Wouldn’t they have been all over the opportunity to raise a Potential Slayer in their midst?
And my mother went so far out of her way to keep me from being trained. She insisted I wasn’t suited to it. Prevented me from getting even the basic Watcher fighting instruction and pushed me into healing. Artemis received the physical training.
Bradford Smythe starts talking again, and I struggle to focus on his words over the pounding of my heart and my own racing thoughts. “It’s part of why the kids were here when our headquarters were attacked. We heard rumblings of the threats to Potentials, so Helen took all the younger students with her to avoid anyone narrowing in on Nina.”
So it wasn’t mere luck that we were away during the attack. They were protecting me. But why go so far to protect me if they weren’t ever going to train me or tell me the truth?
“After magic was destroyed and the Slayer line ended,” Bradford continues, “we assumed that her potential wasn’t triggered in time and that she would never become a Slayer. It appears we were wrong.”
Artemis and Rhys haven’t moved. I feel them in the darkness, staring at me instead of the room. Suspecting I was a Slayer is nothing compared to knowing. And finding out that this information was always here, deliberately withheld from me—and most of the Council as well? It’s not just a shock. It’s a betrayal.
“You failed to inform the Council that your own daughter was a Potential?” Wanda Wyndam-Pryce doesn’t sound angry so much as smug. “This calls for a full censure and a review of your position here on the Council. Yours too, Bradford, for being part of the conspiracy.”
“What Council?” Ruth Zabuto snorts. “What, are we going to banish Helen? Demote Bradford? For doing what? It’s foolish enough that you haven’t let dear Artemis be a full Watcher. The test shouldn’t count against her now that there are so few of us. You and your rules can go sit on a pin, Wanda.” She pulls out her knitting and gets to work, shaking her head.
Wanda Wyndam-Pryce huffs. “Well, I for one will not let this egregious betrayal of our standards go without repercussions. We are nothing without our rules. They still mean something.”
“The girl is alive because of the secrecy.” Bradford Smythe’s voice is soft but clear. “I think that alone justifies Helen’s decisions. I support her now as I did then.”
“And it means we have a Slayer.” Eve’s eyes are alight with emotion. She puts her hands to her mouth, and I swear she’s on the verge of tears. “Right here. One of ours.”
My mother stands, slamming her chair backward. “She is not ours. She is mine. There are a thousand other girls out there. If you want a Slayer, go find a real one.” With that, she stalks from the room.
I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I want to shake it off. Want to pretend like my mom’s words—and these revelations—don’t mean anything.
But if I suspected there were tears in Eve’s eyes, I know there are tears in mine.
“Nina,” Artemis says.
“You must—” Rhys starts, but I cut him off.
“I can’t talk about this right now.” Literally. I don’t even know how to feel, much less how to form everything into words. I’m scared and I’m confused and I’m furious. My entire life has been a lie. “I need to be alone.”
I stumble back through the dark. I’m half certain I’m lost and will die in these walls, but eventually I bump into a dead end and see a hint of light from the crawl space.
Back in my room, I throw myself onto my bed and stare up through my tears at the metal ceiling fan. It was the biggest expense my mother ever approved. Artemis and I sharpened its blades to razor’s edges. It wasn’t the only modification we made to our room. Several snow globes decorate various surfaces, all filled with holy water, acid, and flame accelerant. The desk legs are easily removable and sharpened to stake points. Artemis and I have systematically stocked every room we ever lived in with weapons. We did it so I could feel safe. So that we would have weapons even I could use without training.
But what if I’m the weapon now?
Not only has my whole life changed, but my whole history, too. Everything is different now. My mother knew—always knew. And she still chose Artemis. She still pushed Artemis to train,