The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill (21 page)

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill

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Joss swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.

Abraham looked past him, furrowing his brow. “Chazz, you missed your mark! Don’t tell me you fell asleep waiting for the boy. Or didn’t you think he’d make it this far?”

Joss waited, not speaking, not wanting to provoke any kind of reaction at all from Abraham, keeping his eyes on his uncle the entire time. Mostly on the silvertipped stake in the leather holster on his hip.

Abraham shot him a look—one that confounded Joss completely—and darted off down the trail. After about twenty yards, he dove into the trees on the left side. Joss blinked, and followed, his steps hesitant. When he reached his uncle, his stomach felt like it was made of lead. Abraham was standing over Chazz’s body. Chazz was dead, his eyes staring lifelessly into the surrounding forest. Abraham pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to snuff out even the smallest show of emotion.

Joss had a feeling it was all an act. Abraham had killed Chazz, because Abraham was really the rogue Slayer. After all, it was the perfect ruse, wasn’t it? Point all blame to his nephew with the knowledge of a past new recruit’s betrayal—something that would only fuel the fire. Joss was an easy target. And Abraham had had easy access to both Malek and Chazz. He glared at his uncle, sizing him up, wondering if he had the power to take him down for the good of the Society.

Behind him, Joss heard the rustle of branches and undergrowth. He turned to find Cratian and Ash entering the woods. Both looked shocked when their eyes fell on Chazz’s corpse. Joss opened his mouth to outwardly accuse his uncle, but before he could, Abraham looked at the Slayers and nodded toward his nephew. They slanted their eyes and Joss knew that he was in trouble.

Abraham had just pinned a second murder on him.

A DYING FLAME

Cratian and Ash grabbed Joss by each arm, yanking him wordlessly from where he stood. He could feel their anger, and sense their questions, but neither uttered a word. As they dragged him through the woods and along the trail, Joss didn’t speak either. He merely clenched his jaw tight, not certain what to say or what to do. It wasn’t like he could outwardly accuse his uncle now of these horrible acts, of betraying the Slayer Society in the worst way possible. For one, he didn’t have any evidence to support his theory, just an intensely strong gut feeling—and everybody knew that intuition wasn’t exactly counted as a valid argument in a court of law. For two, this was Abraham McMillan—one of the most highly regarded Slayers of his time. The Society counted on him, and barely recognized that Joss even existed. Why would they take his word over his uncle’s when he had no proof, just a sickening feeling? They wouldn’t, and that was the truth of it. Joss was trapped, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but see it through until he’d gathered some hard evidence.

They were taking him to the house. Joss felt a small flicker of hope ignite inside his chest. Sirus was at the house. Sirus would make them listen to reason. After all, Sirus was sure and strong and honest. He liked Joss, and he’d listen like no one else would and convince the other Slayers of the hypocrisy that was taking place right inside their own group. As Cratian kicked open the door, Joss clung to that flicker, and allowed it, just for a moment, to grow into a small, hesitant flame.

Cratian tugged Joss through the door and Ash moved behind him, pinning his arms, as if he were a prisoner who had been daring an escape. In truth, Joss hadn’t fought against them at all. He knew better. These men were skilled trackers, skilled hunters, skilled killers. And what’s more, Joss was innocent. The innocent never run, so he made a point to cooperate fully. But still they yanked on him, practically carrying him through the kitchen as if he’d fought against their efforts with mad force.

Sirus was standing at the stove. He’d looked up when the door had been kicked in, and when his eyes fell on Joss, they filled with a questioning look. Joss tried to communicate silently with him, hoping the expression on his face would explain enough to his friend that he’d realize that Joss needed him, needed his help, like never before. Sirus didn’t nod, didn’t make any facial expressions that showed that he understood or that he’d do whatever he could to help Joss out of the mess that he’d gotten himself into. His face was blank as he looked at Ash. “What’s happened?”

“We found Malek’s killer.” Ash needlessly tightened his grip on Joss’s forearm. Ever since the day that Malek had been found murdered, Ash had never liked Joss. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it had been Ash at the campfire that night to accuse him of murdering Malek. But he was. Maybe because they had become more than co-Slayers in the past weeks. They had become family. And now his family believed him to be a murderer. A betrayer in the worst of all possible ways.

Sirus’s eyes went wide. He flicked his gaze from Ash to Cratian, but kept his eyes off of Joss. The small flame of hope within Joss’s chest began to waver, suffocated by fear. “Really? Joss?”

Cratian nodded, an air of sadness hanging over him. “He may have killed Chazz, too. We just found him on the trail.”

Joss swallowed hard, resisting the urge to dispute what Cratian had just said. Technically, the body had been in the woods, not on the trail. And technically, it had been Abraham who had found it. And wasn’t that convenient? Abraham had been the closest to Chazz while Joss was running and defending himself from Cratian and Ash. It would have been easy for Abraham to take Chazz out. So why wasn’t anyone else seeing it?

Because, Joss thought, the Slayers loved Abraham. They knew him. He was one of them, and Joss wasn’t. Joss was just a boy who had been thrust into their routine, invaded their peace. They didn’t like him. They didn’t even want him here, despite the camaraderie he felt with them during his training sessions. He was alone in this. Not even Sirus seemed to care. He’d been a fool to count them among his family. He didn’t have a family. He was just the invisible boy. Nothing else. The flame died out completely and Joss lowered his head.

As Ash and Cratian dragged him through the kitchen into the dining room, Joss lifted his head for a moment. He just couldn’t believe that Sirus wasn’t going to help him. He’d thought Sirus was his friend. Had the entire thing been nothing but a ruse? Some twisted kind of test set up by Abraham from the beginning?

No. He refused to believe it.

He looked at Sirus, wishing like anything that they could have ten minutes alone, so that Joss could explain everything. Sirus met his eyes. Joss had expected to see that the eternal kindness had faded away, like a mask ripped off after a masquerade. But there it was in Sirus’s eyes, compassion, understanding, and concern. Inside Joss’s chest, that flame flickered again. It was small and uncertain, but it was there.

Ash released Joss’s arm and Cratian practically threw him into a chair. Then Ash pointed at him, his finger so close to Joss’s face that it tickled his eyelashes, and said, “Make one move and I’ll tie you to that chair, boy.”

Joss said nothing, but relaxed his body, trying to retain some sense of calm, and hoping it would show the Slayers that he wasn’t about to attempt an escape. Ash stood back, folding his arms in front of him, keeping a close, watchful eye on their prisoner.

Moments later, the silent room was filled with sound as Abraham entered the house, bringing the remaining Slayers with him. No one spoke—clearly Abraham had briefed them all before bringing them back to the house—but the sound of their boots on the aged hardwood floors reminded Joss of thunder. It was fitting, he thought, because a storm was coming. One that Joss might not survive.

Once all the Slayers were in the room, some seated on chairs around the table, some standing—all of them wearing expressions of anger, hurt, and disbelief—Abraham’s voice boomed through the room. “Joss McMillan, I accuse you of the foulest deed. Turning on your fellow Slayers, betraying our trust, and taking the lives of both Malek and Chazz. How do you plead?”

“Let’s not forget protocol, Abraham.” Sirus’s voice was hushed, but nevertheless, it commanded the attention of every Slayer there. He was seated across the table from Joss, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his head bowed slightly, as if in prayer. He raised his head and looked pointedly at Abraham. “According to Slayer Society rules, one cannot be tried by his individual group, merely accused. It’s up to the Society to try and convict a Slayer. What’s more, Joss isn’t an indoctrinated Slayer, so he isn’t held by our rules.”

Abraham’s face went white. Daggers shot from his eyes into Sirus, which told Joss that his uncle wasn’t used to being wrong. “True. Joss hasn’t been indoctrinated. But if he is guilty of taking the lives of two Slayers, then something must be done. A person cannot simply commit crimes and evade justice.”

Sirus shrugged, his voice eerily calm. “So involve the police.”

Abraham’s response wasn’t nearly as loud, brash or boastful as before. It was as if Sirus had somehow managed to take a bit of the wind out of his sails. “You know we can’t do that, Sirus. Local authorities would complicate the Society’s plans.”

“Besides, this is your nephew we’re talking about, and you wouldn’t want him to go to prison, would you, Abraham?” Sirus met and held Abraham’s gaze. It was a dare. Almost as if he and Sirus had previously discussed just this, and Sirus was bringing it up again just to prove a point. The very thought made Joss’s heart flutter. Had his uncle actually expressed an ounce of care about him? No. He doubted it strongly. Abraham didn’t care for him. He didn’t even like him.

Abraham dropped his eyes to the table for a moment. “My relationship with Joss has nothing to do with this hearing.”

“Doesn’t it, Uncle Abraham?” Joss stood slowly, pushing his chair back and placing his palms on the table’s surface to keep them from shaking. He had put up with so much up until now. Abraham’s seeming disappointment in him from the very start. The accusations of murder. The personal training sessions that seemed more like Abraham’s method of punishing him for something he couldn’t identify. And now he was being put on trial without even being asked whether or not he had any idea what was really going on. It was too much to bear, and Joss could no longer stay silent. “If you ask me, I think it has everything to do with it. You’ve never liked me, and certainly never hoped that I would be the next Slayer in our bloodline. You’ve been after me the entire time I’ve been here. It’s like you want me to fail. Like you don’t want me to ever be indoctrinated into the Society and are determined to punish me for trying. And isn’t it convenient that Slayers start dying off the moment I show up? What an easy way to be rid of the embarrassment of me for good.”

A low mutter raced through the crowd, one that Sirus gave voice to. “What are you saying, Joss? That Abraham knows who took the lives of Malek and Chazz?”

Joss met his friend’s eyes. As he readied the words on his tongue, a shock of fear shot through him. Fear of their reaction, mostly, but also fear of what Abraham might do or say. Not to mention fear that he’d put Sirus into a very uncomfortable position with the Society. “More than that, Sirus. I think Abraham killed them and is using me as a scapegoat.”

The room fell so silent that Joss could hear his own heart thumping inside of his chest. No one moved, no one breathed for a very long time. Then Abraham shook his head slowly. “It’s senseless. It’s asinine. Why would I wait twenty years to start taking the lives of Slayers?”

“Maybe you were waiting for the right moment. Or maybe your loyalties have only recently shifted.” Joss tilted his head some as he met his uncle’s eyes.

Abraham moved so fast that Joss barely had time to register it before his uncle was just inches from his face, gripping the front of Joss’s shirt. “Are you actually questioning my loyalty to the cause? You haven’t been training for half a summer yet. What do you know of loyalty,
boy
?”

Joss’s heart was racing. He knew his uncle was capable of killing him, and at the moment, he got the impression that Abraham was anxious to take his life. But he had to remain strong, had to stay vigilant. It was the only way to prove his innocence to the others. To Sirus, who didn’t need for him to prove it at all. “I know that the vampire who spoke to me in town knew you by name and acted as though you’d interacted several times.”

A look crossed Abraham’s face then—one filled with shock, confusion, and amazingly, fear. He released Joss’s shirt and stepped back, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”

Joss’s eyes were locked on his uncle’s. Because there was something else, something that surprised even him. He was looking into the eyes of an innocent man. Shaking his head, too, admonishing himself for having jumped to such a drastic conclusion when the answer to the recent Slayer murders was so obvious, Joss said, “It may be ridiculous, but it doesn’t feel good to be accused, does it?”

Abraham paced the room for a moment before turning back to Joss, his voice calm. Almost as calm as Sirus’s had been a moment before. “Did you kill Malek, Joss?”

“No.”

“And Chazz? Did you take his life?”

“No, Uncle. I didn’t.” Joss held Abraham’s gaze, hoping that he would see the innocence in Joss’s eyes the way that Joss had seen it in his.

Then Abraham sighed, shaking his head. He tilted his face up toward the ceiling and sighed again. “So who did?”

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill

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