The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill

by Brewer, Heather

  “Thanks, Sirus.” Joss closed his hand over the FireSteel, his heart welling with gratefulness. It wasn’t just the gift that had him feeling emotional. It was Sirus’s unfailing kindness. “For everything.”

  Abraham walked into the dining room then, looking well rested, clean, and well fed. He looked very much like he hadn’t been out running all night long just to prove himself. Unlike Joss.

  Joss lifted the sandwich to his mouth once more. It was almost impossible to keep his composure, to not scream and rant and yell at his uncle for everything he’d been put through. But somehow, he managed. He kept his cool. And just as he was taking that third bite of turkey yumminess, Abraham said, “Cut and stack the firewood.”

  Joss immediately set his sandwich on the plate and stood, his muscles and joints screaming for him to let them rest, please God, just let them have a moment of stillness. Sirus shot Joss a look—a look that told him that it was okay, to sit down and finish his sandwich, that he needed his rest and Sirus had the power to force that on Abraham—but when he did, Joss shot a look back. He hoped that his look was full of meaning, that Sirus could understand without a single word that this was more than training now.

  Without a word to Abraham, he pushed open the back door, letting it slap closed behind him. And though it wasn’t the most mature thought that he had ever had, Joss wished very much that the sound had hurt Abraham’s ears. It would be something, at least.

  Outside, Joss found the ax stuck in the top of a stump. Beside it lay the trunk of a tree. It had been cut into three long logs and the branches had been trimmed away. Against the back of the house was a quickly dwindling stack of firewood logs. Joss looked over the new logs and wondered how long they’d been lying there. Probably close to six months. Maybe a year, even. But he was betting they were seasoned and ready for the fire. If you didn’t wait long enough, the wood would be too wet and wouldn’t burn right, wouldn’t burn long enough or hot enough. But this looked ready. And more than that, it looked like hickory, which was a nice wood for burning. Joss may not have known much about surviving in the wilderness, but he knew all about cutting wood. His grandfather had shown him how to do it two years before. It had been one of the last things that Grandpa had taught Joss. Before his life was taken by a vampire—like Cecile. Since then, it had been one of Joss’s chores at home. He had two woodcutting seasons under his belt now. So if Abraham thought he was challenging Joss in new and unexpected ways, he had another think coming.

  Of course, all of Joss’s woodcutting had been turning logs into firewood, not turning entire tree trunks into logs. But he was reasonably sure that he could do it. After all, how much of a difference could there really be? Rubbing his hands together, Joss yanked the ax free and approached the first log with a confident step.

  An hour later, sweaty and broken and so frustrated that he really wanted to kick something, Joss knew exactly how much of a difference there was between cutting logs down to size and cutting trunks into logs. Huge. There was a huge difference. Enormous. Because while it was difficult hoisting larger logs onto the tree stump and chopping them straight through the middle, it was almost impossible to hack away at a giant piece of hickory in hopes of cutting it into large disks that he’d struggle to lug onto the stump in hopes of maybe, just maybe, chopping that stupid thing into quarters, just so he could chop those quarters into usable logs. Never mind the fact that Joss hadn’t slept. Never mind the fact that he’d only had three bites of a turkey sandwich and not a single drop of water in twenty-four hours. Never mind the fact that he’d just run he didn’t even know how many miles and was now expected to do chores for his uncle—an uncle he was coming to loathe with every fiber of his being. And now he had to chop another hunk from another log, lug it over to the stump, struggle to lift the stupid thing and drop it on the stump without dropping it on his foot, and then cut that stupid thing into stupid pieces that would fit nicely inside Abraham’s stupid fireplace. Joss held the ax over his head and swung it down hard with a frustrated growl. It hit the stump and stuck in deep.

  “Remind me not to be reincarnated as a tree around you.”

  Joss jerked his head up to see Kat, who was standing several feet away, smiling at him with that crooked, sarcastic grin. Any other time, he might have been happy to see her. But right now he was tired and hungry and sore and just about as miserable as anybody on planet Earth could possibly get. Which meant that despite the fact that he was feeling extremely lonely, all he really wanted was just to be left alone. “What do you want?”

  Kat’s smile wilted, but only slightly. She wouldn’t be easily sucked into his misery. “I want world peace, Joss, but that isn’t likely to happen.”

  In her hand, she was holding a butterfly net. Hanging from her belt was a jar. Several fluttery creatures moved within the glass confines. Joss hesitated—not wanting to be drawn into conversation, just wanting to be left alone, really—and pointed to the jar, unable to resist his obsession. “I see you’ve been out collecting.”

  She smiled brightly again. “Yeah. Some interesting species up here. You should come over tonight and help me categorize them. Unless you have plans to wrestle another mountain lion, of course. What’s with the ax murderer routine anyway? Reminds me of a preview I saw for this movie called Psycho Slasher Chain Saw Guy from Hell.”

  Joss raised an eyebrow and looked at her, his confusion overshadowing his frustration for the moment. “Wouldn’t he have a chain saw?”

  Kat nodded enthusiastically. “And an ax. And a pair of hedge clippers. It’s supposed to be brutal, but doesn’t come out for a while. Maybe when it does, we can go see it. I mean, you know, if we like visit one another this fall or something. You know, if you want to.”

  He shook his head. They couldn’t visit one another. They couldn’t be friends. Joss was about to become a Slayer. He couldn’t have close ties, blossoming friendships. It would make it that much harder for him to move around, to leave people behind. There was no way he could risk becoming close to someone. He never should have even started.

  With a glare at Kat, he yanked the ax out of the stump again. “Get out of here, Kat. We’re not friends. We never were friends. We’ll never be friends.”

  Kat stepped back, her eyes wide, as if he’d just punched her in the gut. Wordlessly, she shook her head, but she didn’t leave.

  Joss screamed, “Get away from me!”

  Her eyes welled up with tears—tears that were soon burned away by her hateful glare. “Fine! I will!”

  Joss swung the ax as hard as he could into the log and it split. Then he turned and watched Kat race into the other cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  He knew that everything he’d said had hurt her, but what she didn’t realize was that he’d probably just made her life a whole lot easier—and a whole lot better—by removing himself from it. She didn’t want to be friends with a Slayer, let alone with a boy who wasn’t capable of protecting anyone. Even himself.

  20

  J’ACCUSE

  Joss tossed the last two logs onto the cord of wood lined up against the back of the house. The palms of his hands were now home to several splinters, and Joss had discovered a type of exhaustion that he hadn’t known existed. His shoulders were burning, even though he wasn’t really using them anymore. For a long moment, once the wood was all in place, he simply stood there in a daze. The sun had set two hours before, and Joss had taken few breaks—none of them to eat. At one point, Sirus had brought him a few jugs of water and insisted that he drink, but that was all that Joss was willing to do. There would be a time for food and rest, and that time would come once he was finished with the task at hand. Not one second before. Now that he was done, all he really wanted to do was sleep, or at the very least, lie still on his soft bed and think about the choices he’d made that had brought him to this place, to this moment. He turned toward the house, knowing that his efforts wouldn’t coax so much as a single word of gratitude from his uncle, and lifted his left
foot, ready to begin the small journey that would take him inside the house and up the stairs to his bed.

  But then he heard a noise. A noise that sounded like movement in the trees. A noise that sent a shiver up his spine and goose bumps crawling all over his skin. It could be a vampire—or worse, several vampires—and no one was here but Joss.

  Sure, he could have flung open the back door and called to the others, but part of him knew that Abraham would frown with disapproval at a sign of weakness like that. So instead, Joss picked up a large, thick splinter of the wood he’d been chopping and headed soundlessly into the woods, toward the noise. It was probably really stupid of him to try and face a vampire on his own, but maybe if he could take the thing out of commission, Abraham might start showing him just an ounce of respect. He had to try, anyway.

  When he reached the edge of the woods, his movements became even more careful. One snap of a twig and the beast would be on him in seconds. He had the advantage right now. He just had to ensure that he kept the advantage.

  His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the large splinter that the wood bit into his palm. He wasn’t shaking at all, but on the inside, he felt as though he were quivering like a coward. He might be walking into a trap. He might be willingly provoking his own death. And he had absolutely zero control over any of it, except for the sounds he made as he worked his way through the thick brush. He held his breath for as long as he could, then very slowly let it out, breathing in another lungful of air just as slowly, and holding it until he couldn’t hold it any longer.

  The woods were pitch-black and full of sounds that hadn’t been there in the daytime. Frightening sounds. Sounds that could be anything or anyone. Hungry sounds.

  Joss swallowed hard, gripping the splinter even tighter, and edged up to a large oak tree. When he peered around the side, he saw a light in the distance. It looked like a campfire, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance. As he moved closer, he heard voices. Familiar voices. He relaxed his shoulders and slipped the splinter into his back pocket. Until he earned a stake, it was a good idea to keep some kind of weapon around. Who knew when a vampire might be lurking just around the next corner? He had to be prepared.

  He turned from the fire, but stopped when he heard Abraham speak. “I remember my training days, and no one ever went so easy on me. You’re all soft on the boy. Joss will never become a great Slayer if you Slayers keep coddling him.”

  Coddling him? Abraham was acting like the other Slayers had been spoon-feeding Joss berries every breakfast and treating him to movies and popcorn every night. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, looking down the hill to where he’d entered the woods. He was certain his uncle wouldn’t want him eavesdropping, but since Joss seemed to be the subject matter, didn’t he have every right to listen in? After a moment spent debating with himself over the morals of purposefully overhearing a conversation that one isn’t supposed to be privy to, curiosity got the best of him and Joss crept silently forward, determined to take in every word. He got close enough that he could see the Slayers’ faces clear as day, but not so close that the light or heat from the fire would touch him. After he was in position and fairly certain he wouldn’t be caught, Joss’s eyes fell on the small pile of logs beside the fire pit. As if in acknowledgment of all his backbreaking labor, his palms throbbed. He made a mental note to ask Sirus for some bandages to cover all the blisters.

  Morgan tossed another log onto the fire. “It’s not like we’re tucking him in with a teddy every night, Abraham. But he is just a boy. You’re too hard on him.”

  “Besides,” Paty interjected, “he’s talented. Given enough time, he could be one of the best. If he gets a chance, that is. If you don’t kill him first.”

  Abraham shot her a look, and everyone grew quiet for a long while. Then Chazz shook his head, a bemused smirk on his face. “I think he’ll survive. But his parents might suspect something about his summer activities if the boy ends up in traction, like you did, Cratian.”

  The Slayers roared with laughter. All but Cratian, who looked more embarrassed than anything.

  Ash took a swig from a label-less bottle and wiped his mouth clean on the back of his hand. “We have to be rough on Joss. Otherwise he could stray. Look at Sirus, for example.”

  Several Slayers grunted and nodded their agreement. Abraham tensed, the semipleasant expression on his face vanishing in an instant. “Exactly why I’m being rough on my nephew. I’ve officially reported Sirus twice this year already. He’s been beyond his training days for years, and still needs to be reminded of the cause.”

  Morgan shook his head, as if something critically obvious were escaping Abraham’s attention. “You let Sirus get away with too much. What about the girl? You let him bring his daughter to our training facility. His non-Slayer daughter. Being in charge, that’s enough to get you reprimanded by the Society.”

  “Don’t tell me what will get me reprimanded and what won’t, Morgan. I report to the Society, not you,” Abraham snapped. “You’re not all privy to certain information, so just keep your speculation in check. There’s a reason the Society’s allowing it. Or am I to understand that you’re questioning their good wisdom?”

  Morgan’s eyes went wide, and Joss guessed that questioning the Society was a major no-no. “Of course not. I would never question. I was merely curious.”

  Abraham tossed another log onto the fire, flashing Morgan a heated glare as he did so. His tone was full of warning. “Don’t forget what curiosity did to the cat, Morgan. I’d hate to lose another member of my team.”

  Joss took a slow step back, and was about to begin his descent down the hill and his journey to his soft bed, when Cratian spoke again, stopping Joss in his tracks. “We need to talk about Malek.”

  Paty shook her head. “I think it’s fairly obvious that Malek’s death was a message from the hive, from that vampire called Zy.”

  Cratian threw another log on the fire. Sparks burst up and out, dancing on the tips of the flames. “Maybe. But let me remind you of a certain new recruit six years ago. She turned on us in a matter of weeks to help the vampires. We have no reason to believe Malek’s death wasn’t an inside job.”

  A mutter raced through the group, and by the looks on their faces, Joss could see that they all agreed—all, that is, but Abraham, who looked disgusted at the very idea that a Slayer would dare take another Slayer’s life.

  Could it be true? Could Malek’s horrific murder be the act of one of the Slayers, someone who slept every night in the same house as the rest of them? Joss didn’t know if he would ever sleep again, knowing that the person who could do that—rip a fellow Slayer limb from limb—might be sleeping just down the hall. Or maybe not sleeping at all. Maybe plotting quietly which Slayer they’d take out next, and how.

  The thought sent a wave of cold nausea through Joss.

  Abraham spoke, his tone as curt as it could get. Joss could tell he was irritated. “I doubt that a man could or would take such a violent approach to murder. His body was in pieces.”

  Cratian shrugged. “What better way to drive their message home than by making one of our own the messenger? A man might not be capable of tearing someone limb from limb ... but a Slayer might.”

  Abraham stared at the fire for a long time before speaking. “And just whom do you think it could possibly be, Cratian? The nine of us have known and trained together for years. Which of us would turn on the others?”

  Chazz shook his head. “Not Sirus. He may be a wild card, but he’s loyal. He may not be here tonight, but only because of his parental duties. He and I have discussed our concerns at great length, and I can tell you, the man is one of us. Besides, I’ve seen him fight. There’s no way he could have taken Malek down, let alone tore him to pieces. There’s a reason Sirus is a nursemaid.”

  A few of them chuckled, but all sound stopped once Ash said a name. Every animal in the woods was silenced. Every crackle of the campfire ceased. Even Joss’s heart stopp
ed beating when the name was uttered in an accusing tone. “What about Joss?”

  A long silence went by. It took a lot of guts for one of them to accuse Abraham’s nephew, Joss could tell. But accuse him Ash had.

  “He’s new to the group,” Cratian piped in. “Strong, talented. He’s a nice kid, but he did meet with that vampire, and walked away with a message and not a single drop of blood on his hands. It could be him, Abraham.”

  To Joss’s utter shock and amazement, Abraham nodded. “Watch him. Closely. If he was the one to take Malek down, if you even think you see any evidence of a lack of loyalty on his part, come to me. I’ll take care of him.”

  Joss slowly, silently moved down the hill and across the yard, his mouth hanging open in utter shock. He knew that his uncle hadn’t meant that he’d punish Joss and send him on his merry way, back to his parents, back to his life.

  Abraham was going to kill him.

  21

  DETERMINATION

  Despite his bruises, despite his exhaustion, Joss tossed and turned for most of the night. The little bit of sleep that he did get was tormented by terrible nightmares. In one, a shadowy figure crept down the hall to his room, where it proceeded to rip Joss to shreds. In another, his uncle staked him through the chest as the other Slayers gathered around, laughing wholeheartedly. And then there was Cecile, always haunting him, always blaming him for her horrible fate.

  By the time the sun had come up, Joss was ready to get out of bed and away from his pillow. He was also very much in need of Sirus’s company and counsel. After all, what good were friends if you couldn’t go to them for advice?

  As he moved down the stairs, he glanced at his stillaching palms, and remembered the blisters. Maybe Sirus would have some antibiotic ointment as well. The other Slayers could call Sirus a nursemaid if they wanted, but the fact was that training and fighting and all of their hard work would be nothing without someone to patch them up at the end of the day. Joss wondered if they viewed Sirus as less than manly for his caretaking responsibilities. If so, he thought, then they had no idea what it really took to be a man.