The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill by Heather Brewer

suspect just about anybody when a man has been torn to pieces.
    Soon—Joss had no idea how soon as time became twisted into a vortex of shock—the sound of many footfalls filled the woods as the remaining members of the group hurried up the hill to where Joss now stood. Their eyes moved from this bloody horror to that, but all came to rest on Joss, who was standing there in utter shock, his entire body trembling now, uncertain what to say or do. Abraham stepped forward and barked orders to the rest. “Clean it up. Now. I’ll notify Headquarters so they can get a fitting explanation to Malek’s family. And Joss ...” Joss looked up at his uncle, Joss’s lip shaking more than he ever deemed possible. He was hoping to hear words of support, of encouragement even, but he knew that would never happen. All Abraham said was, “Come with me.”
    His uncle led him down the hill, but instead of turning toward the house, he turned away from it, leading Joss to another clearing, this one occupied by a large fallen oak tree and a small wooden shack that had once been painted blue. When they got to the new clearing, Abraham turned to face him. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but it needs to be said, and you need to hear it.”
    Joss swallowed hard. His skin felt prickly, and he was having a difficult time standing still. He blamed it on nerves. Would Abraham suspect he was involved in Malek’s death in some way? Was the murderer still lurking somewhere nearby? And why were they here in this clearing? Shouldn’t they be tracking whoever, whatever, did this to Malek?
    Abraham set his jaw. He didn’t raise his voice, but when he spoke, Joss could hear the dark sincerity in his tone. “The fact is that you fell asleep on the job, Joss. And because of that, a man is dead. So I’m going to do you a favor.”
    “What’s that, Uncle?” He blinked and shuffled his feet awkwardly, afraid to ask for clarification and wondering just exactly what they were doing in this clearing with a shack and not in the house with a phone, calling the police. And what exactly had he meant when he told the others to “clean it up,” anyway? Clean up the body? The evidence? That didn’t sit right at all in Joss’s stomach. In fact, it sat like a hard lead ball of wrongness right at the center of his being.
    “Get out. Walk away. Leave your training behind. You aren’t cut out for this kind of life. So go.”
    Joss let his uncle’s words settle into his mind for a moment before shaking his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I screwed up. Because of me, Malek is dead. I have to stay. I have to help find his killer. I have to complete my training.”
    Abraham sighed heavily. “Your purification was a complete failure. How are you supposed to be purified now?”
    Joss didn’t know, but he did know that if he walked away from this, he might never sleep a dreamless sleep ever again. An image flashed in his mind then—the image of a large centipede crawling out of Cecile’s mouth. She would never let him rest. Not until vengeance was had.
    His uncle paused then, his eyes moving to the small shed. “Of course ... there is another way.”
    Shuddering, Joss said, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
    With a nod, Abraham opened the shack’s door and said, “Remove your shirt.”
    Joss blinked. He couldn’t possibly have heard his uncle right. Remove his shirt? Why?
    Abraham reached inside the shed and pulled out something long and coiled. He put his arm through the center and looped it over his shoulder. It resembled a very thin snake. Joss recognized the item from an old Indiana Jones movie he saw once with his dad. It was a whip.
    Abraham’s tone remained emotionless as he rolled up his sleeves. White cotton against tan skin. “Remove your shirt, Joss.”
    Inside Joss’s chest, his heart raged. Did his uncle really mean to hit him with that thing? He shook his head, his eyes locked on the weapon, his thoughts scrambling