The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill by Heather Brewer Page A

around the notion that Abraham had almost ended up in the nuthouse not so long ago, after his aunt Margaret had been committed. His reply came out in a terrified whisper. “No.”
    Abraham’s voice softened some. Just enough for Joss to know that he hadn’t gone completely insane. “You said you’d do whatever it takes. Well, this is what it takes. Either you face the whip, or you walk away from your training. This will hurt, yes. But we have to complete your purification. Believe me, nephew, I’d rather have you go without sleep and come about your purification with moderate ease than face the whip, but Malek is dead, and Headquarters won’t allow us to take you on without purification. We’re down a Slayer, Joss, and we need you. Now tell me ... can you man up and get through this so we can catch the beast, or should I send you packing like a boy?”
    Joss looked from his uncle to the whip on his shoulder and swallowed hard. He thought of Cecile and how he’d never avenge her death if he couldn’t put up with a little pain. Besides, how much pain had she experienced, all because he hadn’t been there to protect her, to save her? A little pain was the least he deserved. “How many?”
    “Ten more hours left until the day is done, marking your third day out. So, ten licks. That’s nothing. You can do this. Malek did it, and he faced down twentyseven licks without as much as a yelp. You just have to focus on something and breathe slow and deep.”
    Ten. That wasn’t so bad. If Malek, who now lay in pieces on the side of a mountain, could do twentyseven, Joss could do ten. Couldn’t he? The whip looked so simple, just a braid of coils in a long strand. But the idea of being hit with it repeatedly sent a shock of fear through him. He’d never been hit by anything before. Not so much as a single fistfight or one event of paddling. What would it feel like to be whipped? The closest he’d come to that was being hit in the eye with a swing, and that had been a pain beyond any he’d experienced. It had been accidental, and this would very much be on purpose. Purposeful pain, he imagined, would hurt more somehow. Much more. But this was for Cecile, and for Malek now, too.
    After considering his options for a moment—face it like a man or turn tail and run—he nodded at his uncle and pulled his T-shirt over his head, his fingers trembling. Then he turned around, his heart racing in panic. He hoped his uncle would be fast, but mostly he hoped he’d say something before the first lash struck.
    Joss took in a breath, deep and slow, just the way his uncle had told him to, and just as he was about to let it out, the first lash of the whip cracked across his back. Brilliant pain ripped through Joss’s body and for a moment, his vision wavered. It was far worse than the swing. Far worse than anything he had ever felt before. And just as his back had lit up with a terrible heat, another lash came. The pain was intense, but Joss counted the strikes again his bare skin. One lash. Two. Then a third.
    His thoughts came in hot flashes of craziness. He wondered what his uncle was feeling or thinking as he brought the whip down again and again. Did he feel guilty? Was he enjoying it? How many people had Abraham whipped before? He thought about Malek and how awful it must have been to die that way. Had it hurt more than being whipped? He imagined it was far worse, but that didn’t ease any of his pain. And what had Cecile’s pain been like as that monster drank from her, stopping her heart before Joss could rescue her? He deserved this pain. He deserved every lick of it and more. But it was horrible, and at one point, he was certain that he would lose his mind entirely.
    He wanted very much to beg his uncle to stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t form words, and even if he could, there was no way he could leave his training unfinished. This was the only way to right the wrong he’d done to his little sister. The only way out