Chapter Twenty-Four Abel
Kill me.
—Micah Estellio
Chapter Twenty-Four
Abel
The second we step into the hotel room, Lucy bursts from her hiding place beneath Claire’s pillows. I crouch to greet her. She nuzzles Claire’s hands first.
“Bonsoir, ma Luciole!” Claire coos.
Lucy’s whining intensifies as she weaves over and under the folds of Claire’s skirt.
Meanwhile, I let my hands hang tinderfoxless between my knees.
Claire casts me a victory smirk while Lucy leaps up to furiously lick her scarred throat and cheek.
Nice to know a few weeks are all it takes to end up in second place.
Yawning and bleary-eyed, I toss a fresh log into the fireplace and strike the flint to restart it.
Oscillating between concern for Madame Afi and the courage to face Gérard has been draining, but I didn’t realize how tense I’ve been until Claire softened to me again.
I must’ve done a decent job expressing my regret over the journal.
I’ll sleep well tonight, knowing at least one person believes I’m worth redemption.
“Should I take Lucy out to relieve herself?” Claire asks.
I shed my coat. “Yes, but don’t stay out too long. If the—”
“Yes, yes. The assassins could be nearby.” Claire waves a dismissive hand, that too-easy expression on her face. “I’ll stay in view of the front desk.”
“Wait.” I walk back to her, gaze dropping to her bloody sleeve. “Are you injured?”
“It’s not mine,” she says, gathering Lucy from the ground. “Gérard cut himself on the glass. Blood must’ve transferred when he grabbed my wrist.”
“Your role in Gérard’s slaying is done.” Noticing her expression falling, I force my tone to soften. “Thank you for your help.”
She looks at the ground between us. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why aren’t you angry that I read the journal?”
“I wondered that too,” I admit. “I suppose I wanted someone to read it. It was liberating, actually. Secrets are exhausting.”
“Would you ever try curing dragons again?”
“No. I can’t trust myself with hope.” I retreat to the bed and sink onto the edge, hunched with my elbows on my knees. “My logic sounds backward, I know.”
She remains by the door. “It’s not backward.”
“May I ask why you read it?”
She shrugs. “I was curious.”
“I’ve caught on to your nonchalant act by now. That’s not the truth.”
Claire releases a relenting breath and lets Lucy chew on her knuckles. “I wanted to know what kind of person I was dealing with.”
“Person…or slayer?”
Her gaze finds Micah’s skull against the wall. “Both.”
“I imagine I’m a disappointment. It’s fair if you think so.”
To my surprise, she shakes her head. “What inspired you to let Gérard live his last days free?”
“You did.”
She blanches. “Me?”
“You avoided me after you read my journal, but you didn’t abandon me.
You saw beyond the terrible, shortsighted person I am and remained focused on your goal.
” I clear my swelling throat. “You didn’t try to convince yourself I was anything else.
You found a way to deal with reality and get your job done. ”
Claire lowers Lucy to the floor and kneels in front of me. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’ve accepted reality. I can’t separate the human from the dragon anymore.” I gesture to her satchel. “Honestly, I struggled to work up the will to kill Gérard until you admitted you read my journal. It’s all because you stayed.”
“Abel…I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to add. The slayer I was before Micah died would scorn the slayer I am now, but you know what? I don’t care. That slayer tortured his brother. He ignored the truth of the tragedy and tried to force logic from it.” I hang my head. “There is no logic. I failed him.”
“Don’t suppress your feelings.” Claire wraps her arms around my shoulders. “You’re allowed to mourn.”
The temptation to return the hug and lose myself in her touch screams at every bone in my body. Instead, I rest my head on her shoulder, close my eyes, and take a deep, steadying breath.
“The only way I was ever going to make myself slay again was if I acknowledged the unfairness of Gérard’s curse and offered him a few good final days before I must do my sworn duty,” I say. “Diu leaves me no other choice.”
It feels wrong to linger in a client’s comfort like this, but there is no dragon cure. I’m a slayer. No more, no less. I have no choice but to kill all victims of Diu’s curse to protect the people who will judge them for it. It’s not fair to anyone.
“I can’t help but wonder whether Micah’s curse was a test of my greed,” I admit. “If so, I failed terribly. I demonstrated the worst behavior humanity has to offer.”
“I wish I could make this easier for you.”
“Don’t. You said hypocrisies exist everywhere, including among the faithful. You were right.” My muscles brace against divine punishment, but the facts help me press on. “Slayers are hypocrites. We’ll never enforce the moral high ground if we continue our pattern of cruelty.”
Claire’s fingers slide into my hair as she pulls me tighter. Diu show me mercy for my greed, because the unbridled affection in that gesture compels me to return the favor.
“You’re not like the rest of the Guild,” she whispers against my ear. “You’re giving Gérard more happiness than any other slayer would have.”
“That’s the problem. The entire slayer culture needs to change. We can’t keep dehumanizing victims, or we’ll never be better than the Immortals were.”
Her voice cracks. “You want to change the Slayers Guild?”
“I have to.” My breath shudders. “We slay humans, Claire. We’re murderers out of necessity, but murderers nonetheless. Compassion is the only good that can come from this.”
Maybe that’s what Diu has been waiting for.
Claire strokes my hair. “You’re not a murderer, Abel. What you do is a mercy.” A waver touches her own voice. “You don’t need to think of it any other way.”