The beast went still.
Joss scrambled to his feet, still gripping the stake in his hand—even harder now—and started to climb the hill once again. Then, from behind him, came a terrible explosion. The heat from the blast picked Joss up as if he were but a leaf on the wind and tossed him casually into a tree.
Joss’s world—once again—went dark.
28
NO APOLOGIES
The pain came before consciousness. It was immediate, intense, and filled his entire head up until T it felt like a balloon. A big, painful balloon. The thought occurred to him that he might have a concussion, and moments later, Joss opened his eyes.
He was lying on his bed in the Slayer cabin, under crisp white linens. His wounds—the few fresh ones he had—had been carefully bandaged. And the Slayers were standing around his bed in a semicircle, his uncle Abraham at the foot end, near the door. His leg was in a cast, and he was leaning on a sleek black wooden cane.
Joss couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, or even if he was really here at all. Maybe it was all a figment of his imagination. Maybe he was hallucinating from his injuries. Maybe he’d died in the explosion. He only knew that he was glad to be here, glad to see these faces, glad to feel like he hadn’t completely ruined everything. Even if it wasn’t real, it felt good not to think about monsters with fangs for a second.
Ash was the first to speak. “We thought you were a goner, Joss. Thought the damn things had tackled you in the woods and swallowed every last bit of you. But then we heard that explosion and tracked you down.”
Morgan gave Joss a wink. “A word of advice, if I may? Explosions are an excellent way to kill the undead. But you should probably take a few steps back first, kid. But we can talk about that when I teach you more about explosives next summer. Of course, something tells me you might even teach me a few things.”
Roaring laughter filled the room and Joss sat up in his bed a little, enjoying their company, and so, so glad that he was still alive ... and a hero, apparently. Even if he hadn’t technically killed all those vampires on purpose. Who needed to know? Dead was dead, as far as Joss was concerned.
With awe in her voice, Paty said, “You must have killed twenty vampires with that blast.”
“Twenty-four.” Joss’s voice came out sounding weak, and a bit like someone had scraped his entire windpipe with low-grit sandpaper. It felt that way, too.
The Slayers all smiled proudly. All but one.
Abraham shot Joss a look that said that he knew that the blast was an accident, and that something about that didn’t sit well with him. Then he turned and limped out of the room without as much as a single word of encouragement or dissent. Joss didn’t know if he should feel berated or relieved, so he left it alone. He’d had enough unpleasantness today. The last thing he needed was another moment of heartache.
Slayers kept him company for most of the day. In fact, it wasn’t until Paty had brought him a tray of dinner that evening that he realized they hadn’t left him alone for more than a few precious minutes at a time. Were they watching him? Or did they just appreciate him and admire his efforts? He’d never know. But that evening, when he was lying in bed, waiting for sleep to come, Joss allowed his thoughts to drift through the pain medication’s fog back to the explosion. With pained realization, he knew that something horrible had happened. Sirus had been in that cabin when the blast had occurred. He was dead. And it was Joss’s fault.
Joss rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, willing the emptiness to take him away again, to take it all away. Because despite everything that had happened, he was mourning the loss of Sirus. And he didn’t know which was more upsetting: that he’d killed a man he’d once counted as a friend, or that the man he’d counted as a trusted friend had betrayed him in the worst way possible. Joss focused on the betrayal, largely because it was easier to hate than to grieve. Sirus had lied to him. Sirus had turned his back on him. Joss vowed then and there that he’d never be duped by a vampire ever again. He would study them, memorize their characteristics. He’d know vampires better than any Slayer ever had. And he would kill them all.
After a long time spent lying in the darkness and fuming over things beyond his control, Joss’s eyelids fluttered closed at last and sleep took him into its warm embrace.
It wouldn’t last for long.
Sometime during the night—Joss couldn’t be certain when—a noise woke him from his dreamless sleep. It was the sound of his door being opened and footsteps moving carefully around his bed. He opened his eyes to a familiar form, a shape he knew, in the dark of his bedroom.
She didn’t speak at first. And when she finally did, her voice sounded hoarse, as if she’d been crying a lot recently. Joss would have bet that she had.
Kat straightened her shoulders, as if she were trying to retain some semblance of dignity. “You killed Sirus.”
Joss sat quietly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, he could see a sheen on her cheeks. She had been crying, might still be crying. After debating how to respond, he simply sat up in bed and said, “Yes.”
She sat on the edge of his bed then and buried her face in her hands, her body racked with sobs. Joss wanted very much to comfort her in some small way. But he knew she’d never allow it. After all, he was the cause of this pain. So he waited, shifting his gaze awkwardly between his covers, the window, the door, the floor. Anywhere but Kat and the tears that he was causing. Several minutes later, when the worst of it was over, she dried her face on her sleeve and sniffled, her voice shaking. “They’re not like you think they are.”
A strange sort of panic gripped his chest then. What did she mean? That Slayers weren’t the noble fighters, defenders of mankind that he believed them to be? The idea was both horrifying and preposterous. “Who?”
“Vampires.” The panic in his chest subsided as she spoke, but was quickly replaced by a new feeling—one of dread. This wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to have. He wouldn’t be swayed, would never be convinced that vampires were anything other than the terrible, bloodthirsty monsters he knew them to be. But he owed Kat this moment. He owed her something, anyway. For having stolen her father away. She glanced down at her interlaced fingers. “Vampires aren’t all evil. Just like humans aren’t all evil. There are some good ones. Sirus was one of them.”
Joss swallowed hard, uncertain how to respond. After a brief pause, he settled on, “How long did you know he was a vampire?”
“Since the day he changed into one.”
Joss lost his voice in utter confusion for a moment. If that was true, then why did Sirus make a big deal over keeping all things Society-related secret from Kat?
“We kept up pretenses and I feigned ignorance whenever the Slayers were around, but I knew. Of course I knew. He’s my father, Joss. Or was ... now he’s just a memory, thanks to you.” She glared at him, her eyes welling over with tears once more. This time, she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Maybe she knew that there would be more to come. Maybe the effort of keeping her face dry was completely futile with such immense sorrow. “The night after he was turned, he tried to feed from me, but managed to resist and promised to protect me forever. He also promised to turn me into a vampire when I got old enough. I’ve lost that, too, thanks to you.”
Joss shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t want that. They’re ... monsters.”
The word fell off of his tongue in a disgusted whisper.
Kat stood, raising her voice angrily. “You murdered my father and his friends in such a cowardly way and have the audacity to say that they’re the monsters? You sicken me, Joss. I wish I had never met you.”
He shook his head, refusing to believe that she wished their friendship had never been. “You don’t mean that, Kat. You’re just sad.”
But even as the words fell from his tongue, he knew that she did mean it. The same way that he had meant it not so long ago.
“Because of you.” Wit
h another glare at him, she turned back to the door. As she opened it, her hand still on the knob, more tears escaped her eyes. “Sirus didn’t believe in vengeance. But Sirus isn’t here anymore. I’ll get you for this, Joss. I’ll make you hurt twenty times more than you hurt Sirus, if it’s the last thing I do.”
She held his gaze for a moment before disappearing out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Joss stayed where he was, staring at the closed door, his heart heavy with the truth that had rang through in her words. He wondered, briefly, why she hadn’t enacted her need for vengeance right then and there, but then he realized that the answer had been there in her eyes the entire time. Kat hadn’t killed him because she wanted to take her time, wanted to make him suffer. Plus, at the moment, she was simply too sad to do so.
He sank into his pillow, his heart heavy, and wondered what the morning light would bring.
29
AN IMPORTANT HANDSHAKE
And so it is with absolute pleasure that we officially induct you into the grandest and most noble of traditions and accept you as our brother in arms and fellow member of the Slayer Society.” The old man tapped Joss lightly on each shoulder—the left, then the right—with a wooden stake, before smiling and congratulating him with applause. The room, high upstairs in the Old War Office building near the office of the Ministry of Defense in London, was full of Slayers from all around the globe. Hundreds of them, each more dedicated to the cause than the next. Their numbers were impressive when gathered in a single room, but not when you thought about the millions of vampires that were lurking around the world. They needed every Slayer they could get.
Joss hadn’t been told they’d be flying to London, and the only bit of the city he’d seen so far was on the drive from Heathrow Airport to the Slayer Society Headquarters. But he was so glad that he’d come. He was a Slayer now. It was official.
Joss stood and shook several hands. But it was his uncle’s hand that he was most looking forward to shaking. Turning around, Joss smiled to see Abraham crossing the room, leaning on his cane a bit as he approached his nephew, his face alight with pride. “A Slayer. What would your father think?”
Joss chuckled and shook Abraham’s hand. “He’d think ‘What’s a Slayer?’ ”
Abraham chuckled and gestured around the room. “This isn’t a place that many Slayers see often, Joss, so you should take it all in. This is where the Society was founded, and where important Slayers gather to debate exactly how we approach the vampire problem. You’re standing among history—both the past and what is currently being made. It’s quite an honor.”
Joss looked around at the ornately carved wood, at the immaculate marble floors, at the arched windows overlooking the River Thames, and smiled. He was honored. To be in this room, among these people, yes. But more so, he was honored to be a part of their cause, to be an instrument in the driving force that would do all for the good of mankind.
Over the next few hours, Joss had his back pounded more than once and was handed drink after drink after drink until he thought his bladder might burst. Sneaking out into the hall in search of a restroom, the old man who’d overseen his induction stopped him briefly. “I forgot to mention, Joss. As your first station, you have a choice. Anywhere in the world. But have that location in mind by the end of next week. Abraham will contact you to finalize the details. Your father will receive an unexpected transfer, and a small raise in pay, which ought to alleviate any frustrations. Unless you’d rather travel alone.”
Joss nodded as the man moved back into the main room. “I’ll think about it.”
“Joss.” He turned to see his uncle, standing at the end of the hall. Joss glanced longingly at the restroom door, and moved back down the hall to see what Abraham wanted. Abraham’s expression was serious. He kept his voice low. “There’s something I want you to remember. Something that we will discuss later. Once the celebration has died down.”
“What’s that, Uncle?”
Abraham leaned closer, his voice in a near-whisper. “Accidents, while fruitful, do not a Slayer make.”
A weight settled on Joss’s chest. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but Abraham shook his head adamantly. “Don’t apologize or explain what really happened. Especially not here. I just want you to remember that.”
Then Abraham turned and walked back into the room where Joss’s indoctrination had taken place. It didn’t take long for Joss’s bladder to remind him what he’d been about to do before his uncle had interrupted.
Minutes later, Joss washed his hands in the sink and toweled them dry. As he was pushing the restroom door open, a hand, gloved in shiny black leather, closed over its edge. The owner of that hand was dressed in black from head to toe. Joss smiled. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was coming in.”
“I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time, Mr. McMillan.” The man stepped inside, a tone of urgency burning on the edges of his words.
Joss stepped back. “How do you know my name?”
The man nodded his head apologetically. “Forgive me. I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is D’Ablo. I learned of your induction through a friend of your uncle’s and was hoping that you might be of assistance to me regarding a rather delicate matter.”
Joss tilted his head to the side, curious. “If I can, I’ll try. What is it?”
“I’ve recently learned that a small town in the United States is under siege by a vampire. A very powerful vampire. Something that vampires refer to as the Pravus.”
The tiny hairs on the back of Joss’s neck stood on end. There was that word again. Pravus. It seemed to hold so much meaning, but Joss was completely clueless about what that meaning might be. “I’ve heard that word before. Pravus. What is it? What does it mean?”
An intrigued glint shone in D’Ablo’s eyes. “The Pravus is a vampire of prophecy. It’s believed he will come to destroy us all and end our way of life.”
Joss straightened his shoulders. “I’m too old to believe in fairy tales, mister.”
“Ahh, yes. But no one is ever too old to stop fearing what lurks in the darkness.”
Instantly, the image of Cecile’s killer looming over her bed in the dark of night flashed through Joss’s mind. So hard, so quick, that it made Joss gasp.
D’Ablo shook his head, looking positively distraught. “The trouble is, even after pleading with members of the Slayer Society, no one will take my concerns seriously. And this is a serious matter, I assure you.”
It was a serious matter. A vicious vampire loose in an unsuspecting town of humans? Very serious, indeed. “How can I help? If you’ve been through the usual Society channels, I don’t see what else I can do.”
“The Slayer Society has placed this task on a list of items to investigate. A long list. But my insistence that this beast must be stopped sooner rather than later has fallen on deaf ears. I think it would be best if this vampire were taken out of commission, as it were.” D’Ablo’s eyes darkened, then immediately brightened once again. “Killed, to be clear on our terms.”
Joss bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before responding. Even as he did, he already knew the answer to his query. He’d heard the town’s name in that dark vampire cabin and hoped beyond reason that the creatures had been wrong. But he knew they weren’t, even before he received the answer to the question poised on his tongue. “Where is it? What town?”
“A small, nowhere place by the name of Bathory.” Joss’s heart seized at D’Ablo’s words. Bathory. Home to his cousin Henry. There was a powerful, evil vampire lurking in the town where his family lived. An almostpanic gripped him. D’Ablo sighed, as if all hope was lost. “I am willing to pay handsomely.”
Joss shook his head, images of bloodstained vampire fangs poised over Cecile’s pale face filling his thoughts. They were followed by images of his cousin Henry, who he loved more than any brother he ever might have had. “I don’t need money. I’m a Slayer. Killing vampires is my job. My duty.”
Hesitating, he thought about his mother, about the thrice a week therapy sessions she’d been attending since Cecile’s passing, about the stack of bills on the kitchen counter that continued to grow, adding to his parents’ stress. Then he lowered his voice to a near-whisper, almost ashamed to ask the burning question. “But out of curiosity ... how much?”
An eager glint crossed D’Ablo’s eyes. “Twentythousand American dollars. Ten now. Ten when I have a body.”
Though his thoughts focused very much on all of those zeros, Joss mindlessly uttered, “We’re not supposed to take private jobs.”
“Slayers do it all the time. They just don’t talk about it.” D’Ablo leaned closer, smiling. “It’ll be our little secret.”
At this, Joss felt his mouth open and words escape, though he wasn’t certain why. He wasn’t sure if he meant them, wasn’t certain whether he intended to follow through at all, but he spoke, and D’Ablo smiled. Before Joss realized it, he extended his arm, shaking D’Ablo’s hand. “Mister ... you’ve got a deal.”
30
A SLAYER’S GIFT
Joss tucked the last T-shirt into his already-full suitcase and zipped it closed. He’d been doing his best to keep a guilt-ridden expression on his face all week since he’d been back at home with his mom and dad. Abraham had written them a long letter explaining that Joss had been fighting with the neighbor boys all summer and needed some good old-fashioned discipline to teach him a lesson. Abraham recommended that perhaps some time away would help and had arranged for Joss to spend the next school year with his cousin Henry, in Bathory. Of course, Abraham and the rest of the Slayers thought he’d chosen that town simply because it was close to family, and he was interested in doing some reconnaissance. Little did they know that Joss was on his first actual solo hunt. For the vampire called the Pravus.
The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill: First Kill Page 20
