“And what, exactly, are we doing?” Honora frowns, searching Artemis’s face.
Artemis hasn’t exactly told Honora this part yet. Honora has been operating under the assumption they were here to assassinate the hellgod. But they’re a team. Honora needs to know. “We’re stealing it. The hellgod’s power.”
Honora’s eyes go wide. “Moon. Baby. Why?”
“If there’s power up for grabs, we should be the ones who get it! Aren’t you tired of being powerless?”
Honora’s face shifts, becoming fierce. Her eyes narrow. “No one gets to make me feel powerless without my permission. Not ever again. I’m not powerless, and neither are you.”
This is so much harder than Artemis thought it was going to be. She thought Honora would understand. Honora has to understand, because Artemis doesn’t have anyone else now. Tears prick in her eyes. She holds her arms out and Honora comes in close, their arms around each other, foreheads pressed together. “I am, though,” she whispers, trying not to let her voice break. “The whole world makes me feel powerless. That’s why I have to change it.”
Honora reaches behind Artemis and undoes her ponytail, letting Artemis’s hair down. The relief of the constant tension of her ponytail is immediate and she lowers her head to Honora’s shoulder. “Change what?” Honora asks. Her voice is soft in a way it is only ever for Artemis.
“The world.”
Honora sighs. “You need this.”
Artemis nods, her face still against Honora’s shoulder.
She lets go and pulls out her phone. “My girl wants a hellgod’s power, my girl’s getting a hellgod’s power.” She holds up a finger as someone answers on the other end of the line. “Yeah, it’s Honora. We’re in the market for something special of a demonic variety. Looking for rare species. What’ve you heard?” She makes some noncommittal noises, and then draws a sharp breath. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s the one. Who has him? Thanks. We’re square now.”
Artemis resists the urge to bite her nails. “Well?”
Honora’s mouth is pursed. She pauses before answering, something about what she heard troubling her. “We’re going back to London. Should have called my guy before we made it all the way home. This might get messy, though. Personal too.”
“I don’t care. It’s worth it. Thank you. Thank you. I promise, this is going to work out. Trust me.”
“I do. It’s the rest of the world I worry about. But we’re going to change it, right?” The line between Honora’s brows shouldn’t be there. Artemis presses a kiss to smooth it out. They’re going to win. They have to.
14
A DIFFERENT SERVANT FETCHES ME when the sun sets. Doug and I have talked; he’s confident he’s not in any danger and reassured me he has his own plans for while I’m busy. I still don’t like leaving him—and if anyone hurts him, they’ll pay—but I trust that he can handle this.
My shoulder is almost better, and the buzzing anticipation in me isn’t nervousness. It’s excitement. Which should worry me, on account of I am not only hunting but being hunted. But I don’t let myself look too long or hard at it. I don’t have time to question myself. I might not have been able to figure out how to face Artemis and Honora, but I can do this. I’m a Slayer. I’m made for this kind of nonsense.
Out on the far edge of the perfectly manicured lawn, Ian Von Alston is waiting. He’s in a different sharp suit, his hyperpolished dress shoes reflecting the full moon back at us. A maid holds a tray of drinks near a half circle of chairs. Three other men are with Von Alston. They’re all wearing full tactical gear and adjusting night-vision goggles. Like gentlemen, they remove the goggles when I approach, ogling without goggling.
“Ah, our other Slayer.” Von Alston gestures to me as I walk up. I’ve got my hair down. Ponytails are Artemis’s signature fight look. I don’t want to be her right now. It didn’t really work out for me before, and channeling her means I have to think about her. Besides which, I had psyched myself up to pretend not to be afraid, but now that I’m out here looking at these men, I’m not afraid. I’m disgusted. Maybe it’s dangerous not to be warier, but I can’t muster any fear of these men who hunt the vulnerable to make themselves feel powerful. They don’t have any real power. They have to know it. If they don’t, they will by the end of the night.
“A redhead?” One of the men, a white guy with more beard than face, snickers. “Did you know redheads have a lower pain tolerance?”
“You’re right.” I smile, gritting my teeth. “And you’re really hurting me to look at.”
Beard slides a compensating-for-something-size knife into a sheath, glaring at me. “She’s mine,” he growls at the other two.
“Cool, bye.” I walk to the tree line.
“Ten minutes!” Von Alston shouts after me.
I wave without turning around. As soon as I’m in the trees, I stop, ducking behind a tree and taking stock of my options. I could wait here and take out the hunters as soon as they enter the trees. But they’ll probably be spread out, so it’ll eat up some time. And I’d risk one of them finding the werewolf first and killing him.
My best bet is to find the werewolf first, get him to safety, make sure the other Slayers are safe, and then take out the hunters. Easy. All I have is several acres of forest to cover. Before three trained hunters do it. And an unknown number of Slayers to locate and manage. And a werewolf on a full moon.
“Uggggh.” I pick a direction and start running. My cell rings, and I startle, pulling it out. Von Alston never even checked for phones or weapons, the smug ass. “Cillian? Is something wrong?”
“I’m trying to think of a play on Lucille Ball. But I can’t figure out a way to make any cat puns with it. I wish you had consulted me on cat colors before. A ginger cat makes things so much more specific and complicated. I feel like you can’t overlook that detail.”
“Oh my gods, Cillian. I cannot talk to you about the cat right now.”
“Did you already name it? That’s not fair!”
“No, I can’t talk to you about the cat because I’m currently prowling through a forest hunting a werewolf who might also be hunting me in addition to three toxic masculinity poster boys who are definitely hunting me.”
“Nina. What is going on?”
I sense movement on either side. I can’t say how I do—I don’t see or hear anything. But I know there are two people closing in on me.
“Listen, I don’t like people names for animals. It makes it so awkward when you meet people with the same name. ‘Oh, Nina! We named our hedgehog Nina!’ Like, how am I supposed to respond to that? I can’t even …” I throw my phone hard to the side. Someone squeaks in pain as it connects with a face. I drop to the forest floor as a large stick swings through the air where my head would have been. I sweep my leg, tripping someone. She curses in Spanish as she goes down.
I hop to my feet and whirl to find myself face-to-face with the ice cream Slayer from my dreams.
“You!” I say.