I slow down. I’m almost on the dot. Another possibility occurs to me—the other two have already killed the werewolf, and I’m about to run into them and a dead body. Do werewolves turn back into humans if they die? Or does their body stay forever in that state? Rhys would know. I hope I don’t find out.
Holding my breath, I creep up to a small clearing bathed in the cold light of the full moon. Sitting cross-legged in the middle, eyes closed, hands on his knees, is … a rather petite white man. Spiky reddish hair, nice face, flowing baggy clothes that could either be skater chic or Eastern mystic in origin. I look around, confused, but there’s not a slavering, fanged werewolf in sight.
“Hey,” I whisper. I have Beard’s big knife in my hand. This guy could be a hunter? He doesn’t look like one, though. The other two were in full gear. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“Wow. Those are big questions.” He opens his eyes and stares at me, nodding slowly. “Is it harder or easier to answer them as a Slayer? Because on the one hand, chosen! On the other hand, didn’t choose. Wow. Wow. Oh, you were probably asking my name.” He glances upward where the moon shines over us. “I’m trying really hard to stay calm right now. So if you could not stab me, I’d appreciate it. But this is fun. They told me there’d be another Slayer who would probably kill me. I liked my odds, though. I have good luck with Slayers, generally.”
“Are you—the werewolf? Did Von Alston mix up his order forms or something?”
The man stands, stretching. “I’m of the wolfish persuasion on occasion. But I didn’t feel like it tonight. Are we gonna go? I think we should go.”
“Right. Yeah.” I’m so confused. “Actually, before we go, they put a tracker on you.”
He checks his pockets, then pulls out a tiny metal cylinder the size of a pill. “I just thought the butler had wandering hands.”
I take the tracker. “Go to the edge of the tree line. There’s a huge dead oak. Can’t miss it. The other Slayers are waiting there for my signal.”
“Cool.” He sticks his hands back in his pockets and meanders out of the clearing.
Tracker on me, I go the opposite direction. In the end, it’s too easy. I climb a tree, wait until I hear two hunters approaching from either side, and then snap a branch. They both shoot their tranquilizers at each other, and then two bodies go down with loud thuds.
I drop back to the ground, relieve them of their weapons, and then give them the same tree treatment as Beard. Too bad they’re human, I think. Then I cringe. Where did that come from?
Feeling a little dirty with the realization that I would have liked to hurt them a lot more than I did, I run toward the dead oak. I don’t want to leave Doug in that house any longer than I have to, and my work is almost done.
I pause at the base of the tree, looking up.
“Hey,” I call.
“What’s the signal?” Maricruz calls back down.
“Um. Me? Calling hey?”
“That’s a terrible signal. You didn’t even try.” She drops to the ground next to me, her rather glorious eyebrows writing disappointment all over her face.
“That’s not fair. I took out all three hunters and saved your werewolf … ish … guy.”
“Whatever.” She turns away from me, arms folded. Chao-Ahn lands in a crouch, and then Taylor, a tall, lanky blonde, slowly climbs down. The not-werewolf is last.
“I have questions for you,” I say.
“Math? I’m good at math. Oz, by the way.”
“Oz?”
“I’m. And I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Oh. Nina.”
“Nina. Well, we can worry about the math later.”
Still confused and also oddly disappointed and unsettled, I walk out of the trees with the three Slayers and the alleged werewolf. Von Alston stands, and I can’t see whether he’s surprised, but I sure hope so. He’s flanked by three security guards. I shoot tranquilizers at all three before they can draw their own weapons.
I walk up to Von Alston and grab him around the throat. “Monopoly would have been easier. For you. Now let’s go see about my friend and my prize, and then we can play a fun game called Hostage Negotiations, where I use you to get all of us out of here without any problems.”
He sputters until I release some of the pressure. “No prize. The werewolf is still alive.”
“Do you see a werewolf here? Because I don’t. Besides, alive is such a temporary state of being.” I tighten my grip again, a small, mean thrill of pleasure coursing through me seeing panic on the face of this man who threatened my friends and tried to kill innocent people. Something pushes me to go further. To squeeze harder. Because I can.
I let him go and take a step back, shuddering. That’s not me. That can’t be me. Where did that come from? “Come on. No funny business or I’ll let the nice man bite you, and then we’ll see if your stance on werewolf rights changes.”
“I’d really prefer not to bite you,” Oz says. “We’ve only just met, and I don’t think we’re at a biting stage of our relationship yet.”
Chao-Ahn and Maricruz each take one of Von Alston’s arms and frog-march him back toward the manor. Two figures appear on the distant steps of the front door and I lift the tranquilizer gun to use the scope to view them.
One is Doug, having obviously freed himself. But I can’t even wonder how, because I can’t process who the other person I’m viewing through the crosshairs is.
Leo.
Leo Silvera.
Who is not dead.
I twitch. My finger pulls the trigger. Leo collapses.
15
“HEY,” A SOFT, EVEN VOICE says. A hand comes down on my shoulder. “Hey. Deep breaths. Focus on your breathing.”
Leo is there, lying on the porch, unconscious. And even though I know we’re outside, we’re safe, I can almost feel the remora demon expanding all around us. I know what will happen if I try to drag Leo away. I won’t be able to, and he’ll die, just like he did before.
Just like he didn’t before.
“Breathe,” Oz says again, moving to stand in front of me. He blocks my sight of Leo, and I feel like I’ve surfaced from too long underwater. I gasp for air, gulp it desperately. “Good. Breathing is good. I really dig breathing.” He smiles but doesn’t move, keeping one hand on my shoulder.
“I’m okay,” I say. I’m not okay. I’m not. I haven’t been okay since Leo died. And Leo isn’t dead. All the anger I’ve been suppressing, all the grief I’ve been avoiding. The floodgates are open, and I feel it all. Along with joy and also absolute confusion. And rage. So much rage. Because Leo is alive. Leo is alive!
Leo is alive?
“Yeah.” Oz almost smiles, an odd expression that is both reassuring and unnerving. He’s like Doug, I think. Only instead of smelling emotions, I suspect Oz just sort of … gets them. I wrap my arms around myself and focus on breathing. Oz removes his hand and steps to the side. “Can I get my van back now?” he asks Von Alston.
“I don’t understand,” Ian Von Alston says, staring at Oz.
“I get that a lot.” Oz wanders toward the garages. “It might be hard to tell which one is mine. My van blends in pretty well with Aston Martins.”
“How is he still human?” Von Alston asks, frowning.
I can’t look at the porch. I can’t feel what I’m feeling. It’s too much. So I pick the nearest thing that I understand. And that’s Von Alston, the rich weasel. All my rage focuses, contained. “Why do you have Leo? How long have you had him? Where were you holding him?” That’s why he never came back! Von Alston took Leo. All this time, thinking Leo was dead, blaming myself, hurting so damn much every day. My hand twitches. I want it around Von Alston’s throat with an intensity that scares me.
“Nina,” Doug says, walking up. His face flashes with alarm, and he steps between Von Alston and me. “Let’s redirect whatever’s happening here.”
“Demon!” Taylor squeaks. Maricruz and Chao-Ahn both shift to defensive stances
.
“He’s my friend,” I snap. I hate that everyone is still talking, still here. I don’t want to talk to any of them. I want answers. I want answers that will solve the way I feel right now, because I can’t handle feeling like this. There’s too much input; I’m fraying at the edges.
“Do we have to fight anyone?” Maricruz asks. Chao-Ahn and Taylor are standing next to her. They’re all flicking their eyes between Doug and the mansion.
Doug shakes his head. “All the household employees and security guys are too happy to care about much of anything right now.”
This gets my attention, at least. “You took out the whole house?”
Doug shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “I told you I wasn’t defenseless. Sean kept me near-starving, but now that I’m healthy, I’m back in fighting form. My spit is hyperconcentrated, and I have this, uh, muscle? It lets me spit at great distances with startling accuracy.”
“Eew.” Maricruz twirls her hair around a finger. “But also rad.”
Doug shrugs. “I don’t like using it. But it comes in handy.”
“Where did you find Leo? What kind of cell did this monster have him in?” I want to know the details, need to know them. They feed the churning black mass in my chest, and it’s easier to be furious than think about Leo lying there unconscious because of me, again. To think of all this time I spent in bleak despair over being the reason he was dead when this human had him. Rage is simpler. Cleaner.
“About that.” Doug eases himself more in between Von Alston and me. “Leo wasn’t in a cell. He was in a sitting room, near a fireplace. Reading.”
“Wait, what?”
“Leo is my guest,” Von Alston says. “I was friends with his mother. She belonged to an organization I traded information and favors with for many years. Young Leo showed up at my gate a few months ago. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for him, but I’ve done my best to keep him comfortable out of loyalty to his mother.”
I shake my head. None of this makes sense. Why would Leo come here instead of coming back to us? Why would he stay, knowing we would all assume he was dead? Knowing how much it would hurt?
He let me think I was responsible for his death all these months. Maybe I don’t feel so bad about accidentally shooting him with a tranquilizer. Maybe I want to shoot him with another one. But what Von Alston said needs more explaining, since Leo himself can’t explain it right now.
“What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do for him?”
“He’s dying.”
I push past Doug and throw Von Alston to the ground, my hand around his throat. “Don’t lie to me.” Leo can’t be dying. He was dead, and now he’s not, and my heart can’t take any more.
Von Alston’s voice is strained. “I’ve been nothing but truthful with you this whole time. Without his mother, he’s starving to death. Take him, if you wish.”
“Nina.” Doug tugs on my shoulder until I release Von Alston. “Let’s talk.”
“No. I don’t want to talk. We need to finish up here. You owe me a prize,” I snarl, yanking Von Alston to his feet. “I take cash.”
“We should go.” Chao-Ahn eyes the dark grounds nervously.
“Can’t leave until Leo wakes up.” I know from deeply painful experience that Leo cannot be budged or carried. I stalk toward the house, my hand around Von Alston’s wrist. I’m probably squeezing too tight. I can’t care. Von Alston hurries to keep up and avoid the indignity of being dragged. “Might as well make our time here worthwhile.”
“I am a man of my word,” Von Alston huffs. “I suppose you did win, even if it was unconventional. The prize is fifty thousand pounds.”
“Bully for me.” Although it’s a massive windfall for the castle, I can’t begin to feel giddy over it. We’ve gotten to the porch, and I can see Leo now, bathed in the warm yellow light from the house. He looks … awful. His jawline, always strong, stands out in stark contrast now, his cheeks hollow and the circles under his eyes so dark they look more like bruises than anything else.
But he’s here. He’s alive. And I’m so angry my vision is pulsing at the edges.
“Should we take him inside?” Taylor asks, trembling like a purse dog.
“Literally impossible. Hopefully he wakes up fast.” I try not to look at Leo’s prone body as I step around him. It’s too close to my nightmares of when I had to leave him behind.
I follow Von Alston into a study where he retrieves a leather satchel. He opens it to show me neat stacks of pound notes. “If you get a chance before he dies, you should ask Leo to train you,” he says, his tone sneering and pedantic. “He’s a Watcher. Pity they’re all gone now. You could certainly use one.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve known rogue Slayers. No control, all violent instinct without any training. Like feral animals without Watchers to direct them.”
My hand finds the place on his neck already marked by my fingers. I push him against the dark-wood-paneled wall. “Do I seem like I don’t have control right now?”
His eyes are wide. He shakes his head.
“Good. Are you the nameless threat demons are terrified of?”
He tries to shake his head again, but my hand must have tightened. He can’t quite manage it.
“No,” he whispers. “Everyone knows my name. I’ve never made a secret of what I do.”
I have to admit he’s right. It wasn’t hard to find his name. I got it twice—from the mercenaries, and from a demon. Much as I want it to be Von Alston, Doug searched the mansion and found only one demon. Half demon. And he was here by choice, which I still can’t reconcile. Plus, Von Alston doesn’t strike me as the type to inspire zealots, much less tolerate them. He’s far too British.
I don’t loosen my grip, though. “If I ever hear your name again in connection with anything or anyone under my protection—and that means werewolves and demons and Slayers, all of them—it won’t end well for you. Are we clear?”
He nods. I mean to let him go. I really do. But my fingers stay where they are, and I lean closer, staring at his neck. Such a fragile thing, a spine, separating life and death. Every part of humans is so breakable.
A strained wheeze escapes him. I let go, backing away. Disgusted with him. Disgusted with myself. And more than a little scared of how I keep thinking of him as a human. As something separate from me.
“You know I’m not in the wrong,” he says. “They don’t belong here.” He adjusts his tie, smooths his waistcoat, then raises one eyebrow over his aquiline nose. I’d like to break that nose into aquilines. See how regal he looks then. “I do a tremendous service to my country. You have no place to judge me if I sometimes seek sport while rendering those services. I don’t expect you to pity me, but you’d be astonished at how dull being this wealthy can be. I want for nothing, I need nothing, I—”
His need for my fist in his face is answered with a resounding thud. He goes down, clutching his bleeding, broken nose. I try to feel sorry, but I can’t find it in me.
If anything, I want to punch more things. I half hope the other hunters will wake up and come after us. But I’m afraid of what I might do. I know I’m overreacting. I’m not even being a Slayer right now. I’m being … me. But not me. And that’s what’s scary. I don’t recognize this Nina, and I don’t know how to feel any of the things I’m feeling without being taken over by them.
I close my eyes and let myself imagine my tiny medical center back in the castle. The neatly organized cupboards. The drawer full of tongue depressors. Artemis laughed at me for that. How many tongue depressors can one castle need? The truth was, I just liked having them. I liked all of it. I liked being the one who fixed things, who healed things.
But I don’t know how to fix Artemis. Or Leo. Or myself. And thinking about my medical center doesn’t calm me. It makes me feel even more lost.
I walk out to check on Leo, but something else catches my eye. A serial killer’s dream van is parked on the grass. It’s
covered with dings and scratches and a long-faded decal for something, but I can only make out the letters for GO AT BABY. There are tire marks all over the formerly perfect lawn, far more than would have been required just to get the van here. The side door slides open, and Oz sits there, legs out, bathed in the light of the moon.
I stay on the porch, not touching Leo. Not looking at him. I can’t. Chao-Ahn stands in front of me, considering me with what I assume is disapproval. We might be here for a while, and I need to talk about something that doesn’t matter. I need to do anything other than think about what I’m going to say to Leo when he wakes up.
“So. Uh. What brings you all to London?” I ask her.
Chao-Ahn has the most beautifully judgmental glare I’ve ever seen. “Sineya.”
“I’m sorry?”
Her glare deepens. “Sineya. The First Slayer. You know.” She gestures to her hair, then hunches a bit and scowls.
“Oh, right! She tried to stab me. She did stab me.” I used to have such good control of my Slayer dreams. But I’ve lost that, along with control everywhere else in my life. Buffy told me about the First Slayer. She said Sineya was judgy. She never mentioned stabby. It feels like a pretty big oversight.
“Why are you here?” Maricruz asks. She’s sitting on a decorative stone wall, braiding Taylor’s hair.
“Thought there was a threat. Bigger than Von Alston, I mean.”
“So you’re hunting it?”
Am I? Wasn’t I the one who said if we started going after potential threats, we would stop being Sanctuary? And if it’s something that’s only threatening demons, do I get involved? Because not all demons—or even most of them—are benign like Doug. I want to help the ones who are, but the ones who aren’t definitely don’t belong here. My head doesn’t ache, exactly, but it feels like it should. “Um, not really. We’re looking for people—werewolves—well, anyone of a bump-in-the-night persuasion. It’s a long story.”
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