“Artemis, I get it. I want . . .” With no words left, I throw my arms around her. I know I could make her stay if I really wanted to. But while I want her to stay, I don’t need her to stay. And what she wants—what she needs—has to come first.
She hugs me back. “Thank you for saving me. But it was the wrong choice. You should have kept your power. You got it for a reason.” She laughs, but it’s brittle, empty. “We still don’t know what reason that was. And we never will. But I didn’t get it for a reason. And I want to know why.” She steps away from me. “Take care of yourself, Nina.”
“We could use your help here. Honora’s, too, even.”
Artemis smiles at my blatant lie. “You don’t need my help. Not anymore. I don’t think you ever did. I just needed someone to need me.” She throws her arms around me again and squeezes me in a hug so tight I can’t breathe. I don’t want it to end.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“Remember,” I whisper back, “no matter where you go, you’ll always have a home here.”
She releases me and climbs onto the motorcycle, putting her arms around Honora’s waist. Honora lifts her hand up like she’s going to wave, but as soon as Artemis buries her head in Honora’s shoulder, Honora lifts her middle finger to me instead. Then she guns the motorcycle.
I stand at the edge of the grounds, watching them get smaller. And I stay there watching long after they’ve disappeared and twilight has fallen. I will never not miss Artemis. I hate that she chose Honora. But I’d hate myself more if I made her stay when I’ve held her back for all these years. She needs to figure out who she is without having to take care of me. Without having to live a calling she never asked for. Without having to compensate for the fact that our mother saved her first.
It’s okay. It will be okay. I turn around to face my own new life.
I was born to be a Watcher. I was Chosen to be a Slayer. Now I’m neither.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a protector.
I crack my knuckles. It’s time to get to work.
Her work had almost been done for her. Artemis and Athena came so close to dying, only to escape, yet again.
If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.
Facing the near death of Artemis and the de-Slayering of Athena had, however, left her with questions. There was a clarity that came with thinking it was finally finished. Thinking that Athena would die in the cellar and the prophecy would never be able to come true. Instead of relief, the hunter had felt . . . disappointment.
After all these years, all her sacrifice, she discovered she was no longer interested in preventing the prophecy from coming true. It had been her mother’s calling, forced on her. She didn’t choose it. If the rest of them could shrug off the weight of Watcher tradition, she could shrug off the weight of prophecy prevention.
What had this sucky world ever done for her, anyway? Everyone who had tasked her with guarding the prophecy, with hunting the girls, was dead. That’s what they got. That was their reward.
Not for her anymore. She wasn’t giving up, though. She had always needed a cause. She was lying in wait for a different outcome now. They thought the prophecy had come and passed. That it was that easy. A pokey, aborted hellmouth wasn’t enough to get Arcturius’s attention all those centuries ago. Even if it had been opened all the way, it wasn’t an apocalyptic event. Just another demonic nuisance.
No, the prophecy still loomed. And she was going to do everything in her power to make certain that it came true. If one of the twins was going to break the world apart, she would be at her side.
If only she could be certain which girl, exactly, was the apocalypse and which was the protector. Twins! Always so tricky to tell apart.
It didn’t matter either way. She would help the destroyer or destroy the protector. Both options led to the same outcome: ending the world that had failed them all so miserably. It was time. Arcturius had seen it—it was the last thing he’d seen—and who was she to argue?
“Boom,” she whispered, scoring the word onto her arm.
“Imogen, I finished my drawing!” little George said.
“Oh, it’s brilliant! Well done. Should we go give it to Nina now?”
George waited for her to put her cardigan on, then took her hand, and they walked down the hall together.
EPILOGUE
I CAN’T MOVE.
But it’s not the terrifying, can’t-breathe-can’t-move-can’t-scream kind. It’s the warm, hazy, everything-relaxed-and-perfectly-comfortable kind. I hang in the limbo between sleeping and waking, knowing soon my alarm will ring. Hoping this space will last a little longer.
And then I realize I’m not alone.
Leo kneels down so he’s in my line of sight. Even though the room is dark and his eyes are darker, I see them with perfect clarity. They really do have a hint of color in them. Violet.
Not being able to move also means not being able to talk. I try dragging my tongue across my mouth, try forcing my vocal cords to respond.
“Shh. Don’t wake up.” He smiles, his expression painfully tender. Those dimples that had held all my romantic hopes and had haunted my dreams were there, perfect, alive. “I know you tried to save me. That was more than I deserved. And I can never make it up to you, can never apologize enough for what she did to you. What I helped her do. Someday, maybe, I can explain. But no explanation excuses it. Nothing was worth hurting you.” Then his smile brightens, with a hint of mischief. “In the meantime, I have a present that I hope makes up for some of it and that will help make sure nothing can hurt you ever again.”
He leans forward, closing the distance between us. Darkness cloaks him, transforming him. But his darkness is less nightmare and more the velvet secret of night. A caress of cool air and a prickling of goose bumps. His lips touch mine, and finally I can move. I press mine against his, so happy, so confused.
And then everything is lit in brilliant white as I’m flooded with something that is both familiar and oddly new. If the feeling of it as it left my body was brightest sunshine, this feels more like . . . lightning. Power and brilliance with a sense of chaotic destruction that hadn’t been there before. But I can’t stop, can’t ask him what it is. As the light becomes so bright I know I’ll wake up, Leo brushes my cheek with one more kiss. “Good-bye, Athena Jamison-Smythe. The last Slayer.”
• • •
I wake up with the taste of dream Leo still on my lips. Gasping, I reach out for my alarm clock.
It crumples in my hand.
Leo’s words ring in my mind. The last Slayer.
Again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I was a teenager, a blond cheerleader taught me that our struggles navigating friendships and love deserve just as much attention as our battles with monsters. It changed my life and shaped me as a storyteller. So, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer—the creators of the show, the writers, the actors, and everyone who made the series that made me who I am as a writer—thank you. You changed the world. A lot.
On the bookish end of things, special thanks to Liesa Abrams at Simon Pulse. Was it fate that when we met I was wearing my Sunnydale High T-shirt? Or just really good odds, because of course I was. Thank you for bringing this project to me and for seeing our girl Nina through many drafts, crafting and shaping her into what she needed to be. You’re my very own Watcher. And to my Scoobies, Sarah McCabe and Jessica Smith—your feedback and guidance were invaluable. I just wish we could include the margin GIF reactions in the final version of the book.
To my agent, Michelle Wolfson, thank you for always fighting at my side and for being our test reader. But now that you’ve read it without any bias, it’s time to watch the series. I’ll wait.
My family is very patient when I channel my inner angst with regularity. From the support of my husband, the constant status checks of my two older children, and the never-not-adorable question of “Are you watching Buffy the Bampire Slayer?” from my four-y
ear-old, nothing I do would have heart or joy without them in my life.
Stephanie Perkins freaked out with me to an appropriate level and then helped me get down to work carving out my own small corner of the Buffyverse. And nothing I write is accomplished without the support of Natalie Whipple. Thank you both, as always, for your friendship. I’d face down any apocalypse with you two by my side. (And let’s be honest, being my critique partners probably feels a bit apocalypsey most of the time.)
To the team at Simon Pulse who helped at every stage—Stephanie Evans, copyedits warrior; Talexi, art wizard; Sarah Creech, cover mastermind; along with Katherine Devendorf, Caitlin Sweeny, Nicole Russo, Mara Anastas, and Chriscynethia Floyd—I’m so grateful to fight the forces of darkness (and formatting and marketing, etc.) with all of you.
To every other writer who died when they found out there was going to be a Buffy spin-off series and I had already claimed it: I’m genuinely sorry. I’m not even being sarcastic. The Buffy fandom is made up of the greatest people on earth, and I love sharing that love with all of you.
And finally, thank you to everyone who has freaked out with me online and off, who has squeed with me over this, who has talked episodes and ships, who has pestered me for details I wasn’t allowed to give. The Buffyverse is so lucky to have you, and so am I.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© blue lily photo
KIERSTEN WHITE is the New York Times bestselling author of many books for teens and young readers, including And I Darken, Now I Rise, Bright We Burn, The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein, and Slayer. She lives with her family near the ocean in San Diego, where she perpetually lurks in the shadows. Visit Kiersten online at kierstenwhite.com and follow @kierstenwhite on Twitter.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition January 2019
Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM & © 2019 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved.
Text by Kiersten Brazier
Jacket illustration by Talexi
Slayer logo by Craig Howell
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Jacket designed by Sarah Creech
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
Buffy the Vampire Slayer ® & © 2019 Twentieth Century
Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved.
Jacket designed by Sarah Creech
Jacket illustration by Talexi
Slayer logo by Craig Howell
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: White, Kiersten, author.
Title: Slayer / by Kiersten White.
Other titles: Buffy the vampire slayer (Television program)
Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018000122 (print) | LCCN 2018009503 (eBook) |
ISBN 9781534404953 (hc) | ISBN 9781534404977 (eBook)
Classification: LCC PZ7.W583764 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.W583764 Sl 2019 (print) |
DDC [Fic]— dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018000122
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