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My discomfort must be obvious. And embarrassingly misinterpreted. I stop squirming and slouch further into my seat, avoiding Leo’s questioning gaze. “No! I’m fine.”
At last we hit the outskirts of Dublin. It had taken longer than planned—we had to stop at a petrol station, the Range Rover surprisingly gas guzzling. And even though I did need to pee, I wasn’t about to go inside after Cillian’s awkward question. By the time we entered the city, afternoon was rushing toward evening, the slanting sun lighting the buildings gold.
“So, we’re expecting vampires?” Cillian asks. We’ve filled him in on the basics. “Exciting, innit? I mean, Dracula and so forth.”
Rhys clears his throat, knowing how heavily Artemis’s and my history is hanging in the car. “Not exactly. Vampires are demons that walk around wearing the bodies of people you loved. People with families. They kill those people, and when the soul is gone, they take the remaining shell and use it to kill. Demons exist to prey on humanity. They aren’t native to this ecosystem.”
Cillian makes a yikes face. “Sort of like cats in Australia.”
I take another root beer from him, pressing the cool bottle against my face. “If the cats also sucked out people’s souls or ate them or disemboweled them or occasionally tried to trigger the apocalypse to bring about an all-cat dimension on earth, then yeah.”
“I know that should be scary,” Cillian says, “but an all-cat dimension still sounds kind of snuggly. And no one can convince me that cats don’t actually suck out people’s souls.”
“Fair points.” I stare at the neighborhoods of Dublin passing by us. I suddenly wish we were here for fun, to see the city, to be normal. Like a normal group date with my friend, his boyfriend, my sister, and the boy I never wanted to see again and would prefer still lived on the opposite side of the world. It’s truly a testament to what we’re facing that hanging out with Leo sounds more pleasant in comparison.
Dublin is only two hours from Shancoom, but somehow, I’ve never been. Watchers aren’t big on sightseeing or vacations. They used to regularly visit hellmouths and demon portal hot spots, but those trips were less about relaxation and more about decapitation.
I close my eyes. Don’t think about decapitation or disembowelment. I have to focus, to prove that I can do this. I’m a Jamison-Smythe. Fighting demons is my heritage. The Watchers need me—which is a thrilling and terrifying new sensation. All I’ve ever wanted was to make people’s lives better. And if being a Slayer will help me protect humanity from—
“Pizza!” Cillian shouts.
Pizza! We never have pizza. We can’t exactly call for delivery to a hidden castle. But Leo shakes his head. “Demons first. We don’t know how Athena’s dream compares to reality. It could have already happened or might not happen for another few days.”
“Who the hell is Athena?” Cillian asks.
I raise my hand.
“Oh, that makes so much more sense. I had questioned your mother’s intelligence, naming one of you Artemis and the other Nina. The whole point to having twins is to give them matching names.”
“Yes,” Artemis deadpans. “That’s why our parents had us.”
Artemis was the goddess of the hunt; a protector. It fits my sister perfectly. Athena was the goddess of wisdom and war. It’s never escaped my notice that everyone thought Nina fit me better than my real name.
Everyone except Leo.
“If we have twins someday,” Rhys says, “we’ll give them matching names.”
Cillian nods in agreement, then claps his hands together. “Little Sonny and Cher will be so adorable.”
“Jane and Austen,” Rhys says.
“Meryl and Streep,” Leo offers without looking back.
“That’s the one!” Rhys shouts.
“You can be their godfather.” Cillian beams. Artemis rolls her eyes so hard I can almost hear it. Cillian refocuses. “Right, then. Looking for vampire evidence. Perhaps one of them left a business card? Or a punch card. ‘Drain ten humans and the eleventh goes free’ or something.”
I appreciate his attempts at humor, but I can’t manage a smile. Does every Slayer feel like this when they start out? I know so much more than most new Slayers would. I can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.
Buffy’s first threat was in Los Angeles, pre-Sunnydale. An ancient, powerful vampire named Lothos was hunting her specifically. I’ve never thought how terrifying that must have been for her. A whole new life dropped onto her, complete with instant mortal peril. I’ve only thought about how her calling devastated me. How would I feel if my first days as a Slayer were spent being stalked by unspeakable evil?
At least I’m doing this on purpose. I’m helping, not being hunted. We might not know what, exactly, we’re heading into, but my dream showed only one vampire, and there are five of us. We can handle a vampire. Hell, we can probably scare her off.
I remember the snap of the hellhound’s neck and flinch. Just one vampire, I think to myself. Just one. They’re already dead. Killing them shouldn’t bother me.
I know it still will.
We enter a district where the charm of Dublin has been consumed by the cement monotony of industry. Leo stops the car in front of a block of buildings. The outsides are dingy, in the utterly soulless way of everything built in the eighties. What happened during that decade that caused architects to hate themselves and the rest of the world so very, very much?
