He lay on his stomach, clutching one of the pillows to his chest that Kat had thoughtfully placed behind him on the couch, and closed his eyes. “I need to sleep now, Kat. I need my rest.”
His voice cracked on the last word, but he fought like hell to keep his tears contained.
After all, Slayers didn’t cry.
Kat was quiet for a long time. Then she stood and removed the tray, wordlessly slipping back into the kitchen. He could hear her turning off lights as she moved upstairs, and then, just before closing her bedroom door, she said in a soft, concerned voice, “Good night, Joss.”
No. It wasn’t. And no night would ever be good again, until he righted the wrong that he’d committed the night he let a monster murder Cecile.
Joss laid in the darkness and waited for sleep to come. When it eventually did, it brought with it the same nightmarish images that it had every night for three years.
Cecile. Dying.
Again.
12
TRAINING BEGINS
In the morning, Joss’s alarm clock was the sound of the front door slamming, followed by raised voices. I don’t give a damn about your title or your reluctance to the cause, Sirus! He’s my nephew and I know best what he needs. Sitting on a cushy couch while your daughter waits on him hand and foot is no path to becoming a Slayer.”
“Be reasonable, Abraham. The boy just experienced a beating at the hand of a relative. You don’t think he needs a little time to recover?” Sirus’s voice sounded much calmer than his uncle’s, but it was still raised. Mostly, Joss suspected, so that Abraham would hear him over his own shouts.
Then Abraham’s voice quieted. But the tone brought not even an ounce of comfort to Joss, who lay very still on the sofa, eavesdropping. “He’s done. Now get him up and outside so his training can begin. I’m done with your games.”
Their voices fell silent. The silence was broken only by the slamming of a door and Sirus’s sigh. Then footsteps as he moved into the den. He didn’t seem surprised to find Joss wide awake. With another sigh, he leaned against the doorjamb and shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Your uncle is a stubborn man, and reasoning with him can be challenging.”
Joss sat up. His back ached, but it felt much better than it had the night before. “What exactly will training entail?”
“You’ll learn defensive maneuvers, attack positions, tricks to dealing with vampires, and how to wield a stake. We don’t generally teach these things in a stepby-step fashion, but rather it’s dependent on what you’re ready for, and what we have time for. You’ll also learn how to forage for food and how to survive in the wild, care for any injuries you may receive—”
He glanced up at Sirus and could feel an eager buzzing in his chest. “And how to kill vampires?”
Sirus paused before answering. “Yes.”
“Good.” Joss nodded. “How long will my training be?”
“That depends on you, and how well you absorb the lessons given.” He frowned slightly; it looked strange on him. Someone like Sirus always looked pleasant, if not genuinely upbeat. Behind his frown was an enormous wall of concern. “Joss . . .”
Joss swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Sirus had to say. “What is it?”
Sirus moved closer, and then crouched next to the couch, holding Joss’s gaze. He spoke quietly, as if not wanting anyone to overhear. “I meant what I said the other day. You can still walk away from this. You don’t have to become wrapped up in the web of the Society just to avenge your sister’s death. Cecile might not want her brother killing creatures and endangering himself. Did you ever think of that?”
Joss practically jumped to standing and threw on his shoes. As he did, he barked at Sirus, “Don’t talk about her. You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know anything!”
He went to the front door and yanked it open, but before he could step outside, Sirus reached around him and closed it again. “I know that becoming a Slayer won’t bring your sister back. And I know a few other things as well. You may not like what I have to say, but I have to say it. Because nobody told me these things when I opted to follow this path, and someone damn well should have.”
Joss’s heart was racing with anger. Sirus had no right to talk about his sister, and certainly no right to keep him here.
“You’re in over your head already and don’t see it. You can’t see it. You won’t see it. Not until it’s too late.” He leaned in closer, his expression grave. “You’ll take lives, Joss, and each time you do, it’ll kill a small piece of your soul. No one—not your uncle or any of the other Slayers—will admit to the pain and heartache that slaying brings. They’ll only speak of the glory and duty and honor of it all. But no one will tell you how difficult it is to look in the mirror each day after doing the Society’s bidding. You’ll grow to hate yourself, as we all do. That’s what you’re choosing, Joss. Can you live with that?”
Joss ran his hand over the back of his neck, visions of his sister racing through his mind. He realized Sirus was just trying to help, but Sirus had no way of knowing, no possible way of understanding what it was like to watch someone close to you have their life stolen away. He couldn’t possibly understand Joss’s motives. No one could. “I can’t live with knowing the monster that killed Cecile is still out there. So ... yeah. Yeah, I can give up my soul to put her at peace. It’s worth it, Sirus. To me, it’s absolutely worth it.”
Sirus grew quiet for a moment, and then, as if making a difficult decision, he stepped back and opened the door once again. “Ash and Morgan will meet you in the same clearing where you had your purification.”
“Sirus?”
Sirus met his eyes silently.
“Thank you. For warning me, I mean. I know you’re just trying to help. But I have to do this. I just have to.” He plucked the clean shirt from the back of his chair—likely placed there for him by Sirus—and slipped it slowly, carefully over his head. Then he stepped outside and crossed the yard to the trailhead, ignoring the sting in his back.
As Joss moved into the clearing, he was met by Morgan’s beaming grin. “Welcome to what may potentially be your last day on earth, kid.”
Ash stood to Morgan’s left, shaking his head. His demeanor was much more subdued than Morgan’s, and something about his posture told Joss that he was hoping this wouldn’t take very long. “Instead of helping the others, we’re here with you. So, let’s make this quick. Today you’re going to learn about weapons and explosives.”
Joss dropped his eyes to the wooden case at Ash’s feet. It could fit in his backpack. The lid had been opened and inside, on purple velvet lining, were a wooden stake, various bottles, a cross, a small gun, and a gleaming silver hatchet. He drew his attention from one weapon to the next before looking back at Ash. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but other than a wooden stake, why would you bother with other weapons or explosives? I mean, a stake will take down a vampire, right? So ... isn’t anything else just a waste of time?”
Ash nodded, looking a little less impatient, as if it might just be worth his time to remain here a bit longer. “A stake is classic and, yes, extremely effective, but what if you drop it?”
“And what if you’re dealing with a large group of vamps? How many do you think you could stake before they take you down?” Morgan was carefully coiling a long bronze cord along the length of his forearm. Joss recognized it from a television program he’d watched months ago as detonation cord—basically dynamite in rope form.
Ash folded his arms in front of his chest. “Our point is that you want to keep your options open. We’re here to teach you a bit about those options.”
“And, hopefully, to keep you in one piece while you’re doing so.” Morgan tossed the cord onto the ground and Joss winced. He was almost certain the cord required a charge to do any damage, but it was a bit unsettling to see Morgan throwing it around like it wasn’t something that could kill them all in a microsecond.
“N
ow, your basic weapons fall into two categories.” Ash crouched in front of the case on the ground, but not before flicking a glance at Morgan. “Barring explosives, of course.”
Morgan’s grin merely grew. It was easy to see how much he loved his job. “Of course.”
Ash gestured for Joss to crouch down, too, and then gestured to the items inside the case. “There are direct weapons, and stealth weapons. If you look closely enough, you’ll see that all effective weapons against vampirekind fall into one of those two categories. For instance, a stake punctures the vital heart organ, so it affects its target directly. But garlic juice invades the system and destroys from within, so it’s more stealth. A silver bullet is direct, but holy water is stealth. Got it?”
“Totally.” Joss nodded, his eyebrows coming together in a question as his gaze moved from weapon to weapon. “But what about the ax?”
“Hatchet. An ax is much bigger, far too heavy to wield easily.” Ash met and held his gaze for a moment, as if making certain that Joss understood the difference. “The hatchet falls under the direct category; its purpose is to remove the head.”
Joss swallowed hard. He hoped he’d never be faced with that situation, because he wasn’t certain that he could ever behead anything living. The very thought sent his stomach rolling in nauseous waves.
“Now, something to remember is that you want to use the more effective of the two weapon categories first. So ... first act directly. If that fails, then utilize stealth. Consider it your backup.”
Pushing his nausea down, Joss looked more closely at the wooden case which contained the antivampire weaponry. “This case isn’t exactly easy to carry around, is it? I mean, it seems kinda bulky and heavy. Are we supposed to have it with us all the time?”
Ash shook his head. “Not necessarily. The case is meant to store the weapons, yes, but there are other ways to carry them. Traditionally, Slayers carry the case their first year, but after that, they can request a holster pass, which is pretty much a concealed weapon permit from Headquarters.”
“Look, kid, most of your weapons information is in the guide. You’ll get one from Abraham. But explosives ... those are a delicate issue.” Morgan shifted his feet. He looked jumpy with excitement, as if he could contain his love of all things explosive no more. Throwing a glance at Ash, he said, “Do you mind?”
Ash closed his case and picked it up as he stood. As he turned and walked away, he released a sigh—one that seemed a bit like he was relieved that his part of this training was over for the moment. “By all means. I have better things to do anyway.”
Morgan smirked and called out to him, “Sure you don’t want to stick around, be the kid’s target?”
Ash didn’t answer. Joss got the feeling that Ash didn’t care much for either him or Morgan. Or both.
Standing, Joss looked at Morgan, an eager tension filling him at the idea of learning all about explosives from someone who seemed to enjoy them a little too much. “What are we going to blow up?”
Morgan sighed happily and slapped Joss on the back. “Kid ... you just said my seven favorite words.”
13
DEFENSE
Setting explosives the day before had been immeasurably entertaining—and terrifying—but when Joss woke to a note from Uncle Abraham that said to meet him in the clearing, he was certain that this day was going to be drastically different than yesterday in tone. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he did know that his pace getting to the clearing was a bit slower than it had been the day before.
As promised, he found Abraham in the clearing. Joss gave a wide berth to the shed where the whip now hung, and approached his uncle with false confidence. Abraham looked him over, seeming to size him up, and nodded. “I told Sirus he was wrong about you. Now ... before we begin, I want you to start thinking about why you are doing this. And when you find yourself at the darkest point, I want you to hold on to that reason, and it will get you through to the light. Got it?”
Joss didn’t have to think long. This was for Cecile. This was all for Cecile. He nodded at his uncle, who returned his nod and said, “Good. Now ... let’s start with basic defense.”
Joss nodded, but didn’t speak. He had a feeling his uncle liked it that way.
“Vampires are allergic to sunlight, so your best defense is to stay protected and hidden once the sun goes down. Of course, some missions call for nighttime confrontations, so in that case, you’ll want to be armed with your basic weapons: garlic and a stake.” He held up a small vial of cloudy yellow liquid. The aged label on the side read Garlic Juice in scripted text. Next he gestured to the stake in the holster at his hip. Joss found himself marveling that the things he’d seen in cheesy movies were right about vampires. The stake was handsome. Elegantly carved wood entwined with silver vines. The tip was sheer silver, too, and looked very, very sharp. He wondered briefly if Abraham had made it himself, or if it was some kind of gift or something, but didn’t bother asking. Slayers don’t question; they act. “They’re allergic to garlic, too. Some are more sensitive to sunlight than others. But garlic ... that’ll kill any of them if they swallow it or it gets in an open wound.”
Joss stood without speaking, wondering what else he’d seen on TV that was real. Were there really werewolves? Monster clowns? Shape-shifters? The possibilities were both endless and frightening. After all, if one thing existed, why couldn’t they all?
“But your best defense is this little number right here.” From within his jacket, Abraham pulled a small book. Its cover was rich, brown, worn leather. Embossed on the front were the initials S.S. “This is your field guide. It contains every protocol, every rule, every regulation put forth by the Slayer Society. If you have a question, this book contains the answer. It’s a Slayer’s most valuable tool. It’s also where you’ll make notes about vampire encounters—there’s a journal section at the back. Once a year, you’ll get a fresh copy. Keep up on those notes. The Society deems every bit of information to be extremely valuable.”
“Now,” Abraham said, a shadow passing over his face—one that sent a cruel chill down Joss’s spine, “shall we begin?”
Joss was about to ask what they would be beginning exactly, but there was no time. Abraham lunged at him, grabbing him by the throat. As Joss gasped for air, clutching his fingers, Abraham seethed. “When you’re out there on your own, no one will come to your rescue. No help will come. You’ll be on your own, fighting against an almost impossible foe. Defend yourself, Slayer.”
Before Joss could ask how, Abraham shoved him back by the throat and Joss fell to the ground, almost howling from the pain in his back, coughing wildly, trying desperately to get air into his lungs. He stayed there, crouched in the undergrowth, until his coughing had subsided, then looked up at his uncle, whose eyes were filled with pure disgust.
“Defend yourself. Because this time, I will not stop, just as our enemies will not stop. These monsters won’t cease in their attack just to spare the life of a young boy. They kill all humans—young and old. Grandmothers, infants ... they are evil incarnate, and we are mankind’s only hope of protection. If you won’t defend yourself, how can you be counted on to defend the entire world? Now defend yourself!” Abraham shot his arm forward, aiming for Joss’s throat. He connected, but this time, Joss managed to wriggle from his grasp before he could get a good grip.
Joss rolled away from him, his back screaming, and hurried to stand. His throat ached, but he wouldn’t give Abraham the chance to grab it again if he could help it. He faced his uncle, eyeing him down, wondering what Abraham would do next, or how far he would take this lesson of defense. Would Abraham go so far as to put his life in danger?
He examined his uncle’s face for a moment before nodding. Yes, he thought. Abraham would kill him before he’d let Joss leave a coward.
Without warning or words, Abraham flew across the clearing and attacked Joss, punching him in the gut, the side, the jaw. He hit Joss solidly in the center of his wounded back, send
ing Joss all but crying as he fell to the ground. “They know your weaknesses. They can read your thoughts. And they will exploit both.”
Abraham raised his fists again, and Joss’s heart raced. He panicked, curling into a ball, as if by closing in on himself, he might escape his uncle’s attack somehow. Then he held his arms up in front of him, trying his best to block the skilled blows.
Neither helped.
Abraham growled as he beat bruises into Joss’s flesh. “Show me what you’re made of, Slayer. Defend yourself!”
Pain shot through Joss’s side as Abraham’s fist connected again, and Joss cried out, forgetting about the wounds on his back entirely. He was almost certain he’d cracked a rib that time, and was definitely convinced that Abraham wasn’t about to stop. Like he’d said, he’d continue ... just like a vampire would continue. Joss swung his arm back, balled up his fist, and brought it forward as hard and fast as he could manage. His knuckles grazed Abraham’s jaw, but just barely. He swung again, this time with the left, and connected. Abraham rubbed his jaw and stepped back. There was no emotion on his face.
“That’s it for today.” Abraham turned and moved down the trail, leaving a blinking, confused, wondering Joss behind.
Joss looked around at the clearing, blinked some more, and hurried to catch up with his uncle. “What do you mean? We’re done?”
Abraham’s steps didn’t even slow as Joss reached his side. “For today, yes. I suggest you grab some lunch.”
Joss rubbed the aching muscles of his lower back as he walked. The last thing he wanted to do was to question his uncle’s methods, be he didn’t really feel like he had much of a choice. “But ... Uncle Abraham ... what exactly was the point of that?”
Abraham sighed. “I set out to teach you a lesson today, and it’s clear you’ve learned it. So we’re finished. For now.”
They’d reached the bottom of the hill and as Abraham stepped up on the porch, Joss said, “What was the lesson, exactly?”
The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill: First Kill Page 9