Second Chance by Heather Brewer Page B

grandfather’s pocket watch and noted the time. He still had another two hours until the time the bartender had mentioned. Until then, he thought it might be a good idea to head back to base and divulge what he knew to the other Slayers. And it might not exactly be a bad idea to arrange some backup. Especially if Boris really was the serial killer they were all hunting. Boris might be dangerous as a psychotic man, but Joss was betting he’d be ten times more dangerous as a psychotic vampire. Nobody, least of all Joss, wanted to face off with some crazy vampire in the dark streets of New York City. Alone.
    Yes, he thought, he’d ask the Slayers to help him take Boris down. Then he’d be done with this job, and could get back to . . .
     . . . what, exactly? Being the Invisible Boy? Wondering if he would ever avenge his sister’s death? Not knowing if he would ever be able to invest himself fully in a friendship again?
    Joss stamped his thoughts out like hot embers. There would be time for moping later. Now was a time for action.
    As he walked back to the brownstone, his feet aching in Converse shoes—why didn’t cool-looking shoes ever have great arch support, anyway?—he thought about Otis. He thought about Vlad. But mostly, he thought about Nelly, and the way that she’d looked the night he’d staked Vlad.

    Otis’s fangs were out, horrible and gleaming, and Joss knew that he was about to die. “Not yet,” Otis seethed. “Not until I make you suffer for what you’ve done to my nephew.”
    Joss breathed in, but the air seemed almost too thick with tension to fill his desperate lungs. It was a shame, really, that his final breaths would be those of a drowning man. But Joss was drowning. In fear, in guilt. He didn’t know what to say or do to stop this from happening or to explain his actions.
    Otis growled, “Don’t bother saying anything, Slayer. There’s nothing you can do to stop what I’m about to do to you.”
    In a flash so quick it made Joss’s heart stop beating for a moment, Otis moved and was on him like a cat. His hand gripped Joss’s hair, pulling Joss’s head violently to the side. The heat of Otis’s breath on Joss’s neck made his bottom lip tremble.
    This was it. Now he’d know exactly how his younger sister had felt when that monster had ripped out her life. Now he’d be reunited with Cecile forever.
    Otis drew back, narrowing his eyes. “Cecile?”
    “He’s alive! Otis! Quickly!” Vikas shouted excitedly.
    Without even a pause, Otis hurried to his nephew’s side. After feeling for a pulse, Otis’s shoulders relaxed some. He withdrew a cell phone from his vest pocket and put it to his ear. After a moment, he spoke, his voice troubled. “Nelly, Vlad’s been hurt . . . no, badly. Very badly . . . I can save him, but I have to do it now. Can you come get Joss? . . . Just hold him there until I get back . . .”
    Joss swallowed hard. His death had merely been postponed.
    Then Otis pulled the phone from his ear quickly, as if he’d been hung up on. He looked at Joss as he returned the phone to his pocket. Beside him, Vlad looked dead. “If you move so much as an inch, Slayer, I’ll kill you where you stand. Don’t even think about running.”
    And, as much as it might irritate his uncle Abraham, Joss hadn’t thought about running. Not once. He’d staked a vampire, yes. But he’d also very nearly killed his best friend, and he had to stay here to see this through. Whether Vlad lived or died determined who Joss was in this scenario: the Slayer or the boy. Both aspects terrified Joss, though he would never admit to it.
    He nodded at Otis, and moved his attention back to Vlad, who seemed so lifeless. His chest didn’t move. His eyelids didn’t flutter. And Joss was very concerned that he might have just succeeded in taking his best friend’s life.
    And he still wasn’t sure why.
    He remembered everything about the confrontation in the clearing. He remembered