Slayer (Slayer #1)

“Nina!” The blanket is yanked away.

My hand covers my racing heart. “Who was screaming?”

Artemis sighs as she lies down beside me. “You were. The fire again?”

I don’t need to answer her. “And something new. Let’s never talk about Slayers before bed again.” But weirdly, that first dream—filled with demons and blood and death—wasn’t disturbing. I felt energized. Proud, even. Then the fire came and ruined everything, as always.

Artemis stays, which I’m grateful for. She hasn’t slept in my bed for a long time. But even when we fight, no one makes me feel as safe as she does. She quickly falls back asleep.

I don’t want to sleep. Not now. Not ever.

My body disagrees, and I slip right back under. The only dream I have is of a woman—petite with blond pigtail buns—sitting on the edge of a roof overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Though the scene is quiet, I feel the pulsing presence of others around me. Unlike the darkness that had claimed the girl fighting the demon horde, there’s no peace here. We all watch, and we all feel the same thing, feeding off each other into a frenzy.

Rage. Focused on her.

Buffy sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I have never been part of something so big, so overwhelming. Surrounded, I lose myself in it. I surrender. I want to. The rage swells, a swarm of invisible violence focused on her. We are angry, we are multitudes, and we are buzzing.

And beeping.

Beeping.

Beeping.

I awake with a start, grabbing my clock. It’s 4:50 a.m. I turn off the alarm.

Whoever is waiting for me, they had better have coffee. And doughnuts. And a puppy.

“What?” Artemis asks, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“I have that meeting with Bradford Smythe.” I want to stay in bed, pretend nothing ever changed, that none of this ever happened. Anxiety seizes me as I consider the unknown future.

But I’ve been kept in the dark my whole life. I need answers before I decide what happens next. And I’m positive I just had Slayer dreams, which means that simply by knowing about a power, I was able to tap into it. What else can I do if I understand myself better?

“Yeah.” Artemis checks the clock and groans. She gets up at five forty-five every morning. I hate depriving her of these last precious minutes of sleep. “Let me get ready.”

“Why?”

She glares blearily at me. “I’m coming.”

“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t realize until this moment that I don’t want her there. Which is new for me. I’m nervous, but it’ll be worse if she comes. I’m worried that she’ll take over and I’ll let her, because it’s easier.

Her face hardens. “Fine. If you don’t need me to.”

“I didn’t say that! I don’t need you to, though. It’s just a meeting. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it. You hear everything.”

“Except about you being a Potential, apparently.”

“That’s not fair! I didn’t hear that either, and it was about me.”

Artemis sighs and sits up. Her face reluctantly resettles from angry to understanding. “I know.”

Some of the tightness in my chest loosens. We’re going to talk about it. Really talk about it. Cillian’s hug was what I needed yesterday, and Artemis’s open ear is what I need now. “Who do you think will be at the meeting?” I ask, working myself up to the big things.

“Obviously they’re trying to hide this meeting from Mom; otherwise they would have called you to the regular Council room at a normal time.”

“Do you think I should do it? If the whole Council doesn’t approve?” Maybe I’m hoping she’ll say I shouldn’t. That she’ll give me an out.