Page 44 of The Last Slayer
Something wasn’t right, though. Leh was the last slayer, reviled by the dragonlords. Who would have dared to prevent her descent to the world of the dead? “Who bound Leh to the Mystic Forest?”
“Nathanael.”
That made no sense. He was renowned for killing slayers, not binding them. “Why?”
“Being bound there is the ultimate form of slavery. No matter how powerful a witch Leh is, she’ll never be able to break the spell unless Nathanael wills it.”
“Did he do that to the other slayers?”
“No.”
Strange. Why Leh and no one else? It felt like a trap. Nathanael and his buddies probably expected me to contact her. I would, if our situations had been reversed.
If it hadn’t been for Valerie, I would have flat-out refused to go. Assurances and logic notwithstanding, I remained wary. There’s no free lunch, especially in the supernatural realm. Besides, I wanted to be a supernatural, demigod or no, about as much as a regular hunter wants to be a deer.
But I didn’t have a better option. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Were you thinking of waiting a year or two?”
His lips thinned, then curved into a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We can’t go until the full moon. Which is tomorrow.”
I had to get out of there, do something to work off the tension that was gathering and churning in the pit of my stomach. I hate being cornered, forced into doing something.
I nodded jerkily and walked out of the antechamber. The hall was dark, a vast cavern that seemed to stretch before me endlessly. I walked on the carpeted stone floor like a horse with blinders on, hardly noticing anything around me.
Everything was falling apart, the perfect existence I’d worked so hard to build. Most people probably wouldn’t understand what my problem was. After all, I was supposedly going to be a kick-ass supernatural. To be a demigod—to bend high magic to my will, to command dragons, be worshipped. It was what so many humans wanted, and why they were so desperate to be part of the supernatural realm. They wanted some of the magic.
So yeah, people would probably scoff at my “issues” because they would be too busy thinking about the benefits to consider the drawbacks. On one level, there was my car. My condo. Sure, a real dragonlady could whip up both of those items—and a lot more—with just a thought and a gesture. But I’d earned mine. Studied and sweated, placed my all too mortal life on the line time after time to achieve those prizes. They meant something.
And there were larger issues. My career as a hunter. Three dragonlords after me. A slayer for a mother. My sister and best friend dying.
Maybe this was a nightmare.
Except I was never that lucky. Jack had once told me my name meant “lucky one.” I think he really meant “cursed one.”
“There you are!” Toshi headed toward me, an orb light in tow. Rainbow-colored scales rippled along his body.
“How’s Valerie?” I asked.
“She is resting well.” The tiny dragon floated slightly below my eye level, the correct position of respect. “Milady, if I may… I wanted to know if you had any special requests for the banquet.”
I really wasn’t in the mood for a fancy dinner. What was there to celebrate? But Toshi had brought it up twice now, so it looked like it was going to happen. “Just some General Tso’s chicken, I guess,” I said finally. Hell, if someone was going to give me a free meal, I might as well get something I wanted.
Toshi lost a bit of altitude. “Ah…General Tso’s chicken, milady?”
“Yep.”
He cleared his throat. “Could you…that is if you don’t mind, of course… I mean, it’s not your responsibility to instruct one as slow and ignorant as I—” he cleared his throat again, “—but…could you please deign to enlighten this humble servant as to who this general might be and where I can find one of his famed chickens?” His speech became faster with each word until he sounded like a chipmunk.
“Um…what?”
“I’m sorry.” Toshi’s small diamond-shaped ears curled slightly and folded back along his head, the dragon equivalent of a blush. “What I meant to ask was…where may I find General Tso’s famed farm?”
Comprehension dawned. “General Tso doesn’t own a chicken farm.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “General Tso isn’t a real person. It’s the name of a dish.”
“Ah.”
