Slayer (Slayer 1)

“Those are our ancient ancestors you’re criticizing,” Rhys says, mildly hurt.

But I’ve gotta admit, I’m with Cillian on this one. Except that’s why there were Watchers, too. We didn’t give Slayers that responsibility and then abandon them.

They abandoned us. Buffy led the charge, as always. She was the first Slayer in our entire history who rejected our guidance. Our knowledge. Our help. Like we were holding her back instead of supporting her.

My head is spinning. I keep feeling the crack of the neck. “But then Buffy, the most recent Slayer—”

Rhys interrupts me. “The most recent-ish. All Slayers started out as Potentials. When the current Slayer died, the next one was called. So there was only ever one. Most Potentials never became Slayers. Anyway, Buffy died once—”

“Twice,” I correct.

“Irrelevant to the current explanation,” Rhys huffs. “She died, so another Slayer, Kendra, was called, but then Buffy was resuscitated, so there were two Slayers, but then Kendra died, and the Slayer after her was—”

“Give me the Wikipedia version, for God’s sake,” Cillian says.

While Rhys tells the story, I climb up on a chair in front of the high window and peer out at the trees. I don’t want to listen to what Rhys is saying. I already know it. Two years ago when Buffy was fighting the First Evil, she was going to lose. So she did what she always does: She broke something. This time it was the binding of the Slayer power. The rules that had been in place, that had worked since the beginning of time, were eliminated.

Suddenly every girl with the potential to become a Slayer did become a Slayer, or would become a Slayer when she was old enough.

She let the Watchers die, and then she flooded the earth with almost two thousand new Slayers. And then she got around a thousand of them killed in battle, because of course she did. There’s a reason there was only supposed to be one Slayer and a whole organization of Watchers. And having all those new Slayers didn’t tip the balance in favor of good. It did the opposite. Demons content to slurk through the night, doing their demon-y things? Suddenly felt threatened. The more Buffy pushes, the more the darkness pushes back. And it pushed back so hard, the world almost ended.

I give up on the window. There’s nothing out there. I don’t know how I know, but I do. And I feel sick with dread at what all these new abilities and senses might mean. For sixty-freaking-two days I’ve been able to ignore them. But I can’t anymore.

Rhys has caught up to Buffy’s most recent terrible exploits in his explanation. “Do you remember a couple months back when the world almost ended?”

“The world almost ended?” Cillian asks, aghast.

“Oh, right.” Rhys rubs his forehead. Maybe this is the real reason we don’t talk about this stuff to anyone who isn’t a Watcher. It’s complicated. “The world almost ended because another dimension was taking over ours.”

“Sixty-two days ago,” I whisper. And we had to sit here in our castle, watching it unfold, because if we revealed ourselves, odds were we’d die in the crossfire. I hated it. Artemis about went mad. But what bothers me the most is, even without our help, it worked out. Sort of. “In order to prevent the end of the world, Buffy destroyed the Seed of Wonder that fed all magic on earth.”

Cillian whistles low and soft. “I thought it was just . . . one of those things. Like we lost the magic Wi-Fi signal or something.”

“Didn’t you notice that day the sky burst open and there were earthquakes and tsunamis and stuff?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Global warming.”

Rhys has gotten lost in the spines on the bookshelves. It’s hard for him to focus, looking at all these books he didn’t know we had. So I continue. “Right. Global warming, and also transdimensional global threat. And all of this—the broken magic, the new Slayers, the almost end of the world—it’s all because of Buffy.”

Cillian snorts. “Sorry, I just. I can’t get over her name. Buffy.”

I fold my arms, glaring. “What, she has a girly name, so she can’t destroy the world?”

Cillian holds up his hands defensively. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“She was a cheerleader before she became a Slayer,” Rhys says.

Cillian bursts out laughing.

I don’t want to defend Buffy—ever—but I’m annoyed anyway. “Have you seen a cheerleading competition? Each and every one of those girls could take you, even without mystical Slayer powers.”

“Is that how you killed the demon thingy out there, then? You’ve trained as a cheerleader?”

I feel the crack all over again. “That’s not the point. I don’t even

like Buffy. All she ever does is react. She never thinks through the consequences, and my family keeps paying the price.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “And the whole world too. Because this last time, she also broke it. No more magic. No more connections to other worlds. And no more new Slayers. Ever. She blew the door wide open, and then she slammed it shut.”

“She needs to make up her mind,” Cillian says. “Make more Slayers! End the Slayers. Break the world! Save the world.”