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I roll onto my side, hitting the notes I left all over Artemis’s bed. Any thoughts of museum field trips fall away. I look at the prophecy with new eyes, no longer suspecting it might be about us—knowing it is, or at least that my parents thought so. And my mother still does.
Child of Slayer
Child of Watcher
My parents.
The two become one
Eew. Arcturius liked a good euphemism, and I can’t believe I’m reading a sentence about my parents getting it on written centuries ago.
The one becomes two
Identical twins.
Girls of fire
Our hair is quite red.
Protector and Hunter
One to mend the world
And one to tear it asunder
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have known which was which. But it’s obvious now. Artemis is the protector. She always has been. She’s protected me not only from harm but from her own sadness. It hurts to even think about it.
And the hunter? What else is a Slayer?
My stomach turns with fear and dread. I’ve seen too much evidence of prophecies coming true not to take it seriously. Not only am I a Slayer but there’s a good chance I’m going to tear the world apart. Guess I have more in common with Buffy than ever.
Arcturius’s last note is one final swift kick to the ribs.
When all else ends, when hope perishes alongside wonder, her darkness shall rise and all shall be devoured.
Wonder is already dead. Buffy broke it. There’s no time stamp on the prophecy, but the Seed of Wonder being broken means there’s a ticking clock for the ending. For when Artemis is going to mend the world.
And I’m going to break it.
27
“PROPHECIES ARE HARD TO INTERPRET.” Leo makes me jump for the second time.
I gather the notes and slam them into a notebook. “It—it’s not what it looks like,” I stammer.
“Prophecies never are.”
“No, I mean—I don’t know what I mean. Gods, I don’t know anything right now.” I scoot so I’m sitting against the wall. Leo surprises me by doing the same, sitting right next to me. He’s taller than me. Enough so that I could lean my head on his shoulder and it’d be the perfect fit.
“Let me help?”
I pick at Artemis’s threadbare quilt. It takes on a different meaning, as does her half of the closet. Does she even like the color black? I never asked. I assumed she was happy with her life because it seemed so impressive. And because she never said otherwise. I was quick to speak up about what bugged me or what I felt I was missing. But how often did I ask Artemis what she wanted from her life?
I am a terrible sister.
I know how awful it was to be left behind. But it must have been excruciating for her to watch me disappear in the smoke. She should never have felt guilty over something she couldn’t control. She should never have considered it her burden to help me, to be the best, to do everything right. To atone for being the one who was chosen.
I clear my throat. Leo’s patiently waiting for me to talk to him. And I need someone to talk to. “So, you know I have my father’s Watcher diary. And he mentioned a prophecy. Then I realized I had translated this one. And . . . it seems like it’s about us. ‘When hope perishes alongside wonder’—that’s probably the Seed of Wonder. It’s dead. Which means we’re on that timeline.”
