Chapter 12
I take a step back from Nick and regard him a little suspiciously. The sexual tension between us evaporates, and another kind of tension springs up in its place. “You mean there are other slayers out there?” I demand.
He shrugs.
“Other slayers like me?”
“Apparently.”
“And slayers can fly ?” I demand.
“Apparently.”
“ Apparently ?”
My alter ego is getting angry, and so am I, goddammit. All this time, I realize, I’ve trusted Nick, trusted everything he’s told me. But now, I have to wonder…
Has he been holding out on me? And have I been too naive to see it?
“Carrie, I’ve been a vampire for, like, two minutes,” Nick says. He holds his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve told you all I know, but I’m not exactly an expert on any of this. I’m still learning too.”
I want to believe him, but I’m not sure I can. And I’m not sure how much longer I can contain my slayer rage.
In fact, the only thing that I am absolutely certain about is that I cannot stand here with this vampire even one second longer. I need to go, or else I’m going to completely lose my—
Just then, my flaming sword appears. But this time, I don’t aim it at Nick. Intuitively, I know to point it overhead, at the sky.
Fueled by my intent, the fiery arc of the blade extends up and up and up, pulling me along with it—but no, that’s not quite right. I’m not just along for the ride here. I’m in the driver’s seat. It’s as if I am the fire. I am the sword.
For once, my slayer and I don’t feel like separate entities, like awkward roommates occupying the same body, battling for control. We are somehow one and the same.
I glance down, and it seems both impossible and completely inevitable that I am levitating high above Nick. Then, suspended in midair— suspended in midair! —I peer inland. I can see all of Los Angeles County, all the way to the Hollywood sign.
It’s… breathtaking .
But this isn’t a sightseeing tour. And I’m not up here to enjoy the view.
I want to get out of here.
I want to go home , I think.
It seems like it should take more than that, more than just my own resolve. Like I should need ruby slippers or a magic carpet or some ancient incantation to embark on this kind of mystical travel. But somehow, my intention is enough.
Bending to my will, the blazing ribbon of fire curls into an arch. And then, well, it’s not like I’m flying exactly. It’s more like I’m surfing. Like I’m riding a wave of flames, coasting over the palm trees, over the rooftops. Only I’m not just riding the wave wherever it decides to go. The fire is an extension of me, and I’m steering it exactly where I want it to take me.
As I glide homeward, floating through the night sky, I feel this indescribable rush of power—indescribable not just because it’s beyond words but also because it’s simply beyond me .
I zip through the atmosphere, and my neighborhood slips by in a blur. Soon—too soon, to be honest—I find myself homing in on my building on Fourth.
My landing isn’t perfect, but it’s dead-on accurate. With a thud and a bit of a forward stumble, I find myself right at my doorstep.
Wow.
I mean, just… wow !
On solid ground again, I stand at my front door, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. What I just made happen. It takes some time before it even occurs to me to go inside.
When I finally dig out my keys, something compels me to look over my shoulder. Across the street, illuminated by a hazy circle of light, I spy Nick leaning against a lamppost. He must have used his vampire superspeed to follow me.
He gives me a tentative wave. After a moment, I bite my lower lip and nod back.
I turn and unlock the door to let myself in, and I can’t decide what’s more surprising: me catching a lift home on a fiery tsunami of my own making, or Nick watching over me until I’m safely inside.
***
“So wait. You can fly?” asks Heather.
“Like, it’s-a-bird, it’s-a-plane, no-it’s-Carrie-Adams-vampire-slayer fly ?” asks Liv.
“Not exactly like Superman,” I say. “But… yeah .”
“Why didn’t you tell us before we drove up here?” asks Liv. “We could have saved the gas money.”
When Heather, Liv, and I realized we all had Friday afternoon off, we decided to drive up the Pacific Coast Highway together and hit our favorite taco stand for lunch. With Heather at the wheel and Liv riding shotgun, I sat in the back and spent the road trip up to Malibu filling my besties in on everything that went down last night. And now that we’ve gotten our orders and grabbed a spot at one of the sun-bleached picnic tables overlooking the ocean, the two of them won’t stop badgering me with questions.
“I don’t know if the I-can-fly thing works like an Uber,” I say. “I’m not sure if I can take passengers. Honestly? I’m still not clear on how any of this slayer stuff works.”
“Now for the really important question,” says Heather. I assume she’s going to ask me about the existence of the other vampire slayer, someone who might actually possess the answers that I lack. But instead, Heather just grins and asks, “So? Was it a date?”
The question makes me a little annoyed, and for once, I don’t suppress what I’m feeling. “It was me trying to learn control so Nick’s vampire bandmates don’t find out I’m a slayer and kill me,” I snap. “Or have you forgotten about that?”
Heather blinks, a little surprised by my outburst. Then she reaches over and gives my arm a pat. “No one’s forgotten about that, babe,” she says quietly.
“It’s just hard to talk about,” adds Liv. “It’s hard to even think about.”
“But if you want to talk about it…” says Heather.
And just like that, my annoyance disappears. Deep down, I know my friends are every bit as freaked out about all this as I am. And while normally I want to discuss and analyze everything with them, this time, I decide to pass. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s not go there. Not today anyway. I think I’d rather you just grill me about my current relationship status with Nick.”
“Okay!” says Liv, jumping right back on that train. “So tell us. How did things vibe last night? Did it feel like a date? Or not?”
I frown. A best-of/worst-of highlight reel of the previous night is playing in my mind, and I don’t know how to respond. To give me some extra time to formulate a reply, I take a quick bite of my chicken taco. I chew it slowly, thinking, while my friends eye me expectantly.
“I don’t know,” I say finally after I swallow. “I mean, at first, it definitely wasn’t a date. But then it did kind of start to feel like one. Except then it turned into a bad date. And then…” I let the sentence drop off as I remember the sight of Nick making sure I got home okay, even after I got mad at him and made my dramatic exit. “I don’t know,” I say on a sigh.
“What about tonight?” asks Liv.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging.
“Do you want it to be a date?” asks Heather.
“I don’t know.”
“ Ehhhnt ,” says Liv, making a sound like a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer.”
I look from one of my friends to the other. “You know, you two armchair matchmakers are totally ignoring the real headline from last night. There’s another vampire slayer out there. Someone who could maybe help me.”
“I thought Nick was going to help you,” says Heather.
“I thought so too,” I say. “But he clearly doesn’t know a lot more than I do about the whole slayer thing. And I’m not sure if he’s being completely straight with me about what little he does know.”
Liv uses one of the paper napkins from the stack in the middle of our table to wipe a drip of salsa off her chin. “You really think Nick could be lying to you?” she asks.
“Not lying, exactly. It’s just…” I shrug in confusion.
Chewing on that, the three of us eat in silence, and for a little while, I just let myself enjoy the awesome street tacos and the gorgeous coastal view and the bright sunshine that means no vampires are currently watching me.
“Okay, new topic,” announces Heather. “Did you talk to your agent? About the open role on Robbery-Homicide Division ?”
“There’s an open role on Robbery-Homicide ?” asks Liv.
Heather nods. “Bella Drake is leaving.”
Liv turns to me. “Carrie!” she says excitedly. “That would be the perfect way to get your family off your back. You wouldn’t be a lawyer, but you’d be playing one on TV!”
“Yeah,” I say, not quite matching her enthusiasm. “It would be perfect. If I could actually get the part.”
“So did you talk to your agent about it?” asks Heather again.
I squirm a little on the picnic bench. “Not yet.”
“ Not yet? ” asks Heather. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. They’re seeing people now .”
I squirm a bit more.
I want the part. Of course I want the part. Who wouldn’t? But I just know my agent will say that I’m not right for it, that I don’t have the right look. If I can even get through to talk to her about it at all.
“Carrie,” says Liv sternly. “You are a badass vampire slayer. You can summon fire, and you can defy gravity. I’m pretty sure you can tell your agent to do her job and pitch you for this role.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But first, I’d have to get her on the line.”
“So call now,” says Heather.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she says. “Get out your phone and call now.”
“B-but it’s lunchtime,” I stammer.
“So?” asks Liv.
“She’s probably at lunch.”
“Well, I’m sure she has her phone with her,” says Heather. “Just like you do.” And before I can stop her, she plucks my mobile out of the side pocket of my leggings and thrusts it in front of me. “Call. Now.”
I glance over at Liv for help, but the serious set of her jaw tells me that she’s taking Heather’s side on this one. In my heart, though, I know they’re both totally on my side. They’re both Team Carrie all the way, just wanting me to succeed. And right now, I guess the one who’s mostly standing in the way of my potential success is me .
I take my phone back from Heather and take a deep breath.
“You’ve got this, chica,” says Liv with an encouraging smile and a nod that makes her ponytail bounce up and down.
After a beat, I nod back. And dial.
One ring. Two rings. Three—
“The Rebecca Sloane Agency.”
“Kevin, hi,” I say as my eyes dart between Heather and Liv. “It’s Carrie Adams again. May I speak with Rebecca, please? It’s—it’s important.”
My personal cheering section pantomimes all kinds of positive reinforcement.
“Hold, please,” says Kevin.
I hear the familiar click on the other end of the line. But as I brace for the assistant to come back with his usual brush-off, I remember that feeling I had last night as I flew—literally flew —across the sky. That feeling of complete and utter control, of being able to take the reins and direct my own path forward.
As the phone clicks again, something else clicks. Last night, it wasn’t just a feeling. I didn’t just feel in control. I was in control. Because I took control.
“Sorry,” says Kevin, launching into what I’ve come to recognize as his standard reply. “She’s not avail—”
“Kevin,” I interrupt before he can finish the sentence and hang up on me. “We both know you have her on the line. And usually I don’t push. But this time, like I said, it’s important.” I don’t sound angry exactly. I sound like I’m controlling my anger. “I need to speak to Rebecca about a casting opportunity,” I continue firmly. “And I need you to make that happen.”
Nothing.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t dare. Then—
“Hold again, please.”
In the silence that follows, I get up from my seat at the picnic table and walk off a bit. Standing close to the edge of the beachside cliff, I keep my back to my friends and stare out over the waves. God knows I appreciate their support, but I really don’t want to be having this conversation in front of an audience. I need some privacy so I can concentrate on—
“It was a no,” says my agent in a clipped, slightly annoyed tone as soon as she comes on the line. No chitchat. Not even a hello.
It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Wednesday’s audition.
“I-I figured,” I say. “But I’m not calling about—”
“Have you gained weight?” she asks.
Crap , I think. So it wasn’t just a no. It was a no, and.
“I’ve put on a little muscle,” I mumble.
“If you gain weight, it’s going to limit your options,” she says. “And I won’t be able to help you.”
Any other day, I would have accepted this, but today, it really kind of bothers me. It seems like she’s the one limiting my options.
“I’ve put on a little muscle ,” I repeat more forcefully.
“Well, I don’t have anything else for you right now,” she says.
“But I do,” I say quickly, before she can disconnect. “I have some inside information. Bella Drake is leaving Robbery-Homicide Division , and they’re casting a new ADA to take her place.”
“You’re not a Bella Drake type,” she says.
“They’re seeing all types,” I say.
“You’re not a series lead type,” she says.
I recall all the things I wanted to say to her, all those lines I practiced yesterday, when I was running. When I felt powerful. I try to call up some of that power now.
“Maybe we can start thinking less about whether I can look the part,” I say, “and more about whether I can play the part.” I pause. “I know lawyers,” I tell her. “And I know I can play this part.”
“You’re not—”
“Instead of focusing on what I’m not ,” I say, interrupting, “maybe we can focus on what I am . I am all in, Rebecca. I am. And I need to know that you’re all in too.”
And for once, however this turns out, I feel like I gave it my best performance.
***
I walk back over to the picnic table as I finish the call.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you. ’Bye.”
I hang up and look at my girlfriend posse.
“Well?” asks Liv. “Did you talk to her?”
“What did she say?” asks Heather.
I milk the suspense a little before I break out in a big grin. “She’ll reach out and see if she can get me in to read next week.”
From the outbreak of excitement that ensues, you’d think I’d actually landed the role instead of merely convincing my agent to try to get me a slot to audition for it. But as my friends know, in this business, you have to celebrate every win, no matter how small.
I reach down to pick up my bottle of water and raise it up in a toast. “Here’s to pushy friends,” I say.
“Pushy friends!” echo Heather and Liv in unison as they enthusiastically bump their plastic water bottles against mine.
We all drink. Then I swing my legs over the picnic bench and sit back down at the table.
“So that’s one problem down,” says Heather as I settle in next to her. “One more to go.”
I look at her, thinking about all the twists and turns my life has taken in the past few days. “Just one?” I ask sarcastically.
“Well, one that I know how to solve anyway.” Heather tugs at the arm of the faded, old, oversize Barnard College sweatshirt that I’m wearing today to conceal my biceps and triceps and other supernaturally buffed-up ’ceps. “We have got to do something about your wardrobe,” she says. “Just in case tonight’s training session is a date.”