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I smile. “I’m sorry. You don’t have the authority to demand that.”
“I’m on the Council!”
“You’ve been voted out.” Rhys takes off his glasses and polishes them.
Wanda glares down her long nose at him. “By whom?”
“By the next generation of Watchers.” Jade pops her gum. She puts her feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles. “We’re in charge now.”
Ruth Zabuto, knitting in the corner, giggles. “This should be fun.” Her wrinkled face is mischievously gleeful. I told her she could keep her library. She didn’t much care what we did after that.
I escort a huffing and indignant Wanda to the gate. We’ve already packed one of the cars with all her things. She snatches the keys from me, pausing only to give a withering glare to the skinless demon playing a game of tag with two of the Littles. Rhys joins Cillian, who’s attaching a rope swing in the deep shade of an oak tree. The tiny purple demons, whose names I don’t have the right mandibles to pronounce, critique their every choice.
“Disgusting,” Wanda spits. Then she climbs in the car and takes generations of Watcher tradition with her.
“Good riddance.” Jade wanders off to join Doug in setting up a game of croquet. She’s taken to him nicely. I suspect it’s because he’s quite liberal with doling out his happiness boosts.
Back in the great hall entry, Imogen is lying on the floor, coloring next to little George. She looks up at me and smiles, her sleeves pushed up, revealing pen doodles all along her forearms. She was amazing during our time of need. We won’t neglect her like the Council did. We all know that our parents don’t determine who we are.
I bend down to ruffle George’s hair, then keep going to the residence wing. My mom is confined to bed for a while yet. Eve broke three of her ribs, puncturing a lung. And she still managed to carry me out to safety.
She tries to sit up when I come into her room.
“Hey, relax.” I pull up a chair and sit next to her bed.
“How did Wanda take it?”
“About as well as you’d expect. I’m glad she doesn’t have magic anymore. I think we’d all be cursed if she did.”
A grin works at the corner of her lips. “I wish I could have seen it.” A puff of air escapes her, and then she closes her eyes. Her eyelids are thin, almost translucent. They make her look fragile. “You should take Doug with you when you contact more Slayers or demons. He’s a good go-between. If things get tense . . .”
“He happies them right up.”
I take out the book and stare at the entries. Tonight I’ll open it to the Slayer section. I can’t reach them in my dreams anymore, but I can find them in person. And even though I’m not strong, I have something to offer them. To offer the world. The world I’m no longer capable of breaking. So that’s a relief, at least. We’re free from all the history of the Watchers, including the dumb prophecy. If I had to lose my Slayer powers in order for the apocalypse to be averted, it’s an acceptable sacrifice. After all, I didn’t have to die. I got off way easier than Buffy.
Weirdly, I miss her. I wish I could have gotten her number in that dream.
“This is so much more than I was planning to do,” my mother says. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Actually, yeah, I am. It’s important. It’s more than important: It’s right. We’re going to take anyone who needs a place to live, free from fear. Slayers. Demons. Those that don’t fit anywhere else. No requirements or expectations, except that everyone protects each other. We’re calling it Sanctuary.” I pause, blushing. “Is that too pretentious?”
My mother smiles. “I think it’s perfect. And I’m proud of you.”
A while ago, I would have given anything to hear her say that. But after everything I’ve been through, I find I don’t need to hear it anymore.
It’s still nice, though.
Rhys knocks on the door. “You better come out here,” he says. I rush outside, worried that something has gone wrong. Instead, I find Artemis, her side healing up nicely, holding a motorcycle helmet. Honora, clad once again in her gray leather, is waiting with a motorcycle idling.
“Where are you going?” I say, running up to them. I’m not as fast as I was. I never will be again. I wish I didn’t have the comparison, but someday I’ll get used to being un-Slayer me again.
Artemis sets down the helmet and finger combs my hair back from my face, then pulls a band off her wrist and ties it back in a ponytail. “There.” She steps back to admire her work. “Much better.”
She’s not going for a joyride with Honora. The plea bursts from me. “I want you to stay.”
Artemis looks as lost as I used to feel. “I wanted to be a Watcher so badly. But I wasn’t. And if we’re being honest, they weren’t Watchers either. Not really. I don’t think any of us have been for a long time. I’m tired of watching, of waiting. Of biding our time until the world is about to end again and we have to figure out how to stop it. And I’m not going to sit here while you try to make some demon utopia. We know what goes bump in the night. We know what darkness is out there.” She shrugs, zipping up her jacket. “I’m going to figure out what I can do about it.”
“Artemis, I get it. I want . . .” With no words left, I throw my arms around her. I know I could make her stay if I really wanted to. But while I want her to stay, I don’t need her to stay. And what she wants—what she needs—has to come first.
