Something hard pressed into Joss’s back, and his mind screamed “GUN!” His heart ceased its beats for a moment, in question of who exactly was behind him and why exactly they were threatening to assault him. A vampire wouldn’t use a gun, so clearly the person was human. And what human would brandish a gun in an airport? He doubted that many would, given the security measures of the day. Turning his head slightly to the left, Joss glimpsed his assailant and rolled his eyes. “What are you doing, Ash?”
“Blowing you into forty-seven-million bits.” Ash grinned. “Also, entertaining myself while we wait for your luggage.”
Joss turned around then, knowing that Ash would never really cause him physical harm, and looked down at the Sharpie marker that Ash had been jabbing in his back. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask Ash if that were really necessary, and Ash chuckled and grabbed him into a rough hug. “Good to see you, kid. But I barely recognized you. You must’ve grown a foot since last summer. You could pass for twenty, at least, if someone wasn’t looking too closely. Everybody else is waiting for us back at our temporary base of operation. Let’s find that bag of yours so the party can begin.”
Joss gave Ash’s back a pat as they hugged, and when they separated, a kind of peace settled over him. He was home, in a weird way. He’d finally received the warm welcome that he’d very much wanted from his mom and dad. The Slayers, after all, were family to him, and a family like no other. They knew all of Joss’s secrets, all of his strengths and weaknesses.
Well, not all of his secrets. They knew nothing about the private job he’d taken hunting the Pravus vampire in Bathory. They also didn’t know that he’d failed miserably to kill said vampire. Or that he’d become good friends with Vlad, the same way he’d become good friends with Sirus.
He was pretty sure they didn’t know, anyway.
Once they’d located his suitcase and grabbed a cab to take them deep into the heart of Manhattan, Joss allowed himself a small moment of happiness. Last summer had been all about training to become a Slayer. This summer, he was a Slayer, ready to take on vampirekind and kick their undead butts into eternity. Thinking about his stake, Joss cast a glance at their cabbie, who was busy chatting in another language into his Bluetooth headset, and said, “Hey, Ash. How do you travel with your stake? I mean, you can’t take it in your carry-on, right?”
Ash shook his head. “Nah. Gotta check it. Which sucks, considering how many vampires work in the airline industry. But you’ll find out all about that once you earn your stake.”
Joss paused. Dorian had delivered his great-great-great-grandfather’s vampire killing kit, complete with stake, to him at the end of last summer. He’d assumed it had been given to him at the instruction of the Society, but now he was wondering if that were the case. He didn’t say anything to Ash, because the last thing he wanted to do was to have his only means of protection take away from him. So he and Ash chatted all the way to Greenwich Village about school, what it was like to live with his cousin Henry, and how it felt being solo for the first time. By the time the cab came to a halt in front of the brownstone that was to act as their base of operations, Joss was really looking forward to seeing the other members of their little group. After Ash paid the cabbie, they exited the cab, Ash collected his bag from the trunk, and they headed up the steps to the double front doors. Joss opened the door and stepped inside, holding it for his escort. From inside came Morgan’s voice. “Ash? You back already?”
Something about the question didn’t sit right with Joss. Mostly because it was a question. The Slayers knew exactly who was walking into their domain, no matter what time of day or night it was. So why the question? He looked at Ash, who also seemed a bit on edge. Ash reached into his inside jacket pocket and gripped his stake, placing a finger over his lips before he replied. “Yeah. Traffic was surprisingly light. Everything okay here?”
Joss’s eyes locked on his suitcase, where his vampire slaying kit was locked safely away. He wondered if it was possible to get his tools out without alerting anyone they didn’t want to alert, but he highly doubted it. So he stepped ever so carefully closer to Ash and followed his lead. Ash moved down the small hallway, pausing for a moment to gesture that Joss should take point. Joss wanted to argue. Take point? He didn’t even have a weapon! But Ash was the Slayer with seniority here, so Joss stepped in front of him without question and readied himself for anything he could drum up in his dark imagination.
Morgan called out again, his voice full of suspicion. “We’re in the parlor. You coming in?”
When Ash spoke again, his words were but a whisper. “Be right there.”
Joss’s heart was racing. He had no idea what they were walking into, and very much wished that he had his stake in hand. His eyes combed the hall for potential weapons. He was eyeing the legs of a small plant stand, one of which might make a suitable pseudostake in a pinch, but before he could decide whether or not that would be the best choice, Ash shoved him from behind, sending him stumbling into the parlor. Joss spun as he tripped over his own feet, trying desperately to recover, certain that vampires had somehow infiltrated their group. They were going to leap on him any second, and Joss was going to die. Or worse, be turned. He could think of no greater nightmare than that—not even the last nightmare he’d had about Cecile.
A strong arm grabbed him around the neck then, and Joss stomped hard on the assailant’s foot with his heel. Cratian swore loudly, and released him, but Joss was free for only seconds until Paty swept his leg, knocking him on his back. As she looked down at him, she pointed a long finger to his face and said, with a sternness that made Joss want to behave, “Stop it. We were just playing with you. You’re not being attacked.”
It was only at that moment, ironically, that Joss felt the weight of her foot pressing into his chest, pinning him in place. He flicked his gaze around the room, finding Ash and Morgan in the corner stifling their laughter, and Cratian sulking a bit as he rubbed the soreness from his stomped toe. On a small table sat a white cake, with big red frosting flowers all along its top edge. Paty removed her foot and took his hand, helping him to his feet. Joss turned, confused, and looked around the parlor. Bookcases and an intricate fireplace lined the walls, and the only furniture in the room were two large, leather easy chairs and the table on which the cake sat. Words that formed a lump in his throat swirled across the top of the cake in black frosting: WELCOME BACK, JOSS!
They hadn’t been overrun by vampires at all. His fellow Slayers were just trying to surprise him. Joss turned back to them, his heart so full of gratitude that it nearly burst, and managed to say, “Thank you.”
Ash clapped his hands together. “Enough screwing around. Let’s eat!”
Paty cut several slivers of cake and placed them on small paper plates, saving the biggest piece for Joss. They stood around, eating sugary yumminess and chatting, Joss’s tension and sadness and looming sense of failure leaving him for the moment. As he swallowed a lump of red frosting, he said, “Where’s my uncle, anyway?”
Cratian shrugged. “Abraham left pretty abruptly two days ago to fly to Headquarters in London. He gave us instructions to secure a temporary base of operations here and said to await his return for further orders. At this point, kid, you know about as much as we do about why we’re all here.”
The front door opened and a second later, slammed closed. Everyone in the room tensed, but no one spoke. Heavy footfalls carried Abraham, as if on cue, into the parlor. His face was drawn, as if something were troubling him. Joss tried to catch his eye, but before he could utter a word, his uncle said, “A man is dead.”
Joss exchanged looks with his fellow Slayers, his heart sinking fast. Who was dead? And why did knowing that sit in the pit of Joss’s stomach like a hot coal? He turned back to his uncle, ready for anything.
He hoped, anyway.
4
ANYTHING
Joss followed behind his uncle, crossing yet another street, and turned down an alley. They’d
left the brownstone immediately after Abraham’s announcement, and Joss hadn’t questioned it. After all, he was there to follow orders.
At the end of the alley stood a group of people. Three men, three women. Two of the men were looking back over their shoulders at the approaching Slayers. The rest were focusing on whatever was lying on the ground at the center of their group. As Joss approached with his team, he, Morgan, Paty, Ash, and Cratian exchanged looks. What was going on exactly? Who was dead? Who were these people? Why were they here? And what exactly was causing the worried tingle that was crossing Joss’s nerves?
This had nothing to do with Vlad, or with the fact that Joss had tried and failed to kill the creature, under a private contract. Did it?
No. That would be ridiculous. Joss was just panicking. As long as he managed to keep his cool, everything would be fine and Uncle Abraham would be none the wiser.
With a deep, calming breath, Joss followed the others deeper into the alley. His stomach roiled when he saw the body lying on the ground. Its neck had been torn open on one side, but curiously, there was no pool of blood on the pavement beneath it. For a moment, Joss’s world tilted. But then it righted itself again. He’d never seen gore like this. Sure, he’d seen death before. But this seemed so deliberate, so . . . cruel.
A tall man with broad shoulders and stringy blond hair pressed a button on his cell phone and put it to his ear. “This is Mason. I need a cleanup in the alley between Tenth and Eleventh, off University Place. It’s open to the street, so entry should be easy. A man’s been killed. Fairly certain he was a victim of a vampire crime.”
After a pause, he said, “No assisted exit needed. My team’s on the scene.”
He hung up, and as he slipped the phone into his pocket, he addressed Joss’s Slayer family. “None of what I’m about to tell you leaves this group. Understood?”
Nods moved across the alley like a stadium crowd doing the wave. When they were finished, the newcomer continued. “We’re the Slayer team responsible for protecting Manhattan. It’s a daunting task, as the vampires seem to run wild here in the city. But lately, things have taken a turn for the worse.”
His eyes fell to the fresh corpse. Joss’s followed, but only for a moment, as he could feel his world tilting once again.
“There’s a serial killer on the loose, and we’re pretty damn sure it’s a vampire. The victims have had their necks torn open, and are, in most cases, completely drained of blood. Local police think it’s some kind of freak with a blood fetish, but this has vamp written all over it. The trouble is . . . we haven’t been able to locate the killer.”
With a glimmer of shame in his eyes, the man flicked a glance in Abraham’s direction before continuing. “After meeting with the Society elders, it’s been determined that perhaps our only option is to bring in a special-ops team to take the case over. And thanks to the skill demonstrated by young Mister McMillan here last summer in the Catskills, you’re that team.”
A small lump formed in Joss’s throat, but he swallowed it quickly, despite his growing nausea. No one knew that the explosion he’d caused last summer that had killed Sirus and the other vampires had been an accident. Not for certain, anyway. But Joss had a feeling that his uncle Abraham was highly suspicious by the way he’d acted toward Joss after the explosion.
Joss couldn’t tell his uncle the truth, that he hadn’t really killed all of those vampires on purpose. Because that would make Joss both a liar and a coward. And he very, very much preferred to be viewed as a Slayer, rather than either of those things.
Besides, who was it hurting to keep that little detail to himself? No one. But if the truth got out . . . that’s when the real pain would begin. The Society wouldn’t be very forgiving that he’d deceived them, and he could only imagine how his Slayer team would react. Not to mention Uncle Abraham. No. This was a secret best kept tucked carefully in the back of Joss’s mind, never to be spoken aloud.
“As far as this debriefing goes, I’m afraid we don’t have much to report. There’s no obvious pattern as to how the killer is choosing its victims. The victims themselves are pretty randomly chosen. Some men, some women. Ages ranging from the teen years to the elderly. Like I said, I’m afraid we don’t know much. But then, I guess that’s why the Society called you here.” Mason pursed his mouth a bit, as if something bitter had settled onto his tongue. “What we can tell you is that all of the deaths that we believe are connected have taken place here in Manhattan. Largely in Midtown, but they’ve been spread out all over Manhattan. Plus, we’ve seen an increase in vamp activity in the last few weeks. It’s like they’re gathering for some kind of meeting or something. So . . . that’s it. The show’s all yours. We’ve been told to focus on the outer boroughs. Until this serial killer is taken care of, Manhattan belongs to you.”
As if on cue, the other Slayers wordlessly filed back out the alley, eyeballing Abraham’s team as they exited. It was clear to Joss that they weren’t happy about handing over the reins, but what did they expect? If they had been charged with finding a killer and eradicating it, and had failed to do so, it was time for someone else to give it a go.
Morgan shook his head. “Am I getting this right? Is your team stepping completely aside?”
Mason pursed his lips a bit before answering. He was clearly unhappy with the change of pace, especially on his turf, but was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “On direct order of the Society . . . yes.”
Paty stepped forward, shaking her head as well. “You can’t step down without naming a new case handler. You know that. There are no assumptions in the Society.”
Barely a heartbeat had passed before Mason’s eyes fell on Joss. “Joss. You’re calling the shots on this case.”
Joss blinked. “What?”
“Believe me. It wasn’t my decision to make this time, or I would have chosen Abraham.”
Insult filled Joss to the brim. Just because he was only a teenager, Mason didn’t think he was up to the task? That was bull crap. Joss met his eyes with a falsely confident raised eyebrow. False, because he had no real idea if he meant what he was about to say. But he wasn’t about to let this guy know that. “I can do it. I can lead a team. I just . . . haven’t yet.”
A smirk appeared on Mason’s face. “Well, I look forward to seeing you succeed. Everyone in the Society shares my sentiment, I’m sure.”
Joss folded his arms in front of his chest. “Do you have any other pertinent information about the victims or killer, or are you just taking up space now?”
As Mason exited, he gave Joss’s shoulder a firm squeeze, the look in his dark eyes full of meaning. “Good luck, little man.”
Joss shook his shoulder away. He didn’t need luck. He had skill and cunning.
The Slayers exited, and the rest of his team breathed a collective sigh of relief. Something told Joss that Slayer teams tended not to intermingle, and maybe there was a good reason for that.
Paty was looking down at the dead man, her head tilted slightly to the side. “It’s so sad. I wonder who he was. If he has a family.”
A hand fell on Joss’s shoulder, and he looked over to see Morgan, who pulled slightly, urging Joss to come with him. “Come on, kid. There’s nothing to see here. Besides, Slayer teams aren’t allowed to remain during cleanup.”
“Why not?” It made sense to stay, to examine the scene, to assist in any cleanup that had to take place. So why were they leaving? Why was this something left to a mysterious Society crew, and not to the Slayers themselves?
Morgan leaned closer and spoke softly. “There are levels to the Society that you don’t understand yet—hell, I’m not even sure I understand them all myself. But we were told early on to exit prior to cleanup, and we do as we’re told. You’d be better off listening, kid. And not questioning the rules. Just trust me on this.”
Joss did trust him. But he wasn’t at all certain that he completely trusted the mysterious ways of the Slayer Society. Not that he dared put voice
to his doubts. He trusted their beliefs, their actions, their wisdom, but their routines seemed just a little bit . . . off. Maybe it was because he was still green. Maybe he just needed time. That had to be it. They were the Slayer Society, after all. And he . . . he was just Joss.
“There’s one more thing,” Abraham spoke, his voice echoing slightly in the alley, even though his tone was eerily calm and even. Joss’s heart beat solidly inside his chest. “The elders in London called me there to give me some rather disturbing news that I thought you all might find interesting. It seems my nephew took a private job in Bathory.”
Joss widened his eyes and turned back to face his uncle. Morgan pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if Joss had spontaneously erupted in flames. Paty’s fingers found her mouth, more horrified at the notion of Joss’s betrayal than the murder victim lying before her. Ash and Cratian simply stared at him. A heavy air of disappointment filled the space. And Joss felt like he was shrinking, sinking down into the pavement, into the earth below.
If he could have, he would have.
Cratian shook his head. Shadows hung over the group. They looked like they’d been betrayed by one of their own. Largely because they had.
Joss looked from one Slayer to the next, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. He had no idea what to say. He’d been caught, and could offer up no explanation or apology that would right the wrong he had done. But all he could think of to say was, “I . . . I’m sorry. I just wanted to help my . . . my mother.”
It wasn’t a lie. His mother had been on every pill imaginable and attended therapy with many doctors since Cecile died. The bills were ridiculously high, adding stress to an already stressful time. And deep down, Joss wondered if maybe his father blamed his inaction that night for his mother’s now-fragile mind. He was right to place that blame. Joss had tapped over that first domino in this scenario. As far as he was concerned, he was the one who’d stolen his family from himself. And he had no idea how to set it right again.
Second Chance Page 3
