I think of Leo. If he had had something like this to turn to, somewhere he could admit what he was and be accepted for it—helped, loved—he might still be here.
The demons, the Watchers, even the Slayers. We’re all castoffs, relics of other worlds and times and magic. If we don’t protect one another, who will?
Besides which, the residents of Sanctuary are mine. Every demon here. I made them a promise. Buffy protected the whole world, yeah, but she stayed in Sunnydale until the end. She protected her home and the people she loved first.
“I’m doing the right thing.” I’m surprised at how firm my voice is.
Artemis is too, judging by her expression. “You’ve changed,” she says. She sounds unhappy about it.
“You’ve been gone awhile.” We sit in silence, then I resolve to fix it. She might not come back, but that doesn’t mean we have to be separated. Not totally. “If you’re not going to stay, that’s fine. But let’s go get some breakfast. I want to hear what you’ve been doing. How you are.”
Her hands tighten around the book, and I glance at it. There’s no title, only a symbol on the cover. Three interlocking triangles. I know I’ve seen it somewhere. The scent of fresh produce wafts into my memory, and I place it. It’s the symbol that was on all of demon drug dealer Sean’s tea. What it’s doing on a book in our library, I don’t know. But I do know that Artemis snuck in here in the middle of the night to get it. That’s what she’s here for. The only thing she’s here for.
“You’re working with Sean, aren’t you?” I clench my jaw. “He can’t have Doug back.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is bigger than Sean. And you can’t exactly criticize me for who I choose to associate with, given your little demon menagerie here.”
“Sean’s a creep! You’re better than this!”
She stands, glaring at me. “I am better than this. I’m better than Sean, and I’m better than the Watchers, and you have no idea what I’m doing, so keep your judgy eyebrows to yourself.”
“My eyebrows are not judgy!”
“Your eyebrows are so judgy they might as well have a gavel!”
We both glare at each other. I crack first. “Can they have a frilly white collar like Ruth Bader Ginsburg?”
She tries to hold her stern look, but the edges are trembling. “No. Your eyebrows have to wear a huge gross wig because we’re not in the USA, we’re in Ireland.”
I snort, which turns into a giggle. Artemis was never one for giggling, but even she grins at me, and for a few precious moments we’re each other’s again.
Then she sighs and tucks the book under her arm. I shouldn’t let her take it. It feels urgently wrong. Maybe that’s just my long-standing friendship with Rhys speaking, or maybe it’s some deeper instinct. But if I tell her no, I don’t know what will happen. And I need Artemis to be okay, I need her to be okay with me, so that when things fall apart for her—which they will—she’ll come back. She’ll be my twin again. We’ll paint each other’s nails and watch bad movies, and then I’ll have my mother and my sister.
I shove down my feelings and choose to ignore the fact that she’s stealing from us and I don’t know why. “Should I tell Mom you were here?”
Artemis shakes her head. “I didn’t want anyone to see me.” She bites her lips. She didn’t mean to admit that. If I hadn’t come into the library, she would have been in and out, and I never would have known.
It stings, and the aftertaste of laughing with her turns bitter. “Rhys will never forgive you for taking a book.”
She smiles, but it’s tight and full of tension, just like her ponytail. “It’s my library too. You said so yourself. Our heritage. I’m owed a lot of back pay for years of free labor. I’ll consider this a down payment.”
“Don’t give it to Sean. Please.” I can forgive her sneaking in, stealing the book, but not for that. Not for him.
“It’s for me, dummyrabbit.” She pauses, then straightens her shoulders like she’s settled something internally. “It’s for all of us. You’ll understand.”
“What does that mean? Please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.” I pause. “Stay,” I whisper. She pretends like she doesn’t hear me as she zips up her leather jacket.
“I have your other coat,” I say, flinging out any words I can think of that might hook her. “In our room.”
“I’ll get it next time.” The words linger between us to soften the tension. Next time. She’s coming back. I lean toward her for a hug, but she turns and walks out into the dark hallway, not even a scent lingering in her wake. She’s just gone. Again.
7
I STAY IN THE LIBRARY as the sun rises. My mother is first in, of course. I wonder if she’ll somehow be able to sense that Artemis was here. And she does look uncomfortable as she sits across from me and sips her tea, but then I remember what happened at the warehouse and realize it’s all about me.
I can’t leave. It would be too obvious I’m trying to avoid her. Which is funny, because I used to be desperate for one-on-one time with her. I pick up a book at random and pretend to be absorbed in it. I wonder what was in the book that Artemis stole. She said she wasn’t giving it to Sean, and I trust her on that. I have to. I can’t tell Rhys she took it, though. He’d never forgive her. And I know they’d judge her, speculate about what she’s doing. She’ll be back. She said so. I won’t let our people turn themselves against her in the meantime. Artemis spent a lot of years protecting me; I feel fiercely protective of her even when I’m hurt and pissed off at her. I get to feel that way, but no one else does.
“We should talk about yesterday,” my mother says, surprising me. I really didn’t think she’d bring it up.
“What about it?” I don’t look up from the history of a minor hellgod. It might as well be a fairy tale now. Wherever this hellgod lives, it can’t get here to find more sacrifices. No more portals, thanks to Buffy.
Buffy. I wish I had been able to see her in the Slayer dream. I haven’t run into her in the dreamspaces, not in months. I really want to talk to her. It’s a stark change to how I used to feel about her. If I can’t have a Watcher, can I at least have the reigning Slayer?
“I’m concerned about your tactics,” my mother says.
I put the book down, defensiveness rearing in me like a snake ready to strike. First Artemis telling me I’m being selfish, and now my mom questioning my fighting. “What about them?”
“They were … excessive.”
“I held back! My instincts were telling me to do much worse.” Imogen told me I should have done exactly what my instincts told me to. Why is my mom giving me crap for it? “And besides, are you saying they didn’t deserve what they got? They were trying to shoot you! They were hunting a family. For money.”
My mother takes another prim sip of tea. “I think they did deserve much worse. From a tactical standpoint, your actions were both effective and reasonable.”
“Then why are we talking about them?”