Slayer (Slayer #1)

“What?” Eve does not look pleased. “Why wasn’t I told?”

Rhys and I share equally puzzled looks. “Since when?” I ask.

Artemis pulls out her ponytail, redoes it even tighter. “Mom has one. She said it was classified and I was never to mention it. So I think the rest of the Council doesn’t know.”

I try not to show how hurt I am that, yet again, Artemis has been keeping secrets from me—and this time it’s worse, since it’s a secret she has with our mom. When it comes to Mom, I always thought Artemis and I were a team. Us against her. But I guess that’s not the case. “Why would she have a Slayer database? Mom is the one who’s always been opposed to getting new Slayers to work with. She said it was a security threat.”

“She set it up not long after we moved the castle here. I only know about it because I had to teach her how to use all the programs. The Watchers Council isn’t exactly known for being tech savvy.” Artemis glances sheepishly at Eve, who laughs.

“That’s true. Perhaps if any of them had a cell phone, I could have found you all two years ago. But I’m intrigued by this information. And if it can help us save Cosmina, then we’re obligated to use it. Slayers are vulnerable out there, alone. It’s our duty to protect them. I don’t know why Helen didn’t share this or make Slayers a priority. It’s concerning.” She picks up the nunchucks and returns them to their place on the wall. “She’s been keeping too many secrets from the Council. I respect your mother, tremendously, but I can’t understand her decisions. What if we ask her for the database and she refuses?”

“We don’t ask,” I say, still angry with my mother from this morning. And, well, from forever. “We just take it.” Then, thinking about the events of the morning, I remember a complication. “Are we on lockdown again?” If we are, there’s no way we’ll save Cosmina in time, even if we can find her info.

“Why would we be?” Eve asks.

So my mother didn’t tell them about the hellhound. That’s odd and a bit troubling. But I won’t be the one to admit I drew another hellhound right to our front door—and that my mom killed it, not me. I wonder why she didn’t think it merited lockdown. She doesn’t know what I suspect, that the hellhound was looking for the demon and had no purpose at the castle other than chasing me. Is it possible she doesn’t want everyone to know how bad I messed up in bringing the hellhound here? If so, it would be almost kind of her. I can’t imagine that’s why, but I can’t think of why else.

“No reason,” I say. I’m not sure if I’m covering for my mother or she’s covering for me.

• • •

Eve promises us an hour. We give her a head start to get my mother out of her rooms. Then Artemis, Rhys, Leo, and I hurry to the Council members’ residence wing. They’re on the south end, which stays cooler during the summer and warmer during the winter. Our wing was originally servants’ quarters. The rooms are claustrophobic, the hallways mazes. But this wing housed the important people both historically and now. The hallways are wide enough for all of us to walk side by side, and the rugs are plush beneath our feet. The windows here were more carefully updated, and though they’re still narrow, the glass actually fits.

Leo guards the entrance to the wing. He’ll warn us if my mother is on her way, but hopefully this won’t take long. Her rooms are at the very end of the wing. I wonder which door hides Ruth Zabuto, muttering over dead relics and useless crystals. We pass a door that’s been fussily surrounded with vases. I’m positive it’s Wanda Wyndam-Pryce’s, and I want to stop and key it. Wanda sometimes pretends like she can’t remember my name. You can count the teens in the castle on one hand. She does it to make me feel small.

Instead, we go straight to our target. I’ve been in my mother’s rooms only a handful of times. She comes to ours if she needs us, or we meet in one of the common areas. The last time we were here, it was because we had baked a cake for her birthday. The cake wasn’t good, and neither was the surprise celebration. She tried to pretend like she was enjoying it, but we couldn’t even manage a conversation. It was awful.

This castle was supposed to function as a boarding school. I wish it really were. It would be easier if my mom never saw us because she didn’t live here instead of because she just . . . never saw us. At least Artemis can say that our mother actually needs her sometimes, like when she asked for Artemis’s help on this database.

What would that feel like?

Artemis picks the lock faster than she should be able to. I raise my eyebrows. She shrugs. “Just one of the many skills I thought would be useful if I were an active-duty Watcher.” Her voice is so determinedly unemotional that I feel a pang, and for the thousandth time, I wonder about the test that determined infinitely capable Artemis wasn’t full Watcher material.

My mother’s suite hasn’t changed. There’s a sterile sitting room—a stiff sofa, a high-backed armchair, a practical ottoman. A metal table with one chair where she must take her meals. Something about the lack of a second chair makes me lonely. At least I have Artemis, even if we haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. She’s still there. Does my mom see the lack of my dad every time she faces the emptiness across the table? Artemis and I trade our memories of him back and forth like gifts. They’re fuzzy and worn around the edges, shared so many times I don’t remember which are hers and which are mine. Who does my mother share anything with now? Why can’t she talk to us, give us new memories of him to treasure?

A door to our right leads to her bedroom, which is as impersonal as a hotel room. The bedspread is plain white, the nightstand empty except for one item.

I walk over to it, drawn like a magnet. It’s a photo of our family—our whole family—the last one we ever took. My father has his arm around my mother. Artemis and I stand in front of them, beaming with gap-toothed grins. Our hair is in matching pigtail braids. I should stare at my father, but I find myself unable to look away from my mother.

Dream mother wasn’t a fantasy I made up after all. Her smile is dazzling. She looks utterly vibrant, more happiness captured in a single frame than I’ve seen from her in years.

I pick it up, running my finger over the family I once had.

“I can’t believe it.” Artemis groans.

I set the photo down. I hadn’t even noticed the laptop on a utilitarian desk in the corner. Artemis has it open, but the screen is asking for a password. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“She changed the password! I don’t know how she even knew how to do it.” Artemis rifles through drawers and stacks of papers. “Maybe she wrote it down.”

Rhys helps her search while I stand there, dazed and useless. I know my mother sleeps here, lives here. But it feels so empty. Idly, I check out the nightstand drawer. In it are two leather-bound journals. I instantly recoil, remembering my own journal being read aloud.

But these are Watcher diaries covered in dust. My mother hasn’t looked at them in a long time, but they must be here for a reason. I want to show them to Artemis, but I’m worried she’ll tell me to leave them. I don’t want to. My mother never gives me anything—so I’ll force her to. I tuck them into my waistband at my back, pulling my loose shirt out to cover them.

“Got it!” Artemis triumphantly holds up a piece of paper and types in the password. Once the laptop loads, Artemis quickly taps through, then she swears. “It’s gone. Deleted. And I can’t find the files anywhere. Even the trash folder is emptied. She wrote down her password, but she emptied her trash folder?”

“Does that worry you?” I ask. “She not only had a secret database, she also wiped it?”

Artemis twists her lips and stares at the laptop as though it will reveal our mother’s mysteries. As with all things maternal in our lives, she’s disappointed. “I don’t know. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe the database never worked out. We can’t jump to conclusions.”