Chosen (Slayer 2)

Doug doesn’t say anything. But he puts his arm around me for more than just balance as I limp and stumble back to our car.

12

DOUG EYES ME CRITICALLY. “ARE you sure we should be doing this right now? We have no idea what kind of threat Von Alston is, and you were jolted with so much electricity you could power the castle for the next month. Plus, you ran through a wall and got thrown off a moving vehicle.”

I pull down the sun visor and look in the little mirror there. There are bits of brick and plaster still in my hair. A bruise is forming on one cheek—I don’t remember what caused it—and now that it’s been an hour and all my adrenaline is gone, my shoulder is so stiff I can barely move it. “It’s fine. Except for my shoulder.”

“That’s why people generally use doors instead of walls.”

“I’m a trendsetter.” I pick as much of the rubble out of my hair as I can. Doug is probably right. This Von Alston might be more than we can handle right now. If he was behind everything and can launch an offensive that big, I don’t feel safe about the castle being withou

t my protection. I thought Sean was our biggest foe. It could still be him—the Honora connection, plus the symbol from his tea. But the last time I saw the ponytailed wonder, he was running a drug-dealing business out of the basement of a health-food store. No cloaked zealots in sight. He had mentioned something about powerful allies, though. Maybe it’s Von Alston.

All I have to go on is the triangle symbol on the necklace, which is still on the kitten curled up asleep on our backseat. I should never have let Artemis take that book. I thought I was making it easier for her to come back. Not easier for her to hurt me.

We need more information on everything. But going home means reporting on what we found. And that means telling everyone that I’ve seen Artemis twice now and let her walk out with one of our books. Rhys will never forgive me—or her. And slightly graver than taking a book—though Rhys will disagree—is that apparently she’s working with Sean’s crews. And she told Honora to throw me off a moving vehicle.

Saying it out loud will make it hurt so much worse than my shoulder does. For so long it was Artemis and me against the world. And I can’t let go of the idea that we can return to that. Like if I can figure this out fast enough, I can get her out of whatever she’s mixed up in and no one will ever have to know how she’s betrayed us.

How she’s betrayed me.

I’ve lost so much. I refuse to lose Artemis or the hope that she’s going to be my sister again. We’ll rule Von Alston out or in, and then we’ll go from there. I’ll find Artemis before she’s in too deep. No one has to know but me. We let the Watchers tell us who to be and how to be it for so long. I’m keeping this just the two of us.

I sigh and try to rotate my shoulder to ease some of the stiffness. “This is our only possible lead on the nameless threat, right? If we go back, we’ll have to talk it over with my mother, and she’ll say no to confronting him. But if we play this right, we’ll get the scoop on Von Alston without revealing we’re with the Watchers, in case we do need him as an ally in the future.” I turn to Doug and wait expectantly.

He puts his hands out. “I don’t like this plan at all. It didn’t work in A New Hope.”

I tie his wrists together, making sure the rope is tight enough to look convincing but loose enough that he can slip out. “They rescued Princess Leia!”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi died, though, even if it was on purpose. And I’m not really sure who’s who in this scenario. I’m obviously a Han Solo type. You’re maybe a Luke Skywalker. Good hair. Better at fighting than you have any right to be. A bit on the whiny side.”

“Just for that, I’m declaring you the C-3PO of this mission.”

“Hey now! That’s not fair.”

“Whatever you say, 3PO.” I fiddle with my ruined hair in the rearview mirror. I’m not really sure what vibe to go for. Polished and professional? Gritty and tough? Probably the latter, given the visible bruising. And, sadly, I know exactly who to channel. It’s not hard. We have the same face.

I pull my loose red curls back into a ponytail and grimace in pain as I slip on Artemis’s nicest black leather jacket. She left it behind … on account of it was hidden at the bottom of my closet. With my hair in a severe ponytail and the black leather zipped up, I’m my twin. Stronger. Tougher. Willing to throw her own sister off a moving vehicle in pursuit of her own goals.

We could have been doing this together. Should have been doing it together. Instead, she’s somewhere with Honora and a truck full of pilfered demons. I should have punched through that windshield after all. Imogen was right again—my instinct was correct. I can’t understand why Artemis is doing what she’s doing. You don’t have to love demons to know you shouldn’t work for zealots and drug dealers.

I put the car into drive with more force than is strictly necessary. We debated putting Doug in the trunk of the car, but that seemed too mean. Even having his wrists bound is obviously triggering for him after all his years in captivity. Especially after such a recent run-in with Sean’s people.

I reach over and squeeze his hands. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“What about Chewie?”

“Chewie?”

Doug nods toward the kitten.

“First of all, we are not naming our new cat Chewie. Second of all, I don’t intend to stay in there long enough for her to miss us. And I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re only how we get inside. We’re not keeping up the ruse any longer than that. I won’t risk you for anything.”

Doug swallows audibly, but he nods. “Thanks. I’m sorry for complaining about how you taste so often. I really do trust you.”

That makes one of us.

I drive carefully, every nerve on alert. I learned how to drive in the last couple of months, but I don’t technically have a license, which is why we always have Cillian or Imogen drive. The Von Alston address is in a posh, sprawling neighborhood of estates outside the city. It takes ten minutes of winding up a narrow lane before we even get to the gates. The decorative iron flourishes have protective runes and symbols worked in. Not much use now that magic’s dead, but this Von Alston fellow obviously knows his stuff.