Scott McCall's Arc

Chapter 14 of 30

The final whistle cut the air. Coach waved everyone in for a huddle, but Stiles grabbed Scott's shoulder and pulled him back. "The moon, Scott. We have to go. Now." Scott looked up. The sky was already bruising dark, the thin crescent fading fast. Malik was gone. Only a scorched patch near the goal marked where he had stood, the grass curled into a shape like a small, twisted stump. "Great pep talk, Coach, really inspiring," Stiles muttered as they bolted for the parking lot. "Sorry, can't stay, we've got a magical scavenger hunt and roughly zero minutes left." They piled into his small blue jeep and tore out before the team finished clapping. "We need a high point," Scott said. "Somewhere the glass can catch the moon clean." Stiles gunned it toward the forestry mountain, the pines rising black against the sky. "Oh good, a hike. My favorite. In cleats." Scott didn't wait for the jeep to stop climbing. He jumped out and ran, werewolf speed tearing him up the slope. At the top he raised the ornate looking glass. The Eye of Horus caught the last sliver of moon. Through the lens, a faint gold thread pulsed in the dark below — pointing straight back into the woods they already knew. Stiles caught up wheezing. "Please tell me that glowy line means something good." Scott lowered the glass slowly. "It's the Nemeton. The jars are buried at the Nemeton." Stiles laughed once, hollow. "Of course they are. The creepy death stump. It's been right under our noses the whole time. Cool. Cool cool cool." Scott pocketed the glass. The crescent was almost gone. They had the location. They had hours, maybe less. "Drive," Scott said. Stiles was already turning back toward the jeep. The hunt for the jars wasn't a question anymore. It was a race.