23
FOR YOU,
CECILE
Joss woke after a
blissfully dreamless sleep and rolled over in his bed, reluctant to
open his eyes. He’d tossed and turned for much of the night,
repeating to himself every moment that he and Kat had shared,
despite his reluctance to even think about her. Thinking about Kat
hurt, and thinking about the fact that he was a large part of what
was making her leave made him hurt even more. But despite his
efforts not to have her in his thoughts, there she was, with every
breath, every heartbeat.
He’d never really had
a friend before, and certainly had never felt about anyone the way
that he felt about Kat. He wanted to protect her, the way he’d
wanted to protect Cecile. And the only way to do that was to push
her away. The only way to save her was to hurt her, and that hurt
him as well.
More than he would
ever dare admit to.
Finally, reluctantly,
Joss cracked open his eyes. Abraham was sitting quietly in a chair
beside his bed, but spoke as if they were continuing a
conversation. “You’re quite right about that, nephew. I never hoped
that you were the next Slayer in our bloodline. I’d hoped for your
cousin Greg, or even his brother, Henry. But not you. You were the
runt of the litter, so to speak. Greg was virile and quick, with a
steady hand and a confidence that normally pervades our family.
Henry was less confident, less physically apt than his brother, but
with some training and direction, he would have made a fine Slayer.
Then there was you.”
He didn’t say it with
any intended hurt or malice. His words simply were. They rang of truth, a truth that could not
have been easy to share. Nor were they easy to hear. “You were born
a month early, too eager to come into the world, too impatient. And
there were signs of weakness even then. You were born jaundiced
because of a slight liver problem. It cleared up within months, but
other weaknesses followed. You learned to walk much later than your
cousins and had a reluctance to run from a very young age. But then
... you found your legs, and I saw that you could outrun anyone
around you. I wanted it not to be true—your incredible
agility—waited for it to prove itself false, but there it was. You
had a Slayer’s agility, and later, a Slayer’s skill with a weapon.
You blew everyone away at archery, whether it was at camp or in
school. And I knew that you were one of us, and that I’d have to
train you, despite your remaining weakness.”
Joss sat up in bed
slowly, wrapping his arms around his legs, clutching his knees to
his chest. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad—not about the things that
his uncle was saying. He was just disappointed in himself for
having been such a ... well ... disappointment. “What weakness?
What weakness do I still possess?”
Abraham sat forward
in his chair, his eyes expressing a sorrow that Joss didn’t quite
understand. “You care about people, Joss. And though that is an
admirable quality for a normal person to possess, you are a Slayer.
Closeness, caring, these things can only harm a Slayer in the end,
and will prove a terrible weakness in the armor of the Society. In
truth, I’d hoped you’d fail at enough tests that I would be forced
to send you home, to convince the Society that I had made a mistake
about you, that you weren’t a Slayer after all.”
Joss rested his chin
on his knees, watching his covers with false interest. He took in
his uncle’s words and realized that by hoping he would fail, that
by doing everything within his power to make Joss fail, Abraham had
actually been trying to protect him. From what? Vampires,
certainly, but more than that. From everything that Sirus had been
telling him. From a lonely, dangerous life without anyone to share
it with. But then, didn’t Sirus have Kat? Surely he’d been close
enough to someone in order to have a child. Surely there was a
chance—even a small one—that Joss could live a basically normal
life outside his Slayer duties. It was possible. Wasn’t
it?
“Initially, I tried
to talk Headquarters out of their decision that you were the next
Slayer in my bloodline, but they were adamant. And then, when I
asked what would become of you should you desert the Society after
your induction, they instructed me to take your life.”
Joss met his eyes,
surprise and fear filling him.
Abraham nodded. “It’s
protocol for such situations, but I had to ask. Once I received my
instructions, I turned to leave, but by the time my hand touched
the door, my mind was set. I knew I could not allow my nephew to
perish, and that with your sensitivities, your weaknesses, you
would be better off living a life without the binds of the Society.
I turned back to the man in charge and pleaded with him to grant me
a single favor. And he did. He said that if you should fail at your
training before induction, you could go free.”
Joss’s heart raced
with the knowledge his uncle had shared. Was it true? Abraham had
only been so hard on him so that he could save Joss from a life in
the Slayer Society? Why hadn’t he just told him in the beginning?
But Joss didn’t have to ask that. The Society wouldn’t want Joss to
have an easy out, so Abraham had likely been sworn to
silence.
“I thought it would
be easy to make you fail.” Abraham spoke softly, with more kindness
than Joss had ever heard his uncle use before. “But then you passed
my tests, at times with flying colors. You’ve bested men with skill
beyond their years of experience and succeeded in ways I had not
deemed even remotely possible, especially not for a boy with such
incredible weakness. But despite that weakness, you have an inner
strength unlike any I have ever seen, Joss, and I will be proud one
day to call you a Slayer. That is ... if you still want to after
hearing all that I’ve told you—which I shouldn’t be
doing.”
Joss lifted his head
and met his uncle’s eyes, which were shining with pride. Suddenly,
his insides felt lighter. He had something he’d convinced himself
that he’d never have—his uncle’s approval and the love of a family
member. For a moment, he forgot about Kat and everything that had
happened. He forgot about his healing wounds and the way his
muscles ached. All he focused on was the admiration in Abraham’s
eyes.
It was wonderful. So
wonderful, in fact, that a large lump formed in Joss’s throat,
rendering him unable to speak.
Abraham reached out
and patted him on the shoulder roughly, an almost-smile on his
lips.
When Joss found his
voice, it came out with a croak. “I do. Very much, Uncle. I want to
be a Slayer.”
“That day is fast
approaching, Joss, but there are still a few tasks at hand that
need tending to.”
Joss could feel
moistness in his eyes, but blinked it away before his uncle could
notice. “What tasks? I’m game.”
Abraham patted him
again and stood. “Meet me in the clearing in twenty minutes. In
just three more minor tasks, you can be indoctrinated into the
Slayer Society. And these last three are where it gets fun. The
worst of your training is over.”
Joss clung to those
last seven words like they were a lifeline. The worst was over. His
uncle had said it. And Abraham wasn’t a man to lie about something
like that. Joss pulled the covers off and hurried out of bed, a
permasmile on his face. “I’ll shower and be right
out.”
Abraham chuckled.
“Grab some breakfast first. After yesterday, you certainly earned a
good meal.”
Joss nodded, still
smiling, and Abraham walked out of his room, closing the door
behind him. After grabbing some clothes, Joss hurried through a
shower and bounded down the stairs. Sirus was nowhere to be found,
but after last night’s ordeal with Kat, he wasn’t exactly
surprised. He made a mental note to stop over and check on Sirus
once he’d completed the task that Abraham had set up for him, and
then filled a bowl with cereal and milk. After wolfing it down, he
headed outside and up the hill along the trail until he could see
the clearing up ahead of him. A strange scent was in the air—like
smoldering ashes and decay.
As he drew closer to
the clearing, he saw why.
Abraham and the other
Slayers were there—all but Sirus, of course—and at the center of
the clearing were two bodies. Their skin was charred and their eyes
stared unblinking up at the sky, but their chests still rose and
fell. Joss’s breakfast edged its way up his throat, threatening to
leave him. He paused in his steps, looking away from the gruesome
scene, trying desperately to ease his sudden, growing nausea. If he
threw up, he’d never hear the end of it. Once his stomach had
settled to a more manageable point, Joss continued into the
clearing, standing to Abraham’s right, waiting for his uncle to
give him his task. A task that would, hopefully, take him far away
from the charred near-corpses in front of him.
“Early this morning
we located the vampire outpost. These two beasts were inside,
unaware that they’d been detected. We waited until first light,
then dragged them outside into the sun. Luckily, they were pretty
allergic, but not enough to kill them. Only enough to subdue them.
Which is actually really fortunate for you, nephew, as ridding the
world of these monsters in very specific ways is part of your
training.” Abraham held up a small, silver hatchet. It gleamed in
the morning light. The sight of that glint seemed abnormally sharp,
like the metal itself. He held it out to Joss. “So ... are you
ready to take the next step to becoming a Slayer,
nephew?”
Joss looked from the
hatchet to the vampires. They looked so human. Two eyes, a mouth,
two ears, hands, arms, legs. And hearts. Did they feel? Did they
know how? Did they know how to love as much as they seemed to know
how to hate and destroy? Joss didn’t know. And all of a sudden he
didn’t know if he had what it took to be a Slayer. It was one thing
to fight with his fellow Slayers. It was quite another to take a
life.
He shook his head
slowly and took two steps back. He needed to think. He needed to
think about what he was doing and why he was here before he did
something so drastic, so unbelievably horrific and violent. Before
there was no turning back.
As he turned away
from the clearing, Abraham’s voice found his ears, stopping him in
his tracks. “What ever happened to the vampire, the creature, the
monster that killed your younger sister, Joss? Did it leave her
room that night with a full belly, content with the murder it had
committed? Do you suppose it felt any compassion at all for that
sweet, innocent child before it ruthlessly took her young life? Do
you suppose it was so overcome with regret that it gave up its
vampiric ways and took its own life?”
Joss gripped his
hands into fists, his body tensing at the memory of that night—the
night he lost Cecile. “No.”
Abraham stepped
closer, dropping his voice so that only he and Joss were privy to
his words. “No, it didn’t. That bastard moved on to other children,
other sisters and brothers, perhaps, and murdered each of them with
a defiant, bloody grin. You know it did. Just as you know that one
of those things lying in that clearing could be the one who did it.
You can right the wrong it committed that night, Joss. But only you
can do it. Only you can lay Cecile’s soul to rest. So are you going
to man up and do it, or has this all just been for
show?”
Joss closed his eyes
and images of his sister raced through his mind, flipping like
photographs in an album. Cecile in her crib. Cecile taking her
first steps—to Joss, of all people. Cecile leaving for her first
day of kindergarten. Cecile ... dead in her bed. A vampire whose
face he couldn’t recall, poised over her with bloodstained lips.
Cecile’s blood.
He opened his eyes
and grabbed the hatchet from his uncle’s hands, wordlessly turning
back to the clearing. He approached the two charred creatures with
a confident step, though his actual confidence was absolutely
lacking. With a shuddering breath, he raised the hatchet high and
whispered aloud three words that he clung to, three words that
would get him through every act he could not face alone, to remind
himself exactly why he was doing this, exactly why he’d come here
in the first place. “For you, Cecile.”
Then he brought the
hatchet down as hard as he could, his aim sure, his arm strong. As
he did, a piece of his soul fluttered off into the air, like ash in
the wind.
Hours later, once the
monsters had been beheaded and their remains disposed of, the
Slayers sat around a campfire in that same clearing. Mugs were
filled with foamy drinks. Songs were sung. And Joss sat on a large
stone near the fire, his blood-soaked hands still trembling wildly.
In his mind, he kept repeating his sister’s name, but it brought
him no solace. There was nothing comforting about what he had just
done to those vampires, and nothing just about the way that he felt
now. Afterward his uncle had assured him that the act would get
easier, that everyone experiences doubt after their first few
kills, but that he’d done exactly what he’d needed to do in order
to ensure the safety of all of mankind ... and to avenge Cecile.
But Joss didn’t want to hear his words of comfort and assurance. He
wanted to forget that it had happened. He wanted to wash away the
blood and go home to his mom and dad. But he couldn’t. He was in
too deep.
Abraham gave his
shoulder a squeeze and held up his glass. The other Slayers
followed suit. “Today, my nephew, you became a man. And due to your
bravery and unfailing loyalty in the face of danger, soon we’ll
call you brother and count you among our ranks. Slayers! We drink
to Joss!”
Morgan, Ash, Cratian,
Abraham, Paty—every Slayer in their gathered group raised their mug
then in excited pride, toasting to Joss and celebrating his
success. But Joss couldn’t raise his eyes to see them do so. All he
could do was stare at the blood on his hands and wonder how much
more there would be.