The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill: First Kill

by Heather Brewer

  Cratian nodded, an air of sadness hanging over him. “He may have killed Chazz, too. We just found him on the trail.”

  Joss swallowed hard, resisting the urge to dispute what Cratian had just said. Technically, the body had been in the woods, not on the trail. And technically, it had been Abraham who had found it. And wasn’t that convenient? Abraham had been the closest to Chazz while Joss was running and defending himself from Cratian and Ash. It would have been easy for Abraham to take Chazz out. So why wasn’t anyone else seeing it?

  Because, Joss thought, the Slayers loved Abraham. They knew him. He was one of them, and Joss wasn’t. Joss was just a boy who had been thrust into their routine, invaded their peace. They didn’t like him. They didn’t even want him here, despite the camaraderie he felt with them during his training sessions. He was alone in this. Not even Sirus seemed to care. He’d been a fool to count them among his family. He didn’t have a family. He was just the invisible boy. Nothing else. The flame died out completely and Joss lowered his head.

  As Ash and Cratian dragged him through the kitchen into the dining room, Joss lifted his head for a moment. He just couldn’t believe that Sirus wasn’t going to help him. He’d thought Sirus was his friend. Had the entire thing been nothing but a ruse? Some twisted kind of test set up by Abraham from the beginning?

  No. He refused to believe it.

  He looked at Sirus, wishing like anything that they could have ten minutes alone, so that Joss could explain everything. Sirus met his eyes. Joss had expected to see that the eternal kindness had faded away, like a mask ripped off after a masquerade. But there it was in Sirus’s eyes, compassion, understanding, and concern. Inside Joss’s chest, that flame flickered again. It was small and uncertain, but it was there.

  Ash released Joss’s arm and Cratian practically threw him into a chair. Then Ash pointed at him, his finger so close to Joss’s face that it tickled his eyelashes, and said, “Make one move and I’ll tie you to that chair, boy.”

  Joss said nothing, but relaxed his body, trying to retain some sense of calm, and hoping it would show the Slayers that he wasn’t about to attempt an escape. Ash stood back, folding his arms in front of him, keeping a close, watchful eye on their prisoner.

  Moments later, the silent room was filled with sound as Abraham entered the house, bringing the remaining Slayers with him. No one spoke—clearly Abraham had briefed them all before bringing them back to the house—but the sound of their boots on the aged hardwood floors reminded Joss of thunder. It was fitting, he thought, because a storm was coming. One that Joss might not survive.

  Once all the Slayers were in the room, some seated on chairs around the table, some standing—all of them wearing expressions of anger, hurt, and disbelief—Abraham’s voice boomed through the room. “Joss McMillan, I accuse you of the foulest deed. Turning on your fellow Slayers, betraying our trust, and taking the lives of both Malek and Chazz. How do you plead?”

  “Let’s not forget protocol, Abraham.” Sirus’s voice was hushed, but nevertheless, it commanded the attention of every Slayer there. He was seated across the table from Joss, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his head bowed slightly, as if in prayer. He raised his head and looked pointedly at Abraham. “According to Slayer Society rules, one cannot be tried by his individual group, merely accused. It’s up to the Society to try and convict a Slayer. What’s more, Joss isn’t an indoctrinated Slayer, so he isn’t held by our rules.”

  Abraham’s face went white. Daggers shot from his eyes into Sirus, which told Joss that his uncle wasn’t used to being wrong. “True. Joss hasn’t been indoctrinated. But if he is guilty of taking the lives of two Slayers, then something must be done. A person cannot simply commit crimes and evade justice.”

  Sirus shrugged, his voice eerily calm. “So involve the police.”

  Abraham’s response wasn’t nearly as loud, brash or boastful as before. It was as if Sirus had somehow managed to take a bit of the wind out of his sails. “You know we can’t do that, Sirus. Local authorities would complicate the Society’s plans.”

  “Besides, this is your nephew we’re talking about, and you wouldn’t want him to go to prison, would you, Abraham?” Sirus met and held Abraham’s gaze. It was a dare. Almost as if he and Sirus had previously discussed just this, and Sirus was bringing it up again just to prove a point. The very thought made Joss’s heart flutter. Had his uncle actually expressed an ounce of care about him? No. He doubted it strongly. Abraham didn’t care for him. He didn’t even like him.

  Abraham dropped his eyes to the table for a moment. “My relationship with Joss has nothing to do with this hearing.”

  “Doesn’t it, Uncle Abraham?” Joss stood slowly, pushing his chair back and placing his palms on the table’s surface to keep them from shaking. He had put up with so much up until now. Abraham’s seeming disappointment in him from the very start. The accusations of murder. The personal training sessions that seemed more like Abraham’s method of punishing him for something he couldn’t identify. And now he was being put on trial without even being asked whether or not he had any idea what was really going on. It was too much to bear, and Joss could no longer stay silent. “If you ask me, I think it has everything to do with it. You’ve never liked me, and certainly never hoped that I would be the next Slayer in our bloodline. You’ve been after me the entire time I’ve been here. It’s like you want me to fail. Like you don’t want me to ever be indoctrinated into the Society and are determined to punish me for trying. And isn’t it convenient that Slayers start dying off the moment I show up? What an easy way to be rid of the embarrassment of me for good.”

  A low mutter raced through the crowd, one that Sirus gave voice to. “What are you saying, Joss? That Abraham knows who took the lives of Malek and Chazz?”

  Joss met his friend’s eyes. As he readied the words on his tongue, a shock of fear shot through him. Fear of their reaction, mostly, but also fear of what Abraham might do or say. Not to mention fear that he’d put Sirus into a very uncomfortable position with the Society. “More than that, Sirus. I think Abraham killed them and is using me as a scapegoat.”

  The room fell so silent that Joss could hear his own heart thumping inside of his chest. No one moved, no one breathed for a very long time. Then Abraham shook his head slowly. “It’s senseless. It’s asinine. Why would I wait twenty years to start taking the lives of Slayers?”

  “Maybe you were waiting for the right moment. Or maybe your loyalties have only recently shifted.” Joss tilted his head some as he met his uncle’s eyes.

  Abraham moved so fast that Joss barely had time to register it before his uncle was just inches from his face, gripping the front of Joss’s shirt. “Are you actually questioning my loyalty to the cause? You haven’t been training for half a summer yet. What do you know of loyalty, boy?”

  Joss’s heart was racing. He knew his uncle was capable of killing him, and at the moment, he got the impression that Abraham was anxious to take his life. But he had to remain strong, had to stay vigilant. It was the only way to prove his innocence to the others. To Sirus, who didn’t need for him to prove it at all. “I know that the vampire who spoke to me in town knew you by name and acted as though you’d interacted several times.”

  A look crossed Abraham’s face then—one filled with shock, confusion, and amazingly, fear. He released Joss’s shirt and stepped back, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”

  Joss’s eyes were locked on his uncle’s. Because there was something else, something that surprised even him. He was looking into the eyes of an innocent man. Shaking his head, too, admonishing himself for having jumped to such a drastic conclusion when the answer to the recent Slayer murders was so obvious, Joss said, “It may be ridiculous, but it doesn’t feel good to be accused, does it?”

  Abraham paced the room for a moment before turning back to Joss, his voice calm. Almost as calm as Sirus’s had been a moment before. “Did you kill Malek, Joss?”


  “No.”

  “And Chazz? Did you take his life?”

  “No, Uncle. I didn’t.” Joss held Abraham’s gaze, hoping that he would see the innocence in Joss’s eyes the way that Joss had seen it in his.

  Then Abraham sighed, shaking his head. He tilted his face up toward the ceiling and sighed again. “So who did?”

  While Joss was certain that the question was completely rhetorical, he took his seat once again and said, “If it’s not you, Abraham, and it’s not me, then maybe it’s the obvious.”

  The surrounding Slayers blinked at him, overwhelmed by recent events and the loss of their friends. They needed guidance, and Joss was happy to give it to them. “Vampires. There’s a hive nearby. Maybe they killed the Slayers. And what’s more, wouldn’t doing so in a way that made us accuse one another be a brilliant way of spreading doubt among our ranks? It would weaken us as a whole, has weakened us as a whole, and isn’t that the way to really take down a well-oiled machine?”

  Joss looked from one face to the next—his fellow Slayers, his family. They were broken, but could be mended. And Joss wanted more than anything to lead that charge. He loved them. Here, among his fellow Slayers, he was anything but invisible.

  One by one they nodded, accepting his theory. It was so obvious, and such an embarrassment that they would turn inwardly rather than toward the enemy in a time of crisis. Sirus relaxed in his seat, looking more than a little bit relieved that the accusations hadn’t gone any further. Something told Joss that being put on trial by the Slayer Society was the last thing that he wanted to experience. Abraham stepped closer and extended his arm, shaking Joss’s hand. His eyes were warm and apologetic. “I relinquish my accusation, nephew.”

  Joss smiled, but it was fleeting. Smiling hurt too much with all the bruises he’d received on his run. “Ditto, Abraham. We’re cool.”

  “Joss? What have they done to you?” Kat dropped the box of medical supplies she been carrying over from the other house and rushed into the room, her horrified eyes locked on Joss’s face, which was still crusted with dried blood and the filth of the trail. She looked worried, and that suspicion was still there in her eyes.

  As she hurried across the room to Joss, Abraham caught her by the arm and tossed her backward. “I don’t recall inviting you to this gathering, miss.”

  Kat tightened her jaw stubbornly, defiantly. Her eyes were bright and clear, her hair shining in the afternoon light that was pouring in through the window. For the first time, Joss thought that she was beautiful, absolutely stunning. She practically hissed at Abraham, “I don’t remember asking your permission for me to be here. Now what have you done to Joss? He’s covered in bruises and blood. His eye is all puffed up. That gash on his forehead is oozing. He looks awful! If you hurt him, I swear, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Abraham’s tone was cool and crisp. Joss knew he didn’t care much for Kat, but he wasn’t even trying to hide his displeasure at her company now. “This, my dear, is none of your concern.”

  Without warning, Kat slapped Abraham hard across the face, the noise sounding out into the room, shocking them all. Joss sucked in his breath in a surprised gasp.

  Abraham reached up, touching his fingers lightly to his cheek. Then he drew his arm back, as if to backhand Kat a good one, but Sirus and Joss were on him in an instant. They pulled him away from Kat, who stood there glaring at him defiantly. The other Slayers didn’t interfere, just watched quietly, as if waiting to see how this whole thing might play itself out. Finally, Abraham wrenched himself free of their grasp and turned to Sirus. “Either she leaves tomorrow ... or you do.”

  A sick feeling filled Joss’s insides. He knew that Abraham wasn’t just saying that Sirus would be packing his bags and leaving. He was saying something horrible, that Sirus would be kicked out of the Society. Or worse.

  He wasn’t sure if his uncle had been implying death, but he wasn’t about to rule it out as a possibility. After all, he had yet to put all the Society’s rules to memory. Maybe Sirus’s insubordination over the years had been more serious than Joss had realized. Maybe Sirus’s life was in danger, all because of his inability to leave his daughter again for an entire summer. Joss hoped not, but he really had no idea what Abraham had meant, other than the obvious: get Kat out of here. Now.

  Sirus moved to Kat and gently guided her out the back door by the elbow. As Joss followed, he glanced at Abraham, not wanting to anger him, but knowing that he couldn’t leave his friend alone. Not now. But Abraham wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  As Joss moved out the door, he could feel the heat and fuming anger pouring off of Kat. That, coupled with Sirus’s tense silence, made for an awkward walk to the cabin next door. By the time they reached it, Joss was certain that Kat’s head was going to explode.

  Sirus opened the front door and Kat stepped inside. Once Joss had come in and closed the door behind him, she turned to him. “What did they do to you? It looks like you’ve been wrestling or fighting or something. What happened? And don’t give me another one of your stupid vicious wildlife stories, because I’m not buying it. What really happened to you, Joss?”

  He looked at Sirus, who folded his arms in front of him. Sirus’s voice was hushed, as if he were trying to contain his emotions. “Kat, I want you to go upstairs and pack your things. I’m putting you on a train home tonight. It’s for the best.”

  Kat’s jaw dropped. “The best? Who says? Abraham? Come on, Sirus, you can’t send me home. You promised we’d spend the summer together!”

  Joss watched Sirus carefully. He looked as though he’d crumble at any moment. He needed help. He needed strength. He needed a friend. Joss looked at Kat. “I think you should do what he says, Kat. Your father has very good reasons for everything he’s done. You should trust him, and just go pack your things.”

  Furious tears filled Kat’s eyes and for a moment, Joss was certain that she’d slap him even harder than she’d slapped Abraham. Then Kat turned and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. He turned back to Sirus, to try and offer some kind of comfort to his friend, but Sirus just shook his head and walked away. Joss took that as his cue that Sirus very much needed to be alone.

  As he exited the cabin, Joss inhaled a deep breath and released it into the outside air. His insides felt heavy, but he wasn’t exactly certain why. Kat would be safer away from this place, and Sirus would be safer without her here. Joss and Abraham had been cleared of any murderous accusations. And, smallest of all, Joss had managed to complete his run and was reasonably certain he’d passed his test. All, for the moment, seemed right with the world.

  So if that was the case, why did he feel so upset, so lost, so angry? There had to be a reason he was feeling this way, and it couldn’t just be the fact that vampires were lurking nearby, picking off Slayers one by one. He wasn’t homesick—the comforting feeling of home had left him long ago, with the loss of Cecile. And though he was physically injured, it hadn’t bruised his ego. Quite the contrary, in fact—Joss felt really good about his ability to stand up to two extremely talented fighters. So if none of those things could be the cause of his upset, then what could?

  As Joss crossed the yard, he turned back to Sirus’s and Kat’s cabin. Slowly, he realized exactly what was wrong. He was going to miss Kat. Despite the fact that he’d pushed her away, and told her to listen to Sirus and pack, he was going to miss her more than he’d ever admit to. Because she was his friend, his first real friend. He knew with absolutely certainty why his chest felt so heavy and his stomach ached.

  Because pieces of your heart clearly weigh more when they’re sitting shattered at the bottom of your stomach.

  23

  FOR YOU, CECILE

  Joss woke after a blissfully dreamless sleep and rolled over in his bed, reluctant to open his eyes. He’d tossed and turned for much of the night, repeating to himself every moment that he and Kat had shared, despite his reluctance to even think about her. Thinking about Kat hurt, and t
hinking about the fact that he was a large part of what was making her leave made him hurt even more. But despite his efforts not to have her in his thoughts, there she was, with every breath, every heartbeat.

  He’d never really had a friend before, and certainly had never felt about anyone the way that he felt about Kat. He wanted to protect her, the way he’d wanted to protect Cecile. And the only way to do that was to push her away. The only way to save her was to hurt her, and that hurt him as well.

  More than he would ever dare admit to.

  Finally, reluctantly, Joss cracked open his eyes. Abraham was sitting quietly in a chair beside his bed, but spoke as if they were continuing a conversation. “You’re quite right about that, nephew. I never hoped that you were the next Slayer in our bloodline. I’d hoped for your cousin Greg, or even his brother, Henry. But not you. You were the runt of the litter, so to speak. Greg was virile and quick, with a steady hand and a confidence that normally pervades our family. Henry was less confident, less physically apt than his brother, but with some training and direction, he would have made a fine Slayer. Then there was you.”

  He didn’t say it with any intended hurt or malice. His words simply were. They rang of truth, a truth that could not have been easy to share. Nor were they easy to hear. “You were born a month early, too eager to come into the world, too impatient. And there were signs of weakness even then. You were born jaundiced because of a slight liver problem. It cleared up within months, but other weaknesses followed. You learned to walk much later than your cousins and had a reluctance to run from a very young age. But then ... you found your legs, and I saw that you could outrun anyone around you. I wanted it not to be true—your incredible agility—waited for it to prove itself false, but there it was. You had a Slayer’s agility, and later, a Slayer’s skill with a weapon. You blew everyone away at archery, whether it was at camp or in school. And I knew that you were one of us, and that I’d have to train you, despite your remaining weakness.”