The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill (10 page)

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Authors: Heather Brewer

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill
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After considering his options for a moment—face it like a man or turn tail and run—he nodded at his uncle and pulled his T-shirt over his head, his fingers trembling. Then he turned around, his heart racing in panic. He hoped his uncle would be fast, but mostly he hoped he’d say something before the first lash struck.
Joss took in a breath, deep and slow, just the way his uncle had told him to, and just as he was about to let it out, the first lash of the whip cracked across his back. Brilliant pain ripped through Joss’s body and for a moment, his vision wavered. It was far worse than the swing. Far worse than anything he had ever felt before. And just as his back had lit up with a terrible heat, another lash came. The pain was intense, but Joss counted the strikes again his bare skin. One lash. Two. Then a third.
His thoughts came in hot flashes of craziness. He wondered what his uncle was feeling or thinking as he brought the whip down again and again. Did he feel guilty? Was he enjoying it? How many people had Abraham whipped before? He thought about Malek and how awful it must have been to die that way. Had it hurt more than being whipped? He imagined it was far worse, but that didn’t ease any of his pain. And what had Cecile’s pain been like as that monster drank from her, stopping her heart before Joss could rescue her? He deserved this pain. He deserved every lick of it and more. But it was horrible, and at one point, he was certain that he would lose his mind entirely.
He wanted very much to beg his uncle to stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t form words, and even if he could, there was no way he could leave his training unfinished. This was the only way to right the wrong he’d done to his little sister. The only way out was through.
And suddenly, Joss began to see the light. The pain all but faded to the background of his mind as a strange euphoria filled him, as did the realization that he was destined for something greater, that he was special. That he was meant to be a vampire Slayer.
He could hear Abraham’s voice, but it sounded so far away and garbled. It sounded like he said something that resembled, “One more, Joss.” But he couldn’t be sure. The next thing he knew, he was falling, maybe flying, and he swore he could hear the happy laughter of Cecile.
10
 
A BRIEF REPRIEVE
 
Pain ripped through Joss’s back as something—it felt like flesh, but must have been a bandage—was torn from him in one quick tear. He scrambled to get to his knees, but calming hands stopped him, pressing him back on the mattress that he’d been lying facedown on. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the bed. His last memory was of the shadow of laughter that sounded so like Cecile.
“Stay still, Joss. The worst is over. This ought to help ease the pain a bit.” Sirus sounded calm, but concerned. Then his fingers gently applied something cool and moist to Joss’s back and Joss nearly melted into the sheets. The cool mixture instantly quieted his pain, and for that he was so grateful. He would have hugged Sirus ... if it weren’t for the fact that even the slightest movement made him want to scream.
“Thank you, Sirus.” He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Noon. He’d been out all day and all night. “I don’t even remember passing out.”
Sirus finished applying the salve, then gently replaced Joss’s bandages with clean ones. Once he was finished, he said, “It’s been three days, Joss. Your uncle brought you in after your purification and told me to take care of you. Within half a day you developed a fever from infection, and for a while, we weren’t certain you’d wake up at all. It’s not easy for a grown man to experience a whipping, let alone a young boy.”
Joss pushed himself up, his back burning once again. He clenched his jaw against the pain and reached for his T-shirt on the nightstand. “I’m not that young.”
Sirus eyed him for a moment as if he was about to say something to negate that fact, but then he shook his head instead and picked up the jar of salve from the bedside stand. After he stood, he said, “You might want to stay shirtless for now. It’ll sting like hell to lift your arms. Are you hungry? We’ve been feeding you soup on occasion, but I bet you could use something heavier by now.”
Joss’s stomach rumbled in agreement.
Sirus’s brow seemed permanently creased with worry. “Abraham was wrong to whip you. I’ll report him to Headquarters later today.”
“Don’t.” Joss’s voice sounded foreign, even to him. “It was my fault that Malek was killed. I deserved this, at the very least. Besides, it was only way to purify me so that I can continue my training.”
“Malek was a tracking specialist. He likely saw his enemy coming before you could even turn your head. If he chose to face off without the aid of nearby Slayers, that was his choice to make. As for Abraham, he had no right to whip you without the prior consent of Headquarters, so that
will
be reported. Whipping
is
a method of purification, but it is an ancient one not used anymore without permission.” Sirus folded his arms in front of his chest. “As for what you deserve, Joss, you deserve a little respect and kindness. That’s the least of it. It’s a miracle you didn’t share Malek’s fate. Food’s waiting for you downstairs. If you don’t make it down in five minutes, I’ll bring some up for you.”
“Sirus, . . .”
Sirus paused when Joss said his name, and looked back to him from the door. Joss shifted ever so gently in bed and met his gaze, his heart heavy. “Will there be a funeral for Malek?”
“We buried him two days ago, up on the hill, in that clearing you were camped in.” He nodded, his eyes misting, and walked out the door.
Joss looked down at the shirt in his hands before laying it on the bed next to him. Malek was gone, murdered in the most inhuman way possible. And even though Joss hardly knew him, he felt like he had lost a dear friend. With a wince, he managed to stand and move slowly—very slowly—toward the door. He wasn’t about to eat in bed like some kid at home with the sniffles. He was a Slayer. He’d eat at the table with the other Slayers.
By the time he’d shuffled down the hall, his head was swimming from the pain and he all but collapsed in a dining chair that Sirus had pulled out for him. He leaned back in exhaustion and instantly regretted it. After a moment, Sirus placed a bowl of steaming beef stew in front of him. Sirus had only just set a spoon down beside the bowl when Joss grabbed it and quickly began to eat. He couldn’t remember ever having been so hungry in his life.
Sirus took a seat beside him and watched him eat, then refilled his bowl and watched him for a few moments longer before speaking. “You didn’t have to face the whip. That’s an ages-old policy that most of the Society frowns on.”
Joss hesitated before bringing another spoonful of the delicious homemade stew to his mouth. He didn’t dare show Sirus the questioning glance he was holding in. After all, he didn’t want to question his uncle’s motives for such a brutal step in his process to becoming a Slayer. After all, if whipping was the punishment for doing things the right way, Joss didn’t want to know what happened to Slayers who questioned the rules.
Sirus’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Purifying you faster won’t make you a Slayer any quicker—you still have to go through training and that takes time. And now, being injured, it will take you even longer, so he’s done the Society no favors. We can’t go after Malek’s killer any sooner, just because your uncle hit you with a whip, Joss. And don’t you let him make you believe it.”
Joss dropped the spoon in his bowl rather forcibly. With Cecile’s trusting face locked in the forefront of his imagination, he turned to Sirus with a glare. “You don’t understand.”
Sirus set his jaw. “Yes, I do. I understand that you lost your sister three years ago, and I understand that you seem to think that punishing yourself will in some way put her soul to rest. But this ... none of this will do that, Joss. You don’t have to do any of this. You don’t have to move around, not getting emotionally attached to people, never settling down, always changing schools, homes, never making friends. You can go home, live out your life in peace, walk away from all the fighting and pain and heartache that Slayers are destined to endure. Get out before it’s too late for you ... the way it’s too late for me.”
The back door swung open and Abraham stepped inside. His eyebrows rose in momentary surprise as his gaze fell on Joss. “You’re up. And eating. That’s good. You’ll need your strength today.”
Sirus shook his head. “No, Abraham. He needs his rest.”
Abraham set his jaw. He didn’t even glance in Sirus’s general direction before speaking again. “Your training officially begins today, Joss. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”
Sirus slammed his fist on the table. “I said no, Abraham!”
A silence fell over them then and Joss had to fight the urge to slide down in his chair to escape the unpleasantness. He hated the ugly energy that had settled into the room. Pushing his bowl away, Joss began to stand, but Sirus gently stopped him, his eyes on Abraham. “My job as caretaker gives me control in a situation when someone is ill or injured, does it not?”
Abraham took a breath, as if he were about to speak, but Sirus continued before he could say anything. “Joss is injured. Therefore, I’m ordering two days of rest before his training can begin. Enough time for his wounds to heal to the point that it won’t affect his mobility. Do you understand?”
The color of Abraham’s face had flushed from a pleasant, healthy tan to an angry pink. “If we were in the field, he might not have time to baby his wounds, Sirus.”
Sirus held up a hand, silencing Abraham. When Sirus spoke again, his words were clipped, matter-offact, and no-nonsense. “Do you understand?”
With a glance at Joss, Abraham turned and walked back outside, slamming the door behind him. Joss immediately felt a hot ball of tension building up inside his gut. Maybe Sirus thought he was doing Joss a favor, but he was wrong. Joss was going to pay for Sirus’s actions. Maybe not now, but soon. Likely in two days’ time.
Now, not only wasn’t he hungry anymore, he was feeling a little sick to his stomach. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Part of being a man is admitting defeat. You need your rest. Besides, you can barely move.”
“I can move just fine.”
Sirus watched him for a moment before speaking. “Prove it. Catch.”
The apple flew through the air so fast that Joss just barely realized that Sirus had been holding it. Instinctively, he grabbed for it, but pain tore through his back and he cried out. The apple fell to the floor with a thump, then rolled across the wooden planks until it came to rest against the toe of a purple Converse sneaker. Kat bent to retrieve the apple, and rubbed it against her T-shirt until it shone. She bit down on the fruit and, with juice dribbling down her chin, cocked her head toward Joss. “What’s his problem, anyway?”
Sirus merely smiled. “I’m afraid our friend here just isn’t getting along with the local wildlife. He’ll need a few days to recuperate. Would you mind keeping him company while I work?”
Kat took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “That depends. Was it something vicious like a bear, or something stupid like a rabid squirrel? Because I just can’t respect somebody who’s been mauled by a little fuzzy thing, foaming at the mouth or not.”
Joss shot Sirus a pleading look—he had no idea what kind of wildlife was lurking in the woods around here. Except for vampires, that is. Without missing a beat, Sirus stood, turned back to the pot on the stove, and said, “It was a mountain lion. And I’m sure Joss will want to tell you all about it.”
Joss could hear the smile in his tone, and really, really wished he knew anything at all about mountain lions. Especially when Kat plopped down in the chair next to him and said, “Now, a mountain lion. That I can respect. What happened?”
He swallowed hard and shrugged to buy some time, but Kat was leaning closer with great interest at whatever he was about to say. So he shrugged once more and said, “Oh, you know. It thought I was a rabbit or something and jumped on me. Or something.”
Kat frowned in disappointment. Apparently she’d been hoping for all of the gruesome details of a wildlife attack. She’d probably watched too many dangerous animal shows on Discovery. But it didn’t matter—she wasn’t about to hear him regaling her with some false tale of When Giant Cats Attack Teenage Boys.
After a moment, she spoke again, but this time to her father. “Mind if we play cards? Or will Abraham get all snotty about me being over here?”
Sirus turned back to them, his eyes sparkling warmly at his daughter. For a brief moment, Joss was seized by jealousy. His own parents had only barely looked at him at all since Cecile’s passing. And they certainly hadn’t looked at him in a loving or admiring way. The moment passed, though, and Joss realized something that he hadn’t until then. He liked Sirus. And he really admired the way that Sirus had stood up for him. Even if it did mean he was going to pay the price for it.
Sirus smiled. “I think you could squeeze in a quick game of spades before Abraham notices you. Or better yet, maybe we should set Joss up for some recuperation over at our cabin. Might be wise to stay out of Abraham’s way until his temper settles a bit.”
Joss mulled the idea over for a moment before offering a nod. “Yeah. I think that’s probably a smart move.”

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