The air in the Ashworth house felt heavy, not with the raw power of the moon, but with the weight of old secrets. In the quiet study, the opened Ashworth Grimoire lay on the desk like a sleeping beast, its ancient pages filled with a language Nikolai was only just beginning to understand. The smell of old paper and faint, unidentifiable herbs hung in the air.
"The tremor you felt," Eleanor said, her voice low as she traced a symbol on the page with her finger. "Based on your description, and certain... resonant frequencies I felt last night when the lunar energy was at its peak, I fear your sensing is accurate. A Kanima is stirring in Beacon Hills."
Nikolai leaned closer to the Grimoire, his eyes scanning the drawing on the page. It depicted a reptilian creature with razor-sharp claws and a long, prehensile tail. It looked nothing like a wolf.
"A Kanima," he repeated, the word feeling even more unsettling now that it was linked to the tangible energy signature he'd felt. "The book... what does it say about them?"
Eleanor's expression was grim. "They are creatures of corrupted spirit, born from imbalance, from fractured identity or deep emotional trauma. Unlike werewolves, they are not driven by instinct or the moon. They are driven by the will of a Master. Someone who controls them utterly."
'A Master,' Nikolai thought, recalling the show's plot. Matt, then Gerard. 'So the Kanima isn't just a monster, it's someone's puppet. Another player on the board.'
"The Grimoire," Eleanor continued, tapping a different section of the text, "describes their energy as cold, slick, and disjointed. It lacks the warmth of living things, the rootedness of natural creatures. Your sensing of it as 'slithering' and 'jagged' aligns with the ancestral descriptions. They are incredibly agile, their venom paralytic, their skin almost impenetrable."
She looked up at him, her gaze serious. "And because they are extensions of their Master's will, their actions can seem unpredictable, even random, if you don't understand who is pulling the strings."
Conflict flared – a cold sense of dread at the lethality of the threat, and a strategic challenge. How do you fight a creature that isn't operating on its own logic? How do you find the Master when you don't even know who the Kanima is, for certain? (Though his meta-knowledge screamed Jackson).
"Is there anything in the Grimoire about countering them?" Nikolai asked. "Shielding? Weaknesses?"
"They are vulnerable to their own reflection," Eleanor stated, pointing to a small, intricate drawing near the edge of the page – the Kanima recoiling from a mirrored surface. "It breaks the connection to the Master, momentarily. And their bond to the Master is paramount; if that bond is broken, or the Master is incapacitated... it can affect the Kanima profoundly."
'Reflection,' Nikolai filed that away. Useful tactical information. 'And the Master. Finding the Master is key.'
"Shielding against their energy is different," Eleanor explained. "It's not about pushing back a flood, but about making yourself invisible to their Master's influence, preventing them from sensing or controlling your energy. It requires a specific kind of focus, a detachment."
She spent the next hour guiding him through exercises, focusing on creating a 'blank space' in his energetic signature, making himself feel 'neutral', blending into the background hum of the town. It was harder than just pushing back; it felt like forcing a part of himself into stillness.
"It's not about hiding," Eleanor explained, adjusting his posture gently. "It's about not standing out. Not being a beacon for things that hunt."
'Hunting for power. Hunting for tools. Hunting for threats,'Nikolai understood. Both Peter and the Kanima Master were hunters. Becoming less visible to them was paramount.
The next day at school, the skittering tremor felt closer, more defined. Nikolai focused, trying to apply Eleanor's lesson from the Grimoire, trying to distinguish the different 'textures' of energy. He could feel Scott's chaotic but now more focused energy signature across the hallway – Scott was clearly trying Nikolai's advice about focusing his senses, maybe finding small moments of clarity amidst the chaos.
He saw Scott and Stiles near their lockers. Scott looked exhausted, still jumpy, but there was a new tension in his posture, a contained energy. Stiles looked less frantic, more determined, likely trying to find a rational explanation for everything Scott was experiencing.
As Nikolai approached, Scott's eyes locked onto him, his expression one of weary hope. Stiles, however, immediately adopted a suspicious stance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. The conflict with Stiles was a constant, low-grade tension. Nikolai knew he couldn't convince Stiles with magic or energy talk; Stiles needed logic, evidence. Which, ironically, only the most illogical and undeniable supernatural events would provide.
"Hey," Scott said, his voice low, glancing around. "You felt it again? That... unnatural thing?"
Nikolai nodded, focusing his sensing. The skittering tremor was faint near Scott, but present. "It was here. Closer today." He looked pointedly towards the main hallway junction, the direction he felt it strongest. "It feels... disconnected. Like it shouldn't quite exist."
Scott shivered slightly. "It feels wrong."
"What feels wrong?" Stiles demanded, stepping slightly in front of Scott, positioning himself protectively. "Are you guys speaking in code now? What is this 'energy' thing, Ashworth? Is this some weird British thing?"
Nikolai met Stiles's gaze calmly. "It's about paying attention to things most people ignore, Stiles. The subtle shifts. The patterns. Scott's just... more sensitive to them now." He offered a small, neutral smile that didn't give Stiles any purchase for his skepticism. 'He's a guardian, not a threat. A complicated piece, loyal but limited in understanding. Can't sideline him, can only work around his skepticism for now.'
He turned back to Scott. "Did you try focusing? Isolating sounds or smells?"
Scott nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Last night... everything was insane. Sounds were killing me. But I remembered what you said, and I focused on the fridge hum. And it... it helped. It didn't make it stop, but it was like I could push the other stuff back a little."
'Progress,' Nikolai noted, a flicker of genuine encouragement. Scott was a fast learner, even under duress. This reinforced his value. 'He's not just a power source; he has potential for control, for learning. Worth the investment.'
"Good," Nikolai said. "That's a start. It's about controlling the input. Filtering the noise." He glanced down the hallway again, towards where the Kanima tremor felt strongest. 'Maybe he's near Lydia? Or Jackson? Time to assess the others.'
"Look," Nikolai continued, keeping his voice low, "I think we should talk more. Maybe after school? About... what you felt last night. And what else is stirring here." He needed more dedicated time with Scott, away from Stiles's watchful eye, to delve deeper, maybe test his susceptibility to Kanima energy, or subtly guide his understanding of the Alpha.
Scott readily agreed. "Yeah. Definitely. My place?"
'No. My place is safer, warded. And I can involve Mum,'Nikolai thought. "How about my place? My mum knows... a bit about this town's peculiarities. Might be helpful." He was carefully introducing Eleanor as another potential ally, a figure of knowledge and safety.
Scott hesitated, looking unsure about involving an adult. "Your mum?"
"She's... understanding," Nikolai said, projecting calm reassurance. "And discreet. Plus, she makes excellent tea." He threw in the mundane detail intentionally, trying to make Eleanor seem less like a mysterious witch and more like a slightly eccentric but harmless British parent.
Scott still looked hesitant, but the desperation for answers won out. "Okay. Yeah. Your place."
'First step: Scott agrees to come to the warded house. Second step: Introduce him to a powerful witch. Third step: Start building the foundation of a magical-supernatural alliance,' Nikolai plotted mentally.
He moved away from Scott and Stiles, sensing the persistent Kanima tremor drawing his attention. He walked towards where it felt strongest – the chemistry labs. He needed to confirm.
He entered the general area of the labs, subtly focusing his sensing, layering the Kanima's signature over the normal school hum. It was definitely here. Strongest from the direction of the boys' locker room hallway, near the chemistry prep rooms.
He saw Lydia Martin walking out of a classroom. He focused his sensing on her. The deep, mournful energy was still there, a powerful undercurrent beneath her perfectly composed surface. It felt like trapped grief, or foreboding. 'She feels like a battery of raw emotion,' he thought, intrigued. 'Potential? Or just... afflicted? She's not a Kanima, her energy is completely different. But powerful. Maybe a link to the psychic/banshee side of the world?' He filed her under 'Potential Ally - Requires Significant Investigation & Careful Handling'. Her energy didn't feel malevolent, just... resonant with pain.
He also saw Mason nearby, talking to a friend. He focused on Mason's energy signature. It felt... normal. Friendly, inquisitive. No obvious supernatural flicker. 'Okay, not everyone in this school is a future supernatural,' he conceded. Mason seemed, for now, like a genuinely normal human. A good friend for Scott and Liam later, but not a piece for his supernatural power pack building, at least not directly.
And then he saw him. Jackson Whittemore, emerging from the boys' locker room, heading towards the chemistry lab. The skittering, disjointed, cold energy spiked around him, undeniably emanating from him. It wasn't just near him; it was him.
Jackson caught his eye, sneering. "Still trying to figure out how to play lacrosse, Ashworth? Or just wandering around looking lost?"
Nikolai felt a jolt of fear – facing the Kanima potential head-on – immediately overridden by a cold, strategic clarity. He held Jackson's gaze, not showing fear, not showing aggression. He subtly focused his shielding, making his own energy signature feel as neutral and unremarkable as possible. He kept his expression calm, polite, but distant.
"Just getting my bearings, Whittemore," Nikolai replied, his voice even. "It's a big school. Easy to get lost." He offered a small, completely fake smile. 'Let him underestimate me. Let him think I'm just the weird new kid.'
Jackson scoffed, tossing his hair, and walked past him, the Kanima tremor receding, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease.
'It's Jackson,' Nikolai confirmed, the truth settling heavily in his stomach. 'The Kanima is Jackson.'
The Kanima wasn't just a potential threat; it was a walking, breathing, student threat in the school hallways. The conflict was now personal, immediate. And he needed to figure out who the Master was. Peter? Someone else?
He retreated to the library during his free period, needing a moment to process and plan. The quiet hum of the library was a soothing contrast to the chaotic energies outside. He felt the weight of the situation – Scott's transformation, Peter's lurking presence, and now a nascent Kanima with a Master, walking amongst them.
His initial goal – building a super pack – felt both more necessary and more complicated. Scott was the first, crucial step. But could he guide Scott effectively while navigating Peter and an unknown Kanima Master? Could his budding warlock abilities, still unpredictable, be enough?
He felt the hum inside him, the potential Eleanor spoke of. Significant, but uncontrolled. He needed more training. He needed to understand the Kanima better. He needed to get Scott fully on his side.
He needed allies. Stiles was loyal but skeptical. Lydia was a mystery, a powerful emotional resonator. Mason seemed normal. He had Scott. He had Eleanor.
'Not much of a pack yet,' he mused, looking around the library, seeing the ordinary faces of students buried in books. 'But it's a start. And I have knowledge they don't. I know what's coming. And now... I know one of the threats is walking the halls right beside me.'
The conflict was palpable now. Not just sensing danger, but identifying its source. The Kanima. Jackson. The Master. Beacon Hills wasn't just a story; it was a rapidly escalating battlefield. And Nikolai Ashworth was no longer just an observer. He was drawing his first real lines in the sand, preparing for a fight he'd only ever watched on a screen.