101 - A Perfect Sky; A Storm

9

Stupid—I was so stupid for allowing myself to stay in the Dreamscape longer than I should have, even after realizing how little control I had of it. Stupid to let Jay keep me talking, to let him make me feel... whatever it was that I felt when he got too close. Even more stupid of me not to have cared about familiarizing myself with the Dreamscape, not to think that it would become such a disadvantage. All it used to be was a group-chat for slayers and the occasional premonition, and I've never lingered long enough to learn how intimate it can be between slayers. It felt like the Dreamscape wasn't just mine; it was his—our psyches equally melded.

And he used that psychic link to distract me. Stall me. Make me feel like a fucking fool.

I've been so worried about accidentally giving my sister slayers glimpses into my life that I never once considered the idea that someone could use the Dreamscape to manipulate. Let alone manipulate me.

But of course, I trust my sistren too much to even think they'd do that.

Why would they ever?

None of them needed to steal Sineya's chest, nor were they that desperate for aid. Nor are any of them bound by contract to a black-market dealer.

I've been home for an hour, half of it spent seeing red and trying to douse the fire that surged through my veins. Indeed, I could've taken out that whole family with the skill I have and then went after Sineya's remains... but that isn't how a slayer should think, and it is definitely not what the monastery would want me using their techniques for.

Because once a slayer begins seeing herself above everyone else, she crosses that line into demon territory. And with what I've been asked to do for the Organization, for Buffy, I already walk that fine line.

Moira has been waiting here for us, right in the exact spot she sits now, judging by how comfortable she made herself on my bed. Faith, however, has yet to return, nor has she apprised us of her plans. But Faith can handle herself; we know not to worry for at least another hour.

And though the pressing matter of Sineya's bones nip at my heels, I am a little relieved that I came home to Moira alone. Faith's remedy for an upset is finding the trashiest club in town and dancing with sweaty, desperate men who realistically have no chance with us. And I have a hard time saying no—because sometimes that is a fine remedy.

Moira, on the other hand, comforts differently. Her words are what I look to in moments of doubt—a soothing voice of assurance. A voice of science and reason when all my rationale is squandered by my temper.

Her delicately square jaw has been hanging open in disbelief since my return. She lounges across my bed in her usual sleepwear, braced on an elbow, as she digests what I learned about Jay. I sit across from her at the foot of my bed, saying nothing to allow her the silence to think. To sort out the "split-slayers" aspect on her own.

"...But it could totally be a thing," she eventually says. "If he has the Mark..."

Does he?

I recall the tattoo across his chest: The bat's tapered body covers where it would be.

Did he do that intentionally?

"Slayers are girls," I say resolutely, dismissing the idea as if it doesn't ring true in every fiber of my being. As if that humming I feel along my skin, in my bones, isn't his Slayer singing with mine. That is why he could enter my dreams. Why he could distract me.

Then he must know what is at stake, right? He was there with me when Kai was dropped from the spire. He has seen what is to come, and he sure as hell has to know more than I what may be the cause of it. I'd seen something flicker in his eyes when I confronted them.