Chapter 3

"And you call this secret society, this bunch of witches and vampires and shifters, the Night World," Anne said finally. "And you're a witch yourself. Um, you showed me how you can call orange fire. And stuff."

They were sitting in her bedroom, the door discreetly closed, even though no one else was in the house. Amaranth had been explaining the Night World to Anne for the last half hour.

Anne wasn't sure what to make of it, other than that she'd been wrong when she'd thought that whatever Amaranth had to say probably wouldn't be crazier than her favorite soap opera's plot. Witches, vampires, and werewolves—or shifters, as Amaranth called them—were a lot stranger than beautiful amnesiac women who were married for the fifth time in two years and had children who were born a year ago but were already old enough to attend kindergarten.

Well, maybe not that much stranger, now that she thought about it.

"Yes." Amaranth was looking at her closely. "You've never heard about the Night World before?"

"No."

"Well, I've told you now. But you have to keep everything I've said secret, do you understand? Absolutely secret. Because there are people out there who would kill you to keep you from talking about this."

"I don't understand," Anne said slowly. "I mean, why did you tell me about the Night World, if it's such a big secret? Aren't you breaking the rule about secrecy yourself?"

"Yes. But I belong to Circle Daybreak, you see."

"So you believe that humans and Nightworlders can be friends."

"And that the rule about secrecy is so medieval. We don't have to be afraid of one another any more. If we're willing to trust one another, and to respect one another's differences, we can make the world a much better place than it is now."

"But still," Anne said, "why are you telling me this now? If you want all humans to know about Circle Daybreak and the Night World, why don't you just--I don't know-- put an advertisement in the school newspaper, or something? Make an announcement over the school intercom in the morning?"

Amaranth laughed and shifted her position so that one leg was folded beneath her. "We're working in that direction, but we're not ready for that just yet. Right now, we're trying to let humans know one at a time. And in secret."

"Because there are Nightworlders out there who will kill to keep their secrets."

"Right." Amaranth's expression darkened and turned serious. "But you're right. There's a reason why I told you this now. An important reason."

Anne wondered if she was about to be told that she was a lost witch. Her heart leapt a little, because she thought that it would actually be sort of cool to be a witch. But Amaranth was going on.

"That bomb the other day? The one that went off in your English classroom?"

Anne blinked. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been this. "Yeah?"

"I think maybe someone was trying to kill you." Amaranth's head was bent, but from what Anne could see of her expression, it was extremely unhappy.

"But—" Anne hardly knew where to start. "Why would anyone try to kill me? I mean, it can't be a Nightworlder, because I didn't even know about the Night World when the bomb went off. And there's no one else. . . . I can't believe. . . ." Her voice trailed off.

But Amaranth was shaking her head grimly. "The Night World would be willing to try to kill you. Because of your father, you see."

"My father? But—I never even knew him?"

"But they don't know that," Amaranth explained. "They don't know how much you know about him. They only know what you told Ivy Greer—in your English class, right?—that your father's name was Hunter Farmer. And Ivy's a Night World witch. She's part of Circle Midnight, though. The bad witches."

"Ivy?" Anne was having trouble wrapping her mind around the idea of Ivy being a bad witch who wanted to kill her. Ivy had always been perfectly polite to her, if distant. In fact, now that Anne thought about it, Ivy was really friendly only with a small group of people. A very small group. One that never let anyone else join them, although she'd sometimes seen Amaranth talking to them at lunch. . . .

"Oh my God."

"Goddess have mercy," Amaranth agreed.

"I didn't really tell her anything about my father, though. Ms. Sanders assigned us to one another as buddy reviewers. It's not like I actually talked to her about anything. She just read my report."

"Doesn't matter how she found it. The thing is that she did find out. And she must have told the rest of Circle Midnight, because someone put the bomb in your classroom. I think they meant to kill you."

"But she gave me positive feedback!" The plaintive words came out before Anne could stop herself.

"She probably just wanted you to think she hadn't noticed anything. To get you off your guard."

"But what does it matter who my father is?" Anne asked, a little desperately. "Even if I knew about him, which I don't, what does it matter?"

"Because." Amaranth paused dramatically. "There's always been one type of humans who know about the Night World."

She looked at Anne significantly. Anne stared back.

"Who?"

Amaranth sighed. "I'll give you a hint. Who would Night Worlders be afraid of?"

"Uh—"

"Who would Night World vampires be afraid of?" When Anne still looked doubtful, Amaranth added impatiently, "Don't you watch any TV?"

"Uh . . . Buffy?"

"Exactly!" Amaranth bounced slightly on the bedspread. "Buffy."

"But. I'm not Buffy." Anne tried to imagine herself doing the things she's seen Buffy do, and failed.

"No. But your father was. I mean—" she shook her head as Anne opened her mouth to protest "—I don't mean he was Buffy, but he was a slayer."

"A vampire slayer?"

Amaranth nodded. "Yes. A for-real one, not fictional like Buffy."

"What does a for-real vampire slayer do?" Anne asked slowly. She didn't think she'd like the answer, but if her father was involved, she thought she ought to know.

"He kills vampires, of course."

"Well, yes, but—"

"He kills anyone who he thinks is a vampire," Amaranth elaborated. "It doesn't matter if they're good vampires or bad vampires, if they belong to Circle Daybreak or Circle Midnight. He just kills them all. Because they're vampires, and he thinks vampires are evil."

"My father did that?" Anne asked slowly.

"Yeah." Amaranth looked away for a second. When she turned back to face Anne, her freckled face was sober. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, for what he did," Anne said, after a pause. It was clear to her, from what Amaranth had told her earlier, that there were good Night Worlders and bad ones, and that it was just prejudice to think that all Night Worlders were evil and needed to be killed. "But what does it have to do with me?" She paused and then guessed, "Are they trying to kill me because they want revenge?"

Amaranth shook her head. "No. Well, probably yes and no. There are a lot of people who would like to get even with Hunter Farmer—or whatever his real name was, that was just what he called himself. But I don't think that's why they're trying to kill you."

"Why, then?"

"Because," Amaranth took a deep breath, "they're afraid that you'll turn out like him. That you'll become a slayer, someday, just like he was."

"But," Anne tried to imagine herself as Buffy again, and failed again, "I'm not a slayer. I could never be a slayer. Even if I wanted to be, and I don't, I wouldn't be good at it. I'm not even good at gym. I can't—I don't know, do high kicks or anything."

"You'd have to be good at using a sword, or a stake, or something like that," Amaranth said. "But I think you're wrong. I think you could be good at it."

"Why?"

"Because it's your heredity. It's in your blood. Your father was a slayer—not just an ordinary vampire hunter, but one who was so good that he was practically a legend in the Night World. And you can probably be that good, too. If you try."

Anne shook her head, a little desperately. "No. I told you, I'm no good at gym. I can't do anything special."

"You can," Amaranth insisted.

"Just because my father did?"

"Why not? Lamia are lamia because their parents are. Witches are witches because their parents are. Shifters are shifters because—well, you get the point. Your father was a slayer, so you'll be a slayer, too. That's what they think, anyway."

"My mother is an administrative assistant. Why don't they think that I'm going to be an administrative assistant instead?" Anne asked, incredulously. "At least I know my mother. I never knew my father. This is stupid."

It seemed monstrously unfair to her at that moment that she'd not only had to grow up without a father, which had been hard enough, but that everyone was still going to think of her as his daughter. His evil daughter, because he'd been evil himself.

Amaranth shrugged and looked away again. "It may be stupid. But they're not going to take the chance, do you see? They think the talent to kill vampires might have been passed down to you. Either genetically, or by means of some book or something. I don't suppose that you have anything that your father left you?"

"No," Anne said shortly. "Nothing. And we've moved six or seven times since I was born, and I've packed and unpacked just about everything we own."

"Well." Amaranth looked slightly disappointed. "That's too bad, actually."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to have to learn to be a slayer."