The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill Read online

  He carried his bag down the stairs and set it near the front door. As he entered the kitchen to grab a snack, his eyes fell on the stove, which brought his thoughts back to Sirus, back to Kat. With but a moment’s hesitation, Joss headed out the back door and across the yard. He wanted to say good-bye to Sirus and Kat before he left. Even if they weren’t really there to hear it. For all he knew, he might never see either of them again, and he just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving things unsaid. It was a weakness he still possessed, but he promised himself he’d work on it. He’d work on all of his weaknesses, until he became a Slayer that even Abraham would envy.

  He pulled open the door and stepped inside, a strange sadness settling over him. He felt like he was mourning his friends, not just saying good-bye, and couldn’t put his finger on exactly why he was feeling that way. As he moved through the house, he thought about every happy memory they’d shared. By the time he’d reached the kitchen, he was smiling. The kitchen, more than any other room, reminded him of Sirus. The smell of cooking food and the sight of clean dishes being put away. The sounds and smells and sights of comfort and home. All of that meant Sirus to him. Sirus was a caretaker, after all, and he was very good at his job.

  Joss leaned up against the counter, cursing under his breath when he realized he’d somehow gotten spaghetti sauce on his shirt. Sirus must have been cooking before he disappeared with Kat and gotten some on the counter without realizing. Joss moved into the bathroom and rinsed his shirt off in the sink, ringing water from the cotton, hoping it wouldn’t stain. Musing that there might be something in the medicine cabinet to help remove the stain, he opened the cabinet door. To his surprise, he found it filled with six different kinds of sunscreen.

  Joss furrowed his brow. That was an awful lot of sunscreen for just two people. Or maybe he’d been storing it for all the Slayers’ use, for the duration of the summer.

  A strange stillness filled him as his eyes fell on the cabinet below the sink. Surely it would contain nothing more than bathroom cleansers. Nothing unusual at all.

  He stretched out his hand—it seemed like it took hours to do so—and opened the cupboard door slowly. Inside there were neat stacks of tubes of sunscreen. Rows and rows of them. Joss slammed the door and heard the neat piles collapse within. He stood there for a long, lingering moment, trying desperately not to put the puzzle pieces together, wishing he’d never entered Sirus’s house to say good-bye. What a stupid idea, anyway! Saying good-bye to people who were already gone. What was he thinking?

  It meant nothing, had to mean nothing. Because if Sirus’s large collection of sunscreen meant what Joss feared it meant, then that would mean that Sirus was a liar. And a rather stupid one at that. If Sirus was a—he couldn’t bring himself to use the “v” word; not even in thought—then why wouldn’t he take more care to hide his sunscreen? Or had he hoped that someone would see it, and maybe put him out of his misery?

  He looked down at the stubborn stain on his shirt and pressed his lips together tightly before moving back into the kitchen. His eyes moved from the small smear on the counter to the refrigerator and never before in his life had he wanted to see spaghetti leftovers sitting on a shelf in a refrigerator so badly. He placed his hand on the refrigerator handle and took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs as he pulled the door open.

  The refrigerator was almost completely empty.

  Except for a single item.

  Joss’s hands shook as he retrieved the bag from the top shelf. It was plastic, full of a crimson fluid, and marked with various stickers—one of them a biohazard sticker. Another sticker read Type A Positive.

  Blood. He was holding a bag of blood. And what’s more, it was a bag of blood from Sirus’s refrigerator.

  At first, he tried to rationalize it. Sirus was the caretaker. Maybe he kept the blood around in case he needed to perform a transfusion of some sort. Maybe he was worried about not reaching a hospital in time. After all, they were in the mountains, and the hospital really was pretty far away.

  But the voice of reason kept invading his panicked thoughts, reminding Joss that while he’d seen Sirus cook many elaborate meals, he couldn’t once recall having witnessed Sirus eating any of those meals. And the sunscreen ... so much sunscreen.

  Joss dropped the bag to the floor. It landed with a splat, but the plastic held, still containing the blood.

  Horror crept over every inch of his insides, piercing his soul. Sirus was a vampire. Joss had been duped this entire time. What’s more, he now knew why Sirus had run. The Slayers had been getting too close to discovering exactly who had turned on them, who was responsible for the deaths of Malek and Chazz. Sirus had killed them. Sirus was now working for the enemy.

  Sirus was the enemy.

  Joss’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he almost didn’t hear the scream coming from somewhere in the direction of the clearing. Instinctively he bolted out the door and toward the clearing, stopping only when he saw his uncle on the ground, his right leg bending at an odd angle, Sirus crouching over him with his hands covering Abraham’s mouth. Abraham’s stake had been flung across the clearing, no more than three feet from where Joss was standing. Sirus was pressing Abraham’s mouth hard, the look on his face one of panic. “Shut up, Abraham! Just shut up. Let me think.”

  Joss bent down and stretched out his hand, grasping the stake in his hand. It was heavier than he’d expected, and he blamed its heft on the silver that snaked its way around the wood, coming together at its silver tip. Then he looked at Sirus and said—in a tone that seemed so calm and determined, in a voice that he barely recognized as his own, “What’s there to think about, Sirus?”

  Sirus stiffened at first, then sighed heavily, his shoulders sinking some. “Joss. Of all of them, it would have to be Joss, wouldn’t it?”

  Joss waited, getting a feel for the weapon in his hand. He knew what he would have to do, and reminded himself that it was Sirus who had brought him to this. It was Sirus who was forcing his hand.

  Then Sirus lifted a finger to his lips and gave Abraham a pointed look, telling him to hush. He stood slowly and turned on one heel to face Joss. His friend. “This isn’t what it looks like. It’s not what it seems. So think about that before you stab me with that thing and force yourself to live with a regret you may not recover from.”

  Joss gripped the stake, comfortable with its weight now. He turned it over in his hand and held Sirus’s gaze. “Are you a vampire, Sirus?”

  Sirus’s eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m not your enemy, Joss. Please. Put the stake down.”

  Joss felt a lump form in his throat. He needed answers, but wasn’t getting them. “Did you kill Malek and Chazz?”

  “No. I swear to you that I didn’t.” Sirus held his hands out in a pleading gesture. “Joss, you know me. Do I look like a killer?”

  In all honesty, he didn’t. But Joss couldn’t shake the image of all that sunscreen—enough for hundreds of normal people, not to mention that blood bag in the refrigerator. But this was Sirus. His confidant. His friend. Relaxing his grip on the stake some, Joss shook his head. “I’m a little confused.”

  Abraham lay there quietly, his eyes squeezed tight, as if he were in immense pain and doing all that he could just to remain conscious.

  Sirus shook his head slowly, looking pained. “I was bitten three years ago. And though I resisted, I was sent here time and time again to gather information about the Slayer Society. This was supposed to be my last Catskills mission.”

  Suddenly, Joss knew exactly what had happened to Sirus. He’d been bitten, once, and turned into a vampire’s human slave. The Slayer manual had spoken about such an occurrence. He remembered that it was referred to as being made into a drudge. And what a horrible fate it was, unable to resist your vampire master’s every command, no matter if it went against your beliefs or morals. That had to be it. Sirus was a drudge, and his vampire master had sent him back here to spy on his fellow Slayers, against his will. He
looked at Sirus, at his friend, and wondered if it were possible to free someone once they were trapped by the binds of vampire control.

  And the sunscreen. It was so obvious. Clearly, Sirus had to keep sunscreen around for his master. Joss suspected that master was Zy.

  “It was never my intention to hurt you or the others, Joss. I swear it. I had no choice.” The truth rang through in each of Sirus’s words.

  Joss lowered the stake, not knowing what to do, only knowing that he could never harm a friend. Not exactly to his surprise, Sirus turned and took off into the woods, probably headed to warn his vampire master, as he’d likely been ordered to do. He moved over to his uncle and knelt beside him. “Abraham? Are you okay? I’m going to go call an ambulance.”

  Abraham opened his eyes wide, the intensity of his pain all over his face. He reached up and grabbed Joss by the shirt. “Go after him, Joss. Don’t stop until he’s dead.”

  Joss furrowed his brow in confusion. He wondered if it were true what they said about people who suffered delusions after breaking a bone. “Uncle Abraham, it’s not Sirus’s fault. He’s just a drudge. We have to figure out a way to help him.”

  “Help him?!” Abraham trembled violently as his body slipped into a state of shock. “Don’t help him, Joss. He’s a vampire! I saw his . . . his . . .”

  Joss’s eyes grew wide in disbelief as his uncle collapsed into an unconscious state. But not before he whispered one final word.

  “... fangs.”

  27

  THE HUNT

  Joss ran through the woods in the direction that Sirus had fled, his self-created wind brushing back his hair and tickling his eyelashes. He gripped the stake tightly in his hand, running, going, moving forward, not knowing if he was making any headway at all, and cursing himself for ever having jumped to the easy, forgiving conclusion that Sirus was merely a harmless drudge. But still he ran, his thigh muscles on fire, his focus clear and sure. He had to find Sirus, had to forget about the friendship he’d been duped into believing they had shared, and had to stake him through the heart.

  He couldn’t think about Kat and wonder if she had any idea that her father was a bloodsucking monster now. He couldn’t think about the way that Sirus had made him feel cared for in a way that not even his parents had made him feel. He couldn’t think about anything but the wooden instrument in his hand and his duty to the Society, his duty to mankind, and his duty to Cecile.

  Because every time Joss killed a vampire, he was setting her soul just a little more free. And if it damned him, so what. Let him be damned. But let Cecile’s soul rest.

  Slowing his steps for a moment, Joss whipped around. He didn’t recognize this section of the woods and after spinning completely around, he really had no concrete idea of what direction he’d been heading in. In short, he was lost, with no idea how to find Sirus, let alone the clearing he’d left Abraham in. Joss turned slowly, making a guess at which way he’d been running, and moved forward through the woods until he spied something he had never seen before during his forest treks here. A small log cabin sat at the bottom of a shallow valley. Joss watched it warily, wondering if there were any occupants, and if there were, whether or not they were human. To be safe, he crept silently down the decline and around the building, ducking below the windows, until he came to a small door on the side of the house. The area around the cabin was unkempt and grown over, so it was likely empty, but Joss had to play it safe. Vampires, it turns out, were immensely crafty creatures. He’d rather tiptoe around and find out the building had been abandoned rather than throw caution to the wind and end up dead. Or worse.

  And there was something worse than death. He could be made into a drudge. Or, even more terrible than that, he could be turned into one of the walking undead. A vampire. Joss couldn’t even imagine the horrors of that existence, and didn’t want to. He’d rather be dead than be a monster that fed on the innocent.

  He turned the knob slowly and the small door swung open without a sound, as if its hinges had been recently greased. The room he entered was pitch-black, and it was only then that Joss realized that every window had been painted over, allowing no sunlight to pierce the glass. His heart picked up its pace, but Joss calmed it at once, not wanting to draw any attention from the vampires that surely must reside here, in this small, nowhere cabin, lost in the woods.

  As he made his way across the room, he used his fingers for sight. The counter led him to the refrigerator, and when he hit empty space, he moved forward slowly, reaching out into empty darkness until the tips of his fingers found the table in the center of the room. Beyond that he found a blank wall, and then a door that was standing open a single inch. From within that next room, Joss heard voices. One of them very familiar to him.

  “More bloodwine, Sirus?”

  “Please.” Sirus’s voice sounded agitated and upset, as if he’d been terribly wronged and was consulting with his friends in order to find a solution to his dilemma. “Abraham still lives, but he shouldn’t be a problem. I broke his leg. Not a clean break, either. He won’t heal quickly from that.”

  “Better than he deserves,” a third voice declared. “You should have killed him, drained him dry.”

  Sirus sounded bemused. “Is that what you’d have done, Boris?”

  The third vampire snarled. “I’d have taken my time, slurped every drop from every one of his lovely little veins. But not before tormenting him with a bit of fire. It’s the least he deserves.”

  Joss leaned forward and quickly counted twenty-four vampires gathered in the dimly candlelit room. Plus Sirus. So twenty-five. He was no match for twenty-five monsters. Hell, he was barely a match for one, and that one he’d needed Abraham’s help with.

  As he ducked away from the door, back into the darkness, he thought about Sirus and wondered how it was that none of the Slayers had recognized him as a creature of the night. His movements, his mannerisms, seemed so distinctly human, not at all otherworldly the way that the other vampires seemed to be. Then it hit him. Sirus must have been around humans for so long that he was able to adopt their mannerisms. Even if what Sirus had said was true, that he had been a vampire for just three years, then that meant he was just three years out of being human and into being a monster. Joss paused, his thoughts darkening briefly. What did that mean for Kat? Was she a vampire, too? Did her mother know about Sirus? Did he kill her and leave Kat motherless? He vowed then to find Kat and protect her at all costs. She was very lucky that Sirus hadn’t yet given in to his evil hunger and devoured her in her sleep as he likely had so many others. Joss would find her, no matter what, and protect her. As he should have protected Cecile.

  A new voice spoke from within the next room. “There’s been news in your absence, Sirus. News having to do with the Pravus prophecy.”

  Joss raised a curious eyebrow. Pravus. The word that had made his uncle so angry. What did it mean?

  Sirus chuckled. “I don’t need to ask who shared this bit of information with you. Need I remind you gentlemen that the president of the Stokerton council is about as nutty as a hatter?”

  “He may be crazy, but he says he has proof, and I’m inclined to believe him. Rumor says the Pravus may be located in a small town called Bathory.” This voice was deep, and the sound of it reminded Joss of pictures he’d seen of Scotland. It was old and lyrical.

  Joss sucked in his breath. Bathory. That was where Henry lived.

  The deep voice spoke again. “Keep this between us. We can’t have any nonbelievers getting involved. Or should I count you among their numbers, Sirus?”

  Sirus sighed. “I never said I didn’t believe. Just that I don’t believe that he is a man we should follow blindly.”

  Joss stepped silently away from the door. He turned toward where he remembered the door being, but slammed into what felt like a stove. As it yanked away from the wall, he heard a hissing sound. The air smelled like gas. And from the next room, a ruckus broke out. “What was that?”

  “I
t’s that damned boy, I know it!”

  The deep, Scottish voice shouted, “Sirus!”

  Then Joss heard Sirus’s voice, just as he’d reached the small door that led to the outside. “Go after him, Kinley. And when you find him ... kill him.”

  Joss burst outside and took off at a sprint, running as fast and as hard and as far as his legs would carry him, not slowing down to catch his breath or to stop his heart from bursting inside his chest. He just ran and ran and ran and ran, with no regard for his health or what was surely coming up behind him, hungry for his blood. He ran like never before and prayed to any deity he could possibly think of to let him reach the Slayers’ cabin, let him get to a place of safety. Even if it wasn’t actual safety. Just someplace he could pretend.

  But an uphill run was taking more energy and more effort than he ever deemed possible. He was still too close to the cabin, too close to the vampires, and too close to death.

  Above him there was a rustling sound, and just as Joss was about to brave a glance upward, the vampire that Sirus had called Kinley dropped from the trees and landed easily in front of Joss. With speed so fast Joss barely had time to blink, the beast moved close to him, shoving him backward, until Joss tumbled down the hill, toward the cabin he’d been trying so desperately to escape. It advanced on him, growling under its breath, so animalistic that Joss feared it might claw him into pieces before it even took a bite. Then it opened its mouth wide, revealing saliva-coated fangs, and Joss froze in fear, knowing that it wouldn’t just bite him. It wanted very much to kill him.

  Joss recalled the heft in his hand and thanked the stars that in his terror, he’d gripped his uncle’s stake even tighter, so tight that the veins of silver were surely now temporary imprints in his skin. He slashed forward as hard as he could, but just nicked the beast’s shoulder. It screamed in a roar of rage and Joss stepped back, tripping over a rock that he hadn’t noticed behind his foot. Joss fell onto his back and, as the creature leaped forward at him, its teeth bared, its hungry tongue lolling inside its ancient mouth, Joss brought his knees up to his chest, a scream tearing from his throat until his vocal cords burned. He kicked his legs out just as the beast came down and to the shock and terror that now belonged to both Slayer and vampire, Joss kicked the monster backward. It flew through the air for a moment, but before it could regain control of its form, it slammed mercilessly into a large fallen branch, the sharp wood plunging through its back, piercing its heart.