Slayer(51)

I reach toward her seat but stop, horrified. My hands are still covered in blood.

I stare at them, and I know what’s different. Why we all feel like strangers. I might have become a Slayer the day magic ended, but tonight was the first time I really was a Slayer. I was a creature of instinct and brutality, fighting monsters. And I liked it.

Now in the car, surrounded by my old life—my real life—that fact bothers me more than anything else.

I saw Cosmina. She was a Slayer. A real Slayer. A killer. But when I jumped in the pit, the only thought in my mind was about saving someone who needed me. It felt right. It felt good. Cosmina can hate me all she likes, because she’s alive to do it. Six werewolves will wake up tomorrow morning, sore but breathing. Because of me.

I just need to figure out how I can be a Slayer without losing what makes me Nina in the process.





16


I SIT STRAIGHT UP IN bed, my heart racing.

What is wrong with my sleeping brain? Of all the things I could dream about, my subconscious settles on Bradford Smythe again? I would have taken being back in the pit fighting monsters, or even a dream about the fire.

I need therapy.

“You okay?” Artemis mumbles sleepily from across the room.

“Do you ever have weird dreams about the Council?”

“Every damn night. Ruth Zabuto uses my fingers for knitting needles, and Wanda . . .” She trails off, muttering something about spiders and switches, and then she goes quiet, her breathing even.

At least Cosmina didn’t come hang out in my dreams. I’m more than happy never to see her again. And I don’t trust my Slayer dreams. Not only did my dream about her fail to give me very pertinent information, it also sent me to her against her will.

I flop back on my bed. It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve been asleep for only an hour.

My phone buzzes. I scramble to get it before Artemis stirs. The screen shows a text from Cillian.

It’s awake

“Stake me with a million splinters,” I whisper. I glance over at Artemis. I was going to tell her about the demon yesterday morning. Then everything spiraled so quickly. And she’s been so mad. I don’t know what she’d do with the demon.

My demon. I can handle this.

Do not engage, I text. I’m on my way.

Weapons, weapons, I need weapons. Only as a precaution. I pull on my slippers, throw a fuzzy robe over my pajamas, and sneak into the hall. I’m halfway through the dorm wing when the smell of cigarette smoke pulls me up short.

Imogen leans against a recess in the wall. Her eyes are heavy and tired. “Hey, Nina. Where are you off to?”

“Oh. Um. Getting some water.”

“Here.” She passes me the cigarette, then disappears into the Littles’ suite. I hold the cigarette gingerly, like it might come alive and force its way into my lungs. Imogen always wears long sleeves, down almost to her fingers. Isn’t she worried her sleeves will catch on fire?

She laughs quietly at my obvious horror when she comes back out. “Sorry. I didn’t think. That was rude of me.” She takes the cigarette, handing me a bottle of water and a juice box. “We have a lot of middle-of-the-night drink requests. I’m always fully stocked.”

“Thanks.” But now Imogen is between the weapons-stocked gym and me. And I can’t let anyone know what I’m doing.

She taps out the cigarette in a little dish on the floor. “Sorry about this. I never do it where the Littles can see. But some days.” She shakes her head, her silky, thin blond hair curtaining her face. I’ve always liked her, but she doesn’t really hang out with the rest of us. For one thing, she’s older. Early twenties. But mostly Imogen exists to take care of the Littles. They’re her priority, always.

I nod. “Some days.”

“So, you’re a Slayer, yeah?”

Oh gods. We forgot to tell her! Did we tell Jade? It’s only a secret that I’m training, not that I’m a Slayer. I have so many secrets lately, I can’t remember what is actually a secret or only sort of a secret. I shuffle my slippered feet. “Yeah. Surprised?”

Imogen shrugs. “Not really. Makes sense.”

“It does?” I figured it was an unspoken sentiment that if anyone should be a Slayer, it should be Artemis. Maybe my mom even trained her hoping the Slayer abilities would settle on the right twin. Maybe . . . maybe Artemis wishes that too.

“Of course it does. You spent all these years learning the best ways to help and protect others. I think you’ll be great.” Her hazel eyes are dark brown in the dim hall lighting. They’re tight with exhaustion, and it makes her look sad. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do.”

“Thanks.” It feels inadequate to say, but I’m grateful she feels that way. And then I remember that Imogen doesn’t know I’m training, because I’m not supposed to be training. Gods, the castle has gotten complicated. “I mean, I’m probably not going to do anything. Slayerish, that is. My mom doesn’t want me to.”

“Mums.” Imogen’s twisted smile is bleak.

I cringe. “Sorry. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for the drinks. And the vote of confidence.”

With Imogen showing no signs of going back into her room, I head toward my room. Then I pass it, going deep into the dorm wing. I navigate the discarded furniture, everything menacing shapes in the near darkness, until I find Artemis’s secret passageway closet. The Council room isn’t far from the gym, and there’s bound to be another exit somewhere.