Slayer

by Kiersten White

  It cuts deep into the arm of a werewolf.

  “No!” I pull the sword free. The werewolf howls in pain. As I stumble toward it to help, something slams into my back, knocking me to the ground. The sword skitters away. I roll, but a hellhound pins my shoulders. I’m face-to-face with my doom.

  It yelps, collapsing onto me. The sword sticks out of its back. I shove the hellhound off, then wrench the sword free. Cosmina’s on the other end of the pit. She must have thrown the blade. She’s got the uninjured werewolf pinned, her arm around its throat. She’s going to snap its neck the same way I snapped my first hellhound’s.

  But that isn’t a hellhound. It’s a person.

  “Stop!” I sprint to her, grab the werewolf, and throw it against the wire. It falls, unconscious.

  “I had that one!” Cosmina snarls.

  Slayers only kill demons. Not innocents. “They’re people!”

  “Not tonight, they aren’t!”

  The buzzer sounds once, twice, three times. They’re dumping the rest on us.

  I drop the sword and get on one knee, making my hands into a cradle. Cosmina doesn’t hesitate. She puts her foot in my hands and I throw upward with all my might. She sails through the air, landing just past the edge of the pit. And then she runs. Away from me.

  What. The. Hell.

  I’m alone.

  No, I’m definitely not alone. I have nine new monsters surrounding me.

  15

  I PICK UP THE SWORD. My limbs shake. My vision tunnels. It’s like the worst asthma attack ever, only I’m still breathing. But for how much longer?

  One-on-one, I might have had a chance. But fighting nine monsters at once? I can’t protect myself and the werewolves. I doubt I can even protect myself.

  The first zompire lunges. I swing on pure instinct, taking off its head. A hellhound jumps at me and I slice into its stomach. The blood spurts, coating my hands in liquid so hot it burns. I want to puke. But that part of me is pushed aside by the kill-kill-kill running through my brain and body like an electric current.

  I give myself over to it entirely.

  The hellhound is dead. I swing up and take the arm off one of the other zompires. That doesn’t even slow it. I spin, kicking high and catching it on the head. It stumbles into the wire, its clothes catching there.

  The other two hellhounds tear at their dead packmate. I lower my head and run at one of the remaining werewolves, throwing it into the wire. The second werewolf grabs me, tossing me through the air. I land hard on my back but roll away from its pounce. The werewolf pins me. Then it yelps and goes limp, a deadweight on me. I shove it off. There’s a dart in its shoulder.

  With a whining yelp, the third active werewolf goes down, a dart in its chest. I pick up the sword as the hellhounds lose interest in their meal. They both leap at me at once. I slash one, spin, kick the other. It falls shy of the wires and scrambles to its feet. I lift the sword and jab. It goes in the hellhound’s mouth, straight through the back of its skull. I try to pull the blade free.

  It’s stuck.

  The other hellhound jumps. I yank the sword up, swinging the dead hellhound’s body as a weapon. The impact sends both hellhounds—alive and dead—into the wire.

  I stand in the center of the pit, panting. There are bodies all around me. Most are dead. The six werewolves are still alive. I’m so busy counting I don’t notice movement until something falls to the ground behind me. A singed hellhound with a crossbow bolt in its back is dead inches from me.

  Leo is standing on the edge of the pit, holding a crossbow. He looks determined. He also looks terrified. “Are you okay?” he shouts.

  I lift a shaking, blood-covered hand to give him a thumbs-up. One of the barriers from the viewing area sails over the side and lands at the bottom, leaning against the barbed wire.

  Artemis appears, leveraging another one so they form a ladder.

  “Wait until I cut the power!” she shouts.

  Leo fires the crossbow at someone I can’t see, then reloads. There’s a crashing noise and the electric hum is gone. I can’t stay in this pit a second longer, surrounded by the carnage. Soaked in the knowledge that I was pure Slayer and it still wouldn’t have been enough without Leo and Artemis to help me. I run at the barrier ladder, climbing up as fast as I can. My clothes catch on the barbs. I tear free without pausing.

  I rush out of the pit and into Leo. He catches me, his arms tightening around me.

  “Thank God,” he says. In that moment, I finally know I’m okay. I’m going to be okay. I saved Cosmina. None of the werewolves died. That was me.

  Leo releases me and I stumble a bit, feeling drunk on adrenaline and I don’t know what else. Artemis joins us, and I grab her hands, my whole body still a live wire of sparks. “We did it!”

  She raises one eyebrow. “Yeah.” Her tone is more bruising than any hits I took in the pit. She turns away from me, her stance solid and ready for anything. But everyone who was here is gone or running. The platform is empty, the organizers vanished. The table that held the bets has been overturned. Money and strips of paper litter the ground.

  There are also several bodies. They all look like demons, but in the darkness, I can’t be sure. Who killed them? Artemis? Or . . .

  “Where’s Cosmina?” I ask.

  My question is answered as the vampire from upstairs skids across the floor, sliding straight over the edge into the pit. Cosmina stalks past us.

  “Come on, love,” the vampire says, standing and dusting herself off. “We didn’t mean any harm. I put a lot of money on you winning!”

  Cosmina holds out her hand. “Give me the crossbow,” she says.

  Artemis looks like she’s gearing up for an attack. I put a hand on her shoulder. I didn’t save Cosmina just for Artemis to rip her limb from limb.

  Leo’s face is hard. “You left Athena in there alone.”

  Cosmina spins, hitting Leo across the jaw. Leo barely budges. Cosmina swears, cradling her hand. I flex my own fingers. I didn’t notice pain down in the pit. That’s as unnerving as anything else. Every part of my body accepted what it was doing. Embraced it, even.

  “Fine,” Cosmina says. She picks up one of the remaining wooden barriers and snaps it. Then she throws it like a javelin. The vampire doesn’t have time to duck as the wood shears her head from her body.

  Artemis sweeps an arm at the ruined venue. “What the hell was this?”

  I’m stuck looking into the pit. The werewolf I hit with the sword is bleeding heavily. I do my best not to look at the hellhounds.

  I left corpses. My revulsion is almost as strong as the rush of adrenaline I’d had. And that’s what bothers me most: I was terrified, and it was awful, but . . . I also liked it. Loved it. The heady rush of battle. The iron tang of blood in the air. The way my body moved, a weapon in and of itself.

  The power was intoxicating.

  I’m a healer. I’ve dedicated my life to it. Fixing bodies is all I’ve ever wanted to do. But now? I have a body count.

  Cosmina sounds indifferent as she answers Artemis’s question. “I got caught eliminating their supply of zompires.”

  “Zompires?” Artemis asks.

  If the term is new even to Artemis, that says something. I shake off all the thoughts about myself and what I did to focus on Cosmina’s reply.

  “Zombie vampire. It’s what happens now when a vampire sires a new victim. With the hell connections cut off, any new vampire turns into those things. They form hives. I’ve got Dublin almost all clear. Didn’t realize these assholes were keeping them for a reason.” She stretches her neck, sighing. Then she starts gathering the money scattered on the floor, shoving it into her pockets. “They run this whole bloody town. Now I’ve got to figure out how to make this up to them.”

  “Demons run Dublin?” Leo sounds surprised and concerned. We’re only a couple of hours from Dublin. Does that make it our responsibility? And why weren’t we already on top of it?

  “Not demons
. The people who organized this.”

  “And you let them?” Artemis asks.

  Cosmina shrugs. “They’re cleaning it up. They’ve made Dublin safer from supernatural beasties than it’s been in decades. I tip them off when I find something too big to handle.”

  Artemis is rightfully aghast. “You work with these people? The ones that hold demon fights? That threw you in a pit to die?”

  “There’s a saying where I come from: Hold hands with the devil until you’re both over the bridge. I haven’t found the other side of the bridge yet.”

  “Come on,” I say. I’m overwhelmed, but there’s still a task that needs doing. I try to focus on it. “We have to help the werewolves. Get them somewhere safe.”

  Cosmina scoffs. “You mean the things that tried to rip us limb from limb?”

  “It’s not their fault! And I cut that one. I didn’t mean to. But I don’t think werewolves heal supernaturally fast.” I look to Leo and Artemis for confirmation, but neither responds. Rhys is the expert. I’m glad we left him and Cillian outside. They stayed safe, and they didn’t see what I did. I wanted Artemis to see so she’d look at me differently.

  Now I find I want my friends to look at me the same. Cillian’s first instinct was to call me when a creature needed help. If he had seen this, he wouldn’t have. I’ve lost so much in the last couple of days. So much of who I thought I was, who I thought I was going to be. I want to hold on to what I can.

  Cosmina finishes gathering what she can of the scattered bank notes. “You want to help those things, you’re on your own.”

  “Excuse me?” Artemis says. “My sister saved your sorry ass, and you didn’t so much as turn around to help her. What kind of a Slayer are you?”

  Cosmina whirls, her eyes narrowed sharper than my sword. “What kind of Slayer am I? I’m a living one, that’s what kind.”

  “Well, today you’re alive because of us!”

  The Slayer closes the distance to Artemis, leaning close to my sister’s face. Artemis doesn’t flinch. Cosmina pulls her long blue hair aside, revealing a mangled ear and scarring that goes down her neck.

  “Werewolf?” I wonder if that’s where her animosity comes from.

  “No, idiot. Another Slayer. So pardon me if I’m not interested in making friends. There’s a reason there was only supposed to be a Chosen One. We’re hunters. Killers. And we don’t work well in packs.” She pauses, studying me. “I know you. Dreams of a fire—purple flames—Mommy choosing to save someone else?” Cosmina smiles cruelly at the horror written on my face. “Dreams go both ways. I hope you get killed soon. I’m tired of reliving your fire.” She flips her hair back into place and stalks out.

  The shock of the evening and everything that’s happened—everything I’ve done—catches up to me. I came here to help because I saw her, because I thought we had a connection. That she needed me. But she’s seen me too, and all she feels toward me is derision.

  “You should have let her die,” Artemis says after a beat.

  I blink. “What?”

  “She wasn’t worth risking your life for. If you had waited a few minutes, Leo and I would have been here with weapons. We would have handled it. You can’t jump into fights.”

  My heart starts pounding again and I struggle to stay calm. “Artemis, look at that pit. I did that. That was me.” However much it bothers me, it’s the truth. “I can handle myself.”

  “No, you can’t! You would have been dead without the two of us here to help you.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but then stop. There’s no point. I know she’s trying to take care of me, but she’s wrong. I shouldn’t have waited. I chose to wait upstairs and it made everything a hundred times worse. No matter how much of a jerk Cosmina is, I had to help. She didn’t ask me to rescue her, and she doesn’t have to thank me. Helping was the right thing to do. And I’m going to do the right thing again.

  I jump over the side of the pit, ignoring Artemis’s shout. I can’t leave the werewolf I hurt. The arm is cut almost down to the bone, but the bleeding is slow. Maybe a werewolf thing?

  “Athena.” Leo tosses me a first aid kit. I nod in gratitude, then patch up the werewolf’s arm as best I can. It won’t bleed to death, at least.

  There’s a flash of movement on the upper floor. I tense for attack, instantly ready. But it’s Artemis. Walking away. My stomach sinks. We’re moving further and further from each other, and I don’t know how to stop it. I want my sister back. But maybe we’ve been playing roles for so long, we don’t know how to be sisters now that things have changed.

  “Come on,” Leo says. “They’ll be okay until morning. We’ll leave the barriers here so they can climb up when they’re back to human form.”

  I nod, numb. I’ll worry about Artemis later. As for the werewolves, this is all we can do. I briefly consider hauling them each up myself, but then we run the risk of them waking up. And what would I do with them once I got them up? Put them back in the cages? Then I’d have to stay until morning to let them out again. And we—

  Oh no. No no no.

  “Oh my gods.” I scramble up the makeshift ladders. “We’re dead. We’re so late.”

  Leo laughs, the surprise of my statement getting past his concern. My breath catches as his whole face changes. His eyes crinkle up until they’re almost closed, his throat moves, his head tips back, and his mouth stretches wide in such a delighted expression I can’t help but smile back. Leo is the only bright thing in this terrible room.

  “You fought a pit full of monsters and protected the innocent while you were at it. And the most scared I’ve seen you all night is when you realized you’re going to get in trouble with your mum. Athena Jamison-Smythe, you are a wonder.”

  Leo thinks I did a good job. He didn’t criticize or question my choices, and he approved of what I was trying to do with the werewolves. He even helped by sedating them instead of killing them. He gets it. The smile still hasn’t left my own lips. I bite them, trying to get it off, but it won’t budge. Oh gods, Nina.

  Not again.

  • • •

  Artemis checks the room for clues but comes up with nothing. Cillian and Rhys are outside without protection. Rhys can handle himself, but after what I’ve seen tonight, I’m more worried about the people than the monsters that might be out there with them. The werewolves will have to be okay until morning.

  Relief washes over me to see Rhys and Cillian waiting at the car for us. Sarah had been safely transferred to the paramedics, who assured Cillian and Rhys she’d be fine. Artemis doesn’t say anything. I want her to acknowledge that I did a good thing. But she’s watching the night, tensed for attack.

  Cillian eyes me in mute horror. My favorite marigold peacoat is splattered with gore. Shuddering, I tear it off and leave it on the sidewalk.

  “You okay?” Cillian whispers. I lean against him. I don’t answer, because I don’t know what the answer is. Rhys takes my other side, putting his arm around me.

  As Leo loads the gear into the car, he seems preoccupied too. He barely looks at me. Which is fine. Good, even. He performed admirably as a Watcher tonight, and that’s all he is to me.

  When Cillian and Rhys get in the car, I reach for Artemis’s bag to pass to Leo. She snatches it away. “I got it.”

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, stung by her dismissive tone.

  She lets out a shocked, bitter laugh. “What’s my problem? Do you have any idea what it felt like, running in and seeing you in the middle of an attack?”

  “No, but do you have any idea what it felt like being in the middle of it? I was so scared, but—I wasn’t, too. It’s like, there’s this thing inside me, coiled, waiting, and it’s terrifying and exciting and strong. . . .” We stare at each other, both angry, both hurt. I relent first. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m glad you were there.”

  Artemis turns to put her bag in the car, but some of the tension drains out of her shoulders. “Right. I’ll always be there. Don’t g
o thinking you don’t need me.” But it sounds less playful and more . . . sour. She grabs my arm as I climb in, her grip almost painful. It probably would have been painful two months ago. Not anymore.

  “Promise me,” she says, “you’ll listen next time. You won’t do something like this again.”

  Something like saving another Slayer? Like taking on monsters and winning? I did okay. I won. And her only acknowledgment is asking me to promise I won’t fight to help someone again.

  But . . . if I have to be a Slayer, this is exactly the kind of Slayer I want to be.

  Artemis has no idea what it feels like. She’s always been strong. And now that I am too, she wants me to hold back. She still sees me as the one who got left behind, the one who needs protection and help.

  I might not know how to untangle my emotions, but I do know that I need to stop lying about them. And I want to talk to her, to tell her everything. She’s been fighting these fights for so long. She really can help me.

  “I can’t promise that, Artemis. But—”

  She recoils like I burned her. Without another word, she gets in the front seat and slams the door.

  On the drive back to Shancoom, the night seals us in. Something tremendous has shifted. Artemis is closed off, staring out the window. Rhys and Cillian are curled up around each other, half asleep. I’m stewing, annoyed at Artemis for shutting me out just like our mother does.

  I reach toward her seat but stop, horrified. My hands are still covered in blood.

  I stare at them, and I know what’s different. Why we all feel like strangers. I might have become a Slayer the day magic ended, but tonight was the first time I really was a Slayer. I was a creature of instinct and brutality, fighting monsters. And I liked it.

  Now in the car, surrounded by my old life—my real life—that fact bothers me more than anything else.

  I saw Cosmina. She was a Slayer. A real Slayer. A killer. But when I jumped in the pit, the only thought in my mind was about saving someone who needed me. It felt right. It felt good. Cosmina can hate me all she likes, because she’s alive to do it. Six werewolves will wake up tomorrow morning, sore but breathing. Because of me.