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Ms. Westheimer's pi$sed off. Again.
Hmm. Rephrased: I pi$sed off Ms. Westheimer. On purpose, like always.
Well . . . not "always" always. Somewhere back in time I was dutiful daughter to her -- when my bio-mother was only the pretty, bright-dressed butterfly-fairy who'd float down every few months & take me out riding or boating or flying before flying off again herself.
I don't remember the day she left me with my Watcher. It was night, I was asleep, I was four.
The next morning, one of the maids (a sufficient number of servants: mom's condition for turning me over to a Watcher) woke me & they wrestled me into some vestal-vow gown & took me into Ms. Westheimer's room. Rooms. And she gave me the speech.
"You have -- will have -- a sacred calling. You will fulfill it." It was a lot to swallow. The way it sounded I was going to go out that night to start staking vamps. A night's a long way off on a sunny morning when you're four. Of course I still haven't gone out. Officially, that is. Ms. Westheimer doesn't want to be retired by the Council, which she will be if they get wind of a pre-Slayer's extracurricular activities.
Hell I knew I could do it: I could see it the moment she told me. And here I am, still waiting for the rush when a Slayer dies -- OK, unpleasant, but she's got to go sometime, right? -- and she did, last year, so I thought for sure it was time -- just like I thought it was the year before -- but some poor skank got tipped, and the other Slayer wasn't as dead as everyone thought.
I'm not really supposed to know this. I hint that I do, but never definitely enough for Ms. Westheimer to ask if I've been a naughty Nancy Drew. Is it spying when someone else is doing the actual snooping? Natalia's more than happy to satisfy my curiosity. In lots and lots of ways.
On my birthday Ms. W. gives me a variation on the Speech. I began annoying her a few years ago, "I'm a woman, how long do I have to wait?" "That is not known." "But I'm GOING to be the Slayer, you keep saying!" "That is certain. It has been foreseen." "Just not seen very clearly."
"No sulking, child. And no, clairvoyance is not exactly clear."
"Then how do you know?"
Natalia told me late one night how. "You've been such a good girl" she song-sang in her most melty Russian, "that you deserve to know."
Ms. W. had an unauthorized demon consult. The Council are sticklers, and she's all rules and regulations when they come for inspection, and she is to my face; it took a long time, too, to learn that she was giving me her own edited version of Watcher-Trainee protocol.
Hmm. Rephrased: I pi$sed off Ms. Westheimer. On purpose, like always.
Well . . . not "always" always. Somewhere back in time I was dutiful daughter to her -- when my bio-mother was only the pretty, bright-dressed butterfly-fairy who'd float down every few months & take me out riding or boating or flying before flying off again herself.
I don't remember the day she left me with my Watcher. It was night, I was asleep, I was four.
The next morning, one of the maids (a sufficient number of servants: mom's condition for turning me over to a Watcher) woke me & they wrestled me into some vestal-vow gown & took me into Ms. Westheimer's room. Rooms. And she gave me the speech.
"You have -- will have -- a sacred calling. You will fulfill it." It was a lot to swallow. The way it sounded I was going to go out that night to start staking vamps. A night's a long way off on a sunny morning when you're four. Of course I still haven't gone out. Officially, that is. Ms. Westheimer doesn't want to be retired by the Council, which she will be if they get wind of a pre-Slayer's extracurricular activities.
Hell I knew I could do it: I could see it the moment she told me. And here I am, still waiting for the rush when a Slayer dies -- OK, unpleasant, but she's got to go sometime, right? -- and she did, last year, so I thought for sure it was time -- just like I thought it was the year before -- but some poor skank got tipped, and the other Slayer wasn't as dead as everyone thought.
I'm not really supposed to know this. I hint that I do, but never definitely enough for Ms. Westheimer to ask if I've been a naughty Nancy Drew. Is it spying when someone else is doing the actual snooping? Natalia's more than happy to satisfy my curiosity. In lots and lots of ways.
On my birthday Ms. W. gives me a variation on the Speech. I began annoying her a few years ago, "I'm a woman, how long do I have to wait?" "That is not known." "But I'm GOING to be the Slayer, you keep saying!" "That is certain. It has been foreseen." "Just not seen very clearly."
"No sulking, child. And no, clairvoyance is not exactly clear."
"Then how do you know?"
Natalia told me late one night how. "You've been such a good girl" she song-sang in her most melty Russian, "that you deserve to know."
Ms. W. had an unauthorized demon consult. The Council are sticklers, and she's all rules and regulations when they come for inspection, and she is to my face; it took a long time, too, to learn that she was giving me her own edited version of Watcher-Trainee protocol.