The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill

by Brewer, Heather

  Then he sat on his bed and stared at the clock, waiting for noon to come. When it finally did, hours later, he moved through the house again, not stopping for food, and headed outside to the clearing. When he reached his uncle and the others, he was greeted with looks of admiration. Abraham stepped closer to him, a smile on his face. “I’m so proud of you, Joss. It takes a real man to face the evil of these monsters once, let alone repeatedly. And though you haven’t yet been indoctrinated, we wanted you to know—and I speak for everyone here—that we count you among our ranks already. In your heart, you are a Slayer, and part of our group forever.”

  Morgan moved closer then, holding something silver in his hand. “We usually wait until after the indoctrination for this, but ... we figure that won’t be too far off anyway. Besides, as Abraham said, you’re one of us now, forever a part of our family. So take this.”

  Then he handed Joss a silver hatchet that gleamed in the light. “It’s your first weapon. Care for it. Don’t lose it. And swing it with absolute purpose.”

  Joss tightened his grip on the handle, marveling at the heft of the tool. His first weapon. He could hardly believe it.

  Ash moved forward and spoke then, his voice kinder than Joss had ever heard it before. “We want you to remember that no matter where you go, no matter what you face, you are not alone. We’re with you, Joss. Always.”

  Cratian thrust a small item he’d been cupping in his hand into Joss’s other palm. “Keep this safe. Keep it forever. It means you’re one of us.”

  Joss slowly held his hand out in front of him and peeled his fingers back, revealing a thick metal coin. On one side were graven images: a crescent moon, a stake, and an infinity symbol. On the other were letters in an Old English script—S.S., for Slayer Society—along with a quote that Joss desperately wanted to cling to. It made him feel safe. It made his actions—even those of yesterday—seem just and right and good and necessary. It read, FOR THE GOOD OF MANKIND.

  As Joss closed his hand over the coin, squeezing it tight in his fist, Abraham spoke again. “It’s a Slayer coin. We use them to identify one another in the field. If you produce a coin and the person you’re with doesn’t, they’re not one of us and therefore, not privy to discussing all the details of the Slayer Society. It’s a time-honored tradition, going back hundreds of years. And now you’re a part of it, nephew. Forever.”

  Cratian slapped Joss on the back and grinned. “Now let’s go kill us some vampires.”

  Joss blinked up at his uncle. “There are more?”

  Ash chuckled. “There are always more. Damn things are everywhere. And it’s our job to snuff them out before they infect the entire planet.”

  “I just thought that the two from yesterday—” Joss swallowed, trying hard not to conjure up the images in his mind of charred bodies and blood. “I thought they were the only two from the outpost you found.”

  Morgan interjected. “They were. But we found another outpost this morning—a cave about halfway up the mountain. We would have gone in after them, but we were waiting for solid daylight. And you, of course. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun.”

  As Joss swept his gaze over the group, he noticed that each was armed with a wooden stake. Cratian had his in a leather baldric that crossed his chest. Paty had hers in a leather strap around her thigh. Abraham’s was in his leather hip holster. Each of them was well armed, and all that Joss was carrying was a coin and a hatchet. He suddenly felt inept and unprepared. “When will I get a stake of my own?”

  Ash chuckled. “You have to earn your stake, and though you’ve performed admirably, you’re not quite there yet, Joss. Get indoctrinated. Then the Society will decide when you’re worthy of a stake.”

  Joss frowned, concern crossing his thoughts briefly. Concern that he didn’t share with the others, but which was apparently written all over his face. Abraham patted him roughly on the back. “Don’t worry—you’ll earn it. We all did. For now, you’ll be charged with beheading the beasts after we drag them outside. You’ve got a knack for wielding an ax, after all.”

  Joss’s heart skipped a beat.

  When Joss looked down at the hatchet in his hands, his heart skipped another beat, but he willed it to steady its rhythm and nodded to his uncle with a confidence that he didn’t really feel. He slid the coin into his front jeans pocket with one hand and gripped the hatchet with the other. His hands were steady, but it took an immense amount of control to make them so. He would not show weakness in front of his fellow Slayers.

  And he was one of them now. They’d said. And he would never again give them reason to doubt his loyalty. They were his family now. And he would face down any danger that threatened them, that threatened any human. He would do so without question, without doubt, and with more courage than he had ever dared to use before. Because their cause was a just one, and through them, Cecile would one day find salvation.

  As they made their way up the mountainside, Joss kept his head clear. He didn’t think about the task at hand, didn’t relive his first beheading experience, didn’t think about Sirus or Kat or the comforts of home. He merely hiked upward with his fellow Slayers, ready for whatever the day would bring.

  The day was still bright, but as the sun drifted through the trees, it didn’t seem as bright as it had earlier in the day. Joss could gaze up at the sky without it hurting his eyes, could walk in the beams of light without thinking they felt too hot, or that the air felt suffocating. Everything seemed clearer now. Joss had obtained a focus and clarity unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He was, as the Slayers had attempted to assist him with weeks ago, pure.

  As they reached the crest of a hill, Abraham silently gestured to the other Slayers, all but Joss, and they split into groups, moving off into the woods. They must be close to the outpost. Joss looked to his uncle for direction. Abraham pointed to a large nearby oak and then to Joss, indicating that Joss should wait there until they withdrew the first vampire. Joss moved into position, clutching the hatchet tightly to his chest, and waited.

  The sounds of the forest filled Joss’s ears. Peaceful sounds, of birds and breezes and furry things moving about through the undergrowth. For a moment, the serenity calmed his nerves, but it was a false calm. One that offered a promise of a quiet, easy day. One that lied through the sweet sounds and smells of nature. But Joss wouldn’t hear its lies. He was ready. Poised to act. Awaiting Abraham’s signal.

  A howl, accompanied by a sizzling sound, echoed through the trees, followed shortly by Abraham’s stern voice. “Joss! Now!”

  Joss whipped around the tree, his fingers tingling with numbness from clutching the hatchet so tightly, his heart racing with adrenaline and a fear that he refused to acknowledge. Abraham was standing over a vampire which looked as though it had been set aflame by means other than the sun. Two other Slayers had staked down its wrists in a clear effort to hold it until Joss had removed its head. Why they hadn’t staked its heart, Joss had no idea. But he suspected that today wasn’t just an ordinary job for the group—he suspected that this was another test, another means for Joss to prove his loyalty to the Society. He raised the hatchet high above his head and brought it down, blocking out the screams that echoed through the forest, not knowing if they had belonged to the vampire or himself.

  When he was finished, Ash and Paty cleared away the remains, and Joss took his position behind the tree again. He didn’t look at his hands and without realizing it, he was grateful that the forest contained no reflective surfaces, as he couldn’t have stood to look at himself at that moment.

  But he was doing his duty as a Slayer. All that he had done, and would continue to do, was for the good of mankind. And for the release of Cecile’s tormented soul.

  After three more vampires, Joss was feeling numb. He told himself that the beheadings were no different than cutting wood for the fire, and he got through each mindlessly, doing his job, pretending he was somewhere else, keeping himself removed from each terrib
le, horrific situation.

  “One more, Joss. Get ready!” his uncle shouted.

  A hand closed over Joss’s mouth and yanked him away from the tree, spinning him about so fast that for a second, he could not breathe. When the phantom hand released him, Joss looked around, but didn’t recognize the part of the forest he was in. There was no trail nearby, and no sign of his fellow Slayers. His breath came in frightened gasps.

  “You should be afraid, little one. I warned you this would happen.”

  Joss turned around quickly, his eyes falling on a familiar face. The face of the vampire who’d spoken to him in town. Zy. Joss tightened his fist, but only then did he realize that the hatchet was gone.

  The vampire shook his head, clucking his tongue like a teacher chastising a student. “You won’t be needing that. Not that it would do you much good to have it.”

  Joss’s eyebrows came together in confusion. The beast really did have the ability to read his thoughts.

  “Hear them, actually. Reading thoughts would be quite a bore, considering how dull most human thoughts are.” It cocked its head to the side. “For instance, you’d be amazed how much humans think about food. But then, I suppose vampires aren’t all that different from you in that regard. Just a different type of food.”

  Shock and fear filled him. Abraham had said nothing about vampires being telepathic. Had he? How could you hide anything from these things if they had the ability to hear every thought in your head? His heart raced.

  It closed its eyes momentarily. “Now there’s a happy sound. The truth is, Joss, you can’t keep your thoughts from me, and I’m not entirely certain your uncle knows about our telepathic gifts either. Not that he’d care to know anything about us but where to put that damn stake of his. But you ... you’re different. You’re not like your uncle.”

  Joss set his jaw stubbornly. “I am just like my uncle.”

  It shook its head, its eyes reflecting a sadness that Joss did not understand. “No, Joss. you’re nothing like Abraham. He”s ... he’s a monster. There’s good in you. You possess a quality that so few humans retain into their later years. Kindness. Openness. Acceptance.”

  “My uncle is not a monster!” Joss’s heart was ramming against his ribs. His breathing came in deep, angry breaths. “You’re a monster! You’re all monsters!”

  It kept its voice calm, hushed, as if it were trying to reason with Joss. “Not all of us. But some, yes. Just as humans, we are not a perfect race. Some of us do cruel, horrible, and unspeakable things.”

  Joss glanced around, looking for anything that might act as a weapon, but tried to keep his thoughts clear, so that the creature might not read his mind. His eyes fell on a sharp, pointed portion of a branch that had apparently been the victim of a recent storm.

  The creature took a step closer to him. Joss remained still, not wanting to provoke an attack. “Say, for instance, some of us creep into young ones’ bedrooms at night and rob them of their life before their time has come.”

  Joss’s heart skipped a beat. He forgot about the branch entirely and looked at the vampire with wide, knowing eyes. It knew about Cecile. And though Joss had no idea if the beast had merely plucked the memory from his thoughts or had been the evil beast in question, he only knew that this was the closest he’d been so far to having answers about his sister’s passing. He didn’t dare to speak, merely stared at the thing in front of him, wanting answers.

  It spread its arms wide, its expression blank. “I wish I had them to give, but that’s not up to me.”

  Joss moved before the thought could enter his mind. He grabbed the broken section of branch and twisted around, then thrust his arm forward. The makeshift stake entered the vampire’s chest with a popping sound. Blood gushed out over Joss’s hands and he jerked his arms backward, as if he could escape the spraying crimson. His efforts were futile.

  Blood sprayed across his face and Joss jumped back, landing hard on the ground, scrambling for anything so he could to hit the monster again. But as his eyes fell back on the creature, his heart settled into a somewhat normal rhythm again. It was lying face up on the ground, the sharp makeshift stake sticking out of its chest. He’d killed it, and for all he knew, it might have been the monster that had killed Cecile.

  In the distance, he heard the Slayers calling out to him. He stood, brushing leaves and dirt and grime from his legs and looked around, trying to locate the origin of their voices. A different, unfamiliar sound filled his ears, distracting from their faraway cries. A low, intermittent whistle. It wasn’t a bird, or a train—the train tracks were miles from here. Just the strangest high-pitched whistle that would sound off for several seconds before breaking and starting over again. Joss turned, cocking his ear to the side, trying to locate it. Then he paused. The whistle was coming from behind him, where the vampire’s body was.

  Stiffly, slowly, and full of wondering disbelief, Joss turned back toward the creature. It sat up just as slowly as he had turned, its body drenched with blood, its fangs elongated, its eyes fierce. “That wasn’t very nice, Joss. I’m afraid you force my hand.”

  Joss looked at its chest, confused. He must have hit a lung. It was the only thing that could explain the whistling, and the fact that the monster had survived. It leaped toward him, pinning him to the ground, its still-flowing blood soaking into his clothes, his hair. “Monster?” It growled. “Who’s the monster now?”

  It reared back, opening its mouth wide, exposing its fangs. Joss struggled uselessly beneath it, but there was nothing he could do. The thing meant to have him for dinner.

  He wondered briefly if he would see Cecile again.

  Then, through the monster’s chest came a sharp gleam of silver as a stake burst out. Abraham stood over the monster and Joss, his stake triumphantly through the vampire’s heart. Abraham pulled the dead beast away and tossed it to the side, helping a shaken Joss to his feet. Then he handed the silver hatchet to his nephew and said, “I believe you dropped this.”

  Joss moved over to the creature and raised the hatchet high, bringing it down again and again with terrified, furious shouts until there was barely enough left to burn. The forest began to swirl around faster and faster, as if it had been placed in a blender.

  Joss’s world closed over him in black.

  25

  THE DARKNESS

  Joss opened his eyes briefly—just long enough to see Abraham’s face and to realize that he was in an ambulance. His uncle pressed his lips together, a glimpse of concern crossing his eyes. “It’s okay, Joss. It’s going to be okay.”

  As the darkness dragged him under once again, he heard someone—the EMT, perhaps—ask about his wounds.

  “A mountain lion,” his uncle replied, and Joss laughed hysterically inside his mind. All of the Catskills was going to be on the run from make-believe mountain lions.

  But the hysterical humor disappeared along with the ambulance, his uncle, everything. Joss was alone in the darkness, with nothing for company but the emptiness.

  26

  SECRETS REVEALED

  The next day Ash opened the door of Abraham’s car and helped Joss out. “What did the doctors say?”

  Ash already knew what the doctors had said—as did all of the Slayers. Abraham had called them from the hospital last night. Three doctors examined Joss, and each expressed deep concern over his wounds, which seemed suspiciously like abusive wounds. But Joss had convinced them, for the time being, that he had an abnormal interest in hand-to-hand combat, and that none of his wounds had been at the hands of his uncle. After many shaking heads and lots of whispering, they deemed Joss to be severely dehydrated—thus the fainting. They also deemed that he was sleep deprived and under an unusually high amount of stress for a boy his age.

  They didn’t know the half of it.

  He’d spent the night at the hospital for observation; now that Sirus was gone, the Slayers had to risk the authorities to get Joss the care he needed. Every time Abraham would leave the roo
m, a nurse would enter and tell Joss that it was okay to talk to them, okay to tell them if his uncle had been hurting him. No, Joss insisted. None of these wounds had been Abraham’s fault. They’d been his. And that was the truth.

  Abraham answered Ash very matter-of-factly. “They want him to rest, which shouldn’t be a problem. Joss’s training is at its end. With one more task—a sole hunt and kill—it’ll be complete, but that can wait until next summer.”

  Joss nodded, and moved toward the house. Several other Slayers said their hellos on their way into the woods. On the drive back from the hospital, Uncle Abraham had told him to head straight to his room and pack so he could make the noon train. It was time to go home.

  The other Slayers would be staying here for the duration of the summer, in an effort to locate the vampires’ hive. If they didn’t find it, they’d move on to other jobs and Joss would join them again the following summer to continue their search, until every inch of the Catskill Mountains had been thoroughly explored. The idea that their efforts might not be fruitful even after years of searching was exhausting, but it was a matter of duty and honor, and the Catskills had proven to be a desired location for vampire-kind.

  Joss lifted his suitcase and set it on his bed, tossing his clothes inside. He retrieved his toiletries from the bathroom and tucked them near the bottom, then plucked up Cecile’s photograph from his nightstand. He ran the tips of his fingers across her face, drawing soft lines across it in the light layer of dust on the glass. Then he placed her picture inside his suitcase, and the pocket watch inside his jeans pocket, and zipped the suitcase closed.