“Still so quiet,” he says.
“Time for the quarterly sacrifice.” Sean straightens his tie and tries to brusquely move them back to business as usual as he pulls out a sword and approaches the demon in the corner.
Means to an end, Artemis thinks to herself, not taking her eyes off the hellgod she’s going to defeat all on her own.
Suck it, Slayers.
8
DOUG AND I DRIVE TO the port in Dublin, where we steer onto the cheapest ferry to England. I didn’t want to take a car at all—with this one gone, the castle only has one vehicle left, and apparently sleazebags are our only options for enough money to replace them—but public transportation isn’t really an option with Doug’s obviously not-human face.
As it is, he sits in the passenger seat with a hoodie on, hood up over his horns and his face as shadowed as possible.
I climb back into the car in the bottom of the ferry with two Cokes and some snacks. I hold out one of the Cokes, and Doug looks at me as though I’m daft.
“Right. Sorry.” I forget sometimes just how demon-y Doug really is. He fits in so well at the castle. The differences between us don’t seem to matter. Differences like the fact that I eat food and he eats emotions.
His stomach rumbles in response to my thoughts. “No offense, Nina, love, but you are barely a snack these days. More like an after-dinner mint. One of those unwrapped buttermints that’s been in a tin for years, and when you try to pull it out, it’s stuck to three others, and you know you don’t want it, but you’ve already committed, so you pop it in your mouth and regret every decision you’ve ever made that brought you to that point.”
“I think I should be offended by that.”
Doug shrugs. “I think you and I should talk about why you’re so unhappy.”
“Or we could enjoy this ferry ride with an incredible view of the backside of a Mini for the next several hours. What do they call the bigger Mini Coopers? Maxi Coopers? Mega Coopers?”
Doug doesn’t take my desperate topic change bait. “I never officially met Leo,” he says. “But judging by the pain, he was pretty special.”
I groan, slumping in my seat. I can’t talk about it because then I’ll have to think about it, and I can’t think about it. “Am I prying into your personal life? Asking questions about Jade?”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind talking about it. At first it was flattering, yeah? She’s cute. Her happiness had a nice sort of lemon twist to it. Tart and surprising.”
“That’s weird. But also intriguing. What does everyone else taste like?”
“Rhys tastes like freshly cut grass smells. But when Cillian is around, he tastes like bubble gum. And Cillian tastes like—mmm, let’s see. Have you ever been starving and walked into a bakery and the first deep breath in almost hurts, it’s so good? That’s him. Imogen …” He pauses. “You know, it’s weird. I don’t like smelling her.”
“Bad?”
“Not bad. Just … off. She makes the back of my throat itch.”
“Maybe you’re allergic to her! Is that possible?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“What does my mom taste like?”
“I rarely get anything from your mom at all. Good or bad. That woman has worked very, very hard to be emotionless. She’s been through a lot.”
I scowl. I don’t like feeling bad for my mom, because it means I have to feel less bad for myself and everything Artemis and I went through being raised by her. It’s petty, I know, but it’s true. “We all have. What about Jessi?”
“She smells like hand sanitizer. Actually, that might just be hand sanitizer. And Ruth Zabuto smells like English breakfast tea.”
“Well, that’s going to make drinking that tea weird now. But back to Jade. You like the way she tastes. Gods, that sounds dirty. Keep going. But no dirty details, if there are any, please.”
He toys with one of his gold hoop earrings. “I like the castle. I like all of you. I like that Jade likes me. It’s been a long time since I had any real human contact other than Sean and his ilk taking advantage of me. And I’m glad she’s happy. But I worry about how much she’s using. It’s one of the things I want to talk to some of the fellows at the convention about. There’s a reason my type don’t usually stay in relationships or even friendships. We can be a bit addictive.” He sighs, rubbing his face. His skin still looks like a cracked desert floor, neon yellow with black beneath. But he seems healthier than when I first found him after he escaped from Sean. His cheeks are fuller, his pretty and incongruously brown eyes clear.
“No one else in the castle uses you like that, do they?” I should have been paying more attention. Doug’s skin secretes a psychotropic substance. It has to be ingested to have an effect, which I assumed would mean no one taking advantage of him. But for all I know, they’ve been lacing their tea with Essence of Doug.
“No, no one. Which isn’t to say I haven’t been tempted to give you a dose every now and again.” He holds up his hands at my horrified expression. “But I would never do it, because I know what it’s like to have choices taken away from me, and I only use it as a defense mechanism when absolutely required.”
I laugh, relieved. “I used it that way once too.”
“Really? How?”
It was right after Sean and Honora had found Doug where my mother was hiding him in the forest. His torn and beloved Coldplay shirt was left behind in the struggle. Leo had been trying to kidnap me to get me away from his mother, but I didn’t know that. I grabbed Doug’s shirt and shoved it in Leo’s mouth, blissing him out long enough to get back to the castle … and right into his mother’s claws. Which led to Artemis getting hurt, me sacrificing my power to save her, Leo sacrificing himself to save all of us, and then Artemis leaving anyway.
I don’t like to think about this memory. With Leo dead, I try to only think about the good ones. Because this memory pisses me off. He was lying to me, letting me run around chasing false leads when he knew all along where the real threat was. And I don’t want to be angry with him. It makes it so much harder to mourn him when I also want to throttle him.
I open my mouth to tell the story, but Doug lifts his arm and covers his nose with his sleeve. “Don’t tell me. Stop thinking about that right now. I’m going to lose my lunch if you keep smelling so impossibly sad and angry.”
I turn on the radio, settling back into my seat. I don’t want to feel this way any more than Doug wants me to. I try to think about something else. “The thing I liked best about Leo,” I say, staring out the window at the corrugated metal wall of the car bay, “is that he saw me. Sometimes better than I could, even. No one else saw me in the middle of the mess of being a Watcher and a Slayer, where we’re only our jobs … or in my family, where I was just this broken thing my mom and Artemis devoted their lives to protecting. It was nice, you know? Knowing that he liked me. Not what I could do, or how I could do it, or what he thought I needed from him. When he looked at me, I liked the person he saw.”
“That’s lovely,” Doug says. “But now you’re sadder than ever. And I’m starving.”
“Oh, for the love of the gods, give me a hit.” I hold out my hand. If it keeps him full and keeps my brain off this sadness and anger threatening to swallow me whole, I can pull a Jade for the duration of this ferry ride.
* * *
“No, it’s true!” My stomach hurts from laughing. “Our ceiling fan is so sharp it would decapitate someone! But only if they stood on exactly the right floorboard for us to trip the spring-loaded thingamajig to shoot them upward! And now that I think about it, it might not decapitate them. It might just sort of take off their scalp. And then fling blood everywhere. Gods, we did not think that one through.”
“You always seem so sweet.” Doug laughs with me and passes me my second Coke.
“I am! I really am! I’m, like, the only Hufflepuff the Watcher society ever had! Everyone else is pure Ravenclaw and Slytherin. I just want everyone to be happy! And love
each other! And love me! Except lately, I also want to hurt and kill and maim things. But that’s okay too, right? I mean, if you’re good at something, it’s important to develop your talents.”
Doug sounds dubious. “Some talents might be best left buried, Bible be damned.”
I snort soda through my nose. “You can’t say that! That’s, like, double blasphemous.”
“Demon, remember?”
“True. I guess you’re allowed.” I sigh dreamily, remembering happier times. “We had so much fun booby-trapping our room, though. Decapitation fans, flamethrowers, holy water snow globes. We armed the whole castle.”
“Is that why all the wooden spoons in the kitchen have pointy ends?”
“Yes!”
“You’re terrifying.”
“I am! I really, really am.” I lean back, toying with my Coke bottle. “Not as terrifying as Artemis. Gods, I hate her girlfriend. I hate that I even have to think about Honora as her girlfriend. Maybe they’ll break up soon. Maybe Artemis will kill her!”
“You know, most people get mellower when they’re high. You get more murdery.”
“Ooh, maybe they’ll fight and Artemis will kill her and then Sean will get mad and so Artemis will kill him, too, and if they’re both out of the picture, Artemis will come home. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“It would be great if it involved less murder.”
“That’s true. That’s a good point. Murder is bad. Generally. I dunno. I mean, as a Watcher and a Slayer, can I really say that murder is bad? Why would it be murder if Artemis killed Sean, who is a bad dude, really bad dude, hate him, but it’s not murder that I killed Eve Silvera? Because I think it is murder. I think I murdered her. And I think I murdered Leo.”
“You didn’t kill them.” Doug sounds so serious. I don’t feel serious. I feel loose and floppy inside. All the coiled-up tightness is gone. I can look right at what I did without it making me want to curl up into a ball and never move again. Without wanting to gather up everyone I have left and lock them in a room and never let them out where they might get hurt or die or leave me.
“I mean, but I did kill them. Eve, at least. I for sure set her up to die horribly. On purpose. And what I did killed Leo, too. So doesn’t that mean I killed him?”
“Oh, for hell’s sake, girl, even when you’re happy you guilt spiral.”
“You’re right. Let’s not think about that. Let’s think about Honora and Artemis getting in a huge fight and Artemis kicking her butt and coming back home so sorry she ever left because it was totally the wrong decision.” I lean across the space between our seats to rest my head on Doug’s shoulder. We’ve switched places so he can drive when the ferry lands. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you. Whatever else ended up happening, I made the right decision to keep you secret long enough to protect you.”
“I think so. But I am quite selfishly attached to the idea of being alive. And being free.”
“Selfish, selfish Doug. Always wanting to not die horribly or be someone’s drug captive. I like you. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“That’s the drugs talking.”
“No! I’m always glad we’re friends. I just avoid you because you sniff out how I’m feeling when I don’t even know or want to think about it.”
“But we should talk about it.”
I yawn, closing my eyes. “Later.” I’m so happy and warm and perfectly content. And I know when I sleep, this time there will be no bodies waiting for me.
* * *
The First Slayer chases me from dream to dream to dream, and I run. And the other Slayers run from me. And the storm follows, the churning emptiness racing right behind us. I don’t know where we’re going or what will happen when we arrive. And so I run.
* * *
When I wake up, it’s with a mild headache and the same sort of fuzzy discontent that comes with caffeine and sugar withdrawal. I can see why Jade likes Doug’s effects, but in retrospect it feels so … foreign. Like I was watching a movie of someone else being happy and having a good time, not like I experienced it myself. And all the things I felt okay about are right back to that crawling, tentacled black void threatening to drag me in and swallow me whole.
“Feel all right?” Doug’s driving carefully, following every traffic law to the letter. I don’t remember the ferry landing.
“Eh.” I wish I had another Coke to soften this crash.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Everything’s got a price.”
Don’t I know it. The price of being a Watcher was never fitting in. The price of being a Slayer is never fitting in. And the price of an hour or two off from all my stress is a pounding headache. “So, where is this demon convention, exactly? Sewer? Cemetery?”
“A Marriott.”
“A what?”
“You know, the hotel chain?”
“Yeah, I know what a Marriott is. You’re holding a demon gathering in a moderately priced business hotel?”
“They’ve got good conference spaces, which can be hard to find in London.”
“Yeah, but … I mean.” I gesture at his face. “Are the other demons more human-passing than you?”
Doug grins. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
9
DOUG WAS RIGHT. I DO see. I just can’t believe what I’m seeing.
In the middle of the tastefully bland Marriott lobby, demons are … hanging out. Several are at the bar. A few are in the lobby chairs, laughing and talking. Most of the business travelers barely glance at them, or if they do, it’s with amusement and confusion rather than fear.
“Welcome to the Annual Makeup and Mask Special Effects Experts Conference.” Doug sweeps his hand to encompass the lobby and the hallway leading back to the conference area. His hood is down, his black lips parted in a huge smile. “AMMSEEC, if you’re a regular. Jokingly referred to as AMSEEKING, if you’re here trying to find a mate.”
“God, those horns are brill,” a young woman with a gorgeous Afro says, pausing to admire Doug’s rounded black horns. “And how do you get that cracking effect with your skin? It’s seamless. I can’t see any makeup lines anywhere!”
Doug winks. “Tricks of the trade. Did you visit the show floor?”
“You even did your teeth! Your whole look is deadly. Haven’t been on the floor yet. Just waiting for my mates. We come every year. Hopefully we run into you in there so they can see.”
“Enjoy!” Doug guides me through the lobby and into the hallway leading to the conference space. He breathes in deeply, eyes dilating as he sighs in satisfaction. “I missed this. Haven’t been in years. Not since—well, Sean wasn’t big on outings.”
“Speaking of, how do you know he won’t hit it? I’d think this would be like fish in a barrel for him.”
Doug nods to two massive shadows lurking by the open double doors to the largest conference room. I can barely make them out, they blend in so well.
“They sense malice or violent intent. I wouldn’t fancy trying to get past them. They’re at every door in or out. AMMSEEC has a perfect attendee safety record.”
I freeze midstep. “Um. Remember how I’m a Slayer? Somehow I’m guessing this isn’t a real Slayer-friendly venue.”
“Do you feel violent right now? Have malicious intent toward anyone in here?”
“No! No. We’re here to help. I want to help.” I really do.
“I can always dose you up again.”
“No. I need to be sharp.” Plus, I don’t want another headache. I’m still feeling a little Doug-hungover. I guess this will test whether being a Slayer means I’m inherently full of violent intent, though. I’ve felt so different since I got the power back. I walk stiffly, nervous, but the two shadowy figures don’t move. When we get through the door, it feels like I passed not only their test, but one of my own. I’m okay. I’m still me. Some of the tension between my shoulders eases.
“Of course,” Doug says, “a lot of the demons in here are violent. And malicious. You just can’t have any
active violent or malicious intentions.”
Okay, test not passed, then. I’m too overwhelmed and distracted to care much, though. The conference floor is bonkers. A few humans—or human-passing demons—wander, eyes wide and amazed. There are tables, displays, some full-on professional booths. Demons are hanging out on bar stools, in meeting spaces, laughing and talking and trading cards. It’s a sea of horns, tails, and even a few sets of wings. Every color of skin imaginable is represented. Doug isn’t even that cool in here. If I thought it was actually a makeup special effects conference, I’d barely bat an eye at him compared to the woman with her blue hair piled on top of her head to reveal three distinct faces. She turns in front of us, the face on the side of her head raising an eyebrow at me, and the face on the other side of her head winking.
“Let’s walk. I’ll look for anyone I know.” Doug strides confidently forward, and I stay close, though it’s hard with how much I’m staring. Rhys would kill to be here. We should have brought him. All this in-person research! I’m giving myself whiplash trying to take it all in.
“Can I read your palm, love?” A woman at a booth holds out both hands. She looks normal, except for the third eye in the center of her forehead. Other than that, she’s wearing a nice pin-striped suit with a jewel-green blouse on. I lift my hand.
Doug takes it and pushes it firmly back down. “Don’t want to do that. She’ll suck five years from your life.” The woman scowls, flipping him off. But as she puts her hands back down, I notice they’re covered in octopus-like suction cups. Which reminds me of someone else who seriously sucked.
“Any incubus or succubus demons here?” Not that it would matter if there were. I couldn’t exactly ask them for details on how Leo came back long enough to return my powers without admitting that I killed his mom—a succubus—and prevented his incubus father from coming back to earth. I doubt any relatives would be fans of mine.
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