But we don’t do that anymore. It’s weird how suddenly and fiercely I wish I could be slacking off, copying Artemis’s notes, and heading to my little medical center to tidy up and organize. As much as I wanted more back then, it’s hard not to think about how much I actually had and took for granted.
Rhys clears his throat. “Which brings us to outstanding threats.”
“Outstanding like phenomenal?” Doug asks, frowning.
“Yes, all our phenomenal enemies,” I answer.
“We really do have some excellent ones,” he agrees.
I shrug. “We could do better. I mean, look at Buffy. Our enemy caliber is nowhere near hers.”
Doug pats my shoulder. “I have faith that you’ll get there. Give it some time. She’s had years to build up her rogues’ gallery.”
Rhys clears his throat in a decidedly annoyed manner. “Back to the subject at hand of outstanding as in still active threats. Any word on Sean?”
I stay very, very quiet, hoping Doug can’t smell my inner conflict. Artemis said the book wasn’t for Sean. Just because it has the same symbol as his tea doesn’t mean she’s working for him. It could be unrelated. Or she could be fighting him! Maybe that’s it. Artemis is taking out threats that might harm us. Imagining that makes me feel better. It does seem like an Artemis thing to do. Behind the scenes, making sure everyone is safe. She said she was doing it for all of us.
My mother shakes her head. “I send out feelers whenever possible, but Sean has been relatively quiet. And I’ve never encountered him or any agents working for him during my meetings off-site. Mind you, he’s still active. But his activities have never conflicted with our movements.”
Jade waves a hand lazily through the air. “If he’s not bothering us, why do we care? He only goes after demons, anyway.”
The awkward silence hangs in the air, a palpable weight. Doug shifts in his seat. “Oh. Only demons.”
Jade sits up straight. “No! Obviously I didn’t mean you. That’s different.”
“Love, it really isn’t.” Doug retracts his hand where Jade reaches for it.
“I agree with Doug,” I say. If Artemis is going after Sean, we need to stay out of her way. I can’t let the council decide to start investigating him. The last thing I want is for us to mess up Artemis’s plans and keep her away even longer. “But at the same time, we aren’t in a position to launch a preemptive offensive. And even if we were, I don’t know that we should. It’s not that I don’t think what he does to demons is wrong. I do. But if we start going on the attack, we’ll be right back where we used to be. Watchers and Slayers deciding who gets to live and who has to die based on archaic criteria. That’s not who we are. Who we want to be.” I remember how close I came to letting that mercenary fall, and twitch against a shudder. “Anyway, we chose to be a sanctuary. Not a militia. We’re better than that, right?”
Doug nods. He hates Sean, but all Doug wants in the world is happiness. He doesn’t have a predatory bone in his black-and-yellow body. Even his horns are rounded.
“So let’s come up with ideas for how we can help more demons and people.” Whatever Artemis said, this isn’t selfish. This is right.
“And werewolves?” Rhys adds with a raised eyebrow. He still doesn’t know why the family ran.
“Sure, whatever.”
“What about Slayers?” my mother asks. “I’d like to bring more in. Surely there are girls out there who need our help, or a support system. Even just a safe place to live. Do you know, your father lobbied to give Slayers a stipend for living expenses. He never could understand how with the expansive Watcher budget, we couldn’t find room to ensure that Slayers didn’t have to worry. It seems too much to ask that they spend every night patrolling and fighting the forces of evil and every day trying to provide for themselves. Though Buffy herself derailed any discussion of financial support when she refused to work with us. Still. Even before that, look at the conditions Faith Lehane had to endure. Is it any wonder she—”
Rhys clears his throat, cutting her off. I’m oddly touched that my mother is so passionate about the ways Watchers failed Slayers. It feels like she’s taking my side in a roundabout way.
Rhys doesn’t care about that, though. “We hardly have the budget to subsidize additional Slayers, much less the one we already have.” He frowns down at his paper. “Crossbow maintenance alone threatens to bankrupt us. I vote we move the tiny purple demons to stake-carving duty. We live in a forest. We should take advantage of existing resources.”
My mother looks at me. “I’m not talking about funding Slayers. I’m talking about taking them in.”
I squirm in my seat. That was my job. The big one assigned to me from day one of Sanctuary. I was supposed to find other Slayers in my dreams. But last night was my first real Slayer dream in months, and all I found was a blade in my belly. “There was a Slayer in my dream last night. Didn’t get her name. And honestly, I can’t figure out if she needed help or not.”
My mother sets down her teacup. “What happened?”
“She brought me to a weird room. And then, uh, fed me ice cream.”
Jade snickers. “Bow-chicka-bow-wow. What happened next?”
“I got stabbed.”
Jade wrinkles her nose. “Not sexy anymore.”
My mother frowns, concerned. “She stabbed you?”
“No, someone else—it doesn’t matter. It was unrelated.” I don’t want to tell them it was the First Slayer who stabbed me. I don’t know what it means, and it doesn’t relate to our meeting. Also it’s kind of embarrassing. “There was a big storm coming. Which could be a threat to this girl, right?”
My mother jots down notes in a leather-bound journal. “See if you can find her again. Get some concrete details so we can track her down.”
“Will do.” Except I don’t know that I can. I seem to have lost control of my dreams along with everything else. “What about the name the mercenaries gave us? Ian Von Assface? Or whatever it was.”
“No.” My mother’s answer is shockingly curt.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? We know he’s collecting werewolves for a hunt. And the full moon isn’t far off. Shouldn’t we at least look into who he is?” I’m certain we could figure it out. Aside from our library, we have Cillian, who’s good at finding information online. It’s not a skill Watchers ever developed.
“I know who he is,” my mother says, surprising me. “He’s worked with us—with the Watchers—in the past. It’s not something we should pursue at this time.”
“Why not?”
Her expression closes like a door. This is the mother I used to know. Cold and distant. “Because we can’t afford to lose any allies.”
“With allies like that, who needs enemies?” I lean forward, heart rate rising. “He buys werewolves to hunt them. I think we should look into it.”
“Do you know where we got our cars, Nina? Who financed those? Who donated this castle and the land it sat on before we moved it here? Ian Von Alston. So unless you can afford to replace a car if we lose one, or buy next winter’s clothes for the Littles, or keep up repairs on this absurdly old castle, I suggest we not attack one of our only potential sources of future funds.”
Doug toys with one of the delicate gold hoops he always wears in his ears. He’s maintained the distance between himself and Jade. “Right. Well. I might have a lead on demons who need help, or at least a way to get some leads. There’s a sort of convention every year in London. A get-together of emotion-eaters. It’s a combination networking, advice, and matchmaking event.”
Jade scowls, jealousy twisting her face. “Matchmaking?”
“Do you think anyone there would need our help?” I ask, ignoring Jade.
“Maybe. And even if not, they might have scoops on demons who are in a bad way. We deal in emotions; we tend to know where to find the best and worst ones. It’s tomorrow, though, so we’ll need to leave right away.”
The idea of taking a trip away from the increasing
ly claustrophobic castle fills me with relief. “Let’s do it.”
Rhys adds it to the agenda. “Who do we want to send?”
“I’ll go,” Doug says. “I’m your way in.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?” my mother asks. “If Sean still wants you, he might think to look for you there.”
“Sean knows where to find me here, too. If he wants to come for me, he’s going to.”
“I’ll be with you,” I say.
Doug smiles. “Thanks. That makes me feel safe.”
His sentiment warms me, and I beam. Then I roll my eyes as his nostrils flare. He shifts defensively. “What? You give me hardly anything to eat these days. Can’t blame a guy for taking advantage of a good meal when it’s available.”
“I’ll come too.” Jade reaches out and aggressively takes Doug’s hand.
I see the flicker of discomfort behind his hazel eyes. I can’t smell emotions, but I can read them. I shake my head. “No. I have to focus on keeping Doug safe. I can only do that if I’m not distracted.”
“I can handle myself!”
I backtrack. “Yeah, which is why I need you here. So I’m not distracted worrying about the castle. I want every trained Watcher here when I’m not.”
Jade slumps in her chair, scowling. “Fine.”
Imogen clears the remains of the breakfast platter. “I’ll pack snacks for the road.” She hums as she leaves the room. Doug blinks, a bit dazed watching her. Rhys finalizes his notes and asks for a few more details from Doug. My mother watches me too closely. I stare up at the window, tired and sad and angry and only certain why I feel the first thing.
I know I should be focused on helping others, but all I can think is that a demon convention is exactly the distraction I need. I push down the fear lingering at the back of my mind that I might want more than a distraction. That I might be looking for a fight. I’m not that person.
The memory of the fight with the mercenaries—and, worse, my instincts to hurt Tsip when she surprised me—disagrees with me, though.
Whatever. I’ll find more demons to help. I’ll figure out how to contact Slayers who might need me. I’ll prove to Artemis that we made the right choice, that we aren’t just hiding. That we’re doing good. And when she comes back next time, she’ll stay.
ARTEMIS
ARTEMIS HAS TO ADMIT THAT Sean has upgraded. His subterranean office beneath a health-food storefront was fine, but the building in front of them is nearly blinding. It’s all windows and steel, something elegant in its surprising angles. The windows are interlocking triangles. The effect is oddly disorienting.
“The old building is cordoned off for being an environmental hazard,” Honora says, squinting up at the gleaming new one. “They’re filling the whole area in with cement.”
“A remora demon that expands to fill whatever container it’s in is pretty hazardous.” Artemis tightens her ponytail. “How did he afford this?”
“This isn’t Sean’s building. This is the guy Sean started partnering with. I only met him once. He was … weird. Big weird. Bad weird. I did my best to stay clear. I can smell a toxic power complex from two kilometers.” Her hands twitch, her fingers going to her wrists.
Back at the main Watcher compound, before everything and everyone blew up, Artemis had asked Nina how to treat bruises and welts. Nina was more than happy to show her. And then Artemis had found Honora and they hid in a cool, dry pantry while Artemis treated the damage Honora’s mother did. It was the first time Artemis had felt what the other girls giggled and whispered about when they had crushes. But hers felt so much bigger, so much more important.
A surge of protective instinct wells in Artemis. “You don’t have to do this.”
Honora bites her plum-colored lips. Her voice is neutral, but so carefully neutral Artemis can sense the hope behind it. Honora’s cool act is her biggest tell. The more she cares, the less it shows. “We could go to California. My cousin is still there, I think. We stake the vampire he works for, take over the PI company, then Nancy Drew the shit out of America.”
“How would Wesley feel about that?”
“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” Honora says in an exaggeratedly stuffy voice. “We could take him. I can’t imagine Los Angeles has changed him that much.”
For a moment, Artemis lets herself imagine it. Running away with Honora. Building a new life somewhere bright and warm, the environmental opposite of cold, closed-off Watchers. But there would still be the problem of power. Other people would have it, and Artemis wouldn’t. And then how could she protect Honora? How could she protect herself? How could she face what she knows is in the world as just herself? She needs to be more. And this is how to do it.
“Maybe someday.” She pretends to miss the slight fall of Honora’s shoulders. “But you don’t have to do this. Get me in and then if you want to leave, you should.”
Honora slides mirrored aviator sunglasses into place, and her lips part in a smile. If she’s devastated, she doesn’t show it. She never does. “It’s you and me against the world, right?”
Once, Artemis would have said the same to Nina. The memory of Nina’s disappointment in the library sits heavy alongside Honora’s dashed hopes. But until Artemis is what she should be, she’s going to keep disappointing everyone. It’s all a means to an end, and then they’ll understand and everything will be right. She has the book. She knows what to look for, what to wait for, what to do.
“You and me.” Artemis squeezes Honora’s hand. “You’re my girl.”
“Damn straight. Or damn gay, if we’re being accurate.” Honora beams and holds open the door. As soon as they enter the sleek lobby, Honora’s demeanor shifts. Her walk is deliciously sexy and somehow snide at the same time. Artemis doesn’t know how she does it. Honora goes straight to the receptionist’s desk and hops on it, sitting there and leaning back on her arms.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist’s pinched face threatens to pinch completely closed on itself in shock.
“Tell Sean I’m here.”
The receptionist glares. “And you are?”
“He’ll know.” Honora winks at Artemis over the top of her sunglasses. Artemis leans against a wall, unable to be flippant like Honora. She folds her arms and sets her face in stone. She can’t reveal how she feels. Because she’s not nervous. She’s excited.
The receptionist makes a call and not a minute later a man who could only be described as a born minion—small with ratlike eyes and greasy hair—leads them to an elevator and pushes an elaborate series of buttons. They glide up the building to the penthouse floor. All the walls along the hallway are glass, so they see the meeting before they reach it. A huge oval table is surrounded by men in suits. They’re watching a screen filled with graphs and charts. Sean himself is the one presenting, using a stupid laser pointer to emphasize certain points.
Artemis and Honora slip into the back of the room, standing next to a bound and gagged demon cowering in the corner next to a potted plant.
“—projected margins are—” Sean stops midsentence, then points to Artemis with the laser pointer. “Which one is she?” His face has gone several shades redder.
“The good one,” Honora says with a shrug.
“Good as in morally good as in a Slayer, or good as in—”
“Good as in here with me. So what do you think?”
Sean glares but goes back to his droning speech about projections and quarters and other nonsense. All the men at the table are rapt, nodding along and tapping notes onto their devices.
But one of the men, a white guy with black hair and piercing dark eyes, is staring into space. Artemis can’t quite look away from him. He’s like when an older movie is shown on one of those super-high-def televisions, so everything looks somehow too real, which then makes it look fake. Like he’s 3-D on a 2-D background.
“It’s all imaginary,” he says, his voice a soft, melodious tenor. “All these numbers, all this money, all these things you fight a
nd die for.”
Sean smiles patiently. “Right, yes, but we like our imaginary numbers to be very, very high.” The rest of the men laugh uneasily. Sean keeps talking.
The man turns toward them. Artemis’s breath catches. She was right. This is him. This has to be him. He’s not a man at all. He frowns, his eyes lingering on Artemis’s hair. “Autumn is the saddest season. All seasons are sad. Time is death. It’s so quiet here. Do you ever want to pierce the silence?” He has a slender knife in his hands, one finger running up and down the edge.
“Can’t say as I do,” Honora says. Her arms are folded, and she’s not betraying any fear.
Artemis isn’t afraid either. She’s thrilled. If only Rhys were here, he’d pee his pants at this real-world research opportunity. The book she took was right. It’s all going to work. She smiles, and the Sleeping One, the one with no name, the three-form god, tilts his head as he considers her.
“Right, so, supplies.” Sean switches the slideshow off. “Big opportunity coming up. Honora, if you’re back, I’m assuming you’ll lead?”
Honora snaps her gum. “Not a problem.”
“We can’t guarantee we’ll find the right specimen, but there’s a good chance something like this will draw one out. Or at least provide someone who knows where to find what we need. And, hey, maybe we’ll luck out and find another option. Gotta be flexible. It’s how we stay young.” He grins the desperate please acknowledge I am still young grin only a man in his early thirties would.
“I have never been young,” the Sleeping One says. “I have always been here. I will always be here. I cannot stay here under these circumstances. To know infinity and be powerless to touch it is the cruelest fate of all.”
The demon bound in the corner whimpers. Artemis feels a pit of dread in her stomach that they’re going to see a crueler fate in a few minutes.
The Sleeping One slides the knife right into his own ear, as far and deep as it will go. Sean turns a shade of green more often found on demons. Honora pops her gum. Artemis watches. The Sleeping One slowly withdraws the knife. It oozes with a shimmering luminescence that fades to nothing in the air.
Chosen Page 5
