I nod, melting into his offered hug. It’s a lie for me to accept his reassurances—he’s not taking over this mystery, but he can at least handle his family’s ties to it. I’ll be there to support him, though. “Sure. Thanks.”
One of the van doors closes and Oz comes around the front of it. “Watchers, huh? Anyone related to Giles?”
I shake my head. I have complicated feelings about Rupert Giles. My dad was Buffy’s first Watcher, but Rupert Giles is the one she bonded with. The one who left the Watchers in protest of their policies, and who probably influenced Buffy to turn her back on them as well. I get it now—I really do—but it doesn’t change the weird spikes of resentment I feel when I hear the name Giles, may he rest in peace. “Last of his line. Most of us are.”
“I knew another Watcher. Wesley—”
“Wyndam-Pryce,” we say together, imitating the pretentious pride with which all Wyndam-Pryces deliver their names.
“Sadly, he’s not the last of his line.” My glower is colder than the night as I think about Honora and how she’s corrupted my sister. “Come on. I’ll get you some food, and if you want to spend the night, you’re more than welcome.” He said he was dropping the Slayers off in London, so I assume he’s not looking for a permanent situation here.
“I like food. Thanks.” I lead him through the dim main hall. Which room is Leo in? The dorm wing, where I live? The Council wing, where he stayed with his mother the last time they were here? Not the dungeon, at least. My mother promised.
Imogen isn’t in the kitchen, so I make the only things I know I won’t mess up: toast and tea. I want Oz to leave so I can figure out how I feel in the solitude of my own room and so I can practice what I’m going to say to Artemis when I call her with my demands. I also don’t want him to leave for that exact reason—I don’t want to confront her again. Or, worse, to face my feelings about Leo being alive even though I was never able to face my feelings about him being dead.
Oz sips tea, looking around the dining hall. “I like your castle. I like it better knowing it’s broody vampire–free.”
“Don’t like vampires?”
“Nah, I’m cool with vampires in general. But the broody ones. They make things complicated.”
I should probably go call Artemis right now. But I keep remembering the look she gave me as I was crouched on the hood of that truck. Like I was stupid. She never treated me that way. Honora did, though. What if Artemis rejects my offer?
She won’t. All I’m asking is that she return a book. Or, barring that, tell me what it’s about. She did say she’d fill me in, but I refused to get in the truck. Maybe I should have.
Gods, I’m tired. I haven’t slept in so long. Maybe I’ll wait until morning to call her when I can think more clearly. We all need some rest. I wonder where the Slayers will stay. It seems weird to stick them in the dorms, but also weird to give them the fancy rooms. I briefly considered taking one of the Council wing rooms when we changed everything, but it felt like I was promoting myself. And if I left the dorm wing room I shared with Artemis, it was too close to admitting she was never coming back.
So those rooms stayed empty. I think the new Slayers should take the old Wyndam-Pryce suite. Good riddance to its former occupants. I hope they don’t take the Silvera suite. Though I don’t know if Leo will want to stay in there, surrounded by memories of his mother.
Where is he right now? I can’t believe he’s not dead. And he’s here. And I can’t see him. And I don’t want to see him. But I do want to see him.
“And that’s how I got the nickname Oz.”
“What?”
“I was telling you my life story. It’s a pretty good story. Some dull bits, but I kind of like those.”
I grimace. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“I noticed. It’s okay.” He finishes his tea and then stands up. “Well, long drive ahead of me. Gotta get home.”
“You sure you aren’t staying?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re a werewolf. Are you, though? It was the full moon last night. Wasn’t it? Did Von Alston miscalculate by a day?”
“No. I’m a werewolf. But it’s fine. I’m pretty zen about the whole thing.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “We all have monsters inside. Mine’s just more literal. You understand.”
I do. More and more lately. If a werewolf is two different things—human and monster—but he’s figured out how to live with both, maybe he can teach me how to be the two different things I am. The healer who wants to fix everything, and the Slayer who increasingly wants to break them.
I lean forward. “How do you stop it taking over?” I’ve never heard of a werewolf being able to avoid transformation. According to our research, it’s not possible. But I’ve learned in the last few months that just because something is written in fancy calligraphy in an old book doesn’t mean it’s true.
“Think of the darkness like a river. If you try to dam it, it might work for a while, but eventually the dam will burst and then it’s all fangs and claws and chasing your ex-girlfriend’s girlfriend through a campus and getting caught and sent to government labs and being experimented on.”
“That … feels like a really specific example.”
“No, I think it’s universal. But back to the river of darkness. Don’t dam it. Channel it. Direct the darkness, let it flow through and past you. Feel it and then release it.”
“But how?”
“Have you tried meditation?”
I wrinkle my face up. “Mm. No. Slayer energy doesn’t really lend itself well to sitting still and letting your mind go blank. That’s when all the maybe we should go find something to kill thoughts sneak in.”
“Well, my other suggestion is moving to the Himalayas and finding yourself a beautiful wife. That one worked out really well for me. For a while, at least. But the darkness always finds you, and things get Slayer-army-and-giant-goddess-level complicated again.”
“So by darkness finding you, you mean Buffy?”
He laughs. “The Buffster messes things up, yeah, but she always shakes out the truth, too. And the truth was, we needed to help instead of isolating ourselves. I thought I had found peace, but really I was letting the darkness gather and pool. So here I am. Helping. Channeling that river. And here I go, back home, until I find another way to help. You can’t stop what’s inside you. If you fight it, it’ll win. Figure out how to live with it, how to direct it instead of letting it drag you in its current. And only you can do that.”
“Moving to the Himalayas and finding a beautiful wife seems easier.”
“RSVP if you decide to visit.” With an enigmatic smile, Oz grabs the bag of snacks I threw together for him. I walk him out and watch as he drives away, back toward his life. I sit there for a long time afterward. Alone. In the dark.
I know the Slayer energy. I know the contours of that power, the feel of it. What I don’t know is the new jagged edges, the sharp bursts and spikes that feel foreign. The ones that I’ve had since Leo gave the power back to me. When I first became a Slayer, the power would wash over me in a fight and I’d become something—someone—else. But I always snapped back to myself.