Slayer

by Kiersten White

  “We don’t ask,” I say, still angry with my mother from this morning. And, well, from forever. “We just take it.” Then, thinking about the events of the morning, I remember a complication. “Are we on lockdown again?” If we are, there’s no way we’ll save Cosmina in time, even if we can find her info.

  “Why would we be?” Eve asks.

  So my mother didn’t tell them about the hellhound. That’s odd and a bit troubling. But I won’t be the one to admit I drew another hellhound right to our front door—and that my mom killed it, not me. I wonder why she didn’t think it merited lockdown. She doesn’t know what I suspect, that the hellhound was looking for the demon and had no purpose at the castle other than chasing me. Is it possible she doesn’t want everyone to know how bad I messed up in bringing the hellhound here? If so, it would be almost kind of her. I can’t imagine that’s why, but I can’t think of why else.

  “No reason,” I say. I’m not sure if I’m covering for my mother or she’s covering for me.

  • • •

  Eve promises us an hour. We give her a head start to get my mother out of her rooms. Then Artemis, Rhys, Leo, and I hurry to the Council members’ residence wing. They’re on the south end, which stays cooler during the summer and warmer during the winter. Our wing was originally servants’ quarters. The rooms are claustrophobic, the hallways mazes. But this wing housed the important people both historically and now. The hallways are wide enough for all of us to walk side by side, and the rugs are plush beneath our feet. The windows here were more carefully updated, and though they’re still narrow, the glass actually fits.

  Leo guards the entrance to the wing. He’ll warn us if my mother is on her way, but hopefully this won’t take long. Her rooms are at the very end of the wing. I wonder which door hides Ruth Zabuto, muttering over dead relics and useless crystals. We pass a door that’s been fussily surrounded with vases. I’m positive it’s Wanda Wyndam-Pryce’s, and I want to stop and key it. Wanda sometimes pretends like she can’t remember my name. You can count the teens in the castle on one hand. She does it to make me feel small.

  Instead, we go straight to our target. I’ve been in my mother’s rooms only a handful of times. She comes to ours if she needs us, or we meet in one of the common areas. The last time we were here, it was because we had baked a cake for her birthday. The cake wasn’t good, and neither was the surprise celebration. She tried to pretend like she was enjoying it, but we couldn’t even manage a conversation. It was awful.

  This castle was supposed to function as a boarding school. I wish it really were. It would be easier if my mom never saw us because she didn’t live here instead of because she just . . . never saw us. At least Artemis can say that our mother actually needs her sometimes, like when she asked for Artemis’s help on this database.

  What would that feel like?

  Artemis picks the lock faster than she should be able to. I raise my eyebrows. She shrugs. “Just one of the many skills I thought would be useful if I were an active-duty Watcher.” Her voice is so determinedly unemotional that I feel a pang, and for the thousandth time, I wonder about the test that determined infinitely capable Artemis wasn’t full Watcher material.

  My mother’s suite hasn’t changed. There’s a sterile sitting room—a stiff sofa, a high-backed armchair, a practical ottoman. A metal table with one chair where she must take her meals. Something about the lack of a second chair makes me lonely. At least I have Artemis, even if we haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. She’s still there. Does my mom see the lack of my dad every time she faces the emptiness across the table? Artemis and I trade our memories of him back and forth like gifts. They’re fuzzy and worn around the edges, shared so many times I don’t remember which are hers and which are mine. Who does my mother share anything with now? Why can’t she talk to us, give us new memories of him to treasure?

  A door to our right leads to her bedroom, which is as impersonal as a hotel room. The bedspread is plain white, the nightstand empty except for one item.

  I walk over to it, drawn like a magnet. It’s a photo of our family—our whole family—the last one we ever took. My father has his arm around my mother. Artemis and I stand in front of them, beaming with gap-toothed grins. Our hair is in matching pigtail braids. I should stare at my father, but I find myself unable to look away from my mother.

  Dream mother wasn’t a fantasy I made up after all. Her smile is dazzling. She looks utterly vibrant, more happiness captured in a single frame than I’ve seen from her in years.

  I pick it up, running my finger over the family I once had.

  “I can’t believe it.” Artemis groans.

  I set the photo down. I hadn’t even noticed the laptop on a utilitarian desk in the corner. Artemis has it open, but the screen is asking for a password. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “She changed the password! I don’t know how she even knew how to do it.” Artemis rifles through drawers and stacks of papers. “Maybe she wrote it down.”

  Rhys helps her search while I stand there, dazed and useless. I know my mother sleeps here, lives here. But it feels so empty. Idly, I check out the nightstand drawer. In it are two leather-bound journals. I instantly recoil, remembering my own journal being read aloud.

  But these are Watcher diaries covered in dust. My mother hasn’t looked at them in a long time, but they must be here for a reason. I want to show them to Artemis, but I’m worried she’ll tell me to leave them. I don’t want to. My mother never gives me anything—so I’ll force her to. I tuck them into my waistband at my back, pulling my loose shirt out to cover them.

  “Got it!” Artemis triumphantly holds up a piece of paper and types in the password. Once the laptop loads, Artemis quickly taps through, then she swears. “It’s gone. Deleted. And I can’t find the files anywhere. Even the trash folder is emptied. She wrote down her password, but she emptied her trash folder?”

  “Does that worry you?” I ask. “She not only had a secret database, she also wiped it?”

  Artemis twists her lips and stares at the laptop as though it will reveal our mother’s mysteries. As with all things maternal in our lives, she’s disappointed. “I don’t know. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe the database never worked out. We can’t jump to conclusions.”

  “We better get out of here.” I can’t help imagining my mother alone in here every night. Where does she keep her gun? Is that why the nightstand is nearly bare? Or does she put it under her pillow?

  We hurry out, remembering to lock the door behind us. We’re passing Wanda Wyndam-Pryce’s room when Leo rushes toward us. He motions for us to turn around and walk with him. Then he laughs. “And that’s how we saved an entire birthday party from vampires. I’ll never look at piñata sticks the same! Neither will those poor kids.”

  “Nina? Artemis?”

  I spin around and feign surprise. My mother walks toward us, frowning in suspicion.

  “Oh, hey, Mom.” I pray that she didn’t notice the bulge of stolen books under my shirt.

  “What are you all doing here?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Jamison-Smythe.” Leo looks like one of those stock photos that comes in the empty frames as he smiles at her. Utterly harmless and handsome. It strikes me that I haven’t seen a genuine expression from him, even in front of his own mother. Everything is carefully posed, deliberate. Fake. Some part of me knows that the last few years weren’t as easy for him and Eve as she’s made it sound, but what made him so closed off?

  I remember the painful awkwardness of this morning, his vulnerability in saying how happy he was to see me again. Maybe I caught a glimpse of the real Leo. And then I was curt and dismissive. Ugh, I hate that I feel bad now. I shouldn’t ever have to feel bad about Leo.

  “We’re going to look at my DVD collection,” he says. “We thought we’d have a movie night tonight. I think everyone needs to decompress a little.”

  To my surprise, my mom looks at me. Really looks at me. One of her hands twitche
s as though she wants to reach out to me. Then she frowns. “What happened to your forehead?”

  I lift my hand to the bruise. “Oh, I—”

  “I opened our bedroom door right as she was about to grab the doorknob.” Artemis grimaces apologetically. “I got her hard.”

  I think our mom buys it. I’m torn between feeling triumphant—we finally have secrets from her!—and hurt at how easily she buys our lame excuses. She doesn’t want to push deeper. She pulls a few pound notes from her pocket and holds them out. I take them, numbly. Why is she giving me money?

  “We don’t have a good television here. It will be nice to get away from this castle. Go see a film in a theater. You can pick up that helpful boyfriend of yours, Rhys. Leo, you have your license?”

  Leo nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Go be teenagers.” Her smile is as tight as Artemis’s ponytail. “Try it out. You might like it.” She’s clearly trying to get rid of us, even though she and I both know there was a hellhound sniffing around this morning.

  But I can’t call her on her shifty behavior without revealing my own secrets—including the demon in Cillian’s shed. So we walk stiffly past her. She doesn’t tell us to invite Jade and Imogen, so apparently only we have this free pass from being Watchers.

  We never get outings. My mom is too paranoid, and Artemis and Rhys are too busy. The most we ever have is an occasional afternoon in Shancoom. Which doesn’t have a movie theater, so we’ll have to range out at least an hour if we’re going to follow her instructions. I dart to my room under the excuse of changing my shirt and grabbing a coat. I also hide the stolen books under my mattress.

  I meet the others out at the garage. The autumn sun slants toward late afternoon, which surprises me. I lost a lot of time to head trauma.

  Leo picks the sleek black Range Rover left over from the days when the Watchers had a whole fleet of vehicles. Back then we also had boats, helicopters, and a private jet. Now we have one golf cart, three cars, a motorcycle, and two ATVs. Plus scooters and tricycles for the Littles.

  “Are we really going to a movie?” Artemis sits beside me in the back seat. She sounds dubious but a little excited. She only gets one afternoon a week off, and this isn’t her day, so she’s hit the jackpot. Normally, I’d love to see a movie—with Artemis and Rhys, at least. Not Leo. But today . . .

  “Cosmina was still alive in my dream,” I say, “but I don’t know how long that will stay true. Not that I have any idea how to find her, since Mom’s database was a bust. Still, we can’t go sit in a movie theater if there’s a chance she needs our help, right?”

  Leo drives carefully out of the garage. “Speaking of your mother . . .”

  Sure enough, our mother’s standing at the castle door, watching us leave. I wouldn’t put it past her to have the car tracked too.

  She told us to pick up Cillian. And even though we’re ignoring the rest of her plan, it’s a good idea. I need to make sure he understands not to go home. And I want him with us as much as possible so we can keep him safe in case there are more hellhounds. I call him as Leo navigates the bumpy unpaved road. We maintain it enough to be usable, but if you didn’t know it was here, it’d be hard to find.

  Cillian answers after the first ring. “Nina? Do you have any more info about—”

  I cut him off, unsure if his voice is loud enough for the others to hear. “Hey! I’m in a car with Artemis, Rhys, and Leo, my, uh, new Watcher. We’re coming to get you.”

  “You have a Watcher? You are a Watcher. And why are you coming to get me?”

  “It’s complicated. All of it. But allegedly we’re going to a movie.”

  “Allegedly?”

  “We were trying to break into my mom’s computer to get information on a Slayer we think might be in trouble, and while we were leaving, we got caught and shooed out of the castle.” I pause to ask the others. “Where are we going?”

  “If there’s a Slayer in danger, we’ll do whatever we have to in order to find her.” Leo speaks so matter-of-factly, it sounds like he’s reading it straight from the Watchers’ guide.

  “Wait,” Cillian says. “Who’s the Slayer and why is she in danger?”

  “I’m not really sure. Like I said, we didn’t get the information we needed.” The Range Rover hits an aggressive pothole and I bounce, almost dropping the phone. “I dreamed she was being held hostage by a vampire. Not much to go on. Blue hair. I think she’s in Dublin. Her name’s Cosmina.”

  There’s a pause, and I wonder if I accidentally hung up on him. Then he says, “Got her.”

  “What?”

  “Cosmina Enescu. Nineteen, single, blue hair. Lives in a crappy flat in a not-nice area of Dublin. She’s quite fit, though.”

  “You found her!” I shout. “How did you find her? Are you a hacker or something?”

  “Love, it’s called Facebook. I’ll make you a profile if you want. No one has to be a hacker these days. Cosmina is an unusual enough name, so there weren’t many options. And blue hair? Only one.”

  My heart is pounding. We found her. And that means we can save her. Assuming she needs saving, and I wasn’t just dreaming of some random girl in Dublin. I don’t know whether I’m more relieved that she’s findable or terrified that now I really do have to chase her down and try to help. And as a Slayer, not as a Watcher or medic.

  But in the last couple of days I’ve faced two hellhounds and a demon, not to mention my long-lost crush. The dream came to me. That has to mean my inherent Slayerness thought I needed it or could handle it. Doesn’t it? I close my eyes, thinking of any other details. “Is there a building, maybe abandoned, called . . .” The light swinging. Cosmina’s blue hair, and . . . “O’Hannigan Ironworks?”

  “Give me a sec.”

  I wait, holding my breath. I hope he finds it. And I hope in equal parts it doesn’t exist.

  “Got it. Also in Dublin.”

  That’s that, then. Slayering I go. “Thanks, Cillian. We’ll be there in five minutes.” I hang up, trying not to tremble.

  Artemis looks concerned. “Why are we bringing Cillian? It could be dangerous.”

  So could leaving him here. I scramble for an excuse. “He’s got the address and a better phone, and he’s better at finding information than we are. We’ll make him stay in the car.”

  Leo drives to the soda shop, and Cillian comes out with a basket of Cokes and snacks. He always special orders root beer for me because no one else here likes it. It’s one of many things I miss from my childhood. Along with water parks, air-conditioned malls, dads who aren’t dead, and houses that haven’t been burned down in lung-searing terror. Oh, and also tacos.

  “Who’s switching up front?” Rhys asks, ready to climb in the back so he can sit beside Cillian. I freeze. I already have to spend all this time with Leo now. I don’t want to have to sit next to him for the whole drive. Then I might have to feel bad about more things, and I don’t want to feel bad when it comes to Leo. I only want to feel angry.

  Artemis, in a rare move of emotional sensitivity, picks up on my tension. “I got shotgun.” She meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. I mouth thank you. I never told her about my crush on Leo, though it was probably obvious. But since I didn’t tell her about the Honora Poetry Incident, she doesn’t know why I’m uncomfortable around Leo, only that I am. And I’ve never been more grateful for her protective instinct than I am in this moment.

  When everyone’s settled, we leave Shancoom for a date with a vampire and the hopefully still-living Cosmina. It’s time for me to be a Slayer.

  But if I’m being totally honest?

  I’d rather go to a movie. At least I know how to do that.

  The hunter had made another mistake.

  She had to leave before the fire reached its inevitable conclusion. Even she could do only so much to avoid being arrested or questioned by the clueless police officers who would arrive on the scene. So once the trap had been set, confident that the girls could not escape, s
he had walked away.

  Did some part of her not want to see them die? Was she really that weak? She would sabotage the mission for her own tender sensibilities?

  She should have stood in the yard and watched them burn. Killing them was the right thing to do. She didn’t question that. She never had.

  She listened, numb, as the voice on the other end of the line berated her. On the TV, Jack died a frozen death, yet again. No matter how many times she watched Titanic, Jack always died and Rose always lived. Because that’s how it was written. Who could change what was written?

  She drew on her arm with her ballpoint pen, pressing so hard she raised welts beneath the thin black lines. She wrote their names. And then she crossed them out with such a vicious slash, she drew blood.

  She could change it. She would.

  But not right now. The girls’ mother had made the only choice possible, fleeing back into the Watchers’ arms. It was less than ideal for the hunter. The things that needed to be done couldn’t be done in their headquarters. The mother had allies too high up, ones who refused to see the truth.

  The girls were protected. Watched. But the hunter could watch too. She could be patient. She had time. Unlike the girls, who had only a countdown—either to their destruction or to everyone else’s. And the hunter would not let the world down. Even if it kept letting her down.

  12

  AUTUMN IS CLAIMING THE EMERALD Isle, shifting greens into golds, yellows, and oranges. I love wrapping myself in the same colors, my burnished hair reflecting the brilliant foliage. My coat is a bright marigold peacoat. I pull it against me tighter, seeking comfort, and then realize it’s wrong for what we’re doing. I should be wearing black. Something inconspicuous. Like Artemis.