Slayer (Slayer 1)

It’s like the first shock of diving into a cool pool on a summer day—bracing and delicious. He lingers, his lips over my bottom lip. “Run away,” he whispers. “Right now.”

I pull back, startled. I daydreamed this exact scenario more times than I could count back when I was thirteen. And if I’m being honest, maybe a few times since Leo returned. I laugh, but when he opens his eyes, he’s not laughing.

“Get Cillian and Rhys. Jump in Cillian’s car and go. Don’t ever look back.”

“And do what?”

“Anything!”

Why does everyone want me to leave? The thrill of the kiss has gone right back to pain at his words. “This is my home, Leo. Besides, are you going to run with me?”

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to—”

“Exactly. We all have things we have to do. I’m part of this too.”

“But you shouldn’t be.”

I flinch. Even my Watcher thinks I can’t handle being a Slayer. I thought he was the one person who really saw me. Maybe he is. And this is his conclusion: that I should leave it to the people who are capable. The ones who matter.

I untangle my fingers from his.

Dawn is here. That liminal space between night and day has broken, and with it, my reignited dream of being with Leo. The black of the trees overhead is slowly fading to reveal orange and brown. Soon the forest will wake up in a crisp salute to the changing seasons. The trees are gnarled and ancient, growing close together over the carpet of ferns.

Easy to get lost in here. And easy to hide. I’m done hiding.

Leo sighs, his face falling. He pulls out a phone. “Change of plans,” he says into it. “Meet me on the south end of Shancoom.” I edge around him, but he sticks out his arm, holding up a finger for the universal wait a sec symbol. “Yeah. I’m bringing her.” He pockets his phone, then gives me a tight smile. “I need you to come with me.”

I take a step back.

He takes a step forward. “I’ll explain when we get there. But we need to go. Now.”

I take another step back. My mind spins, turning to things I don’t want to consider. “Where were you this morning? You said you were going to stay in my room. And then you were gone.”

“Another thing I’ll explain. Trust me.” He holds out his hand.

I want to take it. More than anything. I want to kiss him again, to get lost in it. To luxuriate in the miracle of Leo Silvera wanting me. I want to walk through the woods holding hands, go hang out with Rhys and Cillian, turn this whole mess over to Wanda and Ruth and Eve.

But I can’t. I have to be a Slayer. I can’t take things to the Council, can’t wait for the bureaucracy to slowly churn to life and examine what’s happening. I have to act.

I finally agree with Buffy for giving up on us. We’re a mess. We can’t even take care of our own ranks, much less anyone else. I judged her because I could only see my side of it.

It’s different when you’re the one with the power. The choices are so much harder and so much more important

. What would Buffy do? She’d charge in and figure this all out with fists and sheer force of will. If people didn’t believe in her, she would make them. And she wouldn’t stop until she beat back anyone who threatened the ones she loved.

Buffy isn’t here right now. But I am. I’m the last Slayer.

Watchers had it wrong all along. They thought Slayers needed to be told what to do. To be kept out of trouble. But trouble is exactly where we belong. I reach out for that pool of anger. The channel of fury that ends in me. It’s a destructive force, but it’s also a powerful tool. I’ll use it to get to the bottom of this. To save the people I love.

I think of the Slayer who sacrificed herself for her village.

My grandmother, who died but saved her baby.

Buffy, who died to save the world—twice!—and was so stubborn she came back to save it yet again. I don’t think she was selfish or impulsive. I think she was doing the best she could in the middle of complete and utter chaos. Watchers try to control, try to predict. But in the end, we Slayers have to learn that all you can do is react and hope you win.

I’ve been racked with turmoil this whole time about what it means to be a Slayer. But one thing is clear to me now, without question—I want this. I can do this. I’m proud of what I am.

And I’m ready.