Slayer(94)

“I don’t know why she’d do it,” I lie. “But she’s mixed up in it somehow. I’m not solid on the details. I’m going to get them, though.”

“Great.” Artemis hits the bag again. “How?”

“I’ll bring her back here. To Eve. I don’t think Ruth Zabuto or Wanda Wyndam-Pryce is in on anything, but Eve’s our best bet. Hopefully it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that left a Watcher and a Slayer dead, and almost killed an innocent. Right.” Artemis delivers a brutal blow to the punching bag. Then another. And another. My knuckles ache in sympathy. “If Mom brought the demon here, this is on her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say.

“What wasn’t my fault?”

“It wasn’t your fault she saved you first. You don’t have to feel guilty, and you don’t have to sacrifice anything else to protect me. I’ll take care of this. I owe you.”

She pauses, her arms around the punching bag. Now it looks like it’s holding her up. But still she doesn’t say anything. I wish she would, but this isn’t about me.

“So. I’m going after Mom. Will you find Eve and let her know we need to talk?”

Artemis nods, mute.

I walk back out of the castle, dragging my feet, feeling a hundred years older. I don’t really think my mom is capable of having people killed. But I do know she’s capable of hiding the truth and lying to those she’s supposed to love. I hope this is a mistake. And I hope we can still fix it, at least in part.

Though it’s still dark, I don’t have a hard time finding my way back to the cemetery. The campfire winks through the trees as I get closer, much smaller than it was before. I don’t disguise my footsteps. I want them to hear me coming.

But when I get to the camp, nothing is as I was expecting. A few sticks have been kicked free and are smoldering and sparking. I stomp them out, my heart racing. I have a stake in my hand. I don’t remember grabbing it, but it feels essential.

The whole site is in disarray. The tent is askew. Doug’s novel is lying forlorn on the ground, the ink-and-paper tragic romance abandoned. His beloved Coldplay shirt is torn and crumpled next to it. And Doug is nowhere to be found. I stumble over an unexpected depression in the ground. I bend close, the firelight revealing deep tire treads. Someone was here.

I take three steps to check out the rest of the campsite, and then I trip over something much bigger than tire tracks.

A body.

I land hard, smashing my knee into a rock. Then I pull my legs away. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.

The body stirs, groaning. I let out a gasp of relief. I crawl to my mother’s side and turn her over. There’s a trickle of blood where someone hit her on the head. Her eyes flutter open, searching wildly before settling on me.

“Nina?”

“What happened? Why did Doug do this?”

My mother tenses. “Doug? Where’s Doug?”

“I don’t know! He’s gone.”

She sits up, swaying dangerously before reclaiming her sense of balance. “They took him.”

“Someone took Doug?”

She scowls impatiently. “Yes. They attacked me and took Doug. What did you think happened?”

“I thought Doug attacked you!”

“Doug wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She stands, unsteady. I offer her a hand, which she takes. And then I remember I came here to confront her. This doesn’t change anything.

“You need to answer my questions.”

“We don’t have time for that. It was Honora and that worm Sean.”

“You know about Honora and Sean?”

“Of course I do. It’s my job to know things.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t about Doug. Or it is. I don’t know! But you need to tell me the truth: Did you bring another demon to Shancoom? Besides Doug? One attacked Cillian.”

“A demon attacked Cillian?”

“Yes! And Cosmina was dead when we went to go see her.”

This time my mother sways and stumbles, sitting hard on one of the moss-covered stone memorial benches. “She’s dead?”

“You didn’t know, then.” My body goes limp with relief, and I sink onto the bench beside her.

She shakes her head. Her face is pale, and I don’t think it’s because of the head wound. “Oh, that poor child. I should have contacted her sooner.”

“Tell me what’s going on!”

My mother’s face snaps back into its usual form. Firm. Distant. “This isn’t about you.”

Her words sting. She acts like I’m being selfish or immature. But I know what I heard before when I was spying. I know about the prophecy. “It’s entirely about me!”

“Innocent lives are in the balance. I can’t let them have Doug again.”

“Why are you even helping him?”

“Why did you?”

I pause, caught. “Because he seemed like he needed it.”

She meets my eyes—something she has almost never done in all these years. “You were right. And he needs help now more than ever. If I don’t get to him fast, they’ll move him to another facility, and I’ll never find him again.”