Chosen (Slayer 2)

“We voted the Slayers in,” he says, not looking up from his book. “They’re all settled in the Wyndam-Pryce rooms. They seemed very reluctant to agree to learn our castle defense plans, though. It’s concerning. The castle only works if everyone does their part.”

“I’ll talk with them.” Just ask where Leo is. Just ask. “So, um, have you found anything about the puzzle thing?”

“The necklace?” Rhys has it on the table in front of him. Cillian is sitting in the corner, curled up in an armchair with the kitten purring on his lap. He looks half asleep.

“Yeah, and the matching puzzle from Cillian’s shed.”

“Where is that one?”

“His mom wouldn’t give it to us.”

“His mom?” Rhys looks over at Cillian. Cillian’s eyes are suspiciously closed now, where I swear they were open a second before. “His mom is back?”

“Yeah, he—we saw her? Last night? She said the puzzle was Cillian’s dad’s and I’m not sure why he didn’t tell you this …” I trail off. Cillian’s eyes are open now, and he’s glaring at me.

“I told you I would take the lead on this one,” he says.

Rhys has set down his book. Always a bad sign. “Your mom is back? You didn’t think that was worth mentioning? And this is all connected to your father somehow?”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. Just find something in your books.”

“Shouldn’t we go to a source who already has information?”

“We’re not talking to my mum.”

“Why?”

“Why would we?”

“Because I could spend weeks looking through books trying to find something, when your mother could point us in the right direction in a single conversation.”

He could and will spend weeks looking through the books, because the one he needs is gone. But I’m fixing that as soon as Artemis answers the dang phone.

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“What a privilege, to decide you’d rather not speak with your parent. Some of us aren’t so lucky.” Rhys’s jaw twitches. Both of his parents died when acolytes of the First Evil blew up Watcher headquarters. I put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off.

“You don’t get it.” Cillian sets the kitten on the floor and stands, turning his back to us as he pretends to examine book spines.

“You’re right. I don’t. I’d give anything to be able to ask my mum for help, or advice, or even to just say hello.”

Cillian whirls around, eyes blazing. “But your mum was taken! She didn’t choose to leave, for weeks and months at a time, because you weren’t enough for her!”

“You don’t know that’s why! You haven’t even talked to her!”

“And I’m not going to! I don’t care why she left. God, I can’t believe you’re taking her side. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Rhys softens. “I am. I always am. But I also know that living mothers—even complicated, messy mothers—are better than the alternative.”

“He has a point,” I say. My own relationship with my mother is fraught and fragile, shifting daily. But I’m glad she’s still around to have a relationship with. “We can talk, if you want, about—”

“No, I’m good. I don’t want to talk with either of you about any of this. If we can’t find out about that symbol in one of these fancy books, then obviously it’s not important and I can keep my memory of my da exactly how I want it to be.”

Ah. Some of Cillian’s anger makes more sense. This isn’t about his mother at all. Not really. If this symbol is something bad, and his father had it, what does that mean for Cillian’s memories of him? I worked so hard to protect my memories of my father. Artemis and I used to trade them back and forth like precious possessions, holding them close so we wouldn’t damage them. And then I became a Slayer and had his Watcher diary and, in a way, grew closer to him than she ever would. But she had always had Mom in a way I didn’t—or at least, that’s what I thought. I didn’t want to give her Dad, too.

Oh, Artemis. Come back so I can fix things. I clutch the phone in my pocket, waiting for it to ring.

“Even if your father was somehow involved, he’s obviously not anymore. Where’s the harm in investigating?” Rhys is trying to be gentle, but I cringe in horror at this tactic. Cillian’s eyes are wide, his mouth a single tight line.