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“I don’t know!” I dodge a branch and jump over a fallen tree. Artemis and Rhys have to stay on the trail; I run alongside it through the more difficult terrain. “I had a dream! The same one I had about Bradford Smythe.”
Rhys guns his four-wheeler, going faster. I match pace. Please, I think, please please let this be the most embarrassing night ever. Please let this be another example of how I don’t know how to be a Slayer, how my dreams are the result of my stressed-out mind falling asleep to thoughts of demonic conspiracies and doomsday prophecies. Please let Cillian be awake in bed watching Eurovision.
When we get to his house, the front door is ajar. That line of darkness cuts me like a knife.
“Cillian!” I shout. Rhys and Artemis jump off their four-wheelers, weapons brandished. I race up
the stairs to Cillian’s room. “Cillian!” I slam through his door, stumbling in the dark. He’s on his bed. Alone.
And not breathing.
“No!” I rush to his side, feeling for a pulse. There isn’t one. But his skin is still warm. I take a deep breath, reminding myself of everything I’ve learned. Everything I’ve trained for. I carefully move him to the floor. And then I start CPR.
“Nina?” Rhys whimpers.
“Movement!” Artemis shouts from downstairs. “Window!” There’s a crashing noise.
I have a choice in that moment. The Slayer part of me is already tensed to sprint down the stairs. To give chase. To catch and kill this demon so that it can never hurt anyone again. And I know I can do it if I leave right now.
But Cillian would pay the price. And I can’t leave him. Not if there’s a chance I can still save him. Mustering my will, I push aside all my Slayer instincts, quiet the fierce rush in my blood, and put my lips on Cillian’s. My lungs breathe for both of us. I hold back as much of my strength as I can to push gently on his ribs, reminding his heart—his wonderful heart—what it’s supposed to do.
“Please,” I whisper, forcing air into his lungs.
The silence in the room is deafening.
And then, finally, Cillian’s breath answers. He coughs violently, putting a hand to his chest.
“What—oh, my ribs.”
“Cillian!” I throw my arms around him, and he cries out in pain. “I’m so sorry!” I sit back, giving him space. “Your heart stopped. I had to do CPR.”
Rhys kneels next to us, taking Cillian’s hand in his own. “You were dead,” he whispers.
“No wonder I’m racked. It’s exhausting being dead.” Cillian closes his eyes and squeezes Rhys’s hand. “I really like being alive.” He coughs again, then cringes. “I think my ribs are broken.”
“That’s common after CPR.” I stare guiltily at the carpet. “It wasn’t because I’m strong. I was careful.”
A hand takes mine. Rhys pulls me in for a hug. He’s trembling. “Thank you.”
“I— Artemis!” I race down the stairs. The back window is shattered. I go through the door, running out into the yard.
Artemis jumps back down from the fence, sword hanging at her side. “I lost it,” she says.
“So there was a demon.” I don’t mean to be relieved—it’s terrible news—but it means my instincts, again, were right.
“Yeah. And we might have caught it if I hadn’t had to do it alone.”
I wince at the harshness in her voice. “Cillian was dead, Artemis. He was dead. And if I hadn’t hung back, he would have stayed that way.”
She drops the sword at my feet. “It wasn’t the right decision. Now that demon is out there, and obviously it knows about us. Knows about you.”
“How can you even say that saving Cillian wasn’t the right call?”
“Because you’re not a Watcher. You’re not a nurse or a medic. You’re a Slayer. And if you don’t figure out how to make hard choices, you’ll fail just like I did. Only all my failure did was screw up my whole life. Your failure? Means a demon is now running free. Your failures mean people die.”
I shake my head, confused and hurt. “What do you mean, just like you failed?”
Artemis folds her arms. “The Watcher test. The reason why I’m the castle errand girl instead of a full Watcher-in-training, like I should have been.”
