Slayer (Slayer 1)

My phone buzzes. I scramble to get it before Artemis stirs. The screen shows a text from Cillian.

It’s awake

“Stake me with a million splinters,” I whisper. I glance over at Artemis. I was going to tell her about the demon yesterday morning. Then everything spiraled so quickly. And she’s been so mad. I don’t know what she’d do with the demon.

My demon. I can handle this.

Do not engage, I text. I’m on my way.

Weapons, weapons, I need weapons. Only as a precaution. I pull on my slippers, throw a fuzzy robe over my pajamas, and sneak into the hall. I’m halfway through the dorm wing when the smell of cigarette smoke pulls me up short.

Imogen leans against a recess in the wall. Her eyes are heavy and tired. “Hey, Nina. Where are you off to?”

“Oh. Um. Getting some water.”

“Here.” She passes me the cigarette, then disappears into the Littles’ suite. I hold the cigarette gingerly, like it might come alive and force its way into my lungs. Imogen always wears long sleeves, down almost to her fingers. Isn’t she worried her sleeves will catch on fire?

She laughs quietly at my obvious horror when she comes back out. “Sorry. I didn’t think. That was rude of me.” She takes the cigarette, handing me a bottle of water and a juice box. “We have a lot of middle-of-the-night drink requests. I’m always fully stocked.”

“Thanks.” But now Imogen is between the weapons-stocked gym and me. And I can’t let anyone know what I’m doing.

She taps out the cigarette in a little dish on the floor. “Sorry about this. I never do it where the Littles can see. But some days.” She shakes her head, her silky, thin blond hair curtaining her face. I’ve always liked her, but she doesn’t really hang out with the rest of us. For one thing, she’s older. Early twenties. But mostly Imogen exists to take care of the Littles. They’re her priority, always.

I nod. “Some days.”

“So, you’re a Slayer, yeah?”

Oh gods. We forgot to tell her! Did we tell Jade? It’s only a secret that I’m training, not that I’m a Slayer. I have so many secrets lately, I can’t remember what is actually a secret or only sort of a secret. I shuffle my slippered feet. “Yeah. Surprised?”

Imogen shrugs. “Not really. Makes sense.”

“It does?” I figured it was an unspoken sentiment that if anyone should be a Slayer, it should be Artemis. Maybe my mom even trained her hoping the Slayer abilities would settle on the right twin. Maybe . . . maybe Artemis wishes that too.

“Of course it does. You spent all these years learning the best ways to help and protect others. I think you’ll be great.” Her hazel eyes are dark brown in the dim hall lighting. They’re tight with exhaustion, and it makes her look sad. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do.”

“Thanks.” It feels inadequate to say, but I’m grateful she feels that way. And then I remember that Imogen doesn’t know I’m training, because I’m not supposed to be training. Gods, the castle has gotten complicated. “I mean, I’m probably not going to do anything. Slayerish, that is. My mom doesn’t want me to.”

“Mums.” Imogen’s twisted smile is bleak.

I cringe. “Sorry. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for the drinks. And the vote of confidence.”

With Imogen showing no signs of going back into her room, I head toward my room. Then I pass it, going deep into the dorm wing. I navigate the discarded furniture, everything menacing shapes in the near darkness, until I find Artemis’s secret passageway closet. The Council room isn’t far from the gym, and there’s bound to be another exit somewhere.

I turn on my cell phone as a flashlight. Sweeping it from side to side, I see branching passages. I bet I could get to nearly every room here without ever being seen. I turn toward the gym. I hope. The passage here is narrow, the cold, damp walls brushing my shoulders. I angle myself so I’m walking sideways. My dim screen illuminates only a few feet in front of me. I pass several yawning exits.

The blackness moves in one of them.

I freeze. I slowly back up, my light bouncing as my hands shake. Then I sweep the light through the passageway where I had sensed the movement.

It’s empty.

I had expected a zompire looming. More hellhounds. Something dark and bloodthirsty to take me into the darkness with it, where I belong.

Unable to shake the sensation of being watched, I scramble until I find a door. I don’t care where it spits me out.

I slide it open, squeezing into a tiny space even more cramped than the passageways. There’s a heavy wooden panel in front of me. I push. It gives, but only a little. I push harder. It scrapes open.

Books. So many books. I’ve found the secret library room! I walk to the only door. It, too, is hard to push. I can’t imagine what people with non-Slayer strength must have to do to get it open. Maybe it’s designed to be a two-person door, so no one can get in here alone with the dangerous books. I overshot the gym, though. The library is next to the Council residence wing.