Slayer (Slayer #1)

Can’t explain just please begging you come right now

My adrenaline kicks back into gear. I grab my shoes and run.

6

IT’S JUST PAST MIDNIGHT. THE only light is from the almost full moon. Everything is pale illumination and blackest shadows. Beneath my cable-knit sweater, I’m itching from the inside out—buzzing as I sprint through the trees, spooking at every crack of a twig or rustle of dying leaves. Cillian’s panicked texts have me feeling like I’m going to jump out of my own skin.

There is, in fact, a demon that can jump out of its own skin, which is where the saying comes from. When surprised or in danger, the demon literally jumps out of its skin and leaves it behind, much like some lizards can detach their tails. I saw an illustration of it once, and firmly hope to never see it in real life.

I started out tentatively—my mom always insists I never exert myself, so all my trips to town are accomplished at a leisurely walking pace—but now I’m running faster, and faster, and faster. Running away from who she told me I was. The girl who shouldn’t be exposed to stress or panic. The girl who shouldn’t push herself.

I stumble as the truth slides into place like a knife into a sheath. She was trying to keep my Slayer potential from being activated. I had believed that she didn’t want me exposed to stressful situations because she was trying to make up for the fire. But Potentials become Slayers when they hit physical maturity and encounter a moment that requires something of them. She tried to make certain I never had that moment. It took an interdimensional demon to get past the coddled, safe box she placed me in. Otherwise I never would have become a Slayer at all.

And I don’t know which option is worse—never knowing what she hid from me or having to be a Slayer.

I run so fast the forest blurs dizzily around me. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what my own physical limits are. I don’t want to push, because pushing, running as fast as I can, or enjoying any of this makes the fact that I’m a Slayer—I’m a Slayer—real. And I don’t want it to be.

Cillian’s waiting for me as I skid to a stop outside his house. He looks as shaken up as I feel.

“What’s wrong?” I search him for wounds, but he seems fine, physically.

“I, uh, have a problem. I need to show you what’s in my yard.”

Cillian’s house is a cottage built on the edge of Shancoom, abutting the forest. His backyard is a small space with a sturdy shed against the fence. In the two years since we dropped a castle inside the trees, no one in the village has accidentally found it. We used to have magical wards to deter them, but it turns out people are just super uncurious about the woods.

I’ve been to Cillian’s only a few times, but I like it. It’s an actual home. And as much as I rationally know that living inside a castle is cool, whenever I walk into Cillian’s house I’m hit with a sense of familiarity and comfort. A cozy, curated space, shared with people you love. A building that functions only to take care of you.

Of course, Cillian’s house has been emptier of late. His mom hasn’t been back in six weeks. I try not to ask for details—it’s none of my business, and I can see in the soft way Rhys approaches the subject that it’s a tender one.

Which reminds me.

“Why didn’t you want Rhys to come?”

Cillian bounces nervously on the balls of his feet as he looks through the open front door of the dimly lit house and toward the dark, fenced-in backyard. “Um. You need to see it. Then you’ll understand.”

I follow Cillian through his house to the back door, my curiosity warring with trepidation. He flips on the backyard floodlights. Something must really be troubling him if—

I throw an arm out in front of Cillian, every muscle on high alert, every nerve in my body screaming fight or fight, having left flight entirely out of the equation.

There’s a demon.

Collapsed unconscious on the grass is a lanky thing in a Coldplay T-shirt and skinny jeans. It has acid-yellow skin, black horns, and black lips to match. The demon’s face is bruised and swollen, one scaly cheek sliced down to the bone. Peeking out from its clothes are a lot more wounds. One arm is at an angle I’m pretty sure no arm should ever be at, even when attached to a demon.

That makes two demons within twenty-four hours. Threatening my family. My home. My friends. A pulse of blinding rage fills me, and I take a step toward the demon.

“It’s a demon, right?” Cillian’s voice snaps me out of my enraged stupor. I blink, trying to shake off some of the kill-kill-kill roaring through me. It feels foreign, like my brain playing a song I don’t know. Once, when we still lived in London, Artemis and Jade snuck me into a concert. The bass was so powerful I could feel it inside, competing with and overtaking my heart. This is similar. Like my heart isn’t mine anymore. The beat is a foreign entity.

Slayer, something whispers deep inside. I shove it further down.

Cillian is wigging out. His eyes are open so wide they practically glow in the darkness of the house. He hasn’t crossed the threshold into the yard. “I know you guys told me about demons, but I didn’t really believe it. That thing earlier could have been some crazy, sick dog or wolf or hyena. In Ireland. But this? I believe you now.”

“Did you do something?” I turn to him. “Summon them? How?” Summoning shouldn’t work anymore. All the portals are gone, any magic used to lure the demons broken.

“No! God, no. Why would I want this? I didn’t realize that thing was out here until an hour ago. I couldn’t sleep and went to get the rubbish bins for collection before I forgot.”

Though I can’t discount the connection that both demons have been found around Cillian, I still believe him. Cillian has never been anything but helpful. If he wanted to hurt us, if he had some sinister ulterior motive, he could have done something ages ago. And I know he loves Rhys. The way they look at each other is so sweet it practically gives me a sugar rush.

“Right. So. There’s a demon in your backyard.” I tug nervously on my hair. “Why did you ask me to come? Did you ask because I killed—because of what I did to that other one?”