Slayer (Slayer #1)

Then he smiles, and that mask he wears so well slides back into place. He disappears into it. He’s retreating from me into what must have become a defense mechanism all that time he spent alone with his mother, believing his only friends were gone, afraid to care about anyone. So I’m shocked when he leans forward and brushes his cool, soft lips against my forehead.

“Get some sleep, Slayer. I’m your Watcher. I’ll research, and I’ll watch, and we’ll figure it out in the morning.” He slides off the bed and back onto the floor. He takes the stack of books I borrowed from Rhys, setting them down on top of the prophecy book. I lie on my side, this time not turning my back to him. My eyelids gradually lose the fight against sleep.

When I close them, I still see him.

• • •

I dream of the fire.

But this time I’m not alone. As I watch my mother carrying Artemis out, walking straight through the fire, untouched, I feel the presence of hundreds of other minds.

“Oh God,” a voice says, “this is the third time I’ve been dragged into this one. No one else dreams like you. So either bring supplies for s’mores, or keep your trauma on lockdown.”

I turn to see a gorgeous brunette with pouty lips, big brown eyes, and a wry expression. She’s sitting in the middle of the fire. “Listen, kid, whatever happened, you’re five by five now. Try to let it go.”

“But—” I start, choking and coughing on the smoke. I’m not actually breathing in smoke, though. Not anymore.

The brunette winks at me. “Come on. I’m a pro at this. I once spent a whole year sleeping. But there was only one other Slayer to connect with back then. And I don’t like peeking in on B.” She holds out her hand. I take it. She tugs, and—

I’ve never been to a party like this before. I don’t think there ever has been a party like this. The lights flash, the music pounds, and all around me are girls dancing with ferocious abandon.

“That’s more like it!” The brunette winks at me again. “Live a little. You’re out of the frying pan and out of the fire. You’re a Slayer. Enjoy it!” She dances away into the crowd.

I’m left alone, but I’m not. I breathe in the energy around me, the pulsing life of so many incredible, strong, angry girls. There’s a fine line between a party and a riot, and we’re stomping up and down it. I throw my head back, close my eyes, feel the beat down to my very soul, telling me to let go.

But I’m scared. I don’t want to let go. What might happen if I do? Will I become a true Slayer? A hunter?

Will I break the world?

I draw back, and the room around me twists in a bright swirl of lights, disappearing.

I’m on the rooftop. Alone. Apparently this is where Slayers go when they’re sad and pathetic. Buffy waits, sitting on the edge, looking out over the sleeping city. “I never wanted this!” I shout.

She turns so I see her profile. “Me neither.”

“I’m going to break the world, and it’s all your fault!”

She lifts an eyebrow. “How is that my fault?”

“If I wasn’t a Slayer, I definitely couldn’t break the world.”

“Well, if you break the world, I’ll stop you.”

“I dare you to try!” I shake my head, confused by my own reaction. I don’t want to break the world. I would hope someone could stop me if it came to that. Why am I thinking this? Feeling this? Rage funnels into me, a vortex of thousands of years of pain and anger and power, but there’s nowhere else to push it. I’m the end. It pools in me, dammed. I close my eyes. I want to push her off. I want to—

• • •

A soft glow from a bedside clock shows 3:25. It casts muted green light onto a rumpled bed.

I don’t have a clock with a green display.

That’s not Artemis’s bed. It’s Cillian’s. He turns his head from side to side, whimpering, as though trying to wake himself.

The darkness forms, taking shape on top of him.

• • •

I sit straight up, my heart racing. The clock on our nightstand—the numbers red, not green—reads 3:24.