Slayer(25)

But if I weren’t a Potential, we wouldn’t have been taken away to be protected, and we would have been blown up alongside everyone else.

Gods, I can’t even hate being a Slayer without it getting complicated.

“Slayers are always important to study,” Artemis lectures, unaware of my internal strife. She’s annoyed with me again. “Sometimes their dreams are prophetic. The original Slayer communicates through them, and dreams used to link each former Slayer to the next. Ruth Zabuto has theorized that, with so many Slayers now, there might even be direct dream-to-dream connections, like everyone in a big group chat. You need to read up on it.”

“Great. Now I have even more homework.” Homework I won’t do. I don’t want to be a Slayer, much less delve into Slayer theory. Besides, the dreaded Buffy hasn’t shown up in any of my dreams in the last two months. I doubt she’s going to make an appearance now.

Unless knowing I can do this makes it possible for me to do it. . . . Great. Another thing to worry about.

“You should take this seriously!” Artemis says.

I yank my pillow away. “You just told me nothing is different and I shouldn’t act like a superhero!”

Artemis turns off her lamp and nighttime engulfs the room, separating us. “Whatever. Do whatever you want. I can’t help you be a Slayer.” It’s such an un-Artemis thing to say. Never in our lives has she told me to do whatever I want. She’s told me to do whatever she thinks is best for me. So either she no longer cares what’s best for me or she doesn’t know. And she’s pissed at me for it.

Being a Slayer is literally the last thing I would have asked for. Doesn’t she get how much this is killing me?

The realization that Buffy has, yet again, changed my entire life without my permission hits me so hard that I finally feel winded. Because if I’m a Slayer, it’s Buffy’s fault. I never would have been the Chosen One under the old one-at-a-time system. I would have forever remained an invisible Potential. And I never would have known. As furious as it makes me, it also seems preferable to this. Maybe my mom was right to keep it hidden.

Buffy cost me my father and, in a way, my mother. I won’t let her ruin my relationship with Artemis, too. She’s always taken care of me. Maybe she needs to feel like she still can.

Or maybe now it’s my turn to take care of her.

? ? ?

I didn’t understand the language coming out of my mouth, but I knew what I was saying as I directed my people to light spears on fire, to gather the children in the center of our village, and to do whatever they could to slow down the demon hordes descending on us.

I would not let the darkness claim my people.

I fought in a fury of blood and blades, slashing and hacking through everything that moved. Behind me, my people were screaming their own battles. Dying. If I took out the queen of the horde, her demons would scatter. I just had to live that long.

Claws raked across my back. Something caught my forehead and blood streamed into my eyes. I fought on pure instinct, a machine of death.

And then I was faced with the queen. She towered over me, seven feet of muscle, claw, exoskeleton, and death. Her scream pierced my eardrums, leaving the world a silent, throbbing mystery. I was blind and deaf. But I was not dead.

Her claws, poisonous, pierced my sides as she lifted me overhead. Just as I had hoped. Smiling, I threw my arms in the air to give the signal. Burning arrows slammed into me, and my gas-soaked clothes immediately caught. The queen screamed, trying to remove her claws from me, but I threw my own arms around her, embracing her in fire and death.

My people were safe.

My people were—

Red, and then black, but a soft black. The black of sleep. The black of a struggle over and a rest well-earned.

A thousand voices sighed in unison. I smiled. I felt it all. The pain and the fear and the fury. And now I feel the pride and peace of her death.

The darkness rips away from me. It isn’t mine. Not yet. I roll onto the floor, choking. Smoke is everywhere. I know if I open my eyes, I’ll see flames so dark and purple it hurts to look at them, the colors wrong, the flames wrong. And I’ll see my mother holding Artemis.

I can’t breathe. Shouting pulls me from the dream, and I claw my way to consciousness to find my blanket wrapped around my head. Someone’s shaking me.

“Nina!” The blanket is yanked away.

My hand covers my racing heart. “Who was screaming?”

Artemis sighs as she lies down beside me. “You were. The fire again?”

I don’t need to answer her. “And something new. Let’s never talk about Slayers before bed again.” But weirdly, that first dream—filled with demons and blood and death—wasn’t disturbing. I felt energized. Proud, even. Then the fire came and ruined everything, as always.

Artemis stays, which I’m grateful for. She hasn’t slept in my bed for a long time. But even when we fight, no one makes me feel as safe as she does. She quickly falls back asleep.

I don’t want to sleep. Not now. Not ever.

My body disagrees, and I slip right back under. The only dream I have is of a woman—petite with blond pigtail buns—sitting on the edge of a roof overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Though the scene is quiet, I feel the pulsing presence of others around me. Unlike the darkness that had claimed the girl fighting the demon horde, there’s no peace here. We all watch, and we all feel the same thing, feeding off each other into a frenzy.