The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill (17 page)

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Authors: Heather Brewer

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill
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In the journal section of the manual, Joss noted his encounter with Zy, every detail. And he waited for his uncle for what seemed like an eternity.
Two hours later, headlights lit up the house as Abraham’s car pulled into the parking space beside Sirus’s truck. Joss waited quietly until his uncle left his car and made his way to the house. Abraham’s steps slowed when he noticed Joss on the porch, but it was Joss who spoke first. “I have a message for you, Uncle.”
Abraham eyed him keenly for a moment before responding. “What an ominous-sounding welcome.”
When Joss didn’t say anything, he sighed, as if bothered by Joss’s very presence. Then he withdrew his pipe from his inside jacket pocket, filled it from a small leather pouch, and lit it, taking a puff and blowing out the smoke in small circles. The circles dissipated into the air as he sat beside Joss on the porch steps and sighed again. “What’s the message, boy?”
Joss’s throat felt dry as he opened his mouth to speak again, but he knew that what he had to say was important, so he forced the words out, despite the difficulty they were giving him. “They know we’re here, and they know what you’re doing.”
A dark cloud passed over Abraham’s face then and as it did, Joss felt a cold tickle race up his spine, like the fingers of the dead. Abraham spoke again, but this time, his tone indicated that he was taking his nephew seriously. “How were you contacted?”
Joss could feel the weight—the burden of the message he’d held in secret for much of the day—lifting from him. He already felt lighter and safer, knowing that his uncle would soon be aware of all that had happened. Abraham wasn’t exactly the friendly type, but he was definitely a take-charge kind of guy, and someone who Joss knew he could count on in the heat of battle. “After getting supplies in town, I saw one lurking behind the funeral home. His name—”
“
Its
name.” Abraham’s glare was sharp. Sharp enough to cut right through him. “They are things, Joss. They are monsters. You know this perhaps better than any in our group. They are animals. Beasts. Not people. Don’t start referring to them as he or she, or else it’ll make them that much harder to kill. They look as we do. The things even sound like we do. But they are not human, and it would be a grave weakness to start thinking of them as such. Do yourself a favor. Keep that distinction in the forefront of your mind. Always.”
Joss nodded his understanding, his face warming as it flushed pink with embarrassment. He should have known better. The things his uncle was teaching him could save his life someday. If only he would listen. “Its name is Zy.”
“Is?” Abraham raised a sharp, questioning eyebrow. “You mean it’s still alive?”
Joss flicked his gaze around the porch, feeling very much like a complete idiot. How could he tell his uncle about his cowardice without disgracing himself completely? There was no way.
Abraham calmly took a puff of his pipe and rested his elbows on his knees, a newfound patience lurking in his eyes as he looked at Joss, who was fidgeting with a hole in the knee of his jeans. “What happened exactly, Joss? Point by point. I need to know every detail.”
Joss blew out a sigh and with it came words that he had not expected. He explained in full detail about exactly what had transpired earlier that day with the vampire that called itself Zy, and as he came to the end of his tale, the last remaining bit of weight on his shoulders lifted with each word.
When he was finished, Abraham silently smoked his pipe for several minutes. The sight of it was oddly comforting to Joss. It meant that his uncle was mulling over their situation, and planning, strategizing what to do next. The more time he spent with Abraham, the more Joss came to respect him as a leader.
Abraham withdrew his pipe from his lips and bit the end thoughtfully before speaking once again. “Let’s gather the troops. And when we do, I want you to repeat every word you just said to me verbatim. Then we’ll form a plan of action.”
Action. Yes. Abraham was nothing if not a man of action—something that Joss greatly admired, something he very much wanted to be.
 
An hour later, every Slayer in their group was gathered in the living room, poised and listening to Joss recount his tale. Only Sirus refused to meet his eyes, and Joss had a feeling it was because Joss had insisted on telling his uncle first, despite the fact that he and Sirus were absolutely closer than he and Abraham. He hoped Sirus would understand—it was important to follow protocol. And the only way that he could advance through the ranks of the Society was by doing just that.
But still it weighed on him how disappointed Sirus seemed. Or maybe he was wrong about it being disappointment in Sirus’s eyes. Maybe it was just concern for Joss’s well-being and shame that he hadn’t been there to take the vampire down.
Joss finished regaling them with his tale, and as he spoke the final, crucial words, Sirus met his gaze at last. “If we’re not gone within a month, they say they’ll skin us all alive. Starting with me.”
Ash shook his head. “Why are they warning us? Why not just attack? It’s not like bloodsuckers to give their prey time to escape. I don’t trust it.”
Paty stood up from her perch on the arm of the couch, eyes alight with flames. “Neither do I. I say we set fire to the woods, flush them out.”
Sirus shook his head in disgust. “Are you actually suggesting we stage a wildfire?”
Her voice was a growl. “What if I am?”
“As our Californian brothers in arms have proven time and time again, wildfires do nothing to flush out vampires. They only damage the forests and homes that surround our fellow humans.”
“Then what would you suggest, nursemaid?” As they argued, the two of them grew closer and closer. It was clear that neither thought much at all of the other. Like Sirus as he did, Joss was on Paty’s side. The only way to deal with the vampires was drastic action.
At last, Abraham held up a hand, silencing them both. All eyes fell on him with respect and awe—except for Paty and Sirus, of course, who were still glaring at one another with seething disgust. “Perhaps we should count our blessings, Slayers, and regroup elsewhere. There’s nothing saying that we can’t use this to our advantage. After all, they’ll likely send a scout to check the house in a month to ensure we’ve gone. So let’s give them what they want. Leave. But watch the house from a distance and trail their scout back to the hive, where we’ll dispatch them all.”
At this, Paty nodded and Sirus relaxed his shoulders some. From the back of the room, Cratian spoke up. “Abraham, do you think this hive has anything at all to do with the Pravus myth we’ve been hearing so much about lately?”
Abraham’s calm face turned instantly red with anger. He whipped his head around, but before his eyes could even fall on the Slayer who’d spoken, two others had already dragged him out of the room. Abraham looked at Joss and said, “Forget you heard that.”
Joss nodded, but despite his silent promise, a word, strange and somehow meaningful, rang in his ears, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant. It was a word his mind would replay again and again as he laid down to rest that night, watching the moonbeams dance on his pillow.
Pravus.
What on earth could it mean? And why did it make his uncle so furious?
18
 
FACING THE ENEMY
 
The next morning, Joss opened his eyes to Paty, who was standing at the foot of his bed. She tossed a pair of jeans at him and barked, “Get dressed. Your uncle wants you in the clearing in fifteen minutes.”
She stormed out, as if Joss had said something to really irritate her, and Joss sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. The clock on his nightstand said that it was just quarter after six, but instantly, he understood what had Paty all annoyed. Most of the Slayers were out the door by four in the morning. He wasn’t sure why Abraham indulged him in extra sleep. He only knew that if Abraham wanted him in the clearing in fifteen minutes, he’d better be there in ten.
He slipped out of bed, throwing on clean clothes as he made his way to the kitchen. Sirus was standing at the stove. “I’d offer you some toast, but it looks like you’ve been summoned.”
Joss nodded, casting a longing glance at the warm pan of apple cinnamon muffins that were cooling on the counter.
Sirus smiled and ruffled Joss’s hair. “Don’t look so forlorn. I’ll make you a good lunch—whatever you want. Now get out there before Abraham starts screaming.”
Joss darted out the back door without a word and into the woods toward the clearing, cursing himself aloud for having forgotten his shoes. By the time he reached it, his uncle was already looking irritated and well on the verge of anger. “Joss. It’s about time.”
“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I was . . .”
Joss searched his still-waking mind, but couldn’t seem to grasp anything of importance that he’d been doing before he ran out the door on his uncle’s whim. So he grabbed what he could and ran with it “... putting pants on.”
Cratian and Chazz, who were standing on either side of Abraham, exchanged looks, and then smirked at Joss’s admission, but Abraham spoke as if he hadn’t heard Joss’s excuse. “There will be times when you will face multiple foes at once. Today’s lesson, my nephew, is intended to prepare you for those times.”
Joss blinked, uncertain of Abraham’s meaning. Then Chazz and Cratian split apart, moving equal distance around the clearing, and he knew full well what today’s lesson would entail. Joss was going to have to fight his way out of this clearing. He was still half asleep, hungry, and wearing no shoes. But he was going to have to fight for his life against well-trained, well-rested, well-fed, and odds were, well-armed opponents. His uncle had wisely dropped him into a likely situation for any Slayer to face. It was the perfect test. Even though Joss was terrified to take it.
He glanced around the clearing for possible resources, but found nothing at all that would prove useful to him. Every rock and stray stick had been cleared away. The only potential weapons available were in the hands of his opponents. For the first time, it really hit Joss hard that he could die here. He could lose his life in a moment, all for a need for vengeance. His heart pounded inside his chest and, though he’d never dare admit it out loud, for a moment, Joss wondered if this was the right path for him, or if he was foolhardily chasing after vengeance that he might never obtain. Or worse, if he might die here in the clearing, leaving his parents completely childless. But any choice that he might have had before he got to the clearing was gone now. He was faced with two options, and only two. Live or die.
This wasn’t about Cecile. Not now. It was about survival. And perhaps that was a lesson worth learning as well. After all, when he was out in the field, there would be no one there to help him, no one to save him. He’d be on his own, and if he died, no one would know why. Just like when he’d confronted Zy behind the funeral home—an act of pure stupidity. And what had he learned?
He eyed his opponents—that’s all they were at the moment; not his uncle; not his comrades; just the Enemy and nothing more—and readied himself, knowing that his bare feet would be a weakness on the weedinfested, uneven terrain. Chazz moved forward with more speed and agility than Joss was ready for, and whipped the stake from the holster on his hip, swiping it at Joss. Joss heard a sound like air being sucked through a tube, and realized that he’d gasped aloud. Instinctively, he jerked back, away from the weapon, away from the Slayer. The eeriest feeling came over him then. Almost like he knew what vampires must feel like when they are hunted by the Society. It was a feeling of pity—one that sank into Joss’s stomach and nauseated him to no end. How could he feel pity for monsters that killed little girls in the dead of the night? How could he feel pity for creatures whose sole purpose was to destroy human life. Instantly, he hated himself, and swore that he would never again show an ounce of pity to a vampire. Disgusted with his momentary weakness, Joss was too distracted to see the second swipe of Chazz’s stake. It caught him in the bicep and he screamed. Blood poured from his arm and he whipped around in a moment of pure fury, grabbing the stake and throwing Chazz down hard on the ground. It took him a moment to realize that he was holding Chazz’s stake in his hand. When he did, he thought about what Uncle Abraham had said about Slayer’s having a natural agility, and knew that he was right, even though it had never occurred to Joss that he might be special in any way.
Not that he was special. Only Cecile had made him that. He had been her protector, her brother, her mentor. And her failure. Just a coward who couldn’t even stop someone from hurting her. From killing her. If he hadn’t hesitated when he heard her cries, he could have stopped the beast from taking her life. But he had.
Joss turned back to Chazz, but was blindsided by Cratian, who tackled him. Joss flew backward, time slowing to a crawl as his body became airborne. When his back hit the ground, the air in his lungs came out in a gush, a groan its only company. Cratian sat atop Joss, his eyes alight with certainty, his stake in his confident hands. There was no emotion on his face. He was as removed from this situation as he could be. Joss imagined that that was another lesson of sorts—that a Slayer couldn’t let emotions dictate his actions. He had to commit to the task of killing vampires and not allow himself to feel.

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