Slayer(28)

I flinch, remembering Artemis’s comment about a loaded gun in the hands of a child. Leo is staring at me. He gives me an almost imperceptible shake of his head. It’s clear he disagrees with his mother. Which makes me want to listen to her more.

Eve closes the distance between us, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve always had so much to offer the Watchers, but you’ve never truly been utilized here, never truly had a place among us. This is a tremendous opportunity for us to learn from you. It’s time to take your rightful spot alongside the Council. Where your father would have wanted you.”

I still don’t want to be a Slayer, but the way Eve is looking at me with hope and warmth melts away some of my fear. Would my father have wanted this? “I guess—I guess we could try.”

Eve beams. “That’s our girl.” Then she releases my shoulders to take stock of what the room has to offer. “I assume you’ve had basic combat training?” Her assumption hurts, but it’s nice of her to give me the benefit of the doubt.

“I wasn’t allowed to. My mom said no. But I’ve read most of the manuals! And I, uh, know a lot of first aid. I’ve been working as the Watcher medic. I’m really good with stitches. And ice packs. Expert ice packer.”

She smiles, and there’s genuine delight there. No judgment or mockery. I’m so glad it’s her here instead of stupid Wanda Wyndam-Pryce. “That’s wonderful. I love that you have experience outside of the narrow focus a Potential would have been given. How is your demon lore?”

“The lore-iest! Super up on demon lore. Name a demon, I know the lore.” Actually, Rhys is the resident demon expert, but he likes to talk and I don’t mind listening. Most of my studies have been human oriented, but I do know more than the average Slayer. And I definitely know more than Buffy, who was notorious for being unwilling to do research or study on her own.

Rupert Giles always babied her. Now he’s dead too, just like my father. It’s usually Watchers who bury more than one Slayer. Buffy never did like the status quo, though.

“Tell me about D’Hoffryn,” Eve says. “What do you know about him?”

“Oh! I know this one!” I clap my hands, excited. I usually don’t get pumped about demony stuff, but Eve has this way about her that makes me yearn for her approval. Maybe because I feel like she actually cares, like she’s rooting for me. Leo’s eyes have moved from me to the door, and his hands are clasped behind his back. “D’Hoffryn is a true demon—not a hybrid. He has the ability to corrupt humans into vengeance demons. He has no known weaknesses. He comes to this plane only when summoned by a vengeance demon or drawn to a new candidate.” I pause, thinking. “But . . . with portals to and from demon dimensions closed, can he keep creating vengeance demons? I’m guessing he can’t! So that’s good. Score one for no magic.”

“Do you know whether he was on earth when the portals closed?”

I shrug, wishing I could impress her. “No idea.”

Bradford Smythe answers. “I believe he is trapped here. He’ll still have his basic demonic abilities but will be considerably handicapped by the lack of magic.”

“Didn’t anyone think this might be a good time to go after demons like D’Hoffryn?” Eve asks, forehead creased.

“We don’t have the resources.” Bradford doesn’t sound offended. Just wistful. “What you see here is what we have, my dear.”

Eve smiles at me, and the furrow leaves her brow. I find myself standing straighter. “What I see here is all the start we need.”

I know I’m blushing, and I don’t care. Being looked at with pride and hope by such a remarkable Watcher is a feeling I never realized how much I needed. No one ever congratulated me for learning a new splinting technique or complimented my ability to time a pulse. But Eve not only believes I’m a Slayer . . . she’s glad I am. She might be the only one.

And the way she looks at me makes me feel like I might actually be able to do this. She might even be the person I can trust with Cillian’s demon. I’ll have to feel her out and wait until Bradford Smythe isn’t here, but I’m already relieved at the anticipation of shifting the burden onto someone more capable.

“Helen can’t know.” Bradford sighs. “She means well, but it is . . . complicated.”

Eve nods. “Families always are.” She turns back to me, and her head tilts to the side. “I do have a question about the timing. When, exactly, did you feel the change? It had to have happened before the Seed of Wonder was destroyed.”

“I think it happened exactly then. It’s why I didn’t tell anyone I felt weird. There was a big demon and a sort of magical aftershock wave, and we were splattered in demon goo. That’s when I felt like I was—it’s hard to describe . . . being unmade? Like everything in my body shifted so I wasn’t me, but I was more me than I had ever been. I was afraid it was a demon thing, so I ignored it. Until the hellhound attacked, and my body just reacted.”

Eve’s face shifts with amazement. “Nina, if you changed from Potential to Slayer at the very moment the magic was destroyed, that means you are the last Slayer. Ever. The end of the line stretching back to the very first one.”

The weight of that settles on my shoulders. I don’t want this mantle. I never asked for it. But one part makes sense: I got picked last. Some things never change.