enormous, entirely white. Along the walls, childlike illustrations chase one another. One is a girl with a stake, stabbing a cartoon vampire. Another is the same girl, a monster behind her, vivid spurts of red crayon pulsing from her neck.
Oh gods, ice cream girl needs my help.
I smile encouragingly at her. But she’s just standing there, staring intently at me. She hasn’t sat down, doesn’t have ice cream of her own. “Are you going to have any?”
She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “No.”
There’s a buzzing, a low pulse of noise I can feel in my bones. I hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s been with us the entire time. I look behind me. The room extends forever, the illustrations continuing their macabre stories. But in the distance, a roiling nothingness creeps closer.
“Are you a Slayer?” I ask.
Her nose wrinkles in the same disgust she gave the ice cream, but she nods.
“Are you in trouble?” The last time I had a dream about a Slayer like this, it was Cosmina. She needed help, and I failed her. I won’t fail again.
“Eat your ice cream.” She folds her arms and glares.
“I can help you.”
She raises an eyebrow, her full lips pursed.
“The storm.” I point back at it. “Something’s coming. I can help. I’m a Slayer too.”
“It is not my storm.” She picks up the spoon, fills it with ice cream, and stuffs it in my mouth.
I sputter around the tasteless cold mess. “Stop!”
“Ice cream helps!” She swats away my hands and force-feeds me another bite. “It makes you sick, but it helps! Giles told me! I have to help!”
I push away, the chair tipping backward and dumping me onto the floor. A new woman appears above me. Dreadlocks frame a face covered with elaborate white face paint. I recognize her! The First Slayer! Buffy told me about her. I—
She raises a blade overhead and slams it into my stomach.
6
I WAKE UP WITH A gasp, my hands over my stomach. When I pull them away, I’m surprised they’re not slick with dark blood. It felt so real.
I lie back. Having a Slayer dream—one where I was at least a little in control—makes me realize I haven’t been having the same Slayer dreams I used to. Not since Leo gave me back my power. Though the bedroom, my old familiar nightmare, had been there too. And it was filled with …
The edges of the dream drift away like smoke, and I let them. All I remember is the cold burst of the ice cream and the colder pierce of the blade. Why did the First Slayer kill me? And why did the pretty Slayer lure me into that room for it to all happen?
Sleep permanently over for the night, I sit up and rub my eyes. I half turn to check if Artemis is awake before realizing, yet again, she’s not in the other bed.
When I was fourteen, I got a deeply ill-advised haircut, chopping my long locks into a chin-length horror. But for months after, whenever I got into a car or lay down in bed, I reached up to pull my long hair out of the way. Every time, it surprised me to find only empty air.
When will I stop reaching for Artemis where she isn’t?
I climb out of bed and throw on some clothes in the dark. I stop by the gym only to check on Pelly. It’s awake and hurries to my side, gentle eyes bright. I try not to look at the gym; it was the scene of so many of my moments with Leo. Instead, we head into the darkness. I run as fast and hard as I can, even though I’m only a few hours separated from my most recent run. Pelly keeps up. It’s fast—another detail that, coupled with the pairs of eyes placed on either side of its head more like a rabbit than a fox, makes it obvious Pelly’s breed of demon has always been prey. Never predator. Our Watcher texts didn’t bother mentioning that. I made sure Rhys noted it in his entry for Unpellis Demons.
We’re back at the castle before the sun rises. Pelly curls up under a tree while I do pull-ups, less to build strength and more to try and exhaust it. What used to feel like potential now feels like a constant tension. Less like I’m ready for any fight that might happen, and more like I’m aching for something—anything—to fight.
With nothing else to do, I head inside and