Leo is still staring up at the fan. “I was always afraid ceiling fans would come loose and kill me. How can you sleep under this thing?”
“We don’t turn it on.” I point to the fireplace. “We never use that, either. Not huge fans of fires. But there’s a pressurized gas canister there.” I point to what looks like a normal gas feed for the fire. “Jade helped us rig it up. If you flip this switch right inside the mantel, it’s a flamethrower. But again, stationary. The vampire would have to be standing right here. We weren’t really big on practicality. It was mostly to keep ourselves busy, to pretend like we had some control.”
“You wanted to feel safe.”
I sit on Artemis’s bed, sad and exhausted. “Yeah. Artemis was always good at keeping me busy. And at making me feel safe.” But she’s not here. Maybe it’s better that he’s here. He’s easier to talk to than Artemis lately. “So, I just saw my mother out in the woods with Doug.”
“What? Did she catch him?”
“They were having a meeting. I went for a run, and there they were. My mom had her address book, which apparently also contains a who’s who of demons in Dublin. And a lot of other Slayers. I don’t know what they’re planning, or why. But I think it has to do with me and a prophecy. So I’m freaking out. A little bit.”
Leo nods, but he speaks slowly, like he’s holding something back. “Nothing is ever black and white. Not prophecies, and certainly not people. We don’t know what your mom is doing, but Doug didn’t kill Cosmina or Bradford. If there is a prophecy, it’s kept for this long. It’ll keep for a few more days. So we keep our cards close to our chests. We don’t talk to anyone else about this until we figure it out. In the meantime, you should get some sleep.”
As soon as he says it, I realize how bone-deep tired I am. “You too.” I feel his presence in my room acutely. It’s not a huge room to begin with, but he takes up far more space in it than just his body can account for. “You can, uh, use my bed. If you don’t want to sleep in the hall.”
“I’d like to read, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” I lie back on Artemis’s bed. Leo pulls a book from my shelf—it’s called Joseph Lister and the Story of Antiseptics. “That’s good bedtime reading. Lister was the man who revolutionized surgery by introducing antiseptic procedures.”
“There’s a museum of surgery in Edinburgh that highlights his achievements.” Leo sits down with the book and opens it up. “We should go. Though it will break your no-dead-bodies rule.”
“I’d break that rule for you.” I turn away so he can’t see my blush. I can’t be as hopeless as I was three years ago. I peek over at him after a few minutes. He reads with his eyebrows drawn ever-so-slightly together, giving him a look of deep concern. I force my eyes closed. But there’s no way I’m falling asleep with Leo right there.
I roll onto my side, hitting the notes I left all over Artemis’s bed. Any thoughts of museum field trips fall away. I look at the prophecy with new eyes, no longer suspecting it might be about us—knowing it is, or at least that my parents thought so. And my mother still does.
Child of Slayer
Child of Watcher
My parents.
The two become one
Eew. Arcturius liked a good euphemism, and I can’t believe I’m reading a sentence about my parents getting it on written centuries ago.
The one becomes two
Identical twins.
Girls of fire
Our hair is quite red.
Protector and Hunter
One to mend the world
And one to tear it asunder
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have known which was which. But it’s obvious now. Artemis is the protector. She always has been. She’s protected me not only from harm but from her own sadness. It hurts to even think about it.
And the hunter? What else is a Slayer?
My stomach turns with fear and dread. I’ve seen too much evidence of prophecies coming true not to take it seriously. Not only am I a Slayer but there’s a good chance I’m going to tear the world apart. Guess I have more in common with Buffy than ever.
Arcturius’s last note is one final swift kick to the ribs.
When all else ends, when hope perishes alongside wonder, her darkness shall rise and all shall be devoured.
Wonder is already dead. Buffy broke it. There’s no time stamp on the prophecy, but the Seed of Wonder being broken means there’s a ticking clock for the ending. For when Artemis is going to mend the world.
And I’m going to break it.
27
“PROPHECIES ARE HARD TO INTERPRET.” Leo makes me jump for the second time.
I gather the notes and slam them into a notebook. “It—it’s not what it looks like,” I stammer.
“Prophecies never are.”
“No, I mean—I don’t know what I mean. Gods, I don’t know anything right now.” I scoot so I’m sitting against the wall. Leo surprises me by doing the same, sitting right next to me. He’s taller than me. Enough so that I could lean my head on his shoulder and it’d be the perfect fit.
“Let me help?”
I pick at Artemis’s threadbare quilt. It takes on a different meaning, as does her half of the closet. Does she even like the color black? I never asked. I assumed she was happy with her life because it seemed so impressive. And because she never said otherwise. I was quick to speak up about what bugged me or what I felt I was missing. But how often did I ask Artemis what she wanted from her life?
I am a terrible sister.
I know how awful it was to be left behind. But it must have been excruciating for her to watch me disappear in the smoke. She should never have felt guilty over something she couldn’t control. She should never have considered it her burden to help me, to be the best, to do everything right. To atone for being the one who was chosen.
I clear my throat. Leo’s patiently waiting for me to talk to him. And I need someone to talk to. “So, you know I have my father’s Watcher diary. And he mentioned a prophecy. Then I realized I had translated this one. And . . . it seems like it’s about us. ‘When hope perishes alongside wonder’—that’s probably the Seed of Wonder. It’s dead. Which means we’re on that timeline.”
Leo takes the prophecy translation, rereading. “Your mom isn’t the only child of a Slayer. It’s unusual, sure, because—” He cuts himself off. The reason hangs in the air between us. Because they don’t live that long. He pushes forward, ignoring the unsaid. “Other Slayers have had children. Even around the same age as your mom. There’s Robin Wood. His mother’s Watcher was Crowley.”
“I don’t remember any Crowleys.”
“My mom said he was nice.”
So much past tense with Watchers. Someday soon everything having to do with the Watchers will be past tense. “But did this Robin have twins with a Watcher?”
“Not yet.” Leo tries to sound hopeful, then shrugs. “Okay, and not likely to happen given our dramatic reduction in ranks. Still. This probably has nothing to do with you.”
“My parents obviously thought it did.”
Leo’s voice is as dark as the night pressing eagerly outside my window. “Our parents always think they know more about us than we do. They make decisions for us before we even realize we’re being controlled.”
“But look at everything bad that’s been happening. We’ve lived here for two years in perfect secrecy. No one found us. No violence. No attacks. Then we figure out I’m a Slayer and boom—Demons! Death! Destruction!”
“You could just as easily say all this happened because my mom and I came back.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. Except the first hellhound attack was before you got here.”
He pauses, his lips tight. Then he moves on. “But the hellhound attack didn’t come after you realized you were a Slayer. You realized you were a Slayer because the hellhound came. And you can’t discount Honora. She’s not connected to your mother, and she’s involved in at least part of this. Th
ere could be totally different things going on. It doesn’t all have to be connected.”
I bonk my head back against the wall. “That doesn’t make me feel better! It just means we’d have even more mysteries to solve. Gods, I thought my life was complicated when all I worried about was getting supplies for my medical center and trying to convince the Council we could focus less on combat training and more on mediation.”
“Your life was complicated then too. This wasn’t an easy way to grow up. So many secrets. Both those we keep as Watchers and those being Watchers forces us to keep.”
I can’t believe my mom thought she could send me to boarding school. All those normal teens, with no idea what the world is really like. Leo understands my life in a way none of them ever could. And he’s right about how we grew up. I wasn’t wrong when I was thirteen. He really did see me. He still does.
I want to take his hand, but nerves hold me back. “This could be why my mother is so opposed to me being a Slayer, though. She knows the prophecy. And she’s worried that, now that I’m a Slayer, it’s one step closer to coming true.”
Leo shifts so he’s looking right at me. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black. I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping well, but exhaustion accentuates his cheekbones, and the dark stubble at his jawline is oddly vulnerable.
“Athena,” he says, “I know darkness. I know the hunger that drives chaos. And you have none of that in you. Slayer or not, you are and have always been good.” He pauses, searching my face, and for one brief aching moment I think he’s going to kiss me.
Then he smiles, and that mask he wears so well slides back into place. He disappears into it. He’s retreating from me into what must have become a defense mechanism all that time he spent alone with his mother, believing his only friends were gone, afraid to care about anyone. So I’m shocked when he leans forward and brushes his cool, soft lips against my forehead.
“Get some sleep, Slayer. I’m your Watcher. I’ll research, and I’ll watch, and we’ll figure it out in the morning.” He slides off the bed and back onto the floor. He takes the stack of books I borrowed from Rhys, setting them down on top of the prophecy book. I lie on my side, this time not turning my back to him. My eyelids gradually lose the fight against sleep.
When I close them, I still see him.
• • •
I dream of the fire.
But this time I’m not alone. As I watch my mother carrying Artemis out, walking straight through the fire, untouched, I feel the presence of hundreds of other minds.
“Oh God,” a voice says, “this is the third time I’ve been dragged into this one. No one else dreams like you. So either bring supplies for s’mores, or keep your trauma on lockdown.”
I turn to see a gorgeous brunette with pouty lips, big brown eyes, and a wry expression. She’s sitting in the middle of the fire. “Listen, kid, whatever happened, you’re five by five now. Try to let it go.”
“But—” I start, choking and coughing on the smoke. I’m not actually breathing in smoke, though. Not anymore.
The brunette winks at me. “Come on. I’m a pro at this. I once spent a whole year sleeping. But there was only one other Slayer to connect with back then. And I don’t like peeking in on B.” She holds out her hand. I take it. She tugs, and—
I’ve never been to a party like this before. I don’t think there ever has been a party like this. The lights flash, the music pounds, and all around me are girls dancing with ferocious abandon.
“That’s more like it!” The brunette winks at me again. “Live a little. You’re out of the frying pan and out of the fire. You’re a Slayer. Enjoy it!” She dances away into the crowd.
I’m left alone, but I’m not. I breathe in the energy around me, the pulsing life of so many incredible, strong, angry girls. There’s a fine line between a party and a riot, and we’re stomping up and down it. I throw my head back, close my eyes, feel the beat down to my very soul, telling me to let go.
But I’m scared. I don’t want to let go. What might happen if I do? Will I become a true Slayer? A hunter?
Will I break the world?
I draw back, and the room around me twists in a bright swirl of lights, disappearing.
I’m on the rooftop. Alone. Apparently this is where Slayers go when they’re sad and pathetic. Buffy waits, sitting on the edge, looking out over the sleeping city. “I never wanted this!” I shout.
She turns so I see her profile. “Me neither.”
“I’m going to break the world, and it’s all your fault!”
She lifts an eyebrow. “How is that my fault?”
“If I wasn’t a Slayer, I definitely couldn’t break the world.”
“Well, if you break the world, I’ll stop you.”
“I dare you to try!” I shake my head, confused by my own reaction. I don’t want to break the world. I would hope someone could stop me if it came to that. Why am I thinking this? Feeling this? Rage funnels into me, a vortex of thousands of years of pain and anger and power, but there’s nowhere else to push it. I’m the end. It pools in me, dammed. I close my eyes. I want to push her off. I want to—
• • •
A soft glow from a bedside clock shows 3:25. It casts muted green light onto a rumpled bed.
I don’t have a clock with a green display.
That’s not Artemis’s bed. It’s Cillian’s. He turns his head from side to side, whimpering, as though trying to wake himself.
The darkness forms, taking shape on top of him.
• • •
I sit straight up, my heart racing. The clock on our nightstand—the numbers red, not green—reads 3:24.
“Cillian!” I fall out of Artemis’s bed. Leo is gone. Cillian is in mortal danger. I don’t doubt it’s a demon now, so I don’t trust myself to fight it off. I won’t risk Cillian’s life on my skills.
“Artemis!” I shout, hopping down the hall as I pull on my shoes and throw on her leather jacket. I bang on Jade’s door. “Artemis, bring weapons!”
Artemis peers out, bleary-eyed.
“What’s going on?” Rhys comes out of his room, two doors down from Jade’s. He has a pillow mark on his cheek, and his glasses are askew.
“Cillian’s in danger!”
Rhys doesn’t hesitate. He runs back into his room and comes out with a sword, two stakes, and a knife. I take a stake and shove it in the waistband of my jeans. I know this thing isn’t a vampire, but stakes feel right in my hands in a way other weapons don’t.
“Let’s go.” He sprints down the hall. Artemis doesn’t even put on shoes. She just runs.
“I’ll get a car and follow,” Jade says, for once tuned in to what’s happening. I race for the castle exit.
“I can’t wait for you two,” I say, passing Artemis and Rhys.
“You don’t have to.” He points to the shed where we still keep a few four-wheelers. It’s locked. I kick it. The door flies off the hinges, revealing hulking objects in the dark.
I run ahead. I can hear as the engines start and begin following me.
“What are we facing?” Artemis screams over the roar of the engines as she pushes her four-wheeler hard to keep pace with me.
“I don’t know!” I dodge a branch and jump over a fallen tree. Artemis and Rhys have to stay on the trail; I run alongside it through the more difficult terrain. “I had a dream! The same one I had about Bradford Smythe.”
Rhys guns his four-wheeler, going faster. I match pace. Please, I think, please please let this be the most embarrassing night ever. Please let this be another example of how I don’t know how to be a Slayer, how my dreams are the result of my stressed-out mind falling asleep to thoughts of demonic conspiracies and doomsday prophecies. Please let Cillian be awake in bed watching Eurovision.
When we get to his house, the front door is ajar. That line of darkness cuts me like a knife.
“Cillian!” I shout. Rhys and Artemis jump off their four-wheelers, weapons brandished. I race up
the stairs to Cillian’s room. “Cillian!” I slam through his door, stumbling in the dark. He’s on his bed. Alone.
And not breathing.
“No!” I rush to his side, feeling for a pulse. There isn’t one. But his skin is still warm. I take a deep breath, reminding myself of everything I’ve learned. Everything I’ve trained for. I carefully move him to the floor. And then I start CPR.
“Nina?” Rhys whimpers.
“Movement!” Artemis shouts from downstairs. “Window!” There’s a crashing noise.
I have a choice in that moment. The Slayer part of me is already tensed to sprint down the stairs. To give chase. To catch and kill this demon so that it can never hurt anyone again. And I know I can do it if I leave right now.
But Cillian would pay the price. And I can’t leave him. Not if there’s a chance I can still save him. Mustering my will, I push aside all my Slayer instincts, quiet the fierce rush in my blood, and put my lips on Cillian’s. My lungs breathe for both of us. I hold back as much of my strength as I can to push gently on his ribs, reminding his heart—his wonderful heart—what it’s supposed to do.
“Please,” I whisper, forcing air into his lungs.
The silence in the room is deafening.
And then, finally, Cillian’s breath answers. He coughs violently, putting a hand to his chest.
“What—oh, my ribs.”
“Cillian!” I throw my arms around him, and he cries out in pain. “I’m so sorry!” I sit back, giving him space. “Your heart stopped. I had to do CPR.”
Slayer Page 27