Rhys kneels next to us, taking Cillian’s hand in his own. “You were dead,” he whispers.
“No wonder I’m racked. It’s exhausting being dead.” Cillian closes his eyes and squeezes Rhys’s hand. “I really like being alive.” He coughs again, then cringes. “I think my ribs are broken.”
“That’s common after CPR.” I stare guiltily at the carpet. “It wasn’t because I’m strong. I was careful.”
A hand takes mine. Rhys pulls me in for a hug. He’s trembling. “Thank you.”
“I— Artemis!” I race down the stairs. The back window is shattered. I go through the door, running out into the yard.
Artemis jumps back down from the fence, sword hanging at her side. “I lost it,” she says.
“So there was a demon.” I don’t mean to be relieved—it’s terrible news—but it means my instincts, again, were right.
“Yeah. And we might have caught it if I hadn’t had to do it alone.”
I wince at the harshness in her voice. “Cillian was dead, Artemis. He was dead. And if I hadn’t hung back, he would have stayed that way.”
She drops the sword at my feet. “It wasn’t the right decision. Now that demon is out there, and obviously it knows about us. Knows about you.”
“How can you even say that saving Cillian wasn’t the right call?”
“Because you’re not a Watcher. You’re not a nurse or a medic. You’re a Slayer. And if you don’t figure out how to make hard choices, you’ll fail just like I did. Only all my failure did was screw up my whole life. Your failure? Means a demon is now running free. Your failures mean people die.”
I shake my head, confused and hurt. “What do you mean, just like you failed?”
Artemis folds her arms. “The Watcher test. The reason why I’m the castle errand girl instead of a full Watcher-in-training, like I should have been.”
“You never told me about it.”
“Because I didn’t want you to know!” Artemis paces, prowling in a tight circle around the sword on the ground. “They put us under a spell. But it felt real. I was absolutely sure it was all happening. And I had a choice. The choice was to save the world—or to save you. And I chose you.” She stops. Her shoulders, always so straight, slump. “I chose you, because how could I not? I saw your face when Mom took me instead of you. I could never bear to see that again. And how could they make me a Watcher knowing that, in the face of the hardest, most impossible choice, where only one option is right, I’d choose the selfish one?”
I’m so touched that she chose me and so horrified that she had to. And so angry that they put her through that, that choosing her family meant she lost the future she should have had.
I reach out to her. “Artemis, I—”
She shrugs my hand away and wipes under her eyes. I’m glad it’s dark. I’ve never seen her cry, and I know she wouldn’t want me to. “I can’t protect you anymore. You don’t need me to. And after everything I did, everything I gave to the Watchers, I haven’t been good enough, ever. I’m not a Watcher, and I’m not a Slayer. I’m too selfish.”
“It wasn’t selfish of you, Artemis. You love me. I love you. I’d choose you too.”
“Don’t you get it? You can’t! If you choose people you love over everything else, more people will die. And you probably will too. You have to be a better Slayer! You have to be the best one!”
“You didn’t even want me to be a Slayer!”
Artemis shakes her head. “You can’t give it up, though. And I can’t stop whatever’s going to come for you. I’m not strong enough. I chose you over the world and I’m terrified that I’m still going to have to watch you die. Slayers die. Nina, I’m going to lose you.”
She leans against the fence, sobbing. I run to her and put my arms around her. “You’re not. You’re not going to lose me.” All her anger, all her bossiness, her weird shifts between pretending I’m not a Slayer and demanding I be one. It’s because she’s been absolutely terrified this whole time. I don’t know what to say.
“Promise me,” she says, still shaking. “I don’t care about the world. Just promise me that if it’s between saving anyone else and saving yourself, you’ll save yourself. Please.”
“Artemis, I—”
“Promise me!” she shouts, no longer crying.
“I promise,” I whisper.
She nods, wiping under her eyes. “Good. Okay. I’m going back to the castle to make sure everyone there is safe.” She picks up her sword. Then she runs, jumps the fence, and disappears into the night.
Stunned, I wander back into the house. Rhys has moved Cillian down to the couch.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Sore. But alive.” He smiles at me, his eyes low and heavy with sleepiness. There’s a tightness around them that’s new, though, and it breaks my heart.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t.” He never talks to me about the real things, the scary things. I hope he talks to Rhys about them. We all need someone to tell the real things to. Artemis was my person.
And no one was hers. Except maybe Honora.
“Any sign of the demon?” Rhys asks.
“No.”
“Why would it go after Cillian, though? When there’s a whole village here? Was it Doug?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Cillian nods in agreement. “It didn’t feel like him. His effect was far more pleasant. But I was never conscious for this, really. There was a dream I couldn’t wake up from. Heavy weight on my chest. Also I’m pretty sure the demon was, umm, interested in getting up close and personal with me in a romantic sense.”
“What?” Rhys and I both exclaim in unison.
“Nothing actually physical took place! There was just a . . . vibe to the whole thing. I would have told the demon that it was not my type, but I was frozen. Really not my idea of a good time.”
I grimace. “I had forgotten that part of the first dream. Old Smythe seemed pretty into it.”
“Forgot, or deliberately repressed?” Cillian asks.
“Definitely the second.”
“Succubus,” Rhys says, snapping.
“Seriously sucky,” Cillian agrees.
“No, I mean ‘succubus.’ Attacks during sleep. Sucks out energy. Incubus-type demons too. It fits. I’ll do some research.” He looks at Cillian, worried. Research means going back to the castle.
“I’ll do the research,” I say. Rhys smiles in relief and gratitude. I turn back to Cillian. “So we know that you’re a target. We need to figure out why.” If it wasn’t Doug, what other demon would have it out for Cillian? His only connection to the castle and Cosmina is—me. Oh gods. Did the demon go after Cillian because he’s my friend? Or because he knows I’m a Slayer? Is this my fault?
Cillian shakes his head. “Maybe I’m just irresistible to everyone, human and demon alike.”
“Regardless, we aren’t leaving you alone. I’d say take him back to the castle, but the demon has already struck there.”
Rhys sits on the armchair in the corner. He has a wickedly sharp dagger in his hands. “If this thing only attacks when people are sleeping, that makes me think it’s not so strong.” His smile is as menacing as the blade. Sometimes I forget that Rhys had to pass a lot of tests to get Watcher status—not all of them purely brain powered. “I’m not going anywhere. And the demon is welcome to try again.”
Cillian’s expression is sloppy with exhaustion but happier than I have maybe felt in my entire life. This is my fault. I’m the one who got Cillian involved, who brought him in on our secrets. And if my suspicion is correct, I’m the reason he was targeted.
“Okay.” I kiss Cillian on the forehead. “You rest. You could not be in better hands.” I walk out into the night.
Artemis is right. It’s time to make the hard decisions. It’s time to be a Slayer. But in order to do that, I need all the information. And some of that information won’t be found in the library.
It’s time to confront my mother.
28
I CHECK MY MOTHER’S ROOM first. It’s 4 a.m. I hoped that she would be here. That she’d be waiting, brimming with perfect explanations that would make everything okay.
Her room is empty.
I find Artemis in the gym. She’s hitting a replacement punching bag with all the considerable force her body can handle.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says back. “Did a sweep. Nothing unusual. I considered lockdown, but I can’t see how it would do any good if the demon already struck in the castle once without us knowing.”
“Okay,” I say. “Listen. I saw Mom in the woods with Doug earlier. I have to talk with her. She knows something, I’m sure of it. Maybe she even knows what demon has done this, and why. Maybe—maybe she brought it here.”
“Why would she do that?” Artemis isn’t challenging me. She’s asking, genuinely puzzled.
I know why. I think. If our Mom passed the same test Artemis failed, it meant she was willing to do whatever it took to save the world. So whatever she’s involved in, she thinks it’s in defense of the whole world. Probably because of the prophecy.
Because of me.
I know what choice Artemis will make. She’ll choose me. She’s already proved it. Maybe that’s why our mother wanted to separate us. Why she wants to send me away but not Artemis. Why she saved Artemis first, and only then came back for me.
If it’s true, and someday I’m going to destroy the world, I hope Artemis doesn’t choose me. I hope she chooses the world. I hope, most of all, that someday Artemis has a life where she can choose herself first.
“I don’t know why she’d do it,” I lie. “But she’s mixed up in it somehow. I’m not solid on the details. I’m going to get them, though.”
“Great.” Artemis hits the bag again. “How?”
“I’ll bring her back here. To Eve. I don’t think Ruth Zabuto or Wanda Wyndam-Pryce is in on anything, but Eve’s our best bet. Hopefully it’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding that left a Watcher and a Slayer dead, and almost killed an innocent. Right.” Artemis delivers a brutal blow to the punching bag. Then another. And another. My knuckles ache in sympathy. “If Mom brought the demon here, this is on her.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say.
“What wasn’t my fault?”
“It wasn’t your fault she saved you first. You don’t have to feel guilty, and you don’t have to sacrifice anything else to protect me. I’ll take care of this. I owe you.”
She pauses, her arms around the punching bag. Now it looks like it’s holding her up. But still she doesn’t say anything. I wish she would, but this isn’t about me.
“So. I’m going after Mom. Will you find Eve and let her know we need to talk?”
Artemis nods, mute.
I walk back out of the castle, dragging my feet, feeling a hundred years older. I don’t really think my mom is capable of having people killed. But I do know she’s capable of hiding the truth and lying to those she’s supposed to love. I hope this is a mistake. And I hope we can still fix it, at least in part.
Though it’s still dark, I don’t have a hard time finding my way back to the cemetery. The campfire winks through the trees as I get closer, much smaller than it was before. I don’t disguise my footsteps. I want them to hear me coming.
But when I get to the camp, nothing is as I was expecting. A few sticks have been kicked free and are smoldering and sparking. I stomp them out, my heart racing. I have a stake in my hand. I don’t remember grabbing it, but it feels essential.
The whole site is in disarray. The tent is askew. Doug’s novel is lying forlorn on the ground, the ink-and-paper tragic romance abandoned. His beloved Coldplay shirt is torn and crumpled next to it. And Doug is nowhere to be found. I stumble over an unexpected depression in the ground. I bend close, the firelight revealing deep tire treads. Someone was here.
I take three steps to check out the rest of the campsite, and then I trip over something much bigger than tire tracks.
A body.
I land hard, smashing my knee into a rock. Then I pull my legs away. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.
The body stirs, groaning. I let out a gasp of relief. I crawl to my mother’s side and turn her over. There’s a trickle of blood where someone hit her on the head. Her eyes flutter open, searching wildly before settling on me.
“Nina?”
“What happened? Why did Doug do this?”
My mother tenses. “Doug? Where’s Doug?”
“I don’t know! He’s gone.”
She sits up, swaying dangerously before reclaiming her sense of balance. “They took him.”
“Someone took Doug?”
She scowls impatiently. “Yes. They attacked me and took Doug. What did you think happened?”
“I thought Doug attacked you!”
“Doug wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She stands, unsteady. I offer her a hand, which she takes. And then I remember I came here to confront her. This doesn’t change anything.
“You need to answer my questions.”
“We don’t have time for that. It was Honora and that worm Sean.”
“You know about Honora and Sean?”
“Of course I do. It’s my job to know things.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t about Doug. Or it is. I don’t know! But you need to tell me the truth: Did you bring another demon to Shancoom? Besides Doug? One attacked Cillian.”
“A demon attacked Cillian?”
“Yes! And Cosmina was dead when we went to go see her.”
This time my mother sways and stumbles, sitting hard on one of the moss-covered stone memorial benches. “She’s dead?”
“You didn’t know, then.” My body goes limp with relief, and I sink onto the bench beside her.
She shakes her head. Her face is pale, and I don’t think it’s because of the head wound. “Oh, that poor child. I should have contacted her sooner.”
“Tell me what’s going on!”
My mother’s face snaps back into its usual form. Firm. Distant. “This isn’t about you.”
Her words sting. She acts like I’m being selfish or immature. But I know what I heard before when I was spying. I know about the prophecy. “It’s entirely about me!”
“Innocent lives are in the balance. I can’t let them have Doug again.”
“Why are you even helping him?”
“Why did you?”
I pause, caught. “Because he seemed like he needed it.”
She meets my eyes—something she has almost never done in all these years. “You were right. And he needs help now more than ever. If I don’t get to him fast, they’ll move him to another facility, and I’ll never find him again.”
I hold her gaze, drinking in her words: You were right. But is she manipulating me? How can I trust anything? “Tell me what happened to the others, then. What killed Cosmina and Bradford? What attacked Cillian? Because you and Doug are the common threads.”
Anger flashes across her face, quickly swept away by something that looks like . . . hurt? “You think I would harm your friend Cillian? Bradford? That poor lost girl Cosmina? Why would I do that?”
“Because you hate Slayers!”
She reels back like I’ve slapped her. “I don’t hate Slayers.”
“Of course you do. Buffy got Dad killed. Your mother was a Slayer, and she left you alone. And you did everything in your power to keep me from being a Slayer. You don’t want me to be one.”
“Why would I ever want that for you?” She reaches out her hand as though she would take mine in hers. But I pull my hand back and grip my stake, afraid to let her. If I do, I might break. I might accept whatever she gives me because of how badly I want to. Her hand hovers, alone.
“Your father didn’t want to take the assignment with Buffy. I told him to. Because she was so young. Just a girl. I
knew someday that could be you, and I would want the very best Watcher to take care of you. To protect you.” She breaks off, swallowing.
I open my mouth to reply, to tell her she could have protected me by preparing me. But my mother holds up her hand.
“Wait, I have to say this. You have to know. I don’t hate Buffy. I never did. And I’m sorry if you thought that your being a Slayer made me hate you. I’m sorry I never learned how to talk to you. Motherhood was not a skill the Watchers prioritized. I tried. I tried so hard.” Her voice cracks, and for a moment dream mom, the snickerdoodle mom, almost comes through. But then her voice hardens again. “When it became clear I couldn’t keep you safe, I did the same thing my own mother did. I gave you to the Watchers. I tried to keep you shielded, keep you sheltered.” A pause. “I’m sorry. It was the wrong choice. For both you and Artemis.” She stands. She seems stronger already.
“And the fire? At our house?” I ask, campfire smoke making my eyes water and my throat tighten. “Why did you leave me behind?” That question has never been asked, but now that it’s out there, a charge passes between us.
There’s a smile sadder than any tears on her face. “You were a Potential. I knew you could survive longer. The magic wasn’t powerful enough for me to shield more than one of you at a time. I took Artemis first because it was the only way to save you both.”
Her words hit me like an anvil to the chest.
I was the strong one. That was why she left me behind. Not because she hated me or because she loved Artemis more. Because it was the only way for Artemis to live. I never knew it, she never knew it, but I was protecting her.
“You should have told us,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t. Not without telling you why you were stronger. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you thought—but it doesn’t matter now. I have to go, because I can’t stay here and let another innocent be destroyed on my watch. I’ve done too much of that in my lifetime.” She turns and hurries into the darkness. I wait, stunned, until I hear an engine start up far in the distance. The roar slowly fades away.
And then she’s gone.
• • •
Slayer Page 28