There are two people I could actually talk to about all this, and both of them are gone. They both left me. One by dying and the other by walking away.
Unwilling to go back to my empty room, I head for the kitchen. I’m not nearly as tired as I should be after running for several hours, but I am exactly as hungry as I should be. I peel off my coat, wishing I had worn one I like less to run thirty miles in, then slip out of my sneakers. At least I had the foresight to wear those instead of cute boots. In just my rainbow-striped socks, I pad silently through the castle to the dining hall and kitchen.
The lights are on. Imogen is slow dancing with herself, humming along to a song playing on the portable stereo she scrounged the money for. Her apron is dusted with flour, the fine white powder clinging to her blond pigtails, too. She stops twirling and smiles at me.
“Do you want a warm cookie?” she asks.
“Plural, remember? There is no singular for cookies.”
Imogen laughs, sweeping an arm to invite me into her domain. I sit on a counter, my legs swinging. The kitchen is the newest thing in the castle, and it doesn’t fit at all. It was installed back when the castle was converted to be a sort of summer training camp for Watcher kids. I never would have come here then. Imogen wouldn’t have either.
But the rest of our people were blown up by followers of the First Evil, so we get to take advantage of the stainless steel counters, massive fridge and freezer, four ovens, and twelve-burner stove range. It’s not a good trade-off overall, but I’m glad Imogen seems happy in here.
She provides the warm cookies, as promised. They’re soft and pillowy, and taste like—
“Banana chocolate chip?” I ask, baffled.
“Do you like them?”
“They’re brilliant.”
She beams. “Came up with the recipe myself.” She passes me a plate and a glass of milk. They’re like a hug in food form, and some of my anger and tension and fear melts away like the chocolate on my tongue.
Until Imogen opens her mouth and says, “So, when are you going to admit you’re lying?” Her tone is as light and fluffy as the cookies.
I freeze midbite. “What do you mean?”
“I know everyone else bought—or pretended to buy—your story that your Slayer powers came back as part of a mystical ‘chosen one’ thing. That when Eve Silvera died, the powers were released back into the ether, where they floated around until they found you.” She takes a handful of flour and tosses it in the air. “Poof! Slayer again! Except it doesn’t work like that. The Slayer power is a well, and you’re either connected to it or you’re not. Eve drained you. Maybe you would have refilled eventually, but it would have taken years. So what actually happened to juice you up so fast?”
I’m surprised to find it’s a relief to be called out after all this time. Imogen isn’t my first choice to talk to about important things, but maybe that makes it easier. My relationships with everyone else are deeper and more intense. With Imogen, the stakes are lower. I shrug. “I can’t believe everyone bought it either. They shouldn’t have. Even Rhys! He didn’t go to any of the books, do any research to verify my claims. It’s like we’re not even Watchers anymore.”
Imogen smiles, wiping her hands clean on a dish towel. “Oh, some of us are still watching.” Her sly smile widens, and I almost ask her what she means before she gestures to a timer. “Watching so the cookies don’t burn.”
“Truly the most important duty.” I pick at my cookie, thinking. “I think they were all just so relieved that I was back to full Slayage, they didn’t want to question it.”
“It does give them a purpose. Don’t get me wrong, Sanctuary is lovely. Really smashing job. But getting their Slayer back makes them feel like they’re doing what they’re supposed to. And probably makes them feel safer, what with Sean still out there and who knows what other threats.”
“I don’t make everyone feel safer.” I frown, looking at the cookie in my hand and remembering an extra cookie, years ago, delivered to me during lunch by my impossible crush. My free hand drifts to my lips, haunted by the feel of Leo’s on them. It turned out my crush was not so impossible after all. And yet more impossible than I could have ever dreamed. I hate that I can’t even linger on the memory of the kiss, since it happened midbetrayal.
“What do you mean?” Imogen asks. “Who doesn’t feel safe with you?”
“That werewolf family my mom went to meet with. I scared them.”
“You’re very frightening. It’s the rainbow-striped socks, I think.” Her teasing tone disappears when she sees the pained look on my face. She scoots onto the counter next to me. “Tell me what happened.”
It’s easier to talk side by side, when I don’t have to look at her. “I lost it.” I pause. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t lose it. I knew exactly what I was doing. My mom was pinned down by two mercenaries. Guns and everything. And I took them out. Everything I did felt right at the time. But the way the family looked at me—the way my mother looked at me—it was like I was the monster.” I flinch. “I mean, technically I did use one of them as a shield against being shot.”
“You were following your instincts, right?”
“Mostly. I held back, actually.”
“Don’t.” Imogen sounds confident, matter-of-fact. “You’re a Slayer. Your instincts keep you alive. Your instincts kept your mother and that ungrateful family alive. So next time your instincts tell you to go harder, go harder. Don’t question yourself.”
“It felt … dark, though.”
“Did it? Or were you just afraid of it because of how others were judging you?”
I frown. If my mother hadn’t been there, what would I have done? “I’m not sure. It bothers me, though. Instead of looking for ways to heal, lately I’ve been much better at seeing ways to hurt.”
“People change. You grow up. You evolve. It’s okay.”
For years I longed for change. Lobbied for it, even. Constantly asked the Watchers Council to do things differently. To shift the way we engaged with the world, to look for better solutions. Less violent ways of navigating potential threats. A new structure within our ranks that stopped valuing those who could kill over everyone else.
And I got what I asked for. All it took was nearly every Watcher being wiped out, becoming a Slayer, and losing my sister as she went to find out who she was without the structure of the Watchers to hold her up.
I hate change. No wonder the Watchers never changed anything. “Change sucks.”
Imogen nudges me with her shoulder. “It doesn’t have to. Also, you still haven’t told me how you got your power back. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
I hadn’t meant to derail the conversation. Or maybe I had. I don’t want to say it, but it’s time. “Leo.” It’s the first I’ve said his name aloud in ages. I want it to surround me like a hug. Instead, it just falls from my mouth.
“What about him?”
“He gave the power back to me.”
Imogen hops off the counter. “Whoa, whoa, hold up. Leo’s dead.”
“Yeah.” I nod, miserable. After the dream where he restored everything in a seething burst of energy, I waited for him. But he never showed up. “Maybe a cambion thing. He was half demon, after all. Might have been able to stick around in some form long enough to transfer the power. Walking on dreams to get here or something.”