Scott McCall's Arc

Chapter 3 of 9

Scott and Stiles came straight from the woods to the clinic. Deaton was already waiting, like he'd known they'd come back with nothing but dirt on their shoes. "You can't dig where you can't see," he said. He slid open a drawer and lifted out an ornate looking glass. An eye was etched into its frame. "This is how you find them." He held it up to the light. "Shine it under the moon on the last night of the waning crescent, right before the moon goes dark. It will throw a beam onto the ground where the jars are buried." He set a second object on the table — a smooth jar carved from mountain ash wood, knotwork curling across its side. "Once you dig them up, you store them in this. Nothing else will hold them." Stiles stepped closer to the wall and tapped the calendar pinned beside the door. His finger landed on a square near the end of the week. "The new moon isn't until Friday," he said. His voice was flat. "That's five days. Five nights of him out there knowing exactly where I sleep." Scott looked at the calendar, then through the window. The sky outside was already going gray at the edges. A whole afternoon gone, and the moon above the trees was still too full to use. He felt the hours pressing on his chest. "I know," Deaton said. He didn't look away from Stiles. "This is the only way. You have to be patient. And you have to be vigilant." He pushed the looking glass and the jar across the table toward Scott. "Until Friday, keep him close. Don't let him sleep alone." Scott took both objects. The glass was cold. The jar was warm. He looked at Stiles and gave the same single nod he'd given the day before. The path was clear now, and the clock was running. Five nights to survive before the moon would finally show them where to dig.