Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,16

think she’d bring it up.

“What about it?” I don’t look up from the history of a minor hellgod. It might as well be a fairy tale now. Wherever this hellgod lives, it can’t get here to find more sacrifices. No more portals, thanks to Buffy.

Buffy. I wish I had been able to see her in the Slayer dream. I haven’t run into her in the dreamspaces, not in months. I really want to talk to her. It’s a stark change to how I used to feel about her. If I can’t have a Watcher, can I at least have the reigning Slayer?

“I’m concerned about your tactics,” my mother says.

I put the book down, defensiveness rearing in me like a snake ready to strike. First Artemis telling me I’m being selfish, and now my mom questioning my fighting. “What about them?”

“They were … excessive.”

“I held back! My instincts were telling me to do much worse.” Imogen told me I should have done exactly what my instincts told me to. Why is my mom giving me crap for it? “And besides, are you saying they didn’t deserve what they got? They were trying to shoot you! They were hunting a family. For money.”

My mother takes another prim sip of tea. “I think they did deserve much worse. From a tactical standpoint, your actions were both effective and reasonable.”

“Then why are we talking about them?”

“Because I’m not speaking from a tactical standpoint. I’m speaking as your mother. Your actions would have made sense for a mercenary. Or even another Watcher. But you’re not either of those things. You’re Nina.” Her voice gets soft, almost tentative. “My Nina. And that didn’t feel like you. Lately you’ve seemed …”

I can’t listen to my mother tell me who I am. Not after so many years of her deliberately hiding who I was, trying to keep me from becoming what mystical forces had chosen me for. I know she’s trying, I do, and I want her to try, but she has no right to make these judgments. I’m already raw and stinging from my encounter with Artemis. I open my mouth to snap something I know I’ll regret, but I’m saved by the door opening.

“Why is it so early?” Jade enters the room, trailing sleep like car exhaust in her wake. She slumps in the chair next to me. “Can’t we have these meetings in the afternoon?”

“Good morning!” Rhys is bright-eyed and perky, even his curls not flopping over his forehead. Doug joins us, sitting next to Jade, and finally Imogen walks in, bringing a tray of fresh pastries and fruit.

I’m immensely grateful my mother and I can’t keep talking now that our complete Watcher-Sanctuary Council group is here. Ruth Zabuto doesn’t care. Jessi only wants information if it affects the Littles. Tsip sometimes appears in the middle of the meetings, but disappears just as quickly. The tiny purple demons understand English but can’t speak it and were banned from the library after eating several irreplaceable volumes. It’s the only time I’ve seen Rhys look genuinely terrifying. He’s been trained to kill, like every Watcher, and he was a heartbeat away from ending their violet lives. Another reason not to tell him about Artemis.

Cillian is always invited, but he spends his mornings tending his shop in town. With his mom still gone on a months-long soul-searching trip, he’s got to keep it up in order to pay their bills. It sucks that he has to work to afford a house he barely stays in now, though.

Rhys runs through the morning itinerary. Finances—always tight, but okay for now. Task assignments. I imagine where Artemis would be slotted in, but it hurts, so I stop. Rhys moves on to a review of those with invitations for Sanctuary entrance interviews.

“We can cross off the werewolf family.” I avoid eye contact with my mother. “They decided to go in another direction.” The opposite direction of wherever I am.

“Just as well. Children are expensive.” Rhys makes some notes, then talks with Imogen about how the kitchen food stock rotation is going, and whether she needs to add anything to our purchase lists.

“What about the chickens?” Jade asks.

“What?” Imogen frowns.

“That woman you were talking to on the phone about chickens. Are we getting chickens?”

Imogen’s frown slips into a slightly vacant smile. “Oh, right. I’m looking into it. Fresh eggs every day. And they’re better for you.”

Rhys makes a note. “Draw up a plan and we’ll review it.” It’s all very efficient and boring.