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  Do I really trust a demon over a legacy Watcher?

  Honora’s poetry-performing voice rings through my memories. Yes. Yes, I do trust a neon-yellow demon more than I trust Honora.

  At breakfast, Honora monopolizes Artemis’s attention with hilarious and daring stories of her demon-hunting exploits. Even Jade is engaged, leaning forward and listening. Rhys pretends like he doesn’t care, but the way his eyes widen at the good parts indicates otherwise.

  “Can I talk to you?” I ask Artemis.

  She nods, but doesn’t stop listening to Honora. “Later, okay?”

  “Don’t you need to talk to the Council, Honora?”

  “Bradford Smythe and Ruth Zabuto both sleep until ten or eleven every morning,” Artemis says.

  Honora steals some fruit off Artemis’s plate. “Layabouts. I already tried my mum’s door. She didn’t even open it. Said she’s sick. Everyone here looks a little rough. You should get them vitamins or something, medic. And anyway, they can wait. That’s what they do. They should be the Waiters Council. Besides, I’m not going to leave Artemis to clean all this by herself. You’re the best trainee I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe they didn’t make you full Watcher. It’s crap.”

  Artemis shrugs, but I can tell she’s pleased. “After breakfast I’ve got some time to train.”

  “Can I join you?”

  “Aren’t you hunting a demon?” I interject.

  “No leads,” Honora says. If the Coldplay demon were really as nasty a killer as she said, she wouldn’t stop for anything. Or at least, if she were a good Watcher, she wouldn’t.

  “There aren’t going to be any leads in our gym.”

  Artemis scowls at me. I scowl back, then text Cillian. All is quiet in the shed. I could talk to Leo about it. Or anyone, really. But I wanted to talk to Artemis. And I can’t very well admit I kept this huge secret with Honora here.

  It’s barely 8 a.m., but I’m exhausted from the emotional strain. I collapse into bed. My mother is the daughter of a Slayer. She wants to ship me to boarding school. There’s some sort of prophecy that my dad was concerned about. The demon I’m hiding in Cillian’s shed may or may not be a killer.

  And stupid Honora is back.

  As soon as Honora is gone, I’ll tell Artemis and get her help. I close my eyes, hoping for a few minutes’ rest with nothing but blankness on my mind so I can sort through some of this mess.

  • • •

  Instead, I find myself back in Bradford Smythe’s room.

  19

  OH GODS, NOT BRADFORD SMYTHE sleeping again.

  It’s the same. Him tossing and turning. The darkness taking shape on top of him. But the room is a little lighter—like it’s not the middle of the night. His curtains are drawn tight, but I can see more in the room. Except the figure on top of him. That remains impenetrable night. Tendrils of darkness trail from it, infecting the room.

  Bradford smiles at first, his face tender. Then his expression becomes panicked. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. The figure on top of him arches triumphantly.

  Bradford goes completely still.

  Wake up, wake up, wake up.

  It’s dark. I can’t open my eyes, can’t move. There’s a pressure on my chest, a weighted heaviness that feels as dark as the insides of my eyelids.

  I want to scream, to cry out for help.

  “That’s right,” the darkness whispers. “You can’t do anything.” I feel the presence shift closer, feel its ice-cold breath brush my ear. “You can’t save any of them.”

  I gasp, finally breaking free of the paralysis of the dream. Only to find myself on a rooftop in San Francisco. Buffy sits, small and alone, on the edge looking out over the sunset. I don’t have time for this.

  If I were really a Slayer, if I were a hunter like Artemis, I would run forward and push her off. Dream or not, I owe her. I owe her for everything messed up and crappy in my life. She defied the Watchers and ruined the order of everything. She let in so much chaos that the First was able to rise and kill almost all my people.

  And she got my father killed.

  “You didn’t deserve him!” I shout, consumed by my anger toward Buffy. “He should have let Lothos kill you! The whole world would have been better off!”

  I don’t know if it’s the wind blowing her hair or if her shoulder moves in a shrug. I want to hurt her. I want her to know how it feels to lose everything, how it feels to be powerless, how it feels to—

  The edges of the dream pull tight, then snap.

  • • •

  I hit the floor running. Or at least I try to. I’m a little dizzy and winded.

  If I visited Buffy in a Slayer dream, then maybe what came before was a Slayer dream too. I’ve got to check on Bradford Smythe. I almost run into Leo in the hall as he comes toward my room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I think Bradford is in danger!”

  He falls immediately into place next to me as I tear through the castle and into the residence wing. I pause outside the old man’s door. I’m glad Leo’s here. Whatever I walk in on, it’s nice to have someone by my side.

  I knock. There’s no answer. I knock louder. Then I try the doorknob. It’s locked. “Bradford! Bradford, let me know you’re okay, or I’m breaking down your door!”

  “What’s going on?” Eve leans into the hallway from her room.

  Wanda Wyndam-Pryce’s door opens and she peers out blearily, clutching a silk robe around herself. “Keep it down!”

  For a few seconds I question myself. Leo’s voice is almost a whisper. “Kick it down,” he says.

  I do.

  The wood cracks and splinters with a single kick, the door hanging wildly on one hinge. I push through. My stomach sinks. It’s the room from my dream, even though I’ve never been inside. I rush to Bradford’s bedside, take his wrist between my fingers.

  No pulse.

  Leo throws open the drapes to give me some light. Bradford Smythe’s body is already blue and gray, mottled with death. His skin is cold.

  I do CPR anyway. I do it as Wanda comes into the room and lets out a wounded cry. I do it as Ruth Zabuto wanders in and comforts Wanda. I do it until a hand comes down on my shoulder.

  “It’s too late,” my mother says. “You couldn’t have saved him.”

  I shake my head, still checking his wrist. “I could have. I knew this was happening. I saw it!”

  “What do you mean, you saw it?” Eve asks.

  “In a dream! There was something on top of Bradford. It was draining him or something.”

  “Was he in pain?” my mother asks.

  I finally drop his wrist. The only way he’s coming back is as something no longer human, and I hope that’s not the case. I don’t want to have to kill him after failing to save him. “No. He wasn’t in pain. He was—well, he wasn’t in pain.”

  “He had a bad heart,” Eve says.

  “Why would I dream him having a heart attack? That has nothing to do with my Slayer abilities.”

  Eve’s smile is sympathetic but firm. “Nina, sweetheart, you’ve only been a Slayer for a couple of months. Most of that time you didn’t even realize you were one. I don’t think your abilities are anything you can understand or trust.”

  My mouth drops open. I’d expect my mother to say that to me. Not Eve.

  Leo steps closer to me. His jaw is twitching, his hands fists. “But she knew. How can you discount that?”

  My mother checks Bradford’s neck, then his chest. Her movements are precise, perfunctory. “There are no marks on him. I’d hoped we would have more time with him. But this is not exactly a surprise.” She pulls the blanket up and covers his face.

  “Nina, you’re so in tune to the health of everyone in the castle,” Eve says. “Of course you would notice, maybe on a subconscious level, that Bradford was not well. And it manifested in your dreams. Maybe your heightened Slayer abilities even picked up on his heartbeat irregularities. But there’s no sign of a de
mon attack. We’ve been here all morning. I can’t imagine a demon strolled through the castle, broke into Bradford’s locked room, and got away without anyone noticing.”

  “But—I saw—” I deflate. I know what I saw, what I felt. How do I prove to them that my dream was real if they won’t listen to me? And I can’t use my dream about Cosmina as proof, because my mother, Wanda, and Ruth don’t know about it. Can’t know about it.

  My mother picks up a photo from Bradford’s nightstand. It’s a black-and-white photo of a young woman. “Was there anything else in the dream? Did you see a demon?”

  “Nothing specific. Just shadows in a vague form. The rest of the dream was Buffy.”

  My mother takes a sharp breath in. “Buffy? Did you talk to her?”

  “Umm, sort of.” I yelled at her. That counts.

  Wanda lifts her head from where she’s crying against Ruth Zabuto’s shoulder. “Those aren’t prophetic dreams. They’re pathetic dreams. Will you stop trying to make this about yourself and let us mourn our colleague?”

  I look, aghast, to my mother. She shakes her head.

  Eve puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me out of the room. “Let us handle this, Nina. This is neither children’s nor Slayer’s business. I’m sorry.”

  “I need to speak with you,” Leo says to his mother. His voice is tight. He believed me, but it doesn’t matter. The Council doesn’t. Eve doesn’t.

  “Of course, darling.” Eve grabs my hand as I’m about to run away, humiliated and sad and furious. “Find me later,” she whispers.

  With confusion added to my toxic mix of emotions, I run out of the residence wing and straight out of the castle. I can’t go to Artemis with Honora there. Leo and his mother are talking, and I wasn’t invited. None of the Council believes me.

  But I have another source of information. I jump over the fence and throw open the door to Cillian’s shed.

  The demon is there, in the exact same spot I left him. He cracks open an eye. “I thought you’d be dead by now. Sean must be off his game.”

  “Don’t be so disappointed.” I examine his chains. Everything is in place. I didn’t think it was him, but I had to check. “What kills people in their sleep but leaves no marks?”

  The cracks in the demon’s skin shift with his incredulous expression. “Is that a riddle?”

  “This morning my great-un—” I stop as the emotions catch up to me. The reality that the man who raised my mother is really gone. “A man I know woke up dead.”

  “He’s a zombie?”

  “That’s not what I meant! I mean, he didn’t wake up this morning. And I had a dream about it happening. I don’t think I’d dream about it if it weren’t demonic.” Eve’s explanation seems like it makes sense, but it doesn’t feel right.

  The demon looks surprised. “You dreamed it? Are you a seer? And your mojo is still working? Be careful. Those are skills that are worth something on the black market. Another reason you should let me go and avoid attracting Sean’s attention.”

  “Not a seer. I’m—I can’t explain it. But do you know any demons that do that? Kill when someone is asleep? Leave no mark?”

  “I mean, sure. Dozens. Can you give me more details? And can you give me something to eat, please? You’re never happy.”

  “A man I know just died! You want me to be sunshine and rainbows?”

  “Nina!” Cillian leans against the door frame, halfway through brushing his teeth. “Thought I saw you jump the fence. Rhys is coming over soon.”

  “Oh, thank you.” The demon breathes in deeply, sighing out contentment. He sits up straighter. “At least someone in here is happy.”

  Cillian shrugs defensively at my accusing glare. “Can I help it if I look forward to seeing my boyfriend? We’re gonna watch Eurovision.”

  “What did you think of their decision to have Australia back?” the demon asks. “Because I thought it was bullocks. I don’t care how good they were. It’s Eurovision, not Anywherevision!”

  “It did sort of ruin the whole ‘guest event’ concept when they kept letting them come back year after year.”

  “Hello?” I wave in front of Cillian’s face. “You do know he’s eating your happiness, right?”

  “Doesn’t feel like anything.”

  The demon shifts position again with a clanking of chains. “I can’t take away his happiness. It’s like if you spray perfume and I smell it. Just because I’m inhaling the scent doesn’t mean it leaves you.”

  “Yeah, but smelling someone’s perfume is a little different from consuming their emotions.”

  “Says you, a person who has never consumed emotions.” The demon shifts again. “Listen, it’s been, what, three, four days? Can I at least get a chair? Or a pillow?”

  Cillian nods amiably. “Sure, mate! I mean, demon. I mean—do you have a name?”

  “Doug.”

  Horns. Black teeth. Virulent yellow skin cracked like desert ground.

  “Yeah, you look like a Doug,” Cillian says, then turns and leaves.

  I sigh, leaning against a table. “Details, then. It kills in the victim’s sleep. Bradford didn’t seem to be upset or in any pain until he just sort of . . . died. I didn’t really see the demon. There was more of a sense of it. Darkness. Shadows.”

  “Interesting.” Doug breathes in through his teeth, making a strange whistling noise. “You’re sure it’s demonic? Not a vision?”

  “Both.”

  “Hmm.” He plays with one of his delicate gold hoop earrings. “Why would the demon kill this man, specifically? He the only one there?”

  “No, there are a bunch of us.”

  “If I were a demon who ate people, I wouldn’t pick an old man. I’d pick a tender young thing.”

  “Gross! You’re awful!”

  “You’re the one asking me to figure this out! Stop being so speciesist. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I don’t even eat meat. I exist to make people happy. That’s it. That’s all I want. To be free and make people happy and also get backstage passes to a Coldplay concert. Think of how much I’d have to eat around Chris Martin. Doesn’t he seem like the happiest bloke?”

  “Can we focus, please?”

  “Fine. Think of why your man would be a target. Why a demon would show up now.”

  “I mean, you did.” I pause, pieces moving slowly into place. “Actually, we’ve never had a demon problem until you showed up. Is it possible this is connected? To the hellhounds?”

  “I’ve never heard of Sean employing something like what you described. It’s not really his style.”

  “Something else hunting you, then? Or some other group?”

  Doug’s eyes dart guiltily to the center of the floor. I follow them, but it’s just junk. A jumbled pile left from Cillian’s dad’s box.

  “Look at me,” I say.

  Doug drags his gaze back up to meet mine.

  “What aren’t you telling me? Somehow you’re connected to this.”

  “I’m not! I’ve been locked up here!”

  I shake my head. “I talked to someone who’s looking for you. She told me you killed a bunch of people, and now a man in my castle is dead.”

  Doug freezes. “She? She who?”

  “I’m not telling you until you tell me the truth!”

  “Anyone looking for me is someone you need to avoid. You have to trust me.”

  “You’re a demon.”

  “Then for Cillian’s sake. I don’t want to see him hurt. I’m sorry I hid in his yard and drew all this trouble to him. Get rid of me. Throw me over a cliff into the ocean. But whatever you do, do it soon. Because if she found you, she’ll find me, and then we’re both in trouble.”

  “I can handle trouble.” It makes me wonder how Honora is involved in this. Am I going to trust a demon over her? I mean, probably. But should I? I pace, running my hands through my hair. His concern for Cillian seems genuine. And I honestly can’t imagine Doug killing anything or anyone. “Why did you come to Sh
ancoom, then?”

  “I was looking for help, okay? I got a name. Someone who has connections. Who makes deals with demons.”

  “What was the name?”

  Doug lets out a puff of air. He’s scared. If it’s an act, it’s a good one. “Smythe.”

  It hits like a bolt of lightning. Smythe. Bradford Smythe, my great-uncle. Who is dead now. Whoever is hunting Doug must have known that Bradford Smythe was Doug’s contact. So the death is connected to Doug. He’s just not the one responsible for it. “Where did you hear about the Smythes?”

  “None of your bloody business.”

  “It is, because I am one!”

  Doug snorts. “You are not.”

  “I am so!”

  “I’ve heard about the Smythes. You wouldn’t even survive infancy in that family. They’re born weapons. You’re . . .”

  “Something fluffy!” Cillian declares, popping in and holding up a dog bed.

  Doug nods. “I mean, he said it. Not me. But you’re fluffy.”

  Cillian throws the dog bed at the demon’s face. “Quit acting the maggot. She’s stronger than you’ll ever be.”

  “Sure.” Doug’s voice is muffled by the bed. He pulls it off and sets it on the floor, resettling. “Listen. If Honora is here—”

  I flinch. Doug sees it, which confirms he got her name right. He trembles, his eyes wide. “Please unchain me. If she’s here, we’re all in trouble.”

  “She says she’s hunting you because you kill people.”

  “She’s hunting me because she needs me!”

  “I’m hunting you,” Honora says, stepping into view in the yard, Artemis behind her looking shocked and horrified, “because you’re a demon, and that’s what Watchers do.” She looks at me with derision. “At least those of us who know what it means to be a Watcher.”

  20

  “DID YOU FOLLOW ME?” I ask Artemis as I shift to put myself between Honora and the shed entrance.

  “Obviously we were right to.” Honora sweeps one perfectly manicured hand toward Doug. “Artemis said you’ve been disappearing for hours at a time. Thought we ought to see where you’ve been going.”

  Artemis ducks her head. “I was worried, Nina.” Then she narrows her eyes and stands up straighter. “And I was right. This demon is dangerous! You could have been hurt!”