softens ever so slightly, then flips her ponytail away from her shoulder. “Next time you decide to bolt, tell me first. I didn’t know where you were. Also, this was under our door when I got back.” She holds out a thick cream-colored note. Artemis has already broken the seal, even though my name is on the front. Someone has elegantly written the following:
Nina.
Please meet at 5 a.m. in the training center. Due to certain Council politics, discretion is necessary. Until then, sleep well and remember the power of your dreams.
It’s such precise cursive it looks like someone old wrote it. It must be from Bradford Smythe. He has answers. He’s the one who knew I was a Potential to begin with. And, unlike my mother, he’ll talk to me about it. I want to ask Artemis why she opened my note, but I don’t want any more tension between us. I try to lighten the mood instead. “ ‘Remember the power of your dreams’? That’s the dumbest aphorism I’ve ever heard. Is it supposed to be inspiring?”
“I think it’s supposed to be literal.” Artemis sits cross-legged on her bed with her back against the wall. “Slayer dreams. You know. Tapping into the power connects the whole line of Slayers.”
“Right. Yeah. Slayer dreams.” I say it with so much false enthusiasm that Artemis immediately knows I’m lying. Her eyes narrow. I flop onto my bed and pull my pillow over my face. “I don’t know what those are. I didn’t take advanced Slayer classes, remember?” I only ever studied the basics. Maybe my mother was worried the teachers would figure out what I was really destined to be. Maybe she was worried I would figure it out.
If I weren’t a Potential, would I have been pushed into full Watcher training like Artemis? A different life opens up before me. One where I mattered in Watcher society. One where I would have been given the ear of the Council, able to have voice and influence.
But if I weren’t a Potential, we wouldn’t have been taken away to be protected, and we would have been blown up alongside everyone else.
Gods, I can’t even hate being a Slayer without it getting complicated.
“Slayers are always important to study,” Artemis lectures, unaware of my internal strife. She’s annoyed with me again. “Sometimes their dreams are prophetic. The original Slayer communicates through them, and dreams used to link each former Slayer to the next. Ruth Zabuto has theorized that, with so many Slayers now, there might even be direct dream-to-dream connections, like everyone in a big group chat. You need to read up on it.”
“Great. Now I have even more homework.” Homework I won’t do. I don’t want to be a Slayer, much less delve into Slayer theory. Besides, the dreaded Buffy hasn’t shown up in any of my dreams in the last two months. I doubt she’s going to make an appearance now.
Unless knowing I can do this makes it possible for me to do it. . . . Great. Another thing to worry about.
“You should take this seriously!” Artemis says.
I yank my pillow away. “You just told me nothing is different and I shouldn’t act like a superhero!”
Artemis turns off her lamp and nighttime engulfs the room, separating us. “Whatever. Do whatever you want. I can’t help you be a Slayer.” It’s such an un-Artemis thing to say. Never in our lives has she told me to do whatever I want. She’s told me to do whatever she thinks is best for me. So either she no longer cares what’s best for me or she doesn’t know. And she’s pissed at me for it.
Being a Slayer is literally the last thing I would have asked for. Doesn’t she get how much this is killing me?
The realization that Buffy has, yet again, changed my entire life without my permission hits me so hard that I finally feel winded. Because if I’m a Slayer, it’s Buffy’s fault. I never would have been the Chosen One under the old one-at-a-time system. I would have forever remained an invisible Potential. And I never would have known. As furious as it makes me, it also seems preferable to this. Maybe my mom was right to keep it hidden.
Buffy cost me my father and, in a way, my mother. I won’t let her ruin my relationship with Artemis, too. She’s always taken care of me. Maybe she needs to feel like she still can.