“Nina!” Artemis shouts.
This is Honora. The architect of the single most humiliating moment of my life. If I get nothing else out of being a Slayer, I sure as every known hell dimension will get the satisfaction of beating her in a fight.
Honora stalks toward me. I dodge a kick. Her foot smashes into the fence. I stand, uppercutting her with my momentum. I catch her under the chin, hard, and her head snaps back. I have a single moment of adrenaline-soaked triumph before horror overtakes me as I watch her fall, completely limp, to the ground.
What have I done?
Artemis rushes to Honora’s side. I kneel next to her, but Artemis shoves me away. “How could you?”
“She started it!”
“She didn’t! Even if she had, she’s our friend!”
“She hit me first! You didn’t see. And she’s never been my friend!” I struggle to get myself under control. “Let me check her out. I didn’t mean to hit her so hard.”
Artemis looks like our mother when she meets my eyes. It winds me, leaves me struggling to catch my breath. “You did mean to. You meant to hit her exactly that hard.”
Honora’s eyes flutter open. I slump in relief against the fence. Maybe she was faking. I don’t even care as long as it means I didn’t break her neck or her brain. I might have been okay with breaking her jaw, though.
Gods, what’s wrong with me? I fix bones. I don’t break them.
Artemis’s hands dart around Honora’s face. “Are you okay? Can you move? Maybe you should lie still for a bit.”
Honora smiles, a lazy, dazed expression. “It’s not fair,” she says to my sister.
“What’s not fair?”
“You should have passed the test. You gave it up for her. If either of you were going to be a Slayer, it should have been you.”
Artemis doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t have to. We both know she feels the same way. How could she not? But I don’t understand what Honora means about the Watcher stuff. I had nothing to do with Artemis failing the test.
Honora accepts Artemis’s help up. I stand too, keeping my distance.
“I won’t let you take Doug.” It comes out as more a mumble than a challenge.
“Too late,” Honora snarls.
Cillian is sitting on the floor in the middle of the shed, playing with the empty handcuffs. He looks up, his eyes half shut and glazed. “Man, I feel good. I feel so good. I haven’t felt this good since my mom left. I’m not even sad about that. It’s cool that she needs magic more than she needs me.” He laughs, lying back on the floor. “I feel really good.” He picks up the ring from his dad’s box of things, sliding it onto his finger and giggling.
I rush into the shed as if Doug might still be in there, hiding. “Where did he go?”
Cillian waves a hand languorously through the air, then pauses, watching his fingers like they’re the greatest things ever. “He—” Cillian stops, giggling. “He put his hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t shout. Some of his—whatever—got in.” Cillian laughs harder, closing his eyes. “Then he asked me to unlock his chains. Such a nice bloke. I’m gonna sleep now.” He curls on his side, smiling.
Honora is holding her head, leaning against the fence. “Great job, Wheezy.”
My fists compulsively clench at my sides. “Don’t call me that.”
“Or what, you gonna hit me again? Come on. Show me what a big, bad Slayer you are now. Show us the truth: that all those ye
ars you pretended to be so sweet and nurturing were really because you needed other people to feel sorry for you so they’d like you.”
My fists go limp. Is she right? Was I always a Slayer inside—violent, predatory—and only forced to care about others because I needed them to care about me? Was I only helpful and kind because I was terrified of being left behind again?
“It wasn’t like that.” I hear how petulant and whiny I sound. She turns me back into my thirteen-year-old self, and I hate it.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, letting him get away.”
“I’d rather him be free than be in your hands! You’re not telling us everything.”