Wanda Wyndam-Pryce pounces. She’s always hated my mother. The Wyndam-Pryces were once considered the most prestigious Watcher family, but then their golden boy, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce—they have a thing for alliteration and for feeling superior—was so staggeringly inept that he was fired from the Council. Wanda has never gotten over her disappointment that my father’s tenure as a Watcher is held in esteem while the Wyndam-Pryces’ only actively assigned Watcher ended up as a private investigator in Los Angeles—working for a vampire.
So Wanda is gleeful as she senses my mother’s anger. “Oh yes! We have reason to suspect that our very own Nina is a Slayer.”
Leo startles. His eyes widen at his mother, but she ignores him. He’s definitely upset by this news, but I can barely register it because Rhys gasps and turns toward me. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I keep my eyes on the room.
“Imagine,” Wanda continues, “being her mother and never realizing she might be a Potential Slayer. And the change had to have happened at least two full months ago. How odd that you didn’t notice something so dramatic, Helen.”
My mother refuses to be baited. But her stillness is as much a tell as someone else wringing their hands. She is freaking out. A small, mean part of me feels smug. She didn’t want to talk with us about it, but she can’t avoid talking to the Council. “Nonsense. Nina would have been identified by our seers. Besides, she only killed a hellhound. Every member of our community should be able to do the same. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Hearing her say it so dismissively triggers that rebellious feeling again. Because she knows I was never trained. She didn’t let me. And she knows how I feel about violence. The way I killed the hellhound can’t be ignored. It was like something had awakened inside me that had been sleeping there for a long time, just waiting for an opportunity. Something awful and powerful and terrifying. Something I had no control over.
Bradford Smythe shifts, turning his head so I can see his profile. His lips are pursed so tightly beneath his mustache that they disappear. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Helen.”
“Don’t,” she says. I flinch from her tone, but Bradford doesn’t react.
“It’s too late now.” He pauses. My heart is beating so loudly, I wonder how they can’t hear it through the wall. Then he tugs on his mustache and speaks. “We were always aware that Nina was a Potential Slayer.”
Rhys gasps even louder this time. Artemis swears. The walls are thick and the Council is making their own variations of shocked noises, covering ours. I stagger back, losing my view of the room. It can’t be true.
It can’t.
They would have told me. It doesn’t make sense why they wouldn’t. I’m a Watcher! Wouldn’t they have been all over the opportunity to raise a Potential Slayer in their midst?
And my mother went so far out of her way to keep me from being trained. She insisted I wasn’t suited to it. Prevented me from getting even the basic Watcher fighting instruction and pushed me into healing. Artemis received the physical training.
Bradford Smythe starts talking again, and I struggle to focus on his words over the pounding of my heart and my own racing thoughts. “It’s part of why the kids were here when our headquarters were attacked. We heard rumblings of the threats to Potentials, so Helen took all the younger students with her to avoid anyone narrowing in on Nina.”
So it wasn’t mere luck that we were away during the attack. They were protecting me. But why go so far to protect me if they weren’t ever going to train me or tell me the truth?
“After magic was destroyed and the Slayer line ended,” Bradford continues, “we assumed that her potential wasn’t triggered in time and that she would never become a Slayer. It appears we were wrong.”
Artemis and Rhys haven’t moved. I feel them in the darkness, staring at me instead of the room. Suspecting I was a Slayer is nothing compared to knowing. And finding out that this information was always here, deliberately withheld from me—and most of the Council as well? It’s not just a shock. It’s a betrayal.
“You failed to inform the Council that your own daughter was a Potential?” Wanda Wyndam-Pryce doesn’t sound angry so much as smug. “This calls for a full censure and a review of your position here on the Council. Yours too, Bradford, for being part of the conspiracy.”
“What Council?” Ruth Zabuto snorts. “What, are we going to banish Helen? Demote Bradford? For doing what? It’s foolish enough that you haven’t let dear Artemis be a full Watcher. The test shouldn’t count against her now that there are so few of us. You and your rules can go sit on a pin, Wanda.” She pulls out her knitting and gets to work, shaking her head.
Wanda Wyndam-Pryce huffs. “Well, I for one will not let this egregious betrayal of our standards go without repercussions. We are nothing without our rules. They still mean something.”
“The girl is alive because of the secrecy.” Bradford Smythe’s voice is soft but clear. “I think that alone justifies Helen’s decisions. I support her now as I did then.”
“And it means we have a Slayer.” Eve’s eyes are alight with emotion. She puts her hands to her mouth, and I swear she’s on the verge of tears. “Right here. One of ours.”
My mother stands, slamming her chair backward. “She is not ours. She is mine. There are a thousand other girls out there. If you want a Slayer, go find a real one.” With that, she stalks from the room.
I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I want to shake it off. Want to pretend like my mom’s words—and these revelations—don’t mean anything.
But if I suspected there were tears in Eve’s eyes, I know there are tears in mine.
“Nina,” Artemis says.
“You must—” Rhys starts, but I cut him off.
“I can’t talk about this right now.” Literally. I don’t even know how to feel, much less how to form everything into words. I’m scared and I’m confused and I’m furious. My entire life has been a lie. “I need to be alone.”
I stumble back through the dark. I’m half certai
n I’m lost and will die in these walls, but eventually I bump into a dead end and see a hint of light from the crawl space.