Third Strike Read online

  As if on cue, the side door opened and Henry stepped outside. Joss brought the ax down again before tossing the split log neatly into the pile to his left. He was hoping, praying, counting on Henry not approaching him, not saying a word, and if he had to speak, to not ask about what had knocked him out in the woods. Mostly because he already knew where that conversation would lead, and he absolutely didn’t want to go there with his cousin again. Why couldn’t they stick to simple discussion topics, like the weather or which hot celebrity Henry unrealistically thought he had a chance at? Why did it always have to be about vampires?

  A small voice spoke up from the back of Joss’s mind. One he wished that he couldn’t hear. It said that Joss had it wrong. His way of thinking was askew. It wasn’t about vampires at all—not for Henry. For Henry, it was about his best friend, plain and simple. Vampire or human—it didn’t matter to Henry. Vlad was his friend. And Joss had almost killed him.

  Joss reminded the voice that he was a Slayer, and that it was his job to kill vampires.

  Inside his imagination, the voice just gave him a knowing look. One that caused Joss to sigh deeply as he reached for the next log.

  Henry’s shoulders were slightly slumped as he approached. “I’m supposed to help you with the wood.” Clearly, the last thing that he wanted to be doing was hanging out in the growing darkness with his cousin, chopping wood. Come to think of it, that was the last thing that Joss wanted, too. “Your dad said he wants it done by dinner.”

  Dinner. The world rolled around uncomfortably inside Joss’s mind, like a loose marble. He was so used to grabbing a sandwich by himself or popping a frozen meal into the microwave that he was pretty uncertain what Henry had meant by his dad mentioning the D word. Dinner was something that their family had had before they lost Cecile. Now they simply foraged in the kitchen for food while avoiding eye contact. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Pizza.” He and Henry locked eyes then. Joss hated what he saw on Henry’s face, but it was undeniable. Pity. Henry couldn’t deny what was lying all around him in shambles. Joss’s family was falling apart, and now he knew that for sure.

  Joss stood there, the ax dangling in his right hand, shifting his feet uncomfortably in embarrassment. He could feel tears beginning to well in his eyes but fought to keep them contained. “Remember how much my mom loved to cook? Before?”

  He hadn’t been able to say “Before Cecile died,” but he knew Henry would understand what he’d meant. It was too difficult to talk about his sister. Especially when discussing the chaos and destruction that had been left in the wake of her demise.

  Henry forced a smile, his eyes shimmering. “Yeah. She and my mom could cook circles around each other. But . . . things change, I guess.”

  “I hope they don’t.” Henry tilted his head curiously at Joss’s words, so Joss clarified. “I mean, I hope that my mom’s love of cooking is still in there somewhere. I keep on hoping that I’ll wake up to the smells of breakfast and happiness, y’know?”

  Memories of his mom’s creativity in the kitchen came flooding through Joss’s mind. The table had always been perfectly set. The food was in abundance, and the recipes wonderfully complex. His mom had had a passion for cooking then. And now she didn’t have a passion for anything. She took her medication and sat quietly most of the time, the color drained from her days. Joss worried about her. He worried a lot, and with good reason.

  “Losing Cecile really changed things, didn’t it? The extended family talks, of course, and I see it when you guys visit, but I really had no idea how bad it had gotten for your family, Joss. You all just seem so . . .” Henry swallowed hard, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His words were softly spoken and carefully chosen. “. . . fragile.”

  Fragile. Meaning they could be broken. Joss refused to believe that, refused to believe that his family could crumble and blow away with the wind. He tightened his grip on the ax and readied another log, his jaw tight, his shoulders newly tense. He never should have talked to Henry about this, never should have opened himself up in this way. What good could possibly come of it? Nothing. “We’re fine.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I said we’re fine.” Joss brought the ax down hard, cutting both the wood and Henry’s words. Clearly, Henry had hit a nerve.

  Henry watched him quietly for several minutes as Joss moved through several logs. Just as the sun had finally dipped behind the trees, casting a nighttime feel, Henry spoke. His tone was even, as if he were worried that any misspeak might damage the already frazzled Joss. Joss would never admit it if asked, but he was right. “What can I do to help?”

  Joss lowered the ax momentarily and looked around before pointing to the house. “Carry the wood I’ve already cut over to the rack by the garage and stack it.”

  Without complaint, Henry moved from the cut pile to the stack by the garage and back again. Joss continued to cut wood, all the while amazed at how cooperative his normally hotheaded cousin was being.

  “My head’s still killing me.” Henry rubbed his temples as he approached the last few logs in the cut pile. Then, as if remembering something, he paused and looked at Joss. “Hey, what happened out there today? Was it a coyote or something? What hit me?”

  Joss furrowed his brow in contemplation. On one hand, it was actually kinda nice to have someone to talk to about the existence of vampires. On the other, he knew that admitting anything regarding a vampire attack would put Henry immediately on the defensive. Joss made an executive decision and looked at his cousin. “It was a coyote. Big one, too. After it hit you, it ran off deeper into the woods. Apparently it thought you were alone. When it saw there were two of us, it must have gotten spooked. We were lucky. Looks like that guy died by a coyote attack after all.”

  Instantly, Joss could tell that Henry didn’t believe a word that he was saying. And who could blame him? Joss’s tone was so full of it, he might as well have had a sign on his forehead flashing “I AM SUCH A LIAR” in bright neon red. But it wasn’t Joss’s fault. He was having a difficult time focusing on being smooth and believable on the heels of the discussion about his “fragile” family. In short, he wasn’t trying hard enough. And they both knew it.

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “Are you lying to me?”

  “No.” Joss’s heart beat hard inside his chest, as if tapping him in quiet disagreement.

  “You’re lying to me.” It wasn’t a question anymore. Not that it had been much of one in the first place, but Henry had been giving him a chance then. Now there was no turning back.

  “No, I’m not.” Joss set his jaw stubbornly.

  “Joss.”

  “What?”

  Henry groaned, running a haphazard hand through his hair. Astoundingly, his hair looked even better after. He met Joss’s eyes and visibly fought to keep his tone calm. “Was it a vampire?”

  He wanted to shout that yes, yes, it was a vampire, and that vampire was someone near and dear to him, and he was so confused at this point about how exactly he was supposed to feel about it that he felt like imploding . . . but he couldn’t. Because that would mean that the Society might be wrong about vampires. And that Henry might be right about Vlad.

  Joss stuck the ax into an oversized log then and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Henry looked more irritated than Joss had ever seen him. He was holding it together surprisingly well. Joss wondered how long his calm demeanor could possibly last. Henry’s eyes widened as Joss stepped past him toward the house. He placed a hand on Joss’s shoulder, stopping him. “Dude, if a vampire attacked me, I have a right to know.”

  Joss shook him off, more roughly than he needed to. “And if I said it was a vampire, what then? Would you defend them then?”

  “Of course not. They’re not all good. No group of any kind of person is all good.” Henry stood there, demanding J
oss’s attention, his eyes full of a fire that threatened to spread wildly. But he looked like he was desperately trying to prevent it from doing so. Only Joss couldn’t understand why. “So?”

  Joss threw his arms up. He was raising his voice to a near shout, but couldn’t stop himself. So much anger and guilt and remorse and embarrassment was filling him that Joss thought that he might just explode into a cloud of ash. “Yes. Yes, okay? A vampire knocked you unconscious!”

  He shoved Henry back with both palms, hard. Henry stumbled, but righted himself immediately. “Why are you getting so ticked off?”

  Because Henry was here, asking him questions about things he didn’t want to talk about. Because Sirus was alive and a vampire and not his real dad. Because his family was in shambles, and no amount of pretending could hide that fact from the world. Because his sister was dead, and it was his job to avenge her. Joss was mad for all of these reasons and more. But worse than any of that, he was losing it completely. He had to get away from Henry and regain his composure before he did or said something really stupid.

  As if a light had gone on over Henry’s head, he said, “Did you kill him?”

  In Joss’s mind, he saw the cabin from two summers ago exploding, the flames and debris flying outward. Then he saw Sirus’s face as it had been just a few hours ago in the woods. His smile, still so kind, still so warm. His heart regretted feeling the elation that it had at the sight of him, but it was undeniable that he had felt it. Stunned at his own confusion, Joss slowly shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t kill it.”

  “So he got away. No wonder you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad and . . .” He shook his head. He was so tired of lying, but it felt like the only way out. “Yeah, basically, it got away.”

  Henry folded his arms across his chest. “Basically. Hmm.”

  “Let’s just get inside and eat some pizza, okay? I really don’t feel like talking to you about vampires anymore.” Joss started back toward the house, his thoughts racing. Why was his cousin doing this? This was all Henry’s fault. If Henry hadn’t been asking so many stupid questions, Joss wouldn’t have to think about Sirus or his family or anything unpleasant that was going on. He would still be lost in the mundane task of chopping wood. Overwhelmed, he spun around and shoved Henry again. “Why can’t you just admit how dangerous they are?”

  Henry shoved him back, his words right on the heels of his action. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about them anymore!”

  “Well, now I do! Why, Henry?”

  “Nope. Sorry. We’re done.” Henry brushed past him. “You don’t want to talk anymore? That’s fine. Or maybe you could kiss my—”

  Joss grabbed his cousin by the shirt. It was only after he’d balled up his fist that he realized that he meant to hurt Henry. Slowly, he lowered his hand and released his cousin, who looked as if his temper had been pushed to the absolute brink. But, try as Joss might to change it, his tone was still full of venom. “Why?”

  Henry shook his head, like Joss were a sad, pathetic person who was blind to the ways of the world. Joss instantly despised him for it and immediately regretted that emotion. “Because they’re not all dangerous. They’re not all good or all bad. You seem to think that the word vampire is the same as the word evil, and that’s not true.”

  Joss shook his head. He wasn’t the blind one here. “And you seem to think that the word Slayer and the word murderer are one in the same, and that’s not true. I’m defending mankind with my actions. Things aren’t always what they seem, Henry.”

  There was a moment when neither spoke. But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last.

  Henry made his way to the side door, and as he opened it he turned back to face his cousin. “That’s exactly the point I’ve been trying to make about Vlad. Things aren’t what they seem. When are you gonna realize that?”

  As the screen door slapped closed behind Henry, Joss shouted, “When are you?”

  As he stood there in the growing darkness, Joss realized two things. One, he was growing ever certain that he and his cousin would never again be as close as they once were. And two, if Henry was going to survive the next month in a town where vampires were roaming free, Joss was going to have to keep him close.

  Oh yes, he thought as he moved toward his house and the smell of pepperoni pizza within. The Slayer Society was going to love this plan.

  7

  CECILE’S EYES

  It was a noise that woke him that night, though in his half-conscious state, it was difficult for Joss to remember exactly what that noise had been. Curiosity, more than alarm, kept him wondering, kept him guessing, and finally, Joss opened his eyes. His bedroom was empty, as far as he could see in the darkness. No stray animals, no unexpected guests. Just him, his stuff, and the cool breeze blowing his curtains farther into the room.

  He relaxed back into his mattress and had just sighed a sleepy, relieved sigh when he heard the noise again. It sounded like the creaking of floorboards. Joss tried to ignore it. Maybe it was just the house settling.

  Then he heard it again. Creeeeak . . .

  Wide awake at the sound, Joss listened to his heart hammer in his ears. He was ashamed of himself instantly. What kind of Slayer hides under his covers at the first discovery of some unexplainable noise? It was ridiculous. Slowly, he pushed the sheet back from his legs and sat up on the edge of his bed, looking around.

  Nothing. Just his room. Just his stuff. Just the breeze.

  Feeling more than a little stupid, Joss cursed himself for being so needlessly on edge. He was just about to slip back under his covers when he heard it again. Creeeeak . . .

  Joss’s heart immediately picked up its pace. It was coming from down the hall. More specifically than that, it sounded like it was coming from Henry’s room.

  With his stake gripped firmly in his hand, Joss opened his bedroom door and crept down the hall. As he pushed Henry’s partially open door open even more, he thought about the night that he had lost Cecile. He remembered it like it was yesterday. He’d been awoken by a sound in the middle of the night. He’d crept down the hall to his baby sister’s room, and when he peered inside her open door, he saw a vampire looming over her sleeping form.

  Only she wasn’t sleeping. Cecile was dead.

  He pushed the door open and what he saw sent his heart into his throat. Someone was standing beside Henry’s bed, looking down on him. At first, Joss couldn’t focus on who or what it was that was standing there. He could only stare at his cousin and wait for any sign that Henry was still alive.

  When Henry’s chest rose in a deep breath, Joss sighed in relief. But there was still the other matter. An invader was standing in his home, just inches from his unguarded cousin. Joss readied his weapon and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Only then did he recognize who was standing in the dark of Henry’s room. Her blond, curly hair was unmistakable, and Joss knew that if she looked at him, it would be with black, tunnel eyes. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. It was Cecile. And he only ever saw Cecile in his dreams.

  Recalling his former nightmares, Joss was hesitant to ask her what she was doing here. He didn’t want an answer, didn’t want to know. Because sooner or later, this dream Cecile would try to kill him, and Joss just couldn’t bear it anymore. So instead he stood there in the darkness, watching the way the breeze brushed her hair back from her face. He wished that she’d look at him then, and when she did that he’d see her pretty blue eyes. But those were gone. Only filthy, black tunnels remained in their stead—he knew that much. Only this nightmarish version of Cecile remained, because his Cecile, his cherub of a sister, was gone. Forever gone. And it was all Joss’s fault.

  Refusing to speak, to engage her in any way, Joss just stood there silently and looked at her, waiting for something horrible to happen. But when she turned her head toward him, something was very di
fferent from his other nightmares about Cecile. Her fingers weren’t filthy claws. Her hair wasn’t half covering her face. And her eyes . . .

  Even in the dark of night, he could see that they were blue.

  She looked sad as she watched him, and Joss couldn’t resist taking a step toward her. This nightmare was unlike any that had come before it. They had all felt incredibly real, but in this one, Cecile seemed different somehow. More present. Joss debated speaking to her, but what would he say?

  Just as he’d decided to ask her what she was doing here, what she wanted from him, and if she could ever find it in her restless heart to forgive him for having failed to save her life, Cecile stepped closer to Henry’s bed. Joss hesitated, fearful of what might happen. When nothing did, he parted his lips to speak. But it was Cecile who spoke, instead. In a hushed, child’s whisper, she said, “This was my bed.”

  Joss looked at the guest room bed. She was right. It was the same frame that she used to sleep on. It was, technically, Cecile’s old bed. His parents had kept the frame, painted it, and created a guest room that almost never had guests.

  Joss glanced at his sleeping cousin. A line of drool ran from Henry’s mouth to the sheets. It reminded Joss of the line of blood that had run from Cecile’s mouth to her sheets. The scenes were strangely similar.

  “Go back to sleep, Jossie.”

  Sleep? What on earth could she mean by that? Did she want him to sleep? Was that even possible to do within a dream? Or was she telling him to sleep more, to face her nightmarish images, to stop running from his rest so that he might escape her? He was about to ask what she meant, but the words were stolen from his throat when Cecile opened her mouth. Inside were two perfect, white fangs. Once again, his sister was a monster. Once again, she was a reminder of his absolute failure. She shouted, “Sleep! Now!”

  Darkness overtook him, swirling in around him like liquid. He bolted up in bed, and as he brought his hand from underneath his pillow, he realized that he was gripping his stake so tightly that his hand ached. In his half-asleep state, he jumped from his bed, searching his room for any sign of the nightmare that was his younger sister. Of course there was nothing. Of course. Because it had all just been another bad dream. They would never stop. He would never be free of this guilt.