Slayer(40)

“I’m not really sure. Like I said, we didn’t get the information we needed.” The Range Rover hits an aggressive pothole and I bounce, almost dropping the phone. “I dreamed she was being held hostage by a vampire. Not much to go on. Blue hair. I think she’s in Dublin. Her name’s Cosmina.”

There’s a pause, and I wonder if I accidentally hung up on him. Then he says, “Got her.”

“What?”

“Cosmina Enescu. Nineteen, single, blue hair. Lives in a crappy flat in a not-nice area of Dublin. She’s quite fit, though.”

“You found her!” I shout. “How did you find her? Are you a hacker or something?”

“Love, it’s called Facebook. I’ll make you a profile if you want. No one has to be a hacker these days. Cosmina is an unusual enough name, so there weren’t many options. And blue hair? Only one.”

My heart is pounding. We found her. And that means we can save her. Assuming she needs saving, and I wasn’t just dreaming of some random girl in Dublin. I don’t know whether I’m more relieved that she’s findable or terrified that now I really do have to chase her down and try to help. And as a Slayer, not as a Watcher or medic.

But in the last couple of days I’ve faced two hellhounds and a demon, not to mention my long-lost crush. The dream came to me. That has to mean my inherent Slayerness thought I needed it or could handle it. Doesn’t it? I close my eyes, thinking of any other details. “Is there a building, maybe abandoned, called . . .” The light swinging. Cosmina’s blue hair, and . . . “O’Hannigan Ironworks?”

“Give me a sec.”

I wait, holding my breath. I hope he finds it. And I hope in equal parts it doesn’t exist.

“Got it. Also in Dublin.”

That’s that, then. Slayering I go. “Thanks, Cillian. We’ll be there in five minutes.” I hang up, trying not to tremble.

Artemis looks concerned. “Why are we bringing Cillian? It could be dangerous.”

So could leaving him here. I scramble for an excuse. “He’s got the address and a better phone, and he’s better at finding information than we are. We’ll make him stay in the car.”

Leo drives to the soda shop, and Cillian comes out with a basket of Cokes and snacks. He always special orders root beer for me because no one else here likes it. It’s one of many things I miss from my childhood. Along with water parks, air-conditioned malls, dads who aren’t dead, and houses that haven’t been burned down in lung-searing terror. Oh, and also tacos.

“Who’s switching up front?” Rhys asks, ready to climb in the back so he can sit beside Cillian. I freeze. I already have to spend all this time with Leo now. I don’t want to have to sit next to him for the whole drive. Then I might have to feel bad about more things, and I don’t want to feel bad when it comes to Leo. I only want to feel angry.

Artemis, in a rare move of emotional sensitivity, picks up on my tension. “I got shotgun.” She meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. I mouth thank you. I never told her about my crush on Leo, though it was probably obvious. But since I didn’t tell her about the Honora Poetry Incident, she doesn’t know why I’m uncomfortable around Leo, only that I am. And I’ve never been more grateful for her protective instinct than I am in this moment.

When everyone’s settled, we leave Shancoom for a date with a vampire and the hopefully still-living Cosmina. It’s time for me to be a Slayer.

But if I’m being totally honest?

I’d rather go to a movie. At least I know how to do that.





The hunter had made another mistake.

She had to leave before the fire reached its inevitable conclusion. Even she could do only so much to avoid being arrested or questioned by the clueless police officers who would arrive on the scene. So once the trap had been set, confident that the girls could not escape, she had walked away.

Did some part of her not want to see them die? Was she really that weak? She would sabotage the mission for her own tender sensibilities?

She should have stood in the yard and watched them burn. Killing them was the right thing to do. She didn’t question that. She never had.

She listened, numb, as the voice on the other end of the line berated her. On the TV, Jack died a frozen death, yet again. No matter how many times she watched Titanic, Jack always died and Rose always lived. Because that’s how it was written. Who could change what was written?

She drew on her arm with her ballpoint pen, pressing so hard she raised welts beneath the thin black lines. She wrote their names. And then she crossed them out with such a vicious slash, she drew blood.

She could change it. She would.

But not right now. The girls’ mother had made the only choice possible, fleeing back into the Watchers’ arms. It was less than ideal for the hunter. The things that needed to be done couldn’t be done in their headquarters. The mother had allies too high up, ones who refused to see the truth.

The girls were protected. Watched. But the hunter could watch too. She could be patient. She had time. Unlike the girls, who had only a countdown—either to their destruction or to everyone else’s. And the hunter would not let the world down. Even if it kept letting her down.





12


AUTUMN IS CLAIMING THE EMERALD Isle, shifting greens into golds, yellows, and oranges. I love wrapping myself in the same colors, my burnished hair reflecting the brilliant foliage. My coat is a bright marigold peacoat. I pull it against me tighter, seeking comfort, and then realize it’s wrong for what we’re doing. I should be wearing black. Something inconspicuous. Like Artemis.