Artemis, an accountant, while Nina is a Slayer.
Her phone rings with the castle cell number and she wonders if her bitterness has summoned her twin. They haven’t spoken. Artemis wasn’t going to be the first to call. Not this time. Let Nina try to fix what was broken for once. Or it might be their mother. Taking a deep breath, annoyed for how her hopes flutter fragile and pathetic in her heart, Artemis answers. “Yeah?”
“Artemis?”
It takes her a few moments to place the voice. “Imogen?” Not who she had expected. She’s winded with disappointment. She wants her mother to call, to demand Artemis come back so she can refuse. She wants Nina to call and talk about how bad things are, how much they need her. She doesn’t know what she’d say in that case. But Imogen?
“Hey,” Imogen says. “Thank God. I was worried you’d change your number. Are you in contact with Sean?”
“No.” Artemis shrugs at Honora’s curious look, then mouths Imogen. Honora sits up and leans close. “We haven’t talked to Sean since my sister destroyed his whole setup. Wait. Is the castle in trouble? Did he attack to get Doug back?” Artemis’s pulse speeds up. She knew it. She knew they were making the wrong choice, that they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves. Honora gestures and Artemis puts the phone on speaker.
“What? No. This is about something else. Bigger. I can’t take it to Nina—she won’t be able to handle it. And we both know she won’t play nice with Honora, which is absurd. You and Honora are the best we ever had, even if the decrepit old guard were too far up their asses to see it. So this call is secret, okay?”
Artemis and Honora share a look. They’ve never heard Imogen talk this way. Artemis is intrigued in spite of herself. “I’m not in contact with anyone from the castle anyway.”
“Good. I’ve done some research and there’s a major new player surfacing. We’re talking hellgod level. Maybe. I can’t be certain. But I think Sean is connected. You remember his tea?”
They have a supply of some of his more potent drugs, but it’s dwindling. Artemis counts it every day, watching as her only access to the type of power she needs disappears. It fills her with as much terror as anticipating a life as an accountant. She wants the strength to help, to protect Honora, to fight evil, to be more than herself. And without Sean’s drugs, she’s back to the Artemis who wasn’t good enough. “Yeah, I remember his tea.”
“There was a symbol on it. You know the one?”
Artemis does. She glances over at the nightstand where one of his branded packages sits. Now that she thinks about it, she’s seen it before. Somewhere. Where?
Imogen keeps talking. “I thought it was just his brand, but it’s been bugging me. I think it’s connected to something bigger. And I …” She pauses, and the phone is muffled as her tone changes and she answers someone in chipper tones. “Sorry. Gotta go. Nice talking to you, Liesa. I’m definitely interested in keeping chickens. I’ll be in touch with more questions.” The line goes dead.
Artemis holds the phone, staring down at it as she tries to process the conversation. Imogen was always on the sidelines. But they had been united by being shuffled by the Watchers to the worst jobs in the castle, Imogen tainted by her mother’s choices and Artemis apparently deemed simply not good enough.
She was better than everyone in that whole damn castle. Even if the Watchers were still at full force, she’d be better than all of them.
The library! She’d seen the symbol in the library, when she had to label and catalog every single book instead of studying them like Rhys, all because she’d failed a single test.
Screw stability. Screw accounting. Artemis is a Watcher, the only real one left, and if there’s a new creeping menace out there, she’ll figure it out and deal with it herself. “Call Sean.” She tosses the phone to a surprised Honora. “Tell him we want to come work for him.”
Honora twists her lips. “You sure? I was on my way out before the whole remora fiasco anyway. Not wild about the people he’s working with now. Dodgy religious zealots.”
Bingo. Artemis can’t help the surge of excitement she feels. Because where there are zealots, there’s power to be worshipped. And where there’s power, there’s potential. She doesn’t know what yet. Maybe they’ll kill whatever it is and be done with it. But if Sean can figure out a way to take what makes demons strong and synthesize it, how much more power is there to squeeze from a potential god?
Artemis leans closer. “We work for him to work against him. Just like old times for you, right?”
Honora flinches. She doesn’t talk about her time spent undercover in a demon-worshipping cult. They wrote each other constant letters back then, but Honora never, ever gave details on what she was doing. Artemis feels bad for bringing it up. She shouldn’t push this. But she needs it. She needs something.
She reaches out and strokes Honora’s hair, resting her hand on the back of Honora’s neck. “This is our job, Nor. You and me. We’re the only real Watchers left. And if something is happening, who else is going to look into it? Should we call Buffy?”
Honora snorts. “She’s as likely to shag a hellgod as kill one. Right, then. Can’t enroll until the next semester anyway. As long as we’re doing this together. You got my back, Moon?”
Honora plays it tough, but the tentative look in her eyes hits Artemis where it counts. She and Honora belong together. Nina never understood their bond, because Nina had someone looking out for her, someone protecting her. Artemis doesn’t bother to fight the wave of bitterness that after everything she did to be the strongest, the smartest, the best, Nina was chosen. That Artemis was left missing the sister she thought she had. The one who needed her.
Honora knows what it is to never be enough, to fight and fight with no one in her corner. They’re each other’s corners now. Artemis takes Honora’s hand in her own, locking eyes. “Always.”
4
BY THE TIME I GET back to the castle, it’s dark.
Rhys and Cillian will be cocooned in Rhys’s room—Cillian watching something on his battered laptop, happy to be anywhere but his empty cottage; Rhys researching, adding to his demon encyclopedia.
Jade will be wherever Doug is. I think they’re dating, but it’s hard to tell, and I don’t ask for details. Jade and I were never really close, and that hasn’t changed. Plus, I try very hard to avoid Doug and his inconvenient ability to smell when I’m lying about my feelings.
I imagine the rest of the castle settling in. Imogen has moved out of the nursery suite and into a room by mine. I sometimes smell her cigarettes, but she’s as quiet as a ghost. Jessi will have the Littles all lovingly tucked in against the night. Pelly will be curled up to sleep in the corner of the training room. The tiny purple demons will be in the damp, humid water heater closet they claimed. Tsip will be wherever she exists when she’s not here, sleeping in her void beyond reality as a defense mechanism. Ancient Ruth Zabuto will be in her room under a thousand pounds of blankets next to five space heaters.
My mother, whom I should go talk to, but won’t, will be in her rooms. She won’t seek me out and force me to talk, even if she should. We’ll both pretend like the mess at the warehouse wasn’t weird. We still don’t know how to be a mother and daughter, not really. And we’re not Watcher and Slayer, either. What we are is fragile and tentative. For a moment I’m tempted. I imagine going to her room, but then what? There’s no comfy chair or couch for me to curl up on. I can’t wrap my brain around trying to sit on her bed and chat. There are so many years of walls between us; if only I could use my Slayer strength to vault right over them. But emotional walls don’t care one way or another how strong I am.