Slayer

by Kiersten White

  I close it. I can’t read the rest. I can’t read how hard he worked to train Buffy, to prepare her, knowing what it results in. My father buried two Slayers. And then we had to bury him, because of Buffy.

  I stand and slam my fist into a punching bag. It breaks free of the chain, sliding across the floor and hitting the wall so hard it bursts at the seams.

  I hear a couple of slow claps, then, “Wow.”

  I spin around to find Leo behind me. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I was—” I cut myself off. I’m a badass Slayer who can bust up some punching bags without anyone’s permission. I want Leo to get mad at me, to chastise me, so I can yell back at him.

  Leo bends down and examines the bag. “These facilities were designed for Watchers. Not Slayers. It’s not your fault you’re stronger than all of them put together.”

  Not exactly the fight I was hoping for. I grab a broom from a closet to help clean up. When I turn back, Leo’s holding the diaries.

  “Those are not mine!” My face grows hot, all the past trauma resurfacing.

  Leo blushes. He actually blushes. How dare he. “Of course not. I know that.”

  “I don’t even keep a journal.” I snatch my father’s diary from him, but he grabs my hand.

  “Athena. I’m sorry. About that day in the old training room. I never got a chance to talk to you about it before I left.”

  “I don’t remember,” I lie. “Why would you have needed to talk to me?” I tug my hand away and hug my father’s journal to my chest.

  Leo sighs and sits down on the mats. He glances at the other journal. “Why do you have Bradford Smythe’s Watcher diary?”

  “He was my grandmother’s Watcher.”

  “What?” His shock is genuine.

  “It’s pretty huge,” I acknowledge. “My mom’s mom was a Slayer. She got killed right after my mom was born. Bradford took her in.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. I thought Helen was a Smythe.”

  “They tucked her right into the family line. I guess we were always destined to be in the middle of the fight against demons.”

  He flips through more pages. “ ‘What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide.’ ”

  I peer at the page he stopped on. “It says that?”

  Leo laughs. “No, sorry. I was quoting Shakespeare. It’s a terrible habit. I read everything of his during the last two years. Not a lot to do during demonic stakeouts with your mother.”

  It’s the first time he’s referenced specifics of when he and Eve were off the grid. “I thought your life would have been pretty exciting. Out in the field.”

  “Would you say Dublin was exciting?”

  “No!” I pause. No one else wants to hear how I feel about things. Leo’s actually listening. “Yes? Sort of. It was terrifying, and terrible, and also thrilling and amazing and awful and I don’t know how it could be all those things at once.”

  He nods. “What we do. It can be exhilarating. There’s a huge rush facing death and winning. Being out there, it was all those things you said. But it was also boring a lot of the time. Buses and airplanes and hotel rooms scarier than anything in that pit with you. Waiting. Watching. Hunting.” There’s a sad, faraway look on his face. “And it was lonely. After the attack took out Watcher headquarters, I thought everyone else was gone. That I was alone out there.”

  “But you had your mom.”

  “Which made me miss all of you even more.” He had tried to tell me that before, but I didn’t let him. I was too mad remembering my own hurt. Now I think I understand. My mom wants to send me away from the only home and family I’ve ever known. I don’t care how much things change. These people—the Watchers—are my people. At least I didn’t have to spend two years thinking everyone was dead. I still had Artemis and Rhys. Jade. Imogen and the Littles. Even the Council. I wonder why the Silveras kept going. Why they didn’t decide to settle somewhere and have lives.

  Imagining Leo out there, lonely and missing us, instead of kicking demon butt and being all handsome and cocky about it, makes me soften even more toward him. I clear my throat. “So what does it mean? Your fancy Shakespeare quote?”

  “It’s part of why I said you shouldn’t train if you didn’t want to. Even though, in retrospect, that was never an option.” He smiles wryly. “I wanted to at least offer. No one ever offered me another life. But in the end, none of us can escape what we were born to.”

  That’s why they didn’t settle. When you know as much as we do, how can you ever decide to just . . . stop? Stop fighting? Stop trying to help? Once you’re in, you can’t turn your back on it. I wonder if my mom wishes Bradford Smythe had put her up for adoption, given her the gift of a normal life to make up for the violence of her earliest days. She never would have known.

  I’m glad that’s not what happened. As much as I might question everything else in my life right now, I know how the world really works. I know the monsters that are out there. And I know the people who have devoted their lives to fighting them. Even if I don’t always agree with their methods or choices. Even if I have zero idea what my place is in that fight anymore.

  “What about those of us who were born to Watchers and Slayers?” I try to grin, but it doesn’t quite work. “Which one do we pick? Which one can’t we escape?”

  “Do you want to escape?” There’s no judgment in his tone.

  I shake my head. “Not being a Watcher. I never have. This is our legacy, our calling. I always wanted to be a part of it.”

  “If you could choose not to be a Slayer, would you?”

  I almost blurt out yes. It’s my first instinct. But I’m still holding my father’s journal. What would he have wanted for me? What do I want for me? Do I really want to give up what I’ve become? For some reason the dream-memory of the Slayer who saved her entire village washes over me. She was so certain. So brave and powerful and good. If I could be a Slayer like that, I’d choose to be one, I think. But can I?

  Maybe with Leo and Eve on my side, I can. My father would want me to try. And I want me to try too. I won’t know how much good I can do until I know what I’m capable of. I turn to Leo to tell him how glad I am he’s helping me, but the door bangs open.

  “Wheezy!” Honora Wyndam-Pryce declares. “And Leo? Why, this is as pretty as a poem.”

  18

  HONORA WEARS GORGEOUS OXBLOOD LEATHER boots that hit midcalf. Her dress is black, her dark hair shiny and long in loose waves. She has the most perfect cat-eye liner I’ve ever seen in person. It’s like she walked straight off a runway and into my gym. Where I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, bedhead, and just-been-crying-about-my-dead-dad eyes.

  She takes in what we’re holding and her face positively lights up. “Oh my God. Those aren’t—are those Wheezy’s books of poetry?”

  I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. But thanks a lot, Buffy. It doesn’t do that anymore.

  “Go to hell, Honora.” Leo’s voice is as sharp as I’ve ever heard it. I’m shocked out of my humiliation by the force of his anger. He isn’t looking at me, but he shifts almost imperceptibly closer.

  “Can’t, darling. Didn’t you hear? It’s closed for renovations.” She grins at us, twirling as she takes in the room. “Has this place always been so depressing? Remember when we trained here, Leo? The parties we’d throw right under their noses. Epic. Harry Sirk made a mean magical cocktail. You’d literally float the rest of the night.” She sighs wistfully. “Too bad he’s dead. I miss him.”

  I stand up, grabbing the journals and holding them to my chest. “Speaking of things we miss, why don’t you go back to wherever you’ve been the last two years, so we can keep missing you?”

  Honora puts a hand to her heart. “You wound me. I thought I’d be welcomed back, seeing as how I’m the only one out there actually doing anything. Unlike the Council. How’s hiding treating them? Sure are protecting a lot of innocents holed up in the castle here.”
/>   “You have no idea, do you?” Leo shakes his head. “Athena is—”

  I put a hand on his shoulder, rushing to cut him off. “A medic. I put together a medical center for the castle.” I assume she hasn’t spoken to her mother yet, and I don’t want to tell her I’m a Slayer like some sort of brag. It’s mine. I’m not about to discuss it with Honora, and I don’t care at all about impressing her.

  She raises one expertly sculpted eyebrow. She may say she’s been out protecting people, but it doesn’t look like she’s been roughing it. “Good for you.” I can’t tell if she’s sincere. I doubt it. “Leo, when did you get back? We thought you were dead.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t know why you’re both acting like this. I’m so happy to see you.” Now she sounds . . . almost definitely sincere? “Our years together were so fun. I’ve missed you guys.”

  “I think you remember them really differently than I do.” I never liked Honora, even before that awful day. She was always pushing limits, finding little ways to rebel. I hated how disrespectful she was of Watcher society when I would have given anything to be trained like her.

  An unexpected memory of Honora jumping, dancing, laughing in the middle of flashing lights is triggered by her smile, though. The concert I had remembered being at with only Artemis and Jade—Honora snuck us in. I had forgotten that part. Or repressed it.

  “Listen,” she says. “I’m not here for a social call. I passed through Dublin and there’s a lot of chatter in the underground parts of the city.”

  Leo’s face betrays nothing of what we did there. “Oh?”

  “Some big demon trouble.”

  Maybe she’s onto the gambling ring and whatever else is happening down there. If she knows we were involved, our secret is as dead as a hellhound in a pit fight. She’ll tell her mother, who will tell my mother. “What kind of trouble?”

  “The bloody, high-body-count, deadly-demon kind of trouble. He left dozens of bodies in his wake. I think he came this direction. I wanted to make sure you’re all okay, then see if the Council has heard anything.”

  So, not the pit. A different threat. Fantastic. I definitely don’t already have way too much to worry about.

  “What kind of demon?” Leo asks.

  “Pylean-human hybrid. Male. Neon-yellow skin, black horns, real nasty piece of work.”

  I cover my startle with a cough. “Sorry. Wow. What has, uh, he done?”

  “Kills other demons. Men. Women. Even a few kids. Pure murderer. Heard anything?”

  “No,” Leo says. Which is the truth, from him.

  I try to square what she’s saying with my conversation with the Coldplay demon. My instincts were that he wasn’t a threat. And while I’m not totally confident in those Slayer instincts, they’ve been pretty on point so far. Plus, you can’t fake the kind of fear he showed when I threatened to call Sean. I can’t imagine a demon on a murderous rampage would be utterly terrified of the man I saw at the pit.

  Not wanting her to ask more questions, I scramble to only give her the information her mother will have. “We had a hellhound here the other day, but we think it was a stray.” No one has mentioned the second one, which means my mother didn’t say anything. Which continues to be troubling. The more I think about it, the more I suspect she’s not worried because she knows the hellhounds aren’t after us. But how could she know that? If she knew about the demon in the shed, I’d already be toast.

  Honora perks, obviously intrigued. “Hellhound? Why was it here?”

  I hope I don’t look as panicked as I feel. But she can’t be right about my demon. Coldplay shirt. Pierced ears. And he didn’t even try to break free. If there’s one person in the world I’m the least inclined to help, it’s Honora. I’m going to solve this demon’s mystery myself. If he is all murdery, then I’ll deal with it. I’m a Slayer. It’s my job.

  I shrug. “Like you said, we’re hiding. Not a lot of demon chatter in the dorms. Maybe check with the Council?”

  Honora squinches her pretty face. “They’re not likely to know anything. We’re the only ones who do any work around here.” She pauses, then smiles sweetly. “Well, I’m the only one who does any work.”

  I bristle. “My mother is constantly out there. And Leo and his mother spent the last three years tracking and killing demons in South America.”

  “Aww, that’s fun! We’ll have to trade stories. And Wheezy can tell us the latest techniques in removing splinters and fixing up owies.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Just kidding. I do think the medical center is a good idea. Love to see it later. I’m going to get breakfast and talk to the olds. Don’t read any good poems without me.” She sweeps out.

  Leo’s hand brushes my own. “Athena,” he says, his voice soft.

  I’m clenching my fists so hard they’re shaking. I don’t want to talk about this.

  “She has a mean streak, and she was always jealous of you.”

  I grimace. “Jealous? Why would she be jealous of me? I was nobody. I was the other Jamison-Smythe twin. The one who couldn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly.” Leo takes the broom and starts cleaning up the split punching bag we had forgotten about. “Honora didn’t want to be a Watcher. But her mother put a lot of pressure on her. Everything she did was measured against her family. She was the one who was going to redeem them. To bring honor back to the Wyndam-Pryces.”

  “I still don’t see how that makes her jealous of me.”

  “Your mom didn’t push you to be in Watcher training or punish you for not being the best.”

  “Because she was trying to keep me from doing anything that might make me a good Slayer.”

  “Whatever the reasons, Honora didn’t see it that way. She saw a girl who was happy in the middle of all the Watcher misery.” He sets the broom down. “I’m not defending her. But she lashed out because she hated that you had things she never would. Even back then, you were . . . different. Special. Everything that had happened to you, everything you had lost, and you still managed to be the brightest part of any room.” He smiles full-dimples, and my heart cracks. The fissures undo all the work I’ve done to shut him out these last three years. Thirteen-year-old me crows triumphantly that he really did see me back then. Part of my humiliation—the part that was certain he thought I was stupid—finally dissolves.

  I put on my sternest face, ignoring thirteen-year-old me but allowing myself to forgive Leo a little. “Honora’s still the worst, though.”

  Leo laughs. “Oh, absolutely.”

  I hug the journals tighter to my chest. “So we’re totally clear, though, she changed that poem. I would never write something dirty about you.”

  “Never?” he asks, and there’s a teasing note to his voice that shocks us both. His face turns as red as mine feels. “Sorry,” he stammers.

  I can’t help the laugh that bursts free. Was Leo . . . flirting with me? Even though he was always nice to me, there was never a hint of flirtation when we were younger. I would have noticed. But we’re both older. We’ve been apart for a long time. And what’s in his voice now when he talks to me—it’s something that feels a whole lot like how Rhys talks to Cillian.

  I clear my throat, not knowing how to react to Leo Silvera flirting. With me. “Well, I wouldn’t have written anything like that when I was thirteen. I barely knew what ‘orgasm’ meant. Watcher education isn’t really big on the whole birds-and-the-bees aspects of human development. Not that I didn’t know. Or that I don’t know. But I’m going to stop talking right now and go ahead and leave and maybe never come back.” I’ve been backing slowly toward the door since I hit “orgasm” and knew my mouth wasn’t going to stop in time to save me.

  Leo’s smile is blinding, the most genuine expression I’ve seen on his face since he came back. He lifts a hand to his mouth as though he can’t believe it’s there either, touching the corner of his lips.

  Confused but happy, I head for my room.


  Leo’s right. I always did have something to be jealous of. I had Artemis, and I still do. And she’s definitely the best Watcher in the castle, test be damned. It’s time to tell her about the demon in Cillian’s shed. As Artemis reminded me last night, we’re better when we figure things out together. I might not have my dad, but I have her. I won’t neglect that anymore.

  But I skid to a stop in my doorway. The door is open, and through it I can see Artemis.

  And Honora.

  She’s sitting on Artemis’s bed, and Artemis is beaming. If the age difference that used to separate Leo and me isn’t a barrier anymore, it isn’t for Honora and Artemis either. And Artemis has always crushed on Honora.

  I shove the door so it bounces hard against the wall. Artemis jumps, then waves her hands excitedly. “Look who’s here!”

  “I already saw Nina.” Honora smiles at me with all the fake sweetness of a Diet Coke. She never called me Wheezy around Artemis. And I never told Artemis about the poem incident. I should have. Obviously. I should have told Artemis a lot of things. I was on my way to making this better, but Honora is in our room. How can I bring up the Coldplay demon now?

  “I thought you were going to breakfast,” I say.

  “How could I when I hadn’t even visited Artemis yet?” Honora turns back to my sister. “God. I’ve been gone so long. You’re like a totally different person. I was a hag from thirteen until seventeen, but you’re gorgeous.”

  Artemis blushes. I want to vomit.

  “Seriously,” Honora continues, reaching out and playing with a curl that’s fallen free from Artemis’s ponytail. “Don’t tell me you’ve also gotten faster, smarter, and stronger, too, or I’ll be so jealous I’ll have to kill you.”

  I mime puking behind Honora’s back. Artemis catches me and glares. “Let’s go get breakfast while Nina changes.”

  I don’t want to follow them. But there’s no way I’m leaving Honora with full access to the castle and my sister. And I’ve got to sneak back to the shed to determine whether the demon is, in fact, as dangerous as Honora says. But it doesn’t feel right.