Slayer(97)

But I can’t. I have to be a Slayer. I can’t take things to the Council, can’t wait for the bureaucracy to slowly churn to life and examine what’s happening. I have to act.

I finally agree with Buffy for giving up on us. We’re a mess. We can’t even take care of our own ranks, much less anyone else. I judged her because I could only see my side of it.

It’s different when you’re the one with the power. The choices are so much harder and so much more important. What would Buffy do? She’d charge in and figure this all out with fists and sheer force of will. If people didn’t believe in her, she would make them. And she wouldn’t stop until she beat back anyone who threatened the ones she loved.

Buffy isn’t here right now. But I am. I’m the last Slayer.

Watchers had it wrong all along. They thought Slayers needed to be told what to do. To be kept out of trouble. But trouble is exactly where we belong. I reach out for that pool of anger. The channel of fury that ends in me. It’s a destructive force, but it’s also a powerful tool. I’ll use it to get to the bottom of this. To save the people I love.

I think of the Slayer who sacrificed herself for her village.

My grandmother, who died but saved her baby.

Buffy, who died to save the world—twice!—and was so stubborn she came back to save it yet again. I don’t think she was selfish or impulsive. I think she was doing the best she could in the middle of complete and utter chaos. Watchers try to control, try to predict. But in the end, we Slayers have to learn that all you can do is react and hope you win.

I’ve been racked with turmoil this whole time about what it means to be a Slayer. But one thing is clear to me now, without question—I want this. I can do this. I’m proud of what I am.

And I’m ready.

“Sorry, Leo. I have to finish this.” I angle around him toward home.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. Then he grabs me, spins me upward, and throws me over his shoulder as he starts running through the woods.





29


“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I bounce with each jarring step Leo takes.

“Please keep your voice down. I don’t want to attract attention.”

“Well, I do!” My mind bounces as much as my body. Leo wasn’t in my room this morning when Cillian was attacked. Leo himself pointed out that everything started going haywire when he and his mom got back. Was he teasing me? Telling me the truth knowing I wouldn’t see it? Maybe the source of all this chaos and death is much closer to me. In this case, so close my chin is slamming against his lower back with every step.

Leo jumps over a fallen log. I use the momentum to swing up and grab hold of a branch. I hold on with all my strength, his forward motion ripping me out of his grasp. I scramble up the tree to where he can’t reach me. I look down, expecting rage, and see only panic.

“Please!” he says. “We don’t have much time!”

“No!” I climb higher.

“I promise I’ll explain, but we have to hurry.” He runs his hands through his hair, practically pulling it out.

I eye the next tree. I can make it. I jump, swinging on a branch and launching myself through the air. I slam into the trunk but hold on. A shower of red leaves and debris rains down beneath me.

Leo’s desperation turns to determination. He lowers his head and runs straight at my tree, barreling into it. It rips free from the ground with tearing roots and a tremendous crash. I’m trapped in a jumble of branches, the scent of soil and sap overwhelming.

I fight my way free. I’m strong, but I don’t think I could take down one of these old giants in a single blow. If my strength is superhuman, Leo’s is . . . inhuman.

All those hours I spent spying on him training with Rhys. His movements were always so careful. So precise. I thought it was because he was good, but what if it was because he was hiding how much more he was?

Leo has me blocked in by the tree. “I really am sorry. But you’re coming with me.”

How is this happening? Leo is a lifelong Watcher, from a Watcher mother. And his father—

His father died before Leo was born. I’ve never actually heard anything about him. Dead fathers aren’t remarkable in our community, but I suspect Leo’s father was extremely remarkable in the worst possible ways.

“Let’s stop saying sorry so much,” I say. “But I am sorry for this.” I push up off the tree, jumping in the air and kicking him in the chest with both feet.

It’s like hitting a mountain. I bounce off, landing hard on the ground.

“Ow,” I whimper.

Leo picks me up. He sets me on my feet, keeping his hands on my shoulders. “Any injuries?”

“What are you?” I know with a despairing and fearful certainty that my kick would have sent any human flying. “How are you still standing?”

His smile is as sad and empty as a good-bye. “I defy gravity. Rhys will explain. We have to—”

I twist out of his hands and dart past him. One of my ankles is sore from the impact with his chest, but I race as fast as I can. I know where I’m going. I’ve been there enough times in the last few hours to have the path memorized. I still have my stake, but I can’t imagine plunging it into Leo’s chest.

Buffy once had to slide a sword into her boyfriend’s heart. Oh, Buffy. You are so much stronger than I am. But I have an idea.