Slayer (Slayer 1)

But hadn’t I sort of done the same thing by keeping him secret?

I rub my forehead. “Well, we can’t ask Doug, because Honora followed me to the shed, and we fought.”

“You fought Honora?” Leo looks alarmed.

I can’t help but smile a little. “You won the bet.”

His face cracks into his own smile, but it looks sad. “I knew I would.”

“Anyway, Doug got away. I think Honora’s connected to the group that was holding Doug captive. He knew her. She took off when he disappeared. Probably hunting him. But my money’s on her never bringing him back here. I think she’d return him to his captors.”

“What happened while we were away? How did things spiral this far?” Eve straightens, radiating strength. “Well. It’s up to us to fix things. And we will. Because that’s what we do. First things first, I’ll go speak with your mother.”

“Don’t do that!” I squeak. “If you ask about any of this, she’ll figure out I’ve been training. And if she knew that, she’d send me away for sure.”

Eve shakes her head. “I would never let that happen. She kept your potential hidden from us for all those years; she’s not sending you away now that we know what you are. You’re not just a Slayer. You’re our Slayer. Let me handle your mother. We’re your Watchers; our job is to support you.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, more grateful and relieved than I can say.

She smiles warmly at Leo. “Why don’t you two go train, work out some of Nina’s stress. I’ll get to work on the demon questions. If Honora is involved in something this big, I’ll find answers. I still have a few Watcher tricks up my sleeves.”

Leo nods curtly. I follow him out, feeling lighter than I have since the first hellhound attacked. I shouldn’t have been trying to do this on my own. I was making a classic Buffy mistake. Not trusting my Watchers. Not using them. How could I have fallen into it so easily? I have Leo, and, even better, I have Eve. She’ll take care of things, because that’s what Watchers do. That’s what mothers do.

As if on cue, my mother bursts out of her room. She startles when she sees us, holding her large tote bag to her chest like she thinks we’ll try to take it.

“Nina!” she says. “Leo?”

I want to ask her about Doug. What she knew. But I also want to ask how she is, to try and express how sorry I am about losing Bradford, a man she must have loved dearly even if I never really saw that side of their relationship. But my mother speaks first.

“I’m glad I ran into you. I have an assignment for you.”

“What?” My chest flutters with surprise and excitement.

“Not you. Leo.”

I deflate, but she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“There’s a Slayer in Dublin. I have reason to believe she’s in trouble.” My mother reaches into her suit jacket and retrieves a small address book. She flips through it—I see dozens of entries—until she finds the page she’s looking for. She does still have a list of Slayers that she’s keeping to herself. She rips the page free and hands it to Leo.

“Cosmina,” Leo says. Then he course corrects. We shouldn’t recognize her name, as far as my mother is concerned. “That’s the Slayer?”

If my mother knows about Cosmina, does she know what we did? No. There’s no way. We’d be in so much trouble if she had any idea.

But why this sudden desire to send Leo to meet Cosmina? Why now, when we’ve avoided Slayers for two years?

Actually, Eve mentioned something about a Slayer in Costa Rica. That was how they found each other again. But that Slayer was already dead. Maybe my mom has been contacting Slayers for a long time and hiding it. But I don’t know why she would do that either.

I always thought she hated Slayers. But her mother was one. And I’m one now too. I suspect it’s a lot more complicated than I’ve ever understood.

“Yes,” my mother says, answering Leo’s question. “Cosmina Enescu. That’s her address. I’d like you to go immediately.” She’s snatching up Leo. He’s not hers. He’s mine. My Watcher. She doesn’t get to be part of this.

Besides, how is my mother handing out assignments right now? It’s only been hours since Bradford’s death. What have they done with the body? Anything? What are they going to do? Shouldn’t my mom be dealing with that instead?

“Are you sad?” I blurt.

“What?” She raises her eyebrows.

“About Bradford Smythe! He raised you. And now he’s dead.”

“He didn’t raise me.” She stops, something stricken finally breaking through on her face. “The whole community did. It’s complicated.”