I shake my head. None of this makes sense. Why would Leo come here instead of coming back to us? Why would he stay, knowing we would all assume he was dead? Knowing how much it would hurt?
He let me think I was responsible for his death all these months. Maybe I don’t feel so bad about accidentally shooting him with a tranquilizer. Maybe I want to shoot him with another one. But what Von Alston said needs more explaining, since Leo himself can’t explain it right now.
“What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do for him?”
“He’s dying.”
I push past Doug and throw Von Alston to the ground, my hand around his throat. “Don’t lie to me.” Leo can’t be dying. He was dead, and now he’s not, and my heart can’t take any more.
Von Alston’s voice is strained. “I’ve been nothing but truthful with you this whole time. Without his mother, he’s starving to death. Take him, if you wish.”
“Nina.” Doug tugs on my shoulder until I release Von Alston. “Let’s talk.”
“No. I don’t want to talk. We need to finish up here. You owe me a prize,” I snarl, yanking Von Alston to his feet. “I take cash.”
“We should go.” Chao-Ahn eyes the dark grounds nervously.
“Can’t leave until Leo wakes up.” I know from deeply painful experience that Leo cannot be budged or carried. I stalk toward the house, my hand around Von Alston’s wrist. I’m probably squeezing too tight. I can’t care. Von Alston hurries to keep up and avoid the indignity of being dragged. “Might as well make our time here worthwhile.”
“I am a man of my word,” Von Alston huffs. “I suppose you did win, even if it was unconventional. The prize is fifty thousand pounds.”
“Bully for me.” Although it’s a massive windfall for the castle, I can’t begin to feel giddy over it. We’ve gotten to the porch, and I can see Leo now, bathed in the warm yellow light from the house. He looks … awful. His jawline, always strong, stands out in stark contrast now, his cheeks hollow and the circles under his eyes so dark they look more like bruises than anything else.
But he’s here. He’s alive. And I’m so angry my vision is pulsing at the edges.
“Should we take him inside?” Taylor asks, trembling like a purse dog.
“Literally impossible. Hopefully he wakes up fast.” I try not to look at Leo’s prone body as I step around him. It’s too close to my nightmares of when I had to leave him behind.
I follow Von Alston into a study where he retrieves a leather satchel. He opens it to show me neat stacks of pound notes. “If you get a chance before he dies, you should ask Leo to train you,” he says, his tone sneering and pedantic. “He’s a Watcher. Pity they’re all gone now. You could certainly use one.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve known rogue Slayers. No control, all violent instinct without any training. Like feral animals without Watchers to direct them.”
My hand finds the place on his neck already marked by my fingers. I push him against the dark-wood-paneled wall. “Do I seem like I don’t have control right now?”
His eyes are wide. He shakes his head.
“Good. Are you the nameless threat demons are terrified of?”
He tries to shake his head again, but my hand must have tightened. He can’t quite manage it.
“No,” he whispers. “Everyone knows my name. I’ve never made a secret of what I do.”
I have to admit he’s right. It wasn’t hard to find his name. I got it twice—from the mercenaries, and from a demon. Much as I want it to be Von Alston, Doug searched the mansion and found only one demon. Half demon. And he was here by choice, which I still can’t reconcile. Plus, Von Alston doesn’t strike me as the type to inspire zealots, much less tolerate them. He’s far too British.
I don’t loosen my grip, though. “If I ever hear your name again in connection with anything or anyone under my protection—and that means werewolves and demons and Slayers, all of them—it won’t end well for you. Are we clear?”
He nods. I mean to let him go. I really do. But my fingers stay where they are, and I lean closer, staring at his neck. Such a fragile thing, a spine, separating life and death. Every part of humans is so breakable.
A strained wheeze escapes him. I let go, backing away. Disgusted with him. Disgusted with myself. And more than a little scared of how I keep thinking of him as a human. As something separate from me.
“You know I’m not in the wrong,” he says. “They don’t belong here.” He adjusts his tie, smooths his waistcoat, then raises one eyebrow over his aquiline nose. I’d like to break that nose into aquilines. See how regal he looks then. “I do a tremendous service to my country. You have no place to judge me if I sometimes seek sport while rendering those services. I don’t expect you to pity me, but you’d be astonished at how dull being this wealthy can be. I want for nothing, I need nothing, I—”
His need for my fist in his face is answered with a resounding thud. He goes down, clutching his bleeding, broken nose. I try to feel sorry, but I can’t find it in me.
If anything, I want to punch more things. I half hope the other hunters will wake up and come after us. But I’m afraid of what I might do. I know I’m overreacting. I’m not even being a Slayer right now. I’m being … me. But not me. And that’s what’s scary. I don’t recognize this Nina, and I don’t know how to feel any of the things I’m feeling without being taken over by them.
I close my eyes and let myself imagine my tiny medical center back in the castle. The neatly organized cupboards. The drawer full of tongue depressors. Artemis laughed at me for that. How many tongue depressors can one castle need? The truth was, I just liked having them. I liked all of it. I liked being the one who fixed things, who healed things.
But I don’t know how to fix Artemis. Or Leo. Or myself. And thinking about my medical center doesn’t calm me. It makes me feel even more lost.
I walk out to check on Leo, but something else catches my eye. A serial killer’s dream van is parked on the grass. It’s covered with dings and scratches and a long-faded decal for something, but I can only make out the letters for GO AT BABY. There are tire marks all over the formerly perfect lawn, far more than would have been required just to get the van here. The side door slides open, and Oz sits there, legs out, bathed in the light of the moon.
I stay on the porch, not touching Leo. Not looking at him. I can’t. Chao-Ahn stands in front of me, considering me with what I assume is disapproval. We might be here for a while, and I need to talk about something that doesn’t matter. I need to do anything other than think about what I’m going to say to Leo when he wakes up.
“So. Uh. What brings you all to London?” I ask her.
Chao-Ahn has the most beautifully judgmental glare I’ve ever seen. “Sineya.”
“I’m sorry?”
Her glare deepens. “Sineya. The First Slayer. You know.” She gestures to her hair, then hunches a bit and scowls.
“Oh, right! She tried to stab me. She did stab me.” I used to have such good control of my Slayer dreams. But I’ve lost that, along with control everywhere else in my life. Buffy told me about the First Slayer. She said Sineya was judgy. She never mentioned stabby. It feels like a pretty big oversight.