Chosen (Slayer 2)

I lower the sword. “You aren’t coming.” Whatever happens today, nothing will ever be the same. I can barely think. If I do, I start worrying about what I’ll do when I see Artemis, and I can’t afford to worry about that. The darkness inside me, once roaring and seeping and insistent, is comforting now. At least when I let it wash over me, I don’t have to feel anything.

Doug toys absentmindedly with the gold hoops in his ears. “Sean hurt me for years. And until now, I was okay to let it go, because I was free. But he hurt you, and you’re my friend. Nobody gets to hurt my friends. Besides,” he says, shrugging, “I want him to know I get to go to a Coldplay concert before I defeat him.”

I snort. “How can I argue with that?” I would rather Doug stay here, where he’s safe, but none of us are safe here. We know that now. He’s choosing to fight rather than hide, and I can’t blame him for that.

My mother is sitting in a chair we dragged into the gym for her. Whatever sedatives they meant to hit me with were designed for a Slayer. She can’t walk in a straight line yet. “And you’re sure the Littles are safe?”

I sheathe the sword. It makes a satisfying sound as it slides into place. I try not to imagine what sound it would make going into a body. “Yeah. You know Jessi won’t let anyone hurt them.” She’s keeping them at Cillian’s house. If we don’t come back, she’ll take care of them forever. I’m certain of that.

Rhys is poring over Esther’s collection of legends in the corner, letting Cillian do the weaponing while he does the research. Doubtless we would have had a lot more information to go on if I hadn’t let Artemis walk out with that book. I’ve made so many mistakes. I can’t afford any others.

“Has Ruth woken up yet?” Jade asks.

Rhys doesn’t flinch, exactly, but the way he turns the pages has a desperate sort of precision.

“No.” My mother delivers the news matter-of-factly. That single syllable holds all my fears. Ruth might never wake up. And it’s my fault. And everyone knows it now.

I strap the sword onto my back. My belt is a special Watcher design; the finest Italian leather, complete with stake-and-knife-size loops. I load up. “I’m leaving the tiny purple demons here. They did a good job before.” Or at least an okay job. Artemis managed pretty free range. I can’t figure out how she got past them, and I can’t understand their mandible-driven speech to ask. But they’re better than nothing. I’m leaving Pelly here too. It’s not designed for fighting. It’s been in the medical center, a gentle guard over unconscious Ruth. And my mother is going to stay with her too. We debated for a long time who should go, and normally I would have voted for my mother. She has more real-world combat experience than the rest of us combined. But we don’t know when she’ll be back to full fighting force, and we won’t leave Ruth unattended.

“Where are you going?” Chao-Ahn asks. She’s in the doorway with Maricruz and Taylor. I didn’t factor the three Slayers in at all. They didn’t ask for any of this. They only wanted a safe space, and I couldn’t give it to them.

Rhys looks up from his book. “Gotta fight a cult so we don’t end up having to fight a god.”

“My da,” Cillian offers, a bemused frown on his face. “The god, I mean. Not the cult.”

“More gods?” Maricruz throws her hands in the air. “We already fought three with Buffy. Why can’t monotheism be a thing? I’m so tired of gods.” Taylor flinches violently at the B-word. Maricruz pats her distractedly, her eyes on the weapons pile. “You didn’t make us fight to defend the castle. Even though we could have helped.”

“You would have protected the Littles, if it came to that. That was more than enough.” I heft a duffel bag. It’s filled with holy water and crosses. They used vampires on the assault here, though we’ll reach the village during daylight, so who knows. Best to be overprepared, though. A prepared Watcher is—well, frequently still a dead Watcher. But at least a well-armed, thoroughly knowledgeable corpse.

What is a prepared Slayer? Taylor might hate the very mention of Buffy, but I need her. I wish I had been able to reach her on that dark shore. Would she understand? Would she be able to help me? Or would she see the same failure and corruption in me that Sineya does and put a sword through my belly instead of sitting down for a chat?

Tsip leans over my shoulder. “Can I have any eyes I find? It’s my birthday.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the instinct to elbow her, to grab her and throw her into the wall. It’s not fair that I have to fight feeling this way about demons and people I care about. “You said yesterday was your birthday.”

She smiles slyly. “Every time I shift into the void beyond reality, I’m unmade. And when I come back, I’m remade, all brand-new. So … every day is my birthday.”

“I’m glad I didn’t make you a cake, then. Fine. You can have any nonhuman eyes you find. Except for Leo’s or Doug’s or anyone who is fighting on our side.” I’m not sure if that was necessary to add, but her slightly disappointed nod makes me think it was.

“I am coming,” Chao-Ahn says.

“Me too.” Maricruz folds her arms, angling herself away from Taylor’s shocked and hurt expression.

“What?” I turn from Tsip, taking in the three Slayers. They’ve already been through so much. And I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. “You don’t have to.”

“Exactly.” Maricruz smiles at me. “Ever since I became a Slayer, no one’s given me a choice. It was go here, fight that, don’t die. You didn’t ask us to do anything, much less command us to do anything, other than stay safe. And you know what I realized hiding in that closet?”

I shake my head. I have no idea.

“Hiding sucks. Gimme that stake.” She holds out her hand, and I toss it. She flips it over her hand, catching it in a neat trick. Her sweet face is transformed, and I can see how much power she has simmering under the surface. “Let’s get our slay on.”

“You can’t leave me!” Taylor’s voice is high and tight with panic.

Maricruz turns to her, her face softening. She reaches up and tucks Taylor’s hair behind her ears. “I’m not leaving you. I’m going to work. And I’ll be back. You have to trust that I’ll come back, okay?”

Taylor nods, numb and silent. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Watch over Ruth.” My mother stands, shaky but determined. “Call us if there’s any change.”