Chosen (Slayer 2)

The waves of sadness are palpable. I turn directions quickly, needing to get away from them before they suck me in. A booth ahead has the biggest human crowd of any I’ve seen. There’s a banner above advertising autographs and photos for twenty quid a pop. I can’t figure out who here would be able to charge that. The signs all feature a beautiful blonde and a stylized title card for something called Harmony Bites.

I edge around, trying to get a peek at the blonde to figure out why she would be here. But it’s not her behind the table. It’s a demon, pinkish, with big floppy ears and folds upon folds of drooping skin. He’s totally bald but wearing a garish suit and holding a kitten in the crook of his arm.

“Clem!” a woman shouts. “Clem, marry me!”

“Get in line, sweetheart,” he says. “No, seriously, get in line. There’s a line.”

“How long are you going to be filming here?” A young man leans against the table, all eyes on the blonde in the photo above Clem’s head.

“Just as long as it takes us to finish up the special, Vamping London.”

“She’s not really a vampire, though, is she?”

Clem winks. “No, and I’m not really a demon. I just wear this every day for fun.” Everyone in front of the table laughs, but it’s an uneasy one, and I can see several of them frowning as they try to puzzle out whether he’s joking.

A vampire has a reality show? Really? We have got to get cable at the castle. Vampires were messed up by the end of magic too. They can’t sire any more like themselves. Any new vampires turn out as zompires, mindless beasts. No old vampires are willing to sire now; the more notoriety they get, the more dangerous it is for their survival. Apparently this blonde didn’t get that memo, or doesn’t care.

As a Slayer, do I have a responsibility to hunt her down? If she seems to have a body count, I guess maybe I should. I decided to be a different type of Slayer, but if I let a known vampire go free and she kills even one person, isn’t that death partly my fault?

“Come closer.” A gaunt, grayish man leans in my direction, and I’m grateful for the table between us. His booth has a large sign that says DIRECTIONS. DIRECTORY. TRANSLATION. ANSWERS. Underneath are a series of incomprehensible pictures that seem to be giving instructions, but I can’t for the life of me understand them. He breathes in deeply, licking his lips.

I don’t want to know, but I ask anyway. “What do you eat?”

He grins, revealing bare gray gums. “Confusion. Usually I linger at tube stops frequented by tourists, but I could live for years off you. How much you want?”

“What?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. “How much? You’re here as a pet, right? Whoever’s your leech, I’ll pay more. One-year contract. All you have to do is exactly what you are.”

“Nah, girl, listen here!” A demon with skin the color and texture of white mold growing on bread has stopped and leans too close for comfort. I take a step back. “You’re guilty.” He grins, leaning in even closer. “You reek of guilt and shame. I’ll take all your guilt. Every last drop of it.” His tongue flicks out, thin and purple and forked at the end. “Think of how lovely it would be to live free of that.”

I fold my arms over my chest protectively. Much as I’d love to give up this guilt, I need it. It drives me, directs me.

And combats the anger. If I could live guilt-free with what I’ve done, I’d be a monster.

How many of the humans here actually know what’s going on? How many of them sell their emotions and feelings for a wad of cash? It’s one thing for Doug to feed on happiness without taking it away. This is something else. That new viciousness nestled inside me flares, and I see these two demons for what they are: predators. They might not kill people, but if they really can permanently suck away my guilt or confusion, they’re taking something that makes me me. That makes me human. Just because it isn’t blood doesn’t mean it’s not part of me.

I take a step forward, eyes narrowed, and think of the last time I saw Leo alive. The moldy demon suddenly puffs up like a sponge absorbing water.

“Too much,” he gasps, turning and stumbling away.

The gray demon has backed against the wall of his booth, hands up pleadingly. “Go. Just go. Don’t want nothing from you.”

I walk on. Apparently now I give off enough spiky, angry energy that the majority of the demons turn quickly away from me, giving me a wide berth. I duck between booths, trying to catch my breath. Who here could need my help? Who here even deserves it?

Maybe Artemis is right. Maybe I really am only helping myself.

10

DOUG IS IN A GOOD mood when I meet back up with him. Which makes me worried for a new reason. Will I have to let another friend leave? I don’t think I can handle it right now. “Do you want to go with him? Your cousin?”

Doug must feel my concern. “Aww, you’d miss me! Don’t worry. We’re generally solitary. Makes it easier—more food that way, less likely to draw attention. Plus, he’s got a lot of mouths to feed now. Lucky strike, finding a mate. His kids are pretty accurate of the gender breakdown of our species. Not many girls. I’m just glad I know he’s okay. And he gave me a lead.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Course there’s the usual disappearances. That’s normal. Loads of missing demons ever since the portals closed, but that’s down to being cut off with no communication. I asked him about incubus and succubus types, though, because you got me wondering. And he said there’s a rumor that someone is hunting for them. Lots of demons going into hiding because of it, but no one can say exactly who it is they’re afraid of. No name.”

“But we know someone who looks for specific types of demons!” I snap. “The dude the mercenaries were hunting for! Van Alston!”