Slayer(61)

I snort. Then I reread the first part that references my mom. I remember a prophecy about Buffy. It had to do with the Master, the first major vampire threat she faced after moving to Sunnydale. Something about “the Master will rise and the Slayer will die.” It came true. She did die. It just didn’t stick. Buffy always was bad at following the rules.

But . . . the Watchers didn’t have that prophecy at the time. Her weirdo vampire-with-a-soul boyfriend gave Rupert Giles the prophecy after my father died. I remember, because there was a whole stink about how a vampire could have access to a prophecy the Watchers didn’t. So my father couldn’t have known about that one. He’s talking about another prophecy.

And if the prophecy was about Buffy, why would he want to turn down being her Watcher? It doesn’t make any sense. I wish I could ask my mom about it, but that’s not going to happen.

“I have to accept the assignment,” my father’s words continue. “Buffy needs me. I won’t entrust her life and safety to anyone else. Helen will see that the prophecy never comes true. Bradford will help. And my girls will never—”

It has to be a different prophecy. Something more personal, if he’s mentioning us. But what? I eagerly look to the next page.

It’s gone. It’s been sliced out. The next page starts midsentence with details about his first disastrous training session with Buffy, and his fears that the ancient vampire Lothos had already begun to hunt for her. No mention of our family.

I close it. I can’t read the rest. I can’t read how hard he worked to train Buffy, to prepare her, knowing what it results in. My father buried two Slayers. And then we had to bury him, because of Buffy.

I stand and slam my fist into a punching bag. It breaks free of the chain, sliding across the floor and hitting the wall so hard it bursts at the seams.

I hear a couple of slow claps, then, “Wow.”

I spin around to find Leo behind me. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I was—” I cut myself off. I’m a badass Slayer who can bust up some punching bags without anyone’s permission. I want Leo to get mad at me, to chastise me, so I can yell back at him.

Leo bends down and examines the bag. “These facilities were designed for Watchers. Not Slayers. It’s not your fault you’re stronger than all of them put together.”

Not exactly the fight I was hoping for. I grab a broom from a closet to help clean up. When I turn back, Leo’s holding the diaries.

“Those are not mine!” My face grows hot, all the past trauma resurfacing.

Leo blushes. He actually blushes. How dare he. “Of course not. I know that.”

“I don’t even keep a journal.” I snatch my father’s diary from him, but he grabs my hand.

“Athena. I’m sorry. About that day in the old training room. I never got a chance to talk to you about it before I left.”

“I don’t remember,” I lie. “Why would you have needed to talk to me?” I tug my hand away and hug my father’s journal to my chest.

Leo sighs and sits down on the mats. He glances at the other journal. “Why do you have Bradford Smythe’s Watcher diary?”

“He was my grandmother’s Watcher.”

“What?” His shock is genuine.

“It’s pretty huge,” I acknowledge. “My mom’s mom was a Slayer. She got killed right after my mom was born. Bradford took her in.”

“Wow. I had no idea. I thought Helen was a Smythe.”

“They tucked her right into the family line. I guess we were always destined to be in the middle of the fight against demons.”

He flips through more pages. “?‘What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide.’?”

I peer at the page he stopped on. “It says that?”

Leo laughs. “No, sorry. I was quoting Shakespeare. It’s a terrible habit. I read everything of his during the last two years. Not a lot to do during demonic stakeouts with your mother.”

It’s the first time he’s referenced specifics of when he and Eve were off the grid. “I thought your life would have been pretty exciting. Out in the field.”

“Would you say Dublin was exciting?”

“No!” I pause. No one else wants to hear how I feel about things. Leo’s actually listening. “Yes? Sort of. It was terrifying, and terrible, and also thrilling and amazing and awful and I don’t know how it could be all those things at once.”

He nods. “What we do. It can be exhilarating. There’s a huge rush facing death and winning. Being out there, it was all those things you said. But it was also boring a lot of the time. Buses and airplanes and hotel rooms scarier than anything in that pit with you. Waiting. Watching. Hunting.” There’s a sad, faraway look on his face. “And it was lonely. After the attack took out Watcher headquarters, I thought everyone else was gone. That I was alone out there.”

“But you had your mom.”

“Which made me miss all of you even more.” He had tried to tell me that before, but I didn’t let him. I was too mad remembering my own hurt. Now I think I understand. My mom wants to send me away from the only home and family I’ve ever known. I don’t care how much things change. These people—the Watchers—are my people. At least I didn’t have to spend two years thinking everyone was dead. I still had Artemis and Rhys. Jade. Imogen and the Littles. Even the Council. I wonder why the Silveras kept going. Why they didn’t decide to settle somewhere and have lives.