Slayer(62)

Imagining Leo out there, lonely and missing us, instead of kicking demon butt and being all handsome and cocky about it, makes me soften even more toward him. I clear my throat. “So what does it mean? Your fancy Shakespeare quote?”

“It’s part of why I said you shouldn’t train if you didn’t want to. Even though, in retrospect, that was never an option.” He smiles wryly. “I wanted to at least offer. No one ever offered me another life. But in the end, none of us can escape what we were born to.”

That’s why they didn’t settle. When you know as much as we do, how can you ever decide to just . . . stop? Stop fighting? Stop trying to help? Once you’re in, you can’t turn your back on it. I wonder if my mom wishes Bradford Smythe had put her up for adoption, given her the gift of a normal life to make up for the violence of her earliest days. She never would have known.

I’m glad that’s not what happened. As much as I might question everything else in my life right now, I know how the world really works. I know the monsters that are out there. And I know the people who have devoted their lives to fighting them. Even if I don’t always agree with their methods or choices. Even if I have zero idea what my place is in that fight anymore.

“What about those of us who were born to Watchers and Slayers?” I try to grin, but it doesn’t quite work. “Which one do we pick? Which one can’t we escape?”

“Do you want to escape?” There’s no judgment in his tone.

I shake my head. “Not being a Watcher. I never have. This is our legacy, our calling. I always wanted to be a part of it.”

“If you could choose not to be a Slayer, would you?”

I almost blurt out yes. It’s my first instinct. But I’m still holding my father’s journal. What would he have wanted for me? What do I want for me? Do I really want to give up what I’ve become? For some reason the dream-memory of the Slayer who saved her entire village washes over me. She was so certain. So brave and powerful and good. If I could be a Slayer like that, I’d choose to be one, I think. But can I?

Maybe with Leo and Eve on my side, I can. My father would want me to try. And I want me to try too. I won’t know how much good I can do until I know what I’m capable of. I turn to Leo to tell him how glad I am he’s helping me, but the door bangs open.

“Wheezy!” Honora Wyndam-Pryce declares. “And Leo? Why, this is as pretty as a poem.”





18


HONORA WEARS GORGEOUS OXBLOOD LEATHER boots that hit midcalf. Her dress is black, her dark hair shiny and long in loose waves. She has the most perfect cat-eye liner I’ve ever seen in person. It’s like she walked straight off a runway and into my gym. Where I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, bedhead, and just-been-crying-about-my-dead-dad eyes.

She takes in what we’re holding and her face positively lights up. “Oh my God. Those aren’t—are those Wheezy’s books of poetry?”

I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. But thanks a lot, Buffy. It doesn’t do that anymore.

“Go to hell, Honora.” Leo’s voice is as sharp as I’ve ever heard it. I’m shocked out of my humiliation by the force of his anger. He isn’t looking at me, but he shifts almost imperceptibly closer.

“Can’t, darling. Didn’t you hear? It’s closed for renovations.” She grins at us, twirling as she takes in the room. “Has this place always been so depressing? Remember when we trained here, Leo? The parties we’d throw right under their noses. Epic. Harry Sirk made a mean magical cocktail. You’d literally float the rest of the night.” She sighs wistfully. “Too bad he’s dead. I miss him.”

I stand up, grabbing the journals and holding them to my chest. “Speaking of things we miss, why don’t you go back to wherever you’ve been the last two years, so we can keep missing you?”

Honora puts a hand to her heart. “You wound me. I thought I’d be welcomed back, seeing as how I’m the only one out there actually doing anything. Unlike the Council. How’s hiding treating them? Sure are protecting a lot of innocents holed up in the castle here.”

“You have no idea, do you?” Leo shakes his head. “Athena is—”

I put a hand on his shoulder, rushing to cut him off. “A medic. I put together a medical center for the castle.” I assume she hasn’t spoken to her mother yet, and I don’t want to tell her I’m a Slayer like some sort of brag. It’s mine. I’m not about to discuss it with Honora, and I don’t care at all about impressing her.

She raises one expertly sculpted eyebrow. She may say she’s been out protecting people, but it doesn’t look like she’s been roughing it. “Good for you.” I can’t tell if she’s sincere. I doubt it. “Leo, when did you get back? We thought you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t know why you’re both acting like this. I’m so happy to see you.” Now she sounds . . . almost definitely sincere? “Our years together were so fun. I’ve missed you guys.”

“I think you remember them really differently than I do.” I never liked Honora, even before that awful day. She was always pushing limits, finding little ways to rebel. I hated how disrespectful she was of Watcher society when I would have given anything to be trained like her.