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“eBay,” Jade corrects.
“Yes. E. Bay.” Ruth separates it into two distinct words. “Many of these books are antiques. And that’s all they are.” She runs her fingers along the cover of a gold-embossed book with a single eye in the middle. “Did you know, this was a real eye. It used to open and give you the angriest looks for daring to explore its magic.” She jabs her finger into the eye, as though trying to get it
to wake up. “Just a book now.”
“Grandma!” Rhys stands. I’ve never seen him this angry. “You can’t sell the books!”
“Only the magic books, dear. And only the ones we’ve already copied. We need money more than we need history books. We have to think of the Littles, their future. We don’t have the resources we used to.” She pats his hand and then continues down the row with Jade. Rhys slumps in his chair.
This is our history. Our heritage. This is all I have connecting me to my father. And it’s yet another thing we’re losing because of stupid Buffy. If she hadn’t broken everything, we’d still have magic and money. If she hadn’t messed up the Slayer powers so deeply, I wouldn’t have become one. My life would have stayed simple.
Although, even as this familiar resentment runs through my mind, I have to admit to myself that I’m not entirely sure I do wish my life had stayed uncomplicated. The changes have thrown things into stark relief. The idea of going back to being the medic—ignored, discounted, letting Artemis be in charge of both the castle and my life . . . it’s not appealing. It was unfair to both of us. And I see now that as a Watcher I was never going to shift anyone’s way of thinking or working.
Becoming a Slayer was the last way I imagined my life changing for the better, but the universe has a perverse sense of humor. I wanted to change the Watchers? I had to become something else.
The door opens and my mother breezes in. “Ruth, don’t tell Wanda what we’re doing. She’ll insist on a meeting and then demand to be in charge of new fund allocations, and we both know where the money will go if—” She stops midstride when she sees me. “What are you doing in here?”
“Rhys wants to make an encyclopedia of demons. And since I’m not busy,” I say, leaning into the lie to prove just how much I’m not training as a Slayer or fighting hellbeasts or doing anything else that will get me in trouble, “I figured I’d help.”
She frowns in thought. “That’s a very good idea, Rhys. Practical.” Her eyes dart to various shelves, never quite settling on me. “Are you feeling well, Nina?”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
“Did you have fun at the movies?”
“The—” I cut myself off before I can ask what she’s talking about. “Oh yes! Super fun. Didn’t we have fun at the movies?” I ask Rhys.
“It was a little bloody for my taste,” he deadpans.
“Good,” my mother says. “Good. Well, let me know how your project goes, Rhys. Nina, may I speak to you for a moment in the hall?”
I’m surprised she didn’t make me schedule an appointment through Artemis. I follow her out. Maybe she’s going to talk to me about the second hellhound, the one she shot. Explain why she didn’t bother telling everyone else about it or put us on lockdown again. Because the more I think about it, the weirder that is. Wasn’t she worried there would be more? She doesn’t know what their target was, so she has no idea that as long as the Coldplay demon’s not here, we’re safe.
“I have something for you.” She hands me a pamphlet. I’m still thinking about her and the gun and the hellhound, so it takes me several seconds to process what I’m reading. And then it’s several more before I can speak through my shock and confusion. “Boarding school?”
“You’d be starting late, but it will set you up nicely for university and your future medical studies.”
“I— What? What do you mean? I’m already studying. Here.”
For a second I glimpse that same vulnerability I thought I saw in her face yesterday. Like she’s ready to talk to me for once instead of sending commands in my general direction. The look swiftly disappears behind her firm, no-nonsense expression. She’s not my mother in that expression. She’s a Council member. “The castle has never really been the right place for you.”
The “castle,” meaning the Watchers. She’s implying that all the things I’ve done don’t matter. That what I always suspected—I have no place or purpose here, among the people I love best and the organization I want to serve—is true.
“But I’m part of this.” My voice is tight with pain. I want to be angry, but I’m so hurt I can’t access those emotions. Being here, doing this work—it’s what I do with Artemis. And it’s my only connection to my dad. “I’m a Watcher.”
“You’re not.” She doesn’t say it meanly. It’s a statement of fact.
And it’s a true one. I’m not, and I never was going to be. Not fully. That was saved for Artemis. I haven’t mattered much over the years. I don’t doubt that my fellow Watchers care about me, but I also know that they’ve never needed me. Not the way they need Artemis or Rhys or Leo. A week ago my mother could have sent me away and it would have had almost no impact on the castle’s functions.
But that was a week ago. I lift my chin defiantly. “So I’m not a Watcher. That’s fine. I’m a Slayer.” Each time I say it aloud, it feels a little more real, a little more right.
My mother flinches as though I’ve struck her. “That’s not what you want.”
“You’ve never asked me what I wanted!” I shove the pamphlet back at her. “Not once. And what about Artemis? She’s going to leave all this behind and go to boarding school too?”
“Artemis needs to stay with me. It’s best for everyone.”
“No, it’s not. I’ll bet you’ve never asked Artemis what she wants either.” For that matter, have I? Have I ever actually heard Artemis say she wants to be a Watcher? She was devastated when she failed the test, but was it about being a Watcher, or failing?
