Slayer(109)

“Artemis, I get it. I want . . .” With no words left, I throw my arms around her. I know I could make her stay if I really wanted to. But while I want her to stay, I don’t need her to stay. And what she wants—what she needs—has to come first.

She hugs me back. “Thank you for saving me. But it was the wrong choice. You should have kept your power. You got it for a reason.” She laughs, but it’s brittle, empty. “We still don’t know what reason that was. And we never will. But I didn’t get it for a reason. And I want to know why.” She steps away from me. “Take care of yourself, Nina.”

“We could use your help here. Honora’s, too, even.”

Artemis smiles at my blatant lie. “You don’t need my help. Not anymore. I don’t think you ever did. I just needed someone to need me.” She throws her arms around me again and squeezes me in a hug so tight I can’t breathe. I don’t want it to end.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“Remember,” I whisper back, “no matter where you go, you’ll always have a home here.”

She releases me and climbs onto the motorcycle, putting her arms around Honora’s waist. Honora lifts her hand up like she’s going to wave, but as soon as Artemis buries her head in Honora’s shoulder, Honora lifts her middle finger to me instead. Then she guns the motorcycle.

I stand at the edge of the grounds, watching them get smaller. And I stay there watching long after they’ve disappeared and twilight has fallen. I will never not miss Artemis. I hate that she chose Honora. But I’d hate myself more if I made her stay when I’ve held her back for all these years. She needs to figure out who she is without having to take care of me. Without having to live a calling she never asked for. Without having to compensate for the fact that our mother saved her first.

It’s okay. It will be okay. I turn around to face my own new life.

I was born to be a Watcher. I was Chosen to be a Slayer. Now I’m neither.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a protector.

I crack my knuckles. It’s time to get to work.





Her work had almost been done for her. Artemis and Athena came so close to dying, only to escape, yet again.

If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.

Facing the near death of Artemis and the de-Slayering of Athena had, however, left her with questions. There was a clarity that came with thinking it was finally finished. Thinking that Athena would die in the cellar and the prophecy would never be able to come true. Instead of relief, the hunter had felt . . . disappointment.

After all these years, all her sacrifice, she discovered she was no longer interested in preventing the prophecy from coming true. It had been her mother’s calling, forced on her. She didn’t choose it. If the rest of them could shrug off the weight of Watcher tradition, she could shrug off the weight of prophecy prevention.

What had this sucky world ever done for her, anyway? Everyone who had tasked her with guarding the prophecy, with hunting the girls, was dead. That’s what they got. That was their reward.

Not for her anymore. She wasn’t giving up, though. She had always needed a cause. She was lying in wait for a different outcome now. They thought the prophecy had come and passed. That it was that easy. A pokey, aborted hellmouth wasn’t enough to get Arcturius’s attention all those centuries ago. Even if it had been opened all the way, it wasn’t an apocalyptic event. Just another demonic nuisance.

No, the prophecy still loomed. And she was going to do everything in her power to make certain that it came true. If one of the twins was going to break the world apart, she would be at her side.

If only she could be certain which girl, exactly, was the apocalypse and which was the protector. Twins! Always so tricky to tell apart.

It didn’t matter either way. She would help the destroyer or destroy the protector. Both options led to the same outcome: ending the world that had failed them all so miserably. It was time. Arcturius had seen it—it was the last thing he’d seen—and who was she to argue?

“Boom,” she whispered, scoring the word onto her arm.

“Imogen, I finished my drawing!” little George said.

“Oh, it’s brilliant! Well done. Should we go give it to Nina now?”

George waited for her to put her cardigan on, then took her hand, and they walked down the hall together.





EPILOGUE


I CAN’T MOVE.

But it’s not the terrifying, can’t-breathe-can’t-move-can’t-scream kind. It’s the warm, hazy, everything-relaxed-and-perfectly-comfortable kind. I hang in the limbo between sleeping and waking, knowing soon my alarm will ring. Hoping this space will last a little longer.

And then I realize I’m not alone.

Leo kneels down so he’s in my line of sight. Even though the room is dark and his eyes are darker, I see them with perfect clarity. They really do have a hint of color in them. Violet.

Not being able to move also means not being able to talk. I try dragging my tongue across my mouth, try forcing my vocal cords to respond.

“Shh. Don’t wake up.” He smiles, his expression painfully tender. Those dimples that had held all my romantic hopes and had haunted my dreams were there, perfect, alive. “I know you tried to save me. That was more than I deserved. And I can never make it up to you, can never apologize enough for what she did to you. What I helped her do. Someday, maybe, I can explain. But no explanation excuses it. Nothing was worth hurting you.” Then his smile brightens, with a hint of mischief. “In the meantime, I have a present that I hope makes up for some of it and that will help make sure nothing can hurt you ever again.”