Chosen (Slayer 2)

“Whatever you’re involved in, get out of it. He needs you.”

“You have no idea what you’re on about.”

I ignore her and climb into the car. Cillian peels out. Neither of us looks back.

Doug coughs and rolls down his window despite the frigid temperature. “Wow. What did I miss?”

“Give me the kitten,” I say.

Doug reflexively holds it against his chest. “Why are you so angry?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not angry at Trouble! I need the necklace.”

He unfastens it and hands it to me, keeping the kitten to himself. I hold it up, trying to catch enough light. Cillian pulls over halfway to the castle. It’s pitch-dark out here in the forest. He turns on the overhead light and takes the necklace from me.

“The same.” His voice is flat. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing?” It doesn’t mean nothing. I know it doesn’t. But my instinct to protect my friend makes me want to shield him from the looming bad I can feel building on the horizon. The looming bad that now somehow involves his mother.

“Right. I’m sure it’s a big whopping coincidence that we happen to have the same triangley thing in my shed that was on Sean’s tea and a madwoman’s necklace. Maybe they all visited the same souvenir shop.”

“Wait, you had one of these?” Doug leans forward. He narrows his eyes at the necklace. “Sean had a tattoo of it. Most of his people did. What was in the shed? A necklace?”

“A bigger version of this. Not a necklace. More like a puzzle thing.”

Doug frowns, his cracked skin shifting so the black lines between the yellow pieces almost disappear.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“I can’t smell emotion, but I can see it. What are you thinking?”

“Just—there was a reason I picked Cillian’s shed, yeah? Out of every place I could hide. I was half dazed with hunger and exhaustion and pain, but something … something called me there. I chalked it up to fate. Like I was supposed to meet you, Nina.” He ducks his head, and I swear if he weren’t neon yellow, he’d be blushing. “So you’d care about me. So it wouldn’t only be your mom on my side. But maybe it was something else. I can’t smell power, exactly, but most demons are sensitive to it.”

Cillian’s staring at the necklace as though hypnotized by it. I turn toward him. “Your mom was really weird about the puzzle.”

“You two want me to believe that my dead da—a fisherman and local police volunteer—was dealing in, what, demonic art

ifacts?” His voice is cold and so unlike him that I shrink closer to my window.

“No! No. Could it have been your mom’s instead? From when she practiced witchcraft? And that’s why she was so upset?”

Cillian finally looks away from the necklace, holding it out and dropping it into my waiting palm. He shrugs. “Could be.” His tone becomes deliberately lighter, but there’s a forced edge to it. “Good thing we know an incredibly sexy Watcher who excels at research. He’ll be even happier to have a new project than to see me again.”

“Never,” I say, trying to match his tone and almost succeeding. I already know Rhys won’t find the research material he needs.

Cillian slows down as we catch up to Oz’s barely limping van. It’ll take us forever to get to the castle at this rate. Doug yawns, stretching out in the backseat. “So we’ve got a symbol that may or may not be demonic and/or powerful, and that is linked to Sean, but we don’t know how. Goodie. Just what we needed. Another mystery.”

I don’t correct him that this isn’t another mystery. It’s all the same mystery. And my sister has the answers. I know what I need to do. I’ll make a deal with her. My silence on her activities in exchange for getting the book back. I’ll get the information we need and protect everyone from themselves in the process.

18

THE VAN PULLS TO A stop in front of the castle, more garble than roar to the engine. I’m waiting in front of it. I can’t help the flutter of nerves and the fear that inviting three more Slayers into the castle is a bad idea when I can’t even control my own Slayer impulses. What if they attack my demons? I know the demons—I like them—and I’ve still found myself fighting a kill instinct that seems to be growing stronger by the day.

Chao-Ahn, Maricruz, and Taylor climb out, eyeing the castle dubiously. Only a few windows have lights in them, and we don’t have any outdoor lighting. I try to see it through their eyes. It looks menacing. Blocky and black, and somehow unbalanced. The eyes naturally want a tower where there used to be one, but now that whole wing is ruined and we don’t go there.

“It’s safe,” I say. But … it hasn’t always been. Just a few months ago, Leo Silvera’s mother was stalking us all during the night, feeding off us, and killing poor Bradford Smythe. And now Leo’s back. Knowing he’s somewhere inside the castle feels like the moment before a blow lands, when I can see what will happen but can’t dodge it. Everything is on high alert, and it doesn’t hurt—yet—but I know it will.