The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill (7 page)

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Authors: Heather Brewer

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill
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Though organizing and reorganizing his dresser contents wasn’t going to alleviate any of his stress, it did take his mind off of it for a while. From the small zippered pouch inside his suitcase, he withdrew his grandfather’s pocket watch. Sitting on the grandmastyle bed, he turned the watch over and over again in his hand. His grandfather had never uttered a word to him about the Slayer Society. He couldn’t help but wonder how long his grandfather had been slaying. Was he still killing vampires when Joss had seen him last, just months before his funeral? And if he was here now, would he approve of the way that Abraham had just spoken to Joss? Maybe, if that’s how Slayers were supposed to act. Regardless, Joss missed his grandfather dearly. Almost as much as Cecile.
When the last shirt was folded and placed in a drawer and the last pocket of his bag had been zipped closed, Joss was left only with the smell of dinner wafting up the stairs from the kitchen, and the knowledge that avoiding leaving his room was no way to honor his sister.
With a deep breath, Joss walked out the door and headed downstairs, his footfalls strong and sure—even though he wasn’t.
When he reached the table, he found one woman and seven men, including Sirus and his uncle. Kat was nowhere in sight. Sirus was standing near the head of the table. “In case you’re wondering, I sent Kat next door for a while so that we can make proper introductions. Joss, I’d like to introduce you to our team. We’re a family, though a bit more on the dysfunctional side than most, I’d wager. Each of us possesses a particular skill and we’ll each be training you in our specialty over the course of the summer, so you’ll spend quite a bit of time getting to know us. But why don’t we begin with names. The vision to your far left, we call Paty.”
The brunette woman he’d referred to stood, and though she was very attractive, the expression on her face said that she took Sirus’s compliment as a dig. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and her skin seemed dry, and devoid of all makeup. Joss wondered if she was trying to erase her feminine side in order to earn the respect of her male Slayer peers. It couldn’t be easy to be the only woman in a group of Slayers—especially when she was so pretty. With a stern nod, she looked at him with chocolate brown eyes and said, “My specialty is stealth.”
She elbowed the man next to her, the one with shaggy blond hair and sun-kissed skin, his eyes a deep, intense blue. He looked a bit like a surfer. He smiled casually, easily, in Joss’s direction. “Hey, little brother, I’m Chazz. In charge of Tac Ops. Tactical Operations, which basically means I’m the man with the plan.”
The man next to him—the first person Joss had encountered when he’d entered the cabin—snorted behind cupped hands. When Chazz raised an eyebrow at him, the man acted as if he’d just been innocently stroking his short, black beard. After a moment, he turned to Joss, extending his hand and shaking Joss’s. “Name’s Malek. I’m the tracking specialist.”
“Ash.” A young-looking man, maybe in his midtwenties, stood and shook Joss’s hand. “Weapons specialist. I transport, clean, create, distribute, and invent more weapons than you can even imagine.”
Across the table from Ash, another man—one with pale skin, bright green eyes, and red hair—raised his hand. “Munitions. If it calls for explosives, you call me. I’m Morgan.”
Next to him, a thin man with a quiet demeanor spoke up. “Cratian. I can teach you a few things about reflexes and speed. Physical training is my focus.”
That just left Sirus and Joss’s uncle. Sirus smiled at Joss. “Your uncle’s specialty is hand-to-hand combat, and my gift is in survival. Seeking out food, sticking it out in less than desirable conditions. Think of those survivalist television shows, but without the cameras, and with the worry of vampires.”
Joss nodded, uncertain what he should say or do. He felt like maybe he should introduce himself, but he didn’t have any idea what to say, apart from the fact that he was bursting with excitement to get started already. Fidgeting some, he said, “So ... which of these skills will I be learning?”
“All of them.” Abraham plucked an apple from the bowl at the center of the table and tossed it to Joss, who caught it with ease. “That’s your dinner. You can enjoy your feast outside until Malek is ready to take you to the guard post.”
Malek shot Abraham a look—one that was met with a commanding glare.
For a moment, Joss was ready to hang his head and move out the door, ready to wait patiently for Malek to take him wherever he was taking him. But the rumble in his stomach, and the keen irritation at being talked to like he was just a child mingled together within him in a strange cloud that lifted him from where he was standing and moved his feet toward the pot of stew simmering on the stove. He picked up a bowl and started spooning into it the delectable smelling mixture of beef, potatoes, and big chunks of carrots. The room had fallen silent behind him.
A hand closed over his wrist and jerked it back, flinging the bowl from his grip into the wall beside the stove. Stew splattered the counter, the wall, the floor. Joss turned his eyes to his uncle and waited for him to speak.
Abraham kept his tone even but stern as he released Joss’s wrist. “I said get outside. And you can forget the apple. Your purification will start tonight. I see no reason to wait a day. You clearly lack both discipline and humility.”
Cratian stood. “Not exactly following protocol, are we, Abraham? Let the boy eat. He’ll need his strength for the trials he’s about to begin. Without proper protein, his muscles won’t be able to handle the strain.”
“Besides,” Malek whined. “I’m hungry. Why should
I
be punished for
his
purification?”
Several Slayers shot Malek a look that said that he’d be wise to shut his mouth. Abraham stood in front of Joss, his chest heaving in anger.
Abraham’s gaze was heavy on Joss, weighing him down. “Outside.”
Joss looked at his uncle. He was tired of this already, tired of being made to feel like he didn’t belong, like he was a burden rather than here to help out. He hadn’t been told precisely what training would entail, and so far, had only experienced his uncle’s insults. And he’d had quite enough of that. Maybe he was just a kid, but even a kid deserved some answers. “What is this, Abraham? Why am I here? What exactly do you want from me?”
He thought for a second, and then tacked on a burning question. “And what’s purification?”
None of the other Slayers moved. Even Sirus stood gravely still. The only sound for several seconds was that of the bubbling stew. After a moment, Abraham returned to his chair, and shoved an empty seat toward Joss with his foot. Joss wanted answers, but he really didn’t want to sit down. He paused, but finally relented, too curious and too hungry not to oblige. Abraham sat back in his seat and sighed. “The world you knew before young Cecile was murdered is not the world you know now, boy. Things have changed for you. But they have not changed. Not really. The world remains the same as it has always been. You just didn’t know any better before. Just as you seem to be ignorant of the importance of following orders and protocol.”
Joss became very still, but he could feel a strange tightening in his chest. Abraham held his gaze. “Vampires exist. Slayers exist as well. We do the honorable work of defending mankind against their bloodthirsty desires. We eradicate them to protect the innocent. We kill them. Before they can kill us.”
By “us” Joss was fairly certain that his uncle was referring to people—all people—and not just Slayers. He swallowed hard, trying desperately not to picture Cecile lying in her bed, so still, and failing miserably.
Abraham tightened his jaw. “I have seen things that would make your worst nightmares seem like the sweetest daydreams. I have witnessed monsters devouring children, mothers, the elderly. And I was there the day your grandfather—my father—stood in the face of a vampire as it ripped out his throat.”
Joss’s heart raced. Grandpa. Killed by a vampire. Darkness closed in around him—a gloom that he couldn’t escape. First Cecile, now his grandfather. His family had been partially erased because of the fanged creatures that lurked in the night.
Something in Abraham’s eyes pulled back then, steering him away from the emotions that memory had stirred. His tone became all business. “Only a Slayer can recognize another Slayer, and it’s always somewhere in the family line, one Slayer per generation. We see it in their agility, in their strength, in their unusual gifts. I first noticed your gifts when you were five. You could outrun any child in your neighborhood. You could outrun your own parents. And you never tired. Then when you were eight, I saw it again when you took an archery class. You hit the center more than any child of that age should be capable. I knew, then, you were a Slayer, even though I wished many times that you weren’t.
“Your cousin Greg. Now, he would have made an excellent Slayer. Hell, even his younger brother, Henry. But you ... you’re ...” Abraham shook his head slowly, mulling over his choice of words. “You’re a disappointment, Joss. Full of too much emotion. You’ll feel every kill, likely empathize with the monsters we’re hunting, and endanger your fellow Slayers. I don’t want you here, even with your advanced physical skills. Those are not enough. But the Society insists that we take down the hive in this area. So I have to train you to fight and teach you how to survive. There’s simply no one else available to assist us. Your name, to put it plainly, was next on the list.”
Joss folded his arms in front of him, feeling every eye in the room weighing heavily on him. So much for his uncle’s empathy. “What if I don’t want to be here? What if I don’t want to train? What if I’d rather just go home and forget about all of this vampire stuff?”
Several Slayers exchanged glances, as if they knew something that Joss didn’t, but should. It was unnerving.
Abraham leaned forward, a dark dare gleaming in his eyes. “Go, if that’s what you want. But you’ll never have vengeance for Cecile, and by allowing that monster to live, you will condemn others to her fate. Plus, if you tell anyone about any of this, and upset the delicate balance of silence that we have maintained for over two hundred years, the Slayer Society will be on your heels. Keeping the knowledge of the existence of vampires to ourselves protects mankind, and we will protect that silence with our lives, and with yours, if necessary.”
Joss gulped.
Abraham nodded. “Besides, Elysia already knows about you. I guarantee it. Once you leave the training grounds, they’ll view you as a threat. Your life will be forfeit—creatures like that have no morals against killing a child. That, you should know already.”
Oh, he knew. Joss knew all about what vampires were capable of. “What’s Elysia?”
After a moment of silence, Sirus chimed in. “It’s what they call themselves. Vampirekind. Collectively, they’re known as Elysia.”
Joss sat in silence for several minutes, taking this all in. It was a whirlwind of information, and he wasn’t exactly sure he was up for the job of vampire killer extraordinaire. After all, he’d only seen death once. Would he be capable of bringing death onto another living thing? And if he wasn’t, would he be killed? The idea sent a frightened shiver up his spine. Calming that shiver was the promise he’d made to Cecile. He would avenge her death, no matter what. Even if it killed him. “What’s purification?” he asked again.
Abraham sat back in his seat, seemingly content that the matter of Joss leaving had been settled in favor of him staying. “We bring certain ideas with us into the Society—ideas that must be removed before training can begin. The ideas that comfort is a necessity, kindness is deserved, and that generosity is to be expected. The world is a harsh, cruel place. You must learn this so that you may face our enemies with strength, independence, and certainty.”
Sirus sat forward, his tone reassuring. “The purification part of your training is about tearing you down so that we can build you up renewed. It’ll be hard. At times it will feel an insurmountable task. But we’ve all been through it. You can do this, Joss, if you set your mind to it. Survival begins inside the mind, inside your spirit. It takes commitment.”
Abraham continued, as if Sirus had never interrupted. “For three days, you’ll be given nothing but water, twice a day. No food. You’ll also be on watch for that duration of time. No sleep. You’ll be exposed to the elements the entire time, and to any vampires who may find you. No shelter, no weapons. If you survive, you can begin training. Or leave. The choice is yours. If you don’t survive, I’ll inform your parents that you wandered too deep into the woods, became lost, and perished. The Slayer Society has made all the arrangements to back up my story, as is custom.”
Joss’s jaw almost hit the floor. How could one organization be that powerful, and how could his own uncle expect so much out of him, especially to join a group he didn’t know enough about yet? If it weren’t for Cecile, he wouldn’t have gotten on that train in the first place. But he
had
gotten on the train. He
had
made a choice to do whatever he could to avenge his baby sister’s untimely death. There was no going back now.
Paty shook her head. “Is that really necessary, Abraham? He’s just a boy. Do we really need to threaten him with what will come if he dies during training?”
Abraham shot her a look that said yes, that Joss needed to know every grisly detail. Then he leaned forward, meeting his nephew’s eyes. “You may wonder why the Society would risk losing a Slayer in such difficult training measures when there are so few of us. The truth is, we used to lose more just by sending them out on missions. By putting a Slayer to the test, we actually save lives. You may die, or you may live—that’s up to you.”

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