Her frown eases. “Ah, yes, well, that makes sense then. It was waiting for your return.”
“Yes, but why?” I press. “Why not just get on with the devouring? That’s its whole raison d’être.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Quite. It’s a puzzle.”
I glare at her. “Yeah, well, I hate puzzles, so someone needs to figure this out.”
“Any chance of a cup of tea?” she asks, ignoring me.
“Sure. I’ll make tea, whileyoufigure out what the fuck that thing is waiting for!” I rise and storm off to the kitchen. This is beyond ridiculous. I’m the slayer. I slay things. I don’t do the thinking part. I do the acting part.
Except now I’m not just the slayer, and this whole month is giving me a migraine.
I jam the kettle under the tap. Water splashes over my hand, cold and shocking. I ignore it and fill the jug, slamming it onto the base with a loud clatter. It is pathetic. The world sits on the brink of destruction, a massive void creature hovers over my village, and I make tea.
“Milk and two sugars for the witch, I assume?” Dastian asks, appearing in the doorway.
He hops onto the counter and swings his legs, looking entirely too comfortable given the circumstances.
“I am tempted to put bleach in it,” I mutter, grabbing mugs from the cupboard. My hands shake. I hate that. I grip the ceramic until my knuckles turn white to stop it.
“A bit extreme. Besides, Order probably filters toxins naturally.”
“She knows more than she is saying.” I drop a tea bag into a mug. “What happens if this Judge shows up and I am still just me? A mortal with a sword?”
“Then we fight for you,” he says simply. “Like we said.”
“I don’t like hiding behind you.”
“It isn’t hiding. It is a strategy.” He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear and cups my face. It stops what I’m doing, and despite everything, I lean into his touch. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of fighting them, of fighting Tabitha, of fighting vampires and zombies. And I haven’t even started fighting the Devourer yet. I move closer to him. He opens his legs wider as I nestle between them, just breathing, eyes closed and feeling his little sparks of disorder flickering under the surface.
He leans back and gently grips my chin. “You’ve got this, slayer.”
“I don’t want to have it,” I murmur. “I’m tired.”
“I know. I also know how much that took for you to admit it. We are here, Nyssa. Use us.”
“Why are you here?” I ask suddenly. “Why do you want to be with me? I’m sarcastic and feisty, brittle even. I fight with you all the time, I’m always trying to prove I can do this on my own. Why are you still here?” Tears have pricked my eyes, but at this point, I don’t even care. He wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle for a god of destruction.
“Because easy is boring,” he says. “And you, Nyssa Vale, are definitely not boring.”
He hops down from the counter and stands before me, forcing me to look up at him. The amber in his eyes shifts to a deep gold. “I am Chaos. I thrive on friction, on the spark that happens when flint strikes steel. You provide that spark every time you open your mouth to argue with us.”
“So I’m entertainment?” I ask, sniffing.
“You are the centre of the universe,” he corrects. “Dreven needs something he can’t fully control. Voren needs a pulse toremind him why the silence matters. And I need someone who looks at the madness and decides to punch it in the face.” He presses his forehead against mine. “We stay because you are you. Brittle parts and all.”
The kettle clicks off with a loud snap, shattering the moment.
“I don’t want to carry on,” I admit. “I want this all to just go away.”
“I know, sweetheart. But wishing it so isn’t an option. We have to fight to get what we want.”
“Why? Why do we have to fight?”
“If we don’t, everyone dies.”
“Gee, thanks for the reminder.” I sniff and wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my hoodie. “I hate you.”
