Bingo. Artemis can’t help the surge of excitement she feels. Because where there are zealots, there’s power to be worshipped. And where there’s power, there’s potential. She doesn’t know what yet. Maybe they’ll kill whatever it is and be done with it. But if Sean can figure out a way to take what makes demons strong and synthesize it, how much more power is there to squeeze from a potential god?
Artemis leans closer. “We work for him to work against him. Just like old times for you, right?”
Honora flinches. She doesn’t talk about her time spent undercover in a demon-worshipping cult. They wrote each other constant letters back then, but Honora never, ever gave details on what she was doing. Artemis feels bad for bringing it up. She shouldn’t push this. But she needs it. She needs something.
She reaches out and strokes Honora’s hair, resting her hand on the back of Honora’s neck. “This is our job, Nor. You and me. We’re the only real Watchers left. And if something is happening, who else is going to look into it? Should we call Buffy?”
Honora snorts. “She’s as likely to shag a hellgod as kill one. Right, then. Can’t enroll until the next semester anyway. As long as we’re doing this together. You got my back, Moon?”
Honora plays it tough, but the tentative look in her eyes hits Artemis where it counts. She and Honora belong together. Nina never understood their bond, because Nina had someone looking out for her, someone protecting her. Artemis doesn’t bother to fight the wave of bitterness that after everything she did to be the strongest, the smartest, the best, Nina was chosen. That Artemis was left missing the sister she thought she had. The one who needed her.
Honora knows what it is to never be enough, to fight and fight with no one in her corner. They’re each other’s corners now. Artemis takes Honora’s hand in her own, locking eyes. “Always.”
4
BY THE TIME I GET back to the castle, it’s dark.
Rhys and Cillian will be cocooned in Rhys’s room—Cillian watching something on his battered laptop, happy to be anywhere but his empty cottage; Rhys researching, adding to his demon encyclopedia.
Jade will be wherever Doug is. I think they’re dating, but it’s hard to tell, and I don’t ask for details. Jade and I were never really close, and that hasn’t changed. Plus, I try very hard to avoid Doug and his inconvenient ability to smell when I’m lying about my feelings.
I imagine the rest of the castle settling in. Imogen has moved out of the nursery suite and into a room by mine. I sometimes smell her cigarettes, but she’s as quiet as a ghost. Jessi will have the Littles all lovingly tucked in against the night. Pelly will be curled up to sleep in the corner of the training room. The tiny purple demons will be in the damp, humid water heater closet they claimed. Tsip will be wherever she exists when she’s not here, sleeping in her void beyond reality as a defense mechanism. Ancient Ruth Zabuto will be in her room under a thousand pounds of blankets next to five space heaters.
My mother, whom I should go talk to, but won’t, will be in her rooms. She won’t seek me out and force me to talk, even if she should. We’ll both pretend like the mess at the warehouse wasn’t weird. We still don’t know how to be a mother and daughter, not really. And we’re not Watcher and Slayer, either. What we are is fragile and tentative. For a moment I’m tempted. I imagine going to her room, but then what? There’s no comfy chair or couch for me to curl up on. I can’t wrap my brain around trying to sit on her bed and chat. There are so many years of walls between us; if only I could use my Slayer strength to vault right over them. But emotional walls don’t care one way or another how strong I am.
There are two people I could actually talk to about all this, and both of them are gone. They both left me. One by dying and the other by walking away.
Unwilling to go back to my empty room, I head for the kitchen. I’m not nearly as tired as I should be after running for several hours, but I am exactly as hungry as I should be. I peel off my coat, wishing I had worn one I like less to run thirty miles in, then slip out of my sneakers. At least I had the foresight to wear those instead of cute boots. In just my rainbow-striped socks, I pad silently through the castle to the dining hall and kitchen.
The lights are on. Imogen is slow dancing with herself, humming along to a song playing on the portable stereo she scrounged the money for. Her apron is dusted with flour, the fine white powder clinging to her blond pigtails, too. She stops twirling and smiles at me.
“Do you want a warm cookie?” she asks.
“Plural, remember? There is no singular for cookies.”
Imogen laughs, sweeping an arm to invite me into her domain. I sit on a counter, my legs swinging. The kitchen is the newest thing in the castle, and it doesn’t fit at all. It was installed back when the castle was converted to be a sort of summer training camp for Watcher kids. I never would have come here then. Imogen wouldn’t have either.
But the rest of our people were blown up by followers of the First Evil, so we get to take advantage of the stainless steel counters, massive fridge and freezer, four ovens, and twelve-burner stove range. It’s not a good trade-off overall, but I’m glad Imogen seems happy in here.
She provides the warm cookies, as promised. They’re soft and pillowy, and taste like—
“Banana chocolate chip?” I ask, baffled.
“Do you like them?”
“They’re brilliant.”
She beams. “Came up with the recipe myself.” She passes me a plate and a glass of milk. They’re like a hug in food form, and some of my anger and tension and fear melts away like the chocolate on my tongue.
Until Imogen opens her mouth and says, “So, when are you going to admit you’re lying?” Her tone is as light and fluffy as the cookies.
I freeze midbite. “What do you mean?”
“I know everyone else bought—or pretended to buy—your story that your Slayer powers came back as part of a mystical ‘chosen one’ thing. That when Eve Silvera died, the powers were released back into the ether, where they floated around until they found you.” She takes a handful of flour and tosses it in the air. “Poof! Slayer again! Except it doesn’t work like that. The Slayer power is a well, and you’re either connected to it or you’re not. Eve drained you. Maybe you would have refilled eventually, but it would have taken years. So what actually happened to juice you up so fast?”
I’m surprised to find it’s a relief to be called out after all this time. Imogen isn’t my first choice to talk to about important things, but maybe that makes it easier. My relationships with everyone else are deeper and more intense. With Imogen, the stakes are lower. I shrug. “I can’t believe everyone bought it either. They shouldn’t have. Even Rhys! He didn’t go to any of the books, do any research to verify my claims. It’s like we’re not even Watchers anymore.”
Imogen smiles, wiping her hands clean on a dish towel. “Oh, some of us are still watching.” Her sly smile widens, and I almost ask her what she means before she gestures to a timer. “Watching so the cookies don’t burn.”