eventful first day to say the least and it hadn’t stopped with the wacky bird attack.

Eliza was thinking about the lunatic African-American woman who had slammed into her. Eliza had been minding her own business, trying to open her locker for the twentieth time with no luck, when she was brutally accosted from behind. The young woman stopped in her tracks, squinting into Eliza’s eyes like some sort of crazy person. Eliza froze, completely done with Beacon Hills and all its queer inhabitants.

The woman grabbed Eliza by the arm as if she didn’t already have her full attention, and demanded Eliza to leave, that Scott and Derek were handling it.

First off, whatever Scott and Derek were involved in, Eliza was having no part in it and she was sure that they were handling it just fine without her. And if this was the same Scott from that morning, it only cemented her desire to never come across him again. He was probably into drugs. The whole town was on drugs. That was the only explanation.

Before Eliza could demand a clarification, the lunatic ran off in a panic. Two girls from her English class were watching her as they walked the opposite way with inquisitive looks plastered on their faces.

So, when Arnold finally remembered to ask his daughter how her day had been, she wanted to laugh and tell him nothing. But, what happened in English had been bothering her all day and she needed someone to understand her, to make her feel a little less mad.

“It was definitely eventful,” Eliza chuckled with a queasy feeling in her stomach. “There was a freak bird attack. In my English classroom.”

“Do we want the boneless, skinless breast or the split breast without back?” Arnold muttered to himself, weighing the two cuts in his hand like they would sprout mouths and tell him which one was better for homemade chicken noodle soup. “Is there a difference? This is—”

“Dad,” Eliza stressed, “I’m trying to tell you about my crazy first day at Beacon Hills High and you are awfully uninterested. It’s a thrilling story,” She told him, grabbing the split chicken and tossing it into their cart. “There’s blood and biker boys and a epic twist at the end.”

“Sorry, honey,” Arnold smiled apologetically, folding his list, “I’m all ears. There was a bird attack? Outside?” The pair started moving out of the meat section.

“No, in my English class,” Eliza started. Arnold grabbed the cart to stop it.

“In your school?” Arnold wanted to clarify.

“Yeah, like hundreds of ravens dove into the window and attacked everyone.” Eliza shook her head. Arnold immediately went into solicitous father mode.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” He ordered, checking her exposed skin for any sign of damage.

“I’m fine,” Eliza promised, shaking him off, “that’s the weird part. I mean, I might need a rabies shot, but I’m completely fine.”

“Bird aren’t mammals, Liza, they can’t give you rabies.” Arnold smiled lightly, trying to mask his worry, “You’re lucky. I’ve always said this family was lucky.”

Eliza snorted, “You’ve never once said that.”

“I was thinking it, does that count?” He ruffled her hair a bit before going back to his list. They continued to move again.

Eliza pursued the topic more timidly, “Yeah, but I was the only one who didn’t get hit. Not even a scratch. I mean…everyone to my left and right was bird prey, but I—”

“Arnold?” A deep, shocked voice rudely interrupted Eliza. She looked down the health food aisle and saw Doe-Eyes accompanied by a middle-aged man in a sheriff uniform standing with an empty basket and a bewildered expression.

Suddenly Arnold’s face was as hard as stone. His jaw was clenched and the playful banter between Eliza and him was gone.

“Dad,” Eliza said softly, “who is that?”

“Arnold, Eliza,” The sheriff said again, coming closer very apprehensively. Doe-Eyes appeared just as confused as Eliza.

“Dad, do you know her?” Doe-Eyes gaped, pointing at Eliza.

“Deputy Stilinski.” Arnold said shortly, forcing a smile, “Or should I say ‘Sheriff’?” Arnold handed Eliza the grocery list, wanting to get her out of there. “Why don’t you go get the juice? Gus wants the kind with pulp.”

Eliza took the list slowly, giving her dad a look. He had some explaining to do.

Sheriff Stilinski handed Doe-Eyes the basket.

“But, dad—” He tried to argue.

“Just go get, I don’t know, whatever you need.” Stilinski dismissed.

Doe-Eyes huffed, following after Eliza reluctantly.

It took him a few moments to realize he now had the opportunity to ask her about what happened that day.

“So,” Doe-Eyes wetted his lips, raising his brows casually, “today was pretty crazy.”

Eliza simply stared at him, continuing to push the cart.

“Bet you never had weird things happen like that where you’re from. Where are you from? What’s your name?” Doe-Eyes bombarded Eliza with questions, “Are you by chance adopted?”

“What?” Eliza halted, grabbing the cart tightly. “Are you adopted?”

“What—no,” Doe-Eyes puffed out his cheeks, his brown eyes wide, “It could be pivotal to my investigation. Just wondering.”

“Investigation?” Eliza scrutinized, “Okay, Sherlock Holmes. I’m gonna get juice for my brother. We’re done here.” She pushed on.

“Wait, no—” Doe-Eyes stutter stepped forward, “let’s start over. I’m Stiles. You’re Eliza. I was born and raised in Beacon Hills. My best friend is named Scott McCall.” And he’s a werewolf, Stiles thought to himself.

Eliza froze again. Stiles almost tripped trying to keep up with her false starts. “Oh, no,” Eliza shook her head, lifting off again. She was most certainly not going to deal with Scott McCall’s best friend. No way in—

In a desperate attempt to get some answers, he barricaded his body against the end of the cart, causing Eliza to ram her gut into the handle. She groaned as panic set into Stiles.

It was only a few animal attacks, nothing for Stiles to get riled up about. Certainly nothing for Stiles to injure a stranger over.

But, Stiles was filled with memories from four months ago, and the events that led up to them. Every death he witnessed, every full moon he survived, it all brought back the nightmares of his previous life.

Maybe he blacked out momentarily or maybe he was just afraid again, but the word vomit came out regardless: “I saw you. I saw your eyes.”

“What?” Eliza hissed, nursing her abs. “What the—Who the hell do you think you are, Stiles?” She butted him with the cart and he jumped out of the way. Eliza had decided she was going to storm away dramatically when what Stiles had said finally set in. “What do you mean you saw my eyes?”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, running a hand through his hair, “Uh, I don’t—What I meant to say—” He tried to backtrack but it was too late, and Eliza was too smart. “I felt we had a real connection.”

“Unbelievable.” Eliza growled, leaving her cart where it was to grab the nearest orange juice.

Stiles wracked his brain for something to say. “Beacon Hills is a strange town.”

Eliza practically slammed the juice into her cart. “You don’t say.” And she sped off back the way they came to grab her dad and go.

Stiles cursed his lack of people skills and took off after her. “Does your family have a history of…strangeness?”

Eliza had never felt so relieved to have her father in her presence. Unfortunately, it was short lived.

Arnold and the sheriff were one step away from an all out screaming match. Both were red in the face and pointing accusations at each other.

“—and where were you, Arnold? Where the hell were you and Katherine when she died?” Stilinski trembled.

“Dad,” The two teens said simultaneous.

Arnold regained composure eerily quick while Stilinski stood there fuming.

“Come on, Eliza,” Arnold said coolly. He took control of the cart, guiding Eliza away with a hand to the small of her back. Eliza glanced behind her to see the sheriff shaking his head to his son.

The car ride home was suffocatingly silent. Eliza didn’t dare ask her father what his connection to Stilinski was.

Once they were in the comfort of their home, Arnold went back to his cheery self, like Stiles and his father had never existed.

Eliza’s fifteen-year-old brother sat up from the couch looking dreadfully ill. “Did you get my juice?” He croaked.

“As you commanded, your highness.” Eliza grinned, tossing him the cold, water-beaded bottle from the array of plastic bags.

“Uck,” He moaned, “This is pulp-free!”

“Well, it’s not my fault you’re the weirdo who likes pulpy juice.” Eliza shrugged as Arnold put the chicken on the stove.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who got the wrong kind.” He glared, getting up slowly to grab of cup.

“I thought I told you to grab the kind with pulp.” Arnold mildly chastised.

“Gus is a big boy,” Eliza grinned mockingly, “I know he’ll overcome this bump in the road and come out a better person.”

“My sister, the comedian.” Gus started a slow clap before grabbing a clean glass from one of the cabinets.

“Thank you, thank you,” Eliza gave a curtsy, “thank you very much. I’ll be here for the rest of your pulp-free life.”

Gus rolled his hazel-colored eyes. He poured the juice and choked it down theatrically. Eliza plopped herself on the end of the leather couch Gus hadn’t been occupying.

“Hey, Liza,” Arnold called from the kitchen. Gus slid back into his blankets. “Why don’t you tell your brother about what he missed at school today because he skipped.”

“I didn’t skip!” Gus exclaimed, “I’m dying of an incurable disease.”

“You have a cold.” Eliza reached over to grab the remote but Gus swatted her hand. “There was a bird attack in my English class. I guess the birds of Beacon Hills got together and created a suicide pack.”

“And your sister was the only one left standing without a scratch.” Arnold laughed proudly. The chicken sizzled in the open kitchen.

“Wow, let’s get you a medal or something.” Gus teased, putting up his hands to read an imaginary newspaper heading. “The only survivor of what was to become the ‘Great Beacon Hills Poultry Attack of 2013.’”

“Oh, oh, good one, Augustus.” Eliza stuck her tongue out. Their father’s bellow of a laugh echoed through the two-story house. Gus’ attention drifted to a soccer game. Eliza turned her head to her father and he knew immediately what was going to be asked of him.

“So, how do you know that sheriff guy?” Eliza asked as nonchalantly as possible, picking at a lose thread on one of Gus’ blankets.

“It’s nothing, Liza,” He smiled kindly, shaking his head, “Do you remember when we used to live near here?”

“When I was, like, eight?” Eliza shrugged, “Vaguely.”

“Well, Uncle Dan got in a little argument with him before we left. I suppose he still hasn’t gotten over it.” Arnold turned his attention towards the chicken. Eliza was practically burning a hole into his polo, willing him to go on. “His wife died shortly after we moved to England.” He said softly, “Stay away from his son, Eliza.”

“What? Stiles?” Eliza scoffed. “No problem. The guy’s a wackjob.”

“Are you two going to talk over the entire game?” Gus demanded, turning up the volume.

Eliza rolled her eyes at her brother again, facing front.

“Promise me, Eliza.” Arnold kept his back to the living room and Eliza’s eyes were on the game. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him. Their family is bad news.”

“Yeah, dad,” Eliza yawned, “Whatever you say. I solemnly swear to never speak to Stiles Stilinski.”