8.

Effie heard the door to the library quietly creak open and close and she pressed her forehead harder against the scraped wood of the big circular table, unwilling to lift her head – unable to lift her head – even as she recognized Peeta's distinctive footsteps.

"Mom, you need to rest." the boy chided her, placing something on the table next to her. The telling clicking sound of china told her it was most likely a cup of tea and if she knew her son – and she did – there would be food on the tray too.

"I will rest when we have won." she muttered, hoping her loose hair hid her face enough.

Peeta was too used to this though, to her greatest shame, and she wasn't surprised when he gently brushed the dark ebony strands off her face. She closed her eyes to not see his reaction. He kept it in check, of course, and he didn't say anything but she still felt his eyes roam across her face, following the path of the black veins adorning her skin, spreading down her neck… Her hands were bunched under the table so he couldn't see the evidence of black magic on them but he could guess. She knew he could guess.

And if he couldn't guess, certainly he could sense it.

He was a capable enough witch now, capable enough to sense another witch's magic certainly. And his was so pure… His magic always manifested in white glowing light that made her want to cry. She had forgotten what it was for her magic to feel that soft and warm… It used to shine a pale gold but now…

"I wish you would let me help…" he whispered, not hiding the pain well enough.

"Never." she snapped. She took a deep breath and sat up, ignoring the dizziness and the bile at the back of her throat. The Hellmouth's song was strong in her head. It was a rush. It was always a rush to use that much magic. Better than sex. Better than drugs. Better than anything. It was addictive too and Effie was long past the point of no return on that front.

She had been lost the first night she had realized she wouldn't be able to protect all those people in the Village with her powers alone. She had been lost the first night she had lit the candles and placed her palms on the dry dead earth outside the gates and she had called forth all the power Earth magic couldn't give her. She had been lost the first night she had taken it inside her body and had felt it corrupt her magic like it corrupted everything.

The Hellmouth was growing more powerful every day, Its thirst clenched by all the blood Snow's arena was spilling, by all the slaughters, and It wanted to consume her whole. She could feel Its jaw close around her every time she called forth Its magic, trying to crunch her between Its teeth…

And, to paraphrase another famous Slayer's words: It would choke on her.

Her work wasn't done yet.

"Mom." Peeta insisted, his hand hovering near her head, fingers glowing white.

He wanted to help, she knew, but there was nothing he could do. He was a skilled healer but her pain went beyond what he could soothe.

"I strengthened the wards again, I added more layers." she reported. It was important for Peeta to know all that in case the Hellmouth did manage to take her over, in case her mind or body gave in, in case she burned from inside out… Peeta was nowhere as powerful as she was but he had a sound head and he would be their best chance at getting another leader if needed. "But there are vampires and demons lurking near the perimeter. Too close. And there are the witches…"

The witches were a minor annoyance at most but they were like a thorn embedded deep in her side. She could feel them even if they didn't do any real damage. And it hurt. It forced her to stretch herself thinner to keep the Village protected.

"We should send a strike team." Peeta suggested.

Should they? It could have been a trap. Snow must have known she wouldn't be able to ignore them for long. And it was all cat and mouse now. It had been a trench war for so long… They were the last important zone of resistance in the state. There were pockets here and there, rogue smugglers too, but nothing as big as the Village. And the lines were blurring lately. The vampires were gaining ground and they were losing.

They were losing.

"Make sure there are at least three magic wielders in the team." she ordered tiredly.

"I could go…" he offered because they were short of magic users who could fight.

"No." she refused immediately, shooting him a regretful glance. She hated having to tell him no. All the more so when Peeta hardly ever got to leave this house. It was too dangerous. Snow knew what he meant to her. He knew very well she would burn the whole Seam to the ground for him. If the vampire ever got his hands on Peeta… No… To distract herself, she wrapped her hands around the mug of tea he had brought her and watched her hands and the fading black veins on them. "I need you in the infirmary."

She didn't dare look at him to see the disappointment on his face. She knew he wanted to do more but… No…

If she had had her way, she would have smuggled Peeta and Madge out of this hellish state years earlier. There were ways for people who knew how to fight and she certainly knew how to fight. But she couldn't abandon the Seam. One day away from the Village and she knew it would fall. It was her beating heart and her dark deals that kept it safe, her corruption that allowed those refugees to live to fight another day.

She took a sip of scalding tea and glanced at the lightening sky outside the window. Dawn would be there in an hour but it wouldn't bring the rest it used to. Not with demons and witches ready to take up where the vampires had left off in the dark. The attacks were relentless nowadays.

No surprise there.

Human activity had decreased to dangerous levels in the state, hunted as they were for sport and food alike. If her information were right – and they were – Snow had taken up to set up breeding farms. It disgusted her. It made her magic boil. It made her want to…

"We figured out what Gale's wish was." Peeta told her, taking the seat next to her. He also pushed the tray and the saggy sandwich closer to her pointedly.

She wasn't good at remembering to feed herself.

"Do not forget to cash in all those karma points." she teased, taking up the sandwich and taking a big bite mostly to reassure him. It was canned tuna. The whole thing was dry and tasted like ash on her tongue. Everything tasted like ash nowadays though. She couldn't tell if it was the magic or how depressed she felt.

Peeta's lips stretched into a small smile, his eyes twinkling. "I wanted the karma points. But I may have had something else in mind…"

"You don't say! Peeta, I am shocked." she gasped, faking outrage. They both chuckled and, for a precious second, everything was… normal. She lived for those moments. She liked to imagine it was what a normal meal between mother and son would have been like. "You would not have been thinking, by any chance, that if his wish was powerful enough to change the world so much, figuring out what he wished in the first place might give us a tactical advantage?"

His smile grew bigger and he shrugged. "If we can do a good deed in the process it's great but my mother raised no fool."

"She certainly didn't." She snorted, forcing herself to finish the sandwich. It wasn't settling well in her stomach but she told herself to ignore the nausea. Food was far too precious to waste by being sick. And her body probably did need it. She couldn't survive on magic alone, no matter what the Hellmouth whispered. "What did you find out?"

Peeta didn't answer at once. He picked up a wayward crumb on the plate and tossed it in his mouth, considering. "Do you know of a guy called Haymitch Abernathy?"

Abernathy again. Gale had mentioned that Slayer in the van earlier. A Seam Slayer…

As for Haymitch Abernathy…

"I think Iris Abernathy had a son. Two sons?" She frowned. She had read the Seam Slayers' journals a lot when she had been younger, when the fight had still been fought strictly during the night, before Snow went public… But it had been fifteen years at least since she had last opened them. The war wouldn't be won by digging in the past. "I'm not sure, darling. Why is it important?"

Again, the boy was silent for a few seconds, clearly thinking this through. "Because in Gale's universe, he was Maysilee's Watcher and, apparently, it changed everything."

She didn't suck in a breath because she had come to terms with their death. Both Maysilee's and Caesar's. It hurt to think about Maysilee. It would always hurt. Maysilee had been her first real love story, the first – and perhaps only – time she had felt what it was like to truly love and be loved in return. It would always hurt because, aside from Peeta, she had been the best thing to ever happen to her. And Caesar… She had known she would likely lose Maysilee one day but she hadn't been ready to lose them both at the same time.

Caesar had been more of a father to her than a mentor, she had felt so lost, so young when he had died…

But he had had the death he would have wished for: fighting alongside his Slayer, and she would never have begrudged him that. Maysilee had been his second Slayer and to learn that the reason the world had gone to hell was because he had been granted that privilege…

No.

She couldn't accept it or entertain the thought.

"He's wrong." she decided. "And what does a Watcher from twenty years ago have to do with that boy anyway… It doesn't…"

"Because he's also Katniss' Watcher. The active Slayer." Peeta cut her off, lifting a hand to interrupt her. "And he was the Watcher of four other Slayers in between her and Maysilee, according to Gale."

Effie wanted to protest but she clamped her mouth shut.

A good Watcher would probably be assigned two or three active Slayers during his lifetime. To be assigned six in all? She was certain it wasn't unheard of but it was rare enough to warrant notice.

"Gale thinks the guy is a fraud who's manipulating his friend." Peeta continued. "Look, from what he said, the way he said it… It seems to me like Gale is a good guy but not one who gets what it means to be a Slayer – or a Watcher for that matter. He didn't like that this Abernathy guy took so much room in his friend's life…"

"A bond between a Slayer and her Watcher is always special." she murmured.

"Yeah, well…" He sighed. "Thing is… He wished Abernathy never became a Watcher. And here we are, so…"

So.

She shook her head. "Even if this man is still alive…"

"I know it's a long shot." Peeta cut her off again and she had to resist the urge to tell him to mind his manners. She had raised him to be more polite than this. "But if this guy is that good…"

"His Abernathy was that good." she argued. "For all we know, our Abernathy moved to Ireland and became a shepherd."

"Weirdly specific image." Peeta joked.

"I may or may not fantasize about buying a cottage near a lake where you could visit me during College breaks." she confessed.

"Very MacBeth." he approved.

"MacBeth takes place in Scotland. Have I failed your education?" she retorted, relishing again the easy familiar banter.

Peeta flashed her an indulging smile but he had his stubborn face on. "Mags was Iris Abernathy's Watcher, right? She must know what happened to her son. If he's out of the business, that's that. But if he's still involved somehow… Maybe he would have insights on Snow we don't have."

"I have been fighting him for twenty years, darling, I have all the insights I could wish for." she remarked.

Peeta shrugged. "From what Gale said, even if he doesn't think so, it seems like Abernathy's strong point is tactics. We could always use a fresh perspective." Effie wasn't convinced. She didn't like unaccounted variables and that Abernathy was one hell of an unaccounted variable. Peeta probably knew what she was thinking because he reached out and covered her hand with his. "Mom, we're going to lose." He said the words plainly, without any hint of emotion, as if it was something that needed stating but also something he had already come to terms with and that didn't necessitate panic. "Snow wants to take the Village before the Quell starts and he's going to have it because we simply can't hold it much longer. You know it. I know it. And I'm pretty sure everyone else does too. It's time for a Hail Mary."

Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away, unwilling to let him see just how right he was.

"Do not use sports metaphors, you know it always confuses me." she reproached. Then she stretched, checked the watch on her wrist and sighed. "I will call Mags but do not get your hopes up. I do not believe any knight in shining armor is going to come and save us at the eleventh hour. If this is a fairy tale, this is the gruesome kind, not the happy ending sort." Giving in was worth it if only for the smile he gave her. "Go get some rest." she urged him. "And Madge better be in her own room when I come up to check."

Peeta's laughter echoed long before he closed the door behind him.

She waited a few minutes before casting another warding spell on the library's door. The usual gloom she lived in was slowly but surely falling back on her shoulders. It was the weight of the dark corruptive magic. Peeta's presence always lifted it because it reminded her she had someone to love, someone to protect, but… The magic…

She shook her head and stood up, forcing her uncooperative legs to take her around the table and to the small chest where she kept her most treasured weapons – Maysilee's favorite knife, Caesar's old crossbow, the sword he had commissioned for her fifteenth birthday – and the satellite phone that was her only link with the outside world.

The day it died would be the day they would truly be left to fend for themselves.

She sat down directly on the floor as she waited for the call to connect, letting her eyes roam the second story of shelves and books. She remembered being awed by that library the first time she had stepped foot in that house. Not that she was a great reader but there was… something to this place. She had been grateful when Mags had let her stay after Caesar's death.

"Yes?" a pompous, slightly irritated male voice answered, British accent so pronounced that she felt her own flared up in response. She had only spent three years in England but it had been enough.

"Why, good morning to you too, Seneca." she declared sweetly. She wondered if he could feel the irony, the dislike, the…

"You are still alive, then. We were wondering." Seneca Crane sighed. "And what can we do for you on this fine day, person-who-is-not on the Council's payroll?"

There was a hint of teasing in the young man's voice and she figured he didn't actually dislike her, the same way she didn't actually dislike him. He was just a model Watcher, following the book to the letter and she was… She was a rogue element. She was everything the Council hated. She was everything she hated: a wild card, an unknown variable.

"I need to speak to the President." she told him, as if the mere fact that she was calling didn't make that obvious.

"I will see if she is available." Crane answered. "It is rather early, you know. Why, it is still dark outside. One could consider the time before…"

"Please, spare me the theatrics." she snapped. "She is always available for me and we both know it." Still, he made her wait for two whole minutes and she was understandably irritated when the phone was finally picked up again. "Mags, fire your assistant."

The President of the Council's voice could be stern or motherly. Effie had learned long ago there were a thousand in-between but, where she was concerned, it was always one of the two. Truth be told, she thought Mags felt bad for her. She had urged Effie to come back to England after Caesar's death but Effie wouldn't have it.

At first, it had been hope: she had still been young enough to be Called and she wanted to be Called. She wanted to avenge them. It would have been poetic justice. After that, she had simply been too busy preventing Snow from taking over completely. Saving people. Everything the Council should have done and never did.

Mags would have done more for the Seam, Effie believed, but her hands had been tied. Even now that she was the Head of the Council her hands were tied.

"Effie, my dear, I am afraid I cannot do that. He is the only one in this building who makes palatable tea." Mags answered and she heard Seneca's mock-outraged gasp behind her. The joking tone turned serious quickly "I did not expect you to call back so soon. What can I do for you?"

Was Neverland about to go under? Mags really meant.

She didn't feel like beating around the bush.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line and then… "Thank you, Seneca, I will buzz you if I need anything." Mags waited, presumably until her assistant had left, before clearing her throat. "What do you want with my boy, Effie?"

My boy…

It triggered another memory. She hadn't read his name only in Iris' Watcher journals. She had read it in Mabel Larson's. But it was all a blur.

"I heard he could have become a Watcher."

She was fishing for information, unwilling to reveal her cards yet, unwilling to reveal her cards at all if she could help it.

"He could have. I was hoping he would take my place." Mags offered after a moment. "He chose another path."

Thanks to a boy's tantrum…

"He left the business?" she asked casually.

Mags was hesitant now. "Effie, what is this about?"

"Is he still in the business?" she insisted. Chances were she would have heard of him if he was a Council Operative but she wasn't as in touch with the outside world as she would have liked.

"In a way." Mags sighed. "He became a demon hunter. He works with us occasionally."

A mercenary, in short. Awesome.

She hesitated. She had told Peeta she would dig for information and she had. What she was hearing wasn't exactly encouraging her to…

But she could feel the witches relentlessly attacking her wards in the distance, she could feel the demons lurking just outside the safe perimeter of the Village, she could feel the Hellmouth eager for more blood and death… She could feel her own hunger mirroring the Hellmouth's, her magic thirsting for blood, for death…

It was what decided her. "Is he any good?"

"The best." Mags answered honestly. "But, Effie, even if he could get past the fence, he won't go back to the Seam."

Mags told her the story, or a summed up version of it. How he had lost his mother, his brother, his girlfriend… How Snow used to like playing games with him… It was terrible and she should probably have felt compassion for him but compassion wasn't something she was truly capable of anymore and, as terrible as it was to think it, she didn't believe what he had suffered was that bad compared to what she had been through.

Above all, she couldn't help the disgust and the resentment when she learned that, faced with his Slayer girlfriend's death, his answer had been to skip town and leave everyone else to rot.

She had been in that spot.

She had been in those very shoes.

And she had stayed.

Against all odds, she had stayed.

"I need him to come here. Hire him." she demanded when Mags was done telling her his sob story. It angered her more than anything. "Pay him whatever he asks for."

Mags sounded properly sorry then. Less Head of the Council and more like the surrogate Watcher she had been to her since Caesar's death. It was weird to think they had never ever met face to face. For all she knew, the face she imagined for her was all wrong."He won't come, Effie. He doesn't want anything to do with that place and I can't blame him."

"Convince him to get over his cowardice then." she insisted.

"It's not cowardice." Mags snapped defensively, protectively. "That boy never had a coward's bone in his body. And, perhaps, if you had gotten out when I told you to, you would not be so quick to judge him. If you had left twenty years ago, Effie, you would not be so eager to run back into a death trap that stole everything from you."

Perhaps.

And perhaps not.

If she had gotten out of the Seam twenty years earlier, chances were she would still be dead. And Mags knew that. "You owe me, Mags. You owe me for not warning me about Elindra."

"You cannot keep playing this card every time I refuse you something, Effie." Mags argued.

"Watch me." She snorted. She would play that card until it stopped working and the offense was so huge, she was confident it would never stop working. "Look… We are not in a good position right now. I have been told there is a slim chance Abernathy could tilt the scales in our favor so I have to take it. I don't care how you do it but get him to come here. If he is as good as you say, at the very least I could use another fighter. I'm short of experienced adults."

The reminder that most of her 'army' was composed of wayward children never failed to soften Mags.

The old lady sighed again. "You've been told? By whom?" Effie didn't answer. She didn't want to go into the whole vengeance demon thing. And it wasn't important anyway, was it? "I will try, my dear, but I can't promise anything."

"No…" She grinned bitterly. "The Council never can."

Mags snorted without any sort of amusement. "I will do my best."

"Tell him…" She frowned, feeling the pull of magic deep in her chest. "Tell him it is Fate calling."

She hung up and carefully put the phone back down in the chest. She pulled the sword out, hauled herself to her feet and twirled the blade between her fingers. It was hard to remember the first time she had held it. She had been blond, cheerful and full of hope back then. Her younger self would have been horrified by her blunt broken nails, the dark magic visibly coursing in her veins and the atrociously dark hair color that made her look far too pale. Her current self only cared for the infuriating nudges from the witches' magic and, most importantly, she only cared to make it stop.

She would join the strike team Peeta must have gathered by now.

And she would clench some of her magic's thirst for murder.

So... Fate is calling... Will demon!hunter Haymitch answer? Do we like Slytherin Peeta or not? :p Let me know your thoughts!