Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,37

sharpening blades in the gym last I saw. Everyone’s fine. Any luck at the convention?”

“It was … surprising. Sean attacked. I think. Might not have been Sean. It’s complicated.” So very complicated.

“What? Are you all right? Should I call Rhys?”

“Nah. I handled it.” Mostly. Not at all, really. “Anyway, we’re making sure Doug’s cousin gets home safely, so we’ll be later than originally planned. Let the others know? I’ll text when we’re ready to head back.”

“Sounds good.” He pauses. “You sure you’re all right?”

I pause too. Cillian’s my friend. I could talk to him about Artemis. He won’t judge her. But why am I so worried about people judging her? She’s the one making reckless choices.

It’s a sister thing, I think. I can be pissed off at her and judge her and we’ll still be sisters. And she knows that. So it won’t stop her from coming home.

“Oh!” Cillian interrupts my thoughts. “Hermeowone Granger! No. The cat’s a ginger. And I don’t want to name a cat after Ginny. No offense to Ginny. Too bad it’s not a male, then we could make a play on Prince Harry. I’m on it, though. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have the perfect name by the time you get back.”

“That’s a load off, then. Thanks, Cill.”

“Cheers!” He hangs up. I pocket the phone, then lean back.

“They say the truth will set you free,” Doug says.

“So will ripping this door off its hinges.”

“So will I,” a pleasantly clipped voice says as a man steps into view and takes us in with a curious glance. He’s white, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, dark eyes as sharp as the lines of his suit. “Assuming you’re in the mood for a game.” He smiles, and though he’s one hundred percent human, all my instincts scream threat.

“Okay, but I’ll warn you right now, I’m really good at Monopoly.”

He laughs. “I had something in mind that’s a little more suited to your skills, Slayer.”

13

IAN VON ALSTON STIRS HIS tea with a delicate silver spoon. The china is so fine it’s almost translucent, hand-painted with delicate flowers. “None for you?”

“I prefer root beer. Also, I don’t generally sit down for tea parties with people who are holding my friend captive.”

He tsks, setting his cup in its saucer. The room we’re in looks like the Queen of England vomited Buckingham Palace’s rejects into it. It tips right past impressive into absurd. A few years ago I would have been afraid to even breathe in a room like this; now, I kind of want to wander around and “accidentally” break things. But he has Doug for the time being, and I need information.

“You can hardly chide me for my behavior,” he says, “considering you came here under false pretenses. Clearly you had no intention of selling that demon to me. But I’ll give you a chance to get your friends.”

“My friends?” I raise an eyebrow. Plural. Does he have someone else from the castle? How did he know we were coming here? My heart races, and I look at the entrances and exits to the room. I could grab him, threaten him. I tense, but he raises his hand.

“Calm yourself. The other Slayers are perfectly well.”

“The other Slayers. Right. My friends, the other Slayers.” It turns out it’s a good thing we came, after all. I want to ask more questions, but I’m trying to pretend I have any idea what’s going on. So instead, I criticize. “You can’t just take people.”

“Did you know it’s illegal to bring undocumented animals into the country? They brought a creature all the way from the Himalayas. Imagine what strains of disease they might be introducing. What they might expose our beloved country to.”

“What kind of animal?” I ask, wary. What gets the attention of this dude?

“The kind that is best hunted on nights like tonight.” He pauses, waiting for something. The look of expectation on his face sours. “A full moon.”

“My Slayer friends brought a werewolf into the country?” I pick up a teacup to cover my confusion, accidentally snapping the delicate handle off. “Whoops. Slayer strength. You know how it goes.” I smile innocently.

His left eye twitches. “That cup was hand-painted by King George’s mistress.”

“Shouldn’t have given it to me, then. You know how Americans feel about King George’s tea.”

“Not that King George, you imbecile.”

“I mean, you’ve had one King George, you’ve had ’em all, am I right?” He’s not amused. I wanted to channel Buffy, or Artemis. Hells, even more Honora