Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What was the room number?” Abby asks, shifting the laundry basket full of books so she can get a better grip on the floor lamp she’s carrying.

The lamp almost slips, though, and Clarke grabs it from her before looking down at the welcome packet she’d just picked up from her new RA. “117. Looks like I’m at the end of the hall.”

“Oh good, I can probably pull the van around, and then we won’t have to lug all of your stuff across campus. Not all of us have super strength, after all.”

“I told you I could carry the books,” Clarke says, ignoring the pointed comment and pushing past Abby to unlock the door.

Abby gives her daughter a silencing look before moving into the room.

“This is nice,” she says. “Cozy.”

Clarke lets the door fall closed and steps up behind her mom, taking in the place she’ll be living for the next year. The room isn’t nearly as cramped as she’d feared it would be, but it’d still only take her about 15 steps to walk from one side to the other. Three square windows on the opposite wall allow plenty of the rich, Virginia sunlight to filter inside. Under two of those three windows sits a bed, one already made up with simple, green sheets.

She glances over at the side of the room already claimed by her roommate and is surprised to see someone sitting there at the university-provided desk.

The girl has dark hair, half of it gathered into a sloppy bun to keep it out of her face as she leans over a notebook while the rest tumbles, wild and erratically curled, down her back. The music coming through her headphones is too loud, and she twirls the cord around her pointer finger absentmindedly. The thin, black tank she’s wearing shows off her well-muscled arms, and Clarke takes a second to study the peculiar tattoo spanning her right bicep.

Abby doesn’t notice Clarke’s preoccupation. She goes right for the window.

“You have a pretty nice view of campus,” she comments.

“I’m sure that won’t get old at all,” Clarke says, jerking her eyes away from the roommate and stepping further into the room. She dumps a duffle bag full of clothes and her bedding onto the bare mattress.

Abby shakes her head, heaving out that world-weary sigh that Clarke’s come to associate with the newfound and constant tension in their relationship.

“I’m going to get the car,” she says. “I’ll be back shortly. Why don’t you start getting settled?”

Again, Clarke hears only the subtext. Her mom doesn’t want her to come along because the only thing that’s been helping them lately is lots and lots of space.

Once Abby’s out of the room and Clarke’s swallowed the lump in her throat, she approaches the girl at the desk.

“Hi,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Clarke. Looks like we’re roomies.”

When the girl doesn’t answer, Clarke steps a little closer and waves her hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

The girl jerks upright, making her chair tip back onto two legs for a moment, and rips her earbuds loose.

“Who are you?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as she looks Clarke up and down.

Clarke blinks, baffled by her snippy tone, and drops her hand to her side. “Clarke. Your roommate.”

The girl glances around the room in confusion and then lets out a sigh not unlike Abby’s. “Right. I forgot you’d show up eventually.”

“Eventually?” Clarke asks, her eyebrows coming together. “This is freshman move-in day.”

“Not for everyone,” she says and then sticks the buds back in her ears.

Clarke stands there dumbfounded for several long moments—listening to the carrying notes of the girl’s music—before turning back to her side of the room. She gets most of her jeans put away in the time it takes Abby to move the car and return to the room.

“I was too ambitious,” Abby says after Clarke opens the door, her voice muffled by the mountain of non-perishable food piled into a cracked laundry basket.

“I got you.” Clarke grabs the package of soup cans off the top and tucks a jar of peanut butter under her arm.

Abby waddles further inside and gingerly slides the heavy basket onto Clarke’s desk. She finally notices the other person in the room and turns to cock an eyebrow at Clarke.

“Roommate?” she mouths.

Clarke nods.

Abby brightens and rushes over to her, hand extended. “Hi there. I’m Clarke’s mom, Abby.”

The girl removes her earbuds and shakes Abby’s hand, so she must not be a total asshole.

“Lexa,” she responds shortly.

“Did you need help moving anything in?” Abby asks.

“No, thank you, I’m all settled.”

That seems to be the extent of Lexa’s politeness. She puts her earbuds back in and turns up her music.

“Was it something I said?” Abby asks under heart breath, returning to Clarke’s side of the room.

Clarke shrugs. “I think she’s just like that.”

“You two should get along, then. Surly peas in a pod.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Can we please just finish unloading?”

It takes the two of them four more trips to get everything from both Abby’s van and Clarke’s tiny sedan. Once everything’s in the dorm, Abby lingers awkwardly. Clarke can feel the tension coming off her in waves.

“Did you want to get dinner?” she asks, picking a package of index cards up off Clarke’s desk and tossing it from hand to hand. “One last meal paid for by mom before you’re doomed to cafeteria food.”

“You’re paying for all those meals, too,” is Clarke’s non-answer.

The frustrated sigh again…then: “I’m not going to see you till Thanksgiving break, am I?”

Clarke shifts uncomfortably and steps out from the closet where she’s been hanging up her jackets. She forces herself not to cast a glance over at Lexa, who hasn’t moved from her desk since they arrived.

“You know I have to come home regularly.”

“Right,” Abby says, no small amount of bitterness in her voice. “To meet with Marcus.”

Unintentionally, Clarke’s eyes flicker to her roommate. The earbuds are still in, but her head is ever so slightly tilted in their direction.

She’s definitely listening.

“Mom, this really isn’t the place to discuss this.”

Abby stiffens and smooths the fabric of her shirt with her palm. “Sooner or later, that deflection just isn’t going to work anymore.”

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest.

“Fine then. I’ll see you at home. If you even bother to say hello to me.” And with that, Abby storms out of the room.

Tears well in Clarke’s eyes, but she squeezes them shut and takes a couple deep breaths, willing herself to remain calm. When she opens them, her gaze is drawn to the other side of the room.

Lexa’s watching her openly. There’s interest and a guardedness in her expression, but there’s also something else. Something with a tender edge.

Familiarity.

###

“You’re not pulling your hair out yet?” Anya asks Lexa over the phone, her voice teasing.

“I have yet to attend a single class,” Lexa reminds her.

“Yeah, but all those people. Eating meals in public. Having to share a room with a stranger. We both know how much you hate that.”

“I had just gotten used to a certain kind of privacy,” she admits. “But this is fine. A happy medium of sorts.”

Anya makes an approving noise. “You always were a trooper.”

Lexa smiles to herself as she crawls into bed. “I learned from the best.”

“I am the coolest,” Anya says.

She laughs.

“So, tell me about the roommate. Does she smack her gum? Leave fishy smelling food in the mini fridge?”

For some reason, Lexa blushes at the mention of Clarke. “We’ve barely lived together for a weekend.”

“Still, you must have some opinion on the girl.” As if reading meaning from Lexa’s silence, Anya adds, “Is she pretty?”

“She’s a busybody,” Lexa says, trying to satisfy Anya’s need for gossip without giving too much away. In her mind, the picture of Clarke’s anguished face after her mother left materializes perfectly, details in high-definition.

“What do you mean?” Anya probes.

“For starters, it’s nearly eleven and she hasn’t been back to the room since noon.”

Anya snorts. “You do know you’re in college, right little one? Some people leave their rooms a lot. They even stay out past,” she pauses to gasp, “midnight.”

Lexa rolls her eyes and fidgets with the bent, worn corner of her book. “She’s in and out a lot, that’s all I meant.”

“Sounds like she’s mostly out. Maybe you could take a page from her book…make some new friends.”

There’s a rattling at the door then—undoubtedly Clarke fumbling with her keys—and Lexa sits up straighter in bed.

“Sure,” she says distractedly into the phone. “We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I know when I’m being blown off. Let me know how your first week of classes goes.”

Lexa hums in affirmation and hangs up just as Clarke breezes into the room. She doesn’t say anything to Lexa, just dumps her bag onto her desk chair and grabs her shower caddy. Lexa slides further under the covers and shoves her face in her book.

Nearly twenty minutes pass before Clarke comes back, wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe and her hair wrapped in her towel.

Lexa’s cheeks start to burn when she hears the thud of the towel hitting the floor, but she keeps her eyes trained on her book, reading with zero comprehension.

“So did you leave the room at all today?” Clarke asks, emerging from her closet in sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt.

Lexa’s lips pucker and she shoots Clarke a dirty look.

“Geeze, it was just a question,” she says, pulling her damp hair into a ponytail. “There’re tons of Welcome Weekend activities, you know. Programming designed to help us keep our head above these here murky waters. At the risk of assuming too much, I dare say you’d love it.”

“I went to a couple seminars. Plus I got three whole meals today,” Lexa snaps, and then cringes inwardly, disappointed in herself for sounding so defensive.

Clarke smiles at her, and it only looks half mocking. “Impressive.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, turning away from Clarke and tucking her book under her pillow.

Lexa tries to fall asleep, she really does, but every one of her nerves is on end, knowing Clarke is there in the room. She continues to move about for a while, stopping at some point to turn off the lamp next to Lexa’s bed. She tracks Clarke’s movements through the creaks in the floor and the sound of her clearing her throat and the gentle shush of her breathing until that becomes a sort of lullaby.

In fact, she’s nearly given herself over to unconsciousness when Clarke whispers into the darkness, “Lexa?”

A thrill goes through her, but she doesn’t dare answer, keeps her breathing steady and deep. The next thing she hears is the latch of a window clicking and the rustling of leaves as something heavy lands in the bushes lining the perimeter of their dorm.

She doesn’t look, but Lexa knows because the atmosphere in the room is suddenly thinner, much more breathable.

Clarke’s gone.

###

Clarke’s phone buzzes in the pocket of her black skinny jeans. She doesn’t have to check the caller ID to know that it’s either Kane or her mom. They’ve been calling her every night. So far, she’s managed to go a month without speaking to either of them.

They’re probably assuming the worst.

Clarke frowns but silences the phone anyway as she shuffles forward with the rest of the line waiting to get into Skaikru, an off-campus dance hall that’s popular with underclassmen. She’s actually been pretty diligent with her studies and her…extracurricular activities. She’s definitely earned a break.

When she finally reaches the front of the line, the bouncer waves her inside without checking her license, his eyes never wavering from her cleavage, which admittedly looks amazing in the sparkly crop top she’s wearing.

The hall is open and airy, one big room with a sizable dance floor in the center. Lights meant to give off a celestial vibe are cast on every surface, and an incoherent band’s playing guitar-heavy rock on the raised stage at the front of the room. There’s a bar in the back and stairs to a cozy balcony that hangs over the counter.

Clarke makes her way toward the bar, head bobbing in time with the music. Once she’s sure the bartender’s being lenient when it comes to carding, she gets herself a cheap beer and climbs the stairs to the balcony.

Several couples are making out on the scattered assortment of couches and armchairs. She ignores them and leans on the railing, looking out over the crowd.

She picks out a couple familiar faces—some redheaded kid who works the coffee cart in the student center and the whip-sharp girl from her physics class who’s way too smart to be in a beginners’ course and the well-muscled guy with a face full of freckles who she often sees lifting weights at the gym—but they’re all dancing or hanging out in a group of other people. So she stays put, watching some truly atrocious dance moves and wishing she’d managed to make at least one friend during her time at the university.

An entire set and three beers later, Clarke’s barely moved from her spot, but at least she’s starting to feel a little tipsy. And hopefully now that the band’s finished, some music she can actually dance to will play.

She groans when the first song to tinkle out of the speakers is slow and moody. Chugging the rest of her beer and tossing the bottle in the trash, Clarke starts heading for the exit. She’s halfway down the steps when she feels a prickle on the back of her neck.

Suddenly more alert, her eyes are drawn instantly to the girl from her physics class and the stocky dude that’s leading her onto the dancefloor. Clarke bristles as she takes him in, mentally kicking herself for leaving home unprepared.

“You’re fine, Griffin,” she says to herself, keeping an eye on the couple as they sway back and forth and scanning the room for something useful at the same time. Toothpick umbrellas are definitely too small…. “This is fine. You’ve improvised before.”

She creeps along the back wall of the club, positioning herself in the shadows near the back exit—technically for employees only but she doubts this guy’s a stickler for rules.

Sure enough, as the song’s winding down, he leads the girl away from the crowd, headed directly for Clarke.

She watches the girl closely, noticing the tension in her neck and shoulders. She’s staring back toward the dance floor, and Clarke thinks she notices her mouthing something to someone.

After the couple disappears out the door, she counts to three and then slips after them. The alley outside smells of acrid beer and piss. Clarke scans her surroundings, calculating. There are a handful of shipping pallets leaning against the Dumpster.

She grins.

“Where the hell are you trying to take me?” the girl asks, her ever-present ponytail swinging back and forth as she tries to jerk out of Beef Boy’s grip.

“I told you,” he says, his voice gruff. “I know a great place for necking.”

Clarke scoffs then. “Really? Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a vamp lame enough to make that joke.”

Both of them turn around, the girl jumping at the sound of Clarke’s voice. Beef Boy lights up, looking like he just stumbled into an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“You shouldn’t have come out here, girl. Now I get to enjoy a two-for-one ditz special.”

“Fuck you,” the girl spits at him. She tries to pull herself free again, but the asshole tightens his grip.

“Raven!” someone yells from behind Clarke. “Are you okay?”

Beef Boy snarls, his lips curling into a sinister smile.

Clarke glances over her shoulder, taking note of the new girl’s petite build and fierce scowl. “Stay back.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

She sighs and, instead of answering, twirls to build up momentum and then lands a kick right in Beef Boy’s stomach. He flies several feet and lands on his ass.

The girl from her physics class, Raven, runs past Clarke to huddle by the door with her friend.

“When are you idiots gonna learn that this is my town?” Clarke asks, sauntering forward as the guy struggles to his feet.

“Slayer,” he growls.

“Took you long enough to figure it out. You on the other hand? Wicked obvious.”

Beef Boy screams with rage, his face morphing as he does until he’s sporting longer canines, a wrinkly forehead, and the yellow eyes of a predator.

When he steps into the beam of strobing light coming from Skaikru’s open door, Raven and her friend gasp.

“Wh-what is that?”

Since Clarke’s kind of preoccupied with the charging vampire, she doesn’t bother answering. He tackles her to the ground, and Clarke groans when they land in a puddle, her head cracking unpleasantly against the asphalt. She holds him at arm’s length, her hand cupping his neck, and manages to get a foot planted against his hip. With a grunt, she launches him into the air again.

She’s quick to do a kick-up off the ground and then runs over to where the vamp is still scrambling. She grabs fistfuls of his jacket and lifts him up over her head, muscles straining, before tossing him at the Dumpster.

He crashes into the shipping pallets, sending splintered wood flying. Clarke snags a section of board with a jagged end and, when Beef Boy charges her again, she shoves it into his chest.

He explodes. Dust.

Clarke brushes herself off. “That was hardly even fun; the takedown was too easy.”

“What. The hell. Was that?” Raven and her friend are gaping at her.

“Believe me when I say you’re better off putting it out of your mind.”

“But he was-. And you did-. And then he-.” Raven says, clearly in shock.

“You want me to walk you guys home?” Clarke asks.

“I…sure,” Raven says.

“Who are you?” the other girl asks again as they fall into step, on their way back to campus.

“The name’s Clarke.”

They both know that’s not what she meant, but the girl doesn’t push. After several silent seconds, she says, “Octavia.”

“Nice to meet…well, no, I guess our meeting could have gone smoother.”

Raven and Octavia chuckle, and Clarke smiles to herself. They’ll be just fine.

“Where are we headed?” she asks.

“I’m in Ark Hall. Raven’s in Adia.”

“Cool. I’m on East Campus, too. In Polis.”

They fall quiet again, Raven and Octavia hanging back slightly while Clarke leads the way.

“You’re in my physics class, aren’t you?” Raven says after a bit.

“I am,” Clarke says, slowing as the approach their twin dorms. “Here we are.”

Raven fishes her keys out of the pocket of her denim skirt. “Thanks for…”

“Don’t mention it,” Clarke says, saving her the trouble of having to put a name to what happened to her.

“I’ll look for you in class on Tuesday.”

Clarke nods. “I’d like that.”

Raven and Octavia wave before the door to the building closes behind them.

Clarke takes a steadying breath. She should stop off at her room, change into something less flashy and pick up some stakes before heading out to patrol.

She hopes Lexa’s not in the room. She’d hoped her days of sneaking out were over for good when she moved here.

Shaking her head at herself, Clarke starts along the path toward her dorm, alone once again.

###

“So you don’t like her?” Gustus asks Lexa, widening his stance and holding up his boxing mitt-clad hands.

Lexa rolls back her shoulders and then throws a punch at his left hand, nailing the target’s center despite it being a little high.

They’re not the greatest match, what with Gutus being freakishly tall—the top of Lexa’s head barely reaches his shoulder—but they’ve been working out together forever. They know how to keep each other motivated.

“Good,” he praises. “Harder.”

She nods. “It’s not about,” punch, “liking her,” punch, punch. “I’m just saying,” punch, “she’s an,” punch, “inconsiderate,” punch, punch, punch, “roommate.”

“Because she leaves a lot,” Gustus says. It’s not a question. They’ve been talking about Clarke for the last forty minutes during their stretches and warm up lap around the gym.

“Not simply a lot. In the middle of the night,” Lexa says, and then throws her full weight into her next punch, making him wince.

“Have you tried asking her where she goes?”

She scoffs. “Why would I intrude like that?”

Gustus pretends to think about it before says, “Hmm, maybe so you can satiate your curiosity and we can finally have a conversation that doesn’t feature Clarke Griffin.”

“I have a feeling she wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.”

Gustus rolls his eyes and takes off the mitts. “Let’s switch.”

Lexa slides on the equipment, tightening the straps around her much smaller hands before holding them up high.

“So what do you two talk about?” he asks, throwing a light punch.

“You can do better than that,” Lexa says, cocking an eyebrow.

He punches harder, and she shifts her weight into the balls of her feet to absorb the impact.

“Anyway, we don’t really. Talk, that is.”

“Maybe you should start.”

Lexa drops her hands after another punch. “Why?”

“Don’t bite my head off, I’m just speaking as a third-party observer who happens to know you pretty damn well, okay?”

Her brow furrows. “I make no promises.”

“The way you go on about her. It sounds like you want to be her friend.”

“What? No. I already have all the friends I need: you and Anya.”

Gustus’ laugh echoes through the gym. “Whatever you say.”

She’s distracted as they finish their sparring session, though, the suggestion sticking in Lexa’s brain. She thinks about it in her post-workout shower. She thinks about it as she bundles up and steps out into the brisk, fall air. She thinks about it on the walk back to her room.

In fact, she’s so busy puzzling over why Gustus would suggest Lexa wants to befriend Clarke that she doesn’t notice the man waiting in front of her door until she’s three rooms away.

He takes a step toward her when he notices her there. “You’re Clarke’s roommate, are you not?”

“Who are you?” Lexa asks, narrowing her eyes.

“My name’s Marcus Kane. I’m Clarke’s…we’re close.”

The name tugs at an old memory, but she can’t quite place it. “If that were so, you’d know Clarke’s in class. How long have you been here?”

“A young gentleman let me into the building not five minutes ago.”

Lexa eyes the man, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. He’s sizing her up, as well.

She’s just about to make some excuse about needing to leave—unwilling to let this stranger into her dorm—when Clarke pushes into the hall from the side entrance.

She freezes when she sees Marcus before tugging off her headphones.

“Kane,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t been answering our calls, Clarke. Abby’s been worried sick.”

Clarke frowns, but Lexa notices the way her eyes burn with anger.

“I’m fine. I’ve got everything under control here, so you can go right back home.”

“You know that I can’t,” Marcus says, and then glances uncomfortably at Lexa. “You’ve been neglecting your…studies.”

For some stupid, foolish reason, Lexa speaks before she can stop herself. “Clarke hasn’t missed a class all semester.”

Clarke shoots her a funny look, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “See, Kane. I’m a model student.”

He exhales loudly. “Clarke, I understand that you’re upset with me for beginning a relationship with your mother, but I know you know you can’t keep shutting me out like this. We have a job to do.”

She sneers at him. “I have a job to do, and I’ve been doing it just fine. Go away.”

“Clarke,” he says, reaching for her arm.

Lexa quickly inserts herself between them and glares up at Marcus. “I think you’d better go now.”

He tries looking past her. “This is ridiculous. Clarke, tell your guard dog to stand down.”

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials. “Don’t make me call campus security.”

Marcus holds his hands up, admitting defeat, and starts down the hall. As he’s backing away, he says, “You can’t avoid me forever, Clarke.”

She steps around Lexa, shaking her head and muttering to herself. “Watch me. That’s what you’re good at, right? Watching.”

When the door clicks shut behind them, Clarke deflates a little, the color draining from her cheeks. Lexa watches as she shrugs out of her backpack and sits down at her desk. She’s still for a long time, and Lexa eventually settles at her own desk, more than willing to move on without a word.

Except suddenly Clarke’s at her side, fingertips brushing her forearm. “Hey, thanks for that. For the backup.”

“Think nothing of it. I would have done that for anyone,” Lexa lies.

“Right, well, uh, I appreciate it anyway.”

Lexa finally looks up at her, and her breath catches in her throat when she notices that Clarke’s bright blue eyes shine with unshed tears.

They hold each other’s gaze for one long moment, then Clarke steps away with a laugh, flustered.

There’s absolutely no reason Lexa’s heartbeat has picked up speed. None at all.

###

Clarke’s wandering the aisles of one of the on-campus markets, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

“And then I actually stormed out of the classroom,” Wells says, his laugh deep and warm.

“You did not,” she says, unable to contain her smile.

“I did. Listen, I’m not gonna let a professor tell me there were some positive things to come out of slavery. I’m just not.”

“I think that’s respectable,” she says, picking up a package of cookies and taking a whiff.

“So how’s your college experience? You got a lot on your plate, I bet.”

Clarke frowns and puts the cookies back down, wandering deeper into an empty aisle. “Kane stopped by unannounced a couple days ago.”

There’s a long pause on the other line. So long that Clarke starts to think Wells hung up. Finally, he says, “Yeah, your mother called me last night.”

She stops in her tracks, a wave of anger crashing over her. “Why?”

“She wanted to know if we’d talked,” Wells says, calm as ever. “I really don’t blame her for thinking something terrible happened, given your, erm, special circumstances and all.”

“My special circumstances are none of her business,” Clarke snaps.

He ignores that. “Why haven’t you been checking in regularly? I thought you were supposed to be training with Kane every weekend.”

“I decided I’ve outgrown his guidance.”

“Can you do that,” Wells asks, clearly skeptical.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

Another long pause. “Clarke, I know things are tense between you guys, but she’s still your mother. You should throw her a bone every now and again. Call. Let her know you’re still breathing.”

She recoils at the idea, but she also really doesn’t want to fight with Wells. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she says, “I’ll consider it.”

“Good. You do that.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “Listen, I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Stay safe.”

Clarke pockets her phone and moves for the coolers in the back of the store. She’s suddenly feeling like quicksilver, volatile and unreliable. She just needs to get some lunch and get back to her room.

“Clarke!” a familiar voice calls from a few feet away. She turns to find Raven and Octavia jogging over to her.

“I thought that was you,” Raven says.

Clarke gives her a tight smile. “Hey guys. Now’s not really a good time, I need to—”

“Go fight vampires?” Octavia asks, her eyes bright with mischief.

Clarke blanches. “What did you just say?”

“She said vampire,” Raven says, smirking.

She looks between the two girls, feeling a little sick.

“What? You thought we were gonna let you give us the brush off? Better off putting it out of our minds…yeah right,” Octavia says, quoting Clarke.

“Wanna have lunch with us?” Raven asks.

Clarke looks back at the coolers full of unappetizing food and sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

They make their way to the dining hall on the second floor, Octavia and Raven chattering excitedly. Clarke hangs back just a little, trying to come up with something—anything—to say to them that’ll both redirect their attention and not sound absolutely absurd.

When they sit down with their food, she opens up her mouth, ready to ramble until the cows come home, but Raven cuts her off.

“You’re not gonna convince us we’re nuts or whatever. You stabbed some guy in the heart with a piece of wood and he exploded in some biblical dust-to-dust extravaganza. That screams vampire. Plus, we did a lot of browsing the web.”

“We’re practically experts at this point,” Octavia says.

Clarke’s brow furrows and she tears her chicken fingers into little bits. “You guys are being awfully cavalier about this. When my friend Wells went on patrol with me for the first time, he fainted. Twice.”

Octavia shrugs. “We went to high school together in Ohio, and weird shit happened to students all the time. This actually kinda makes sense.”

“Not that we didn’t freak out at all,” Raven adds. “After you dropped us off that night, we couldn’t sleep for a couple days. So we did a bunch of research instead.”

“Finding information on vampires was easy…though we did have to shift through a lot of speculation and myth. What we couldn’t find was anything that made reference to a super-strong teenage hero girl called the Slayer,” Octavia says.

“So, at the risk of sounding super rude, what the hell are you?” Raven asks.

Clarke laughs humorlessly and stirs the ice around in her soda. “Getting you guys involved is dangerous, okay. You really should just walk away.”

“Nu-uh!” Raven shakes her head. “We got into this willingly, and we’re totally hooked. You can’t scare us off that easily—not when we’re just learning the truth.”

Clarke exhales in a rush. “Fine. I am the Slayer: the one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness. Happy?”

“So you are a superhero,” Octavia says, the excited gleam back in her eye.

“It’s not as fun as it sounds,” Clarke deadpans. “And you guys can’t tell anyone. Like I said, it’s all kinds of dangerous.”

“That’s fine,” Octavia says. “I’ve always had this spy fantasy, going undercover on important missions and shit. I can keep this to myself.”

“Oooh, we should come up with code names and encrypted methods of communication!”

Clarke feels a headache start to form right between her eyes. “This is not a game! It’s life and death, and you guys are not getting involved.”

“But we’re already involved,” Raven says. “You saved my life the other night. We watched you kill someone. We can’t just forget that.”

“You know my secret and that’s…unavoidable, apparently. But you’re not wading any deeper into the supernatural, okay? I happen to like you guys, and I’d be a little pissed at myself if I let you die on my watch.”

“Aww, Griffin,” Octavia says, grinning. “We like you, too.”

Clarke shakes her head, but a small smile tugs at the edges of her lips. Maybe it won’t be so bad, having people who are at least aware of what she’s dealing with every night.

Or, maybe she just painted a big, honking target on Raven and Octavia’s backs and it’s only a matter of time before she has to watch them die, too.

She’s deep in thought, staring off into the crowd of students getting lunch, when she notices a familiar face.

“Lexa!” Clarke calls out impulsively. “Hey, Lexa!”

Her roommate’s head whips around, and Clarke waves her over when she catches her eye.

“Clarke,” Lexa greets when she walks up to the side of the table.

“Hey, uh, these are my friends: Raven and Octavia.”

Instead of saying hi, both girls gape at Lexa in amazement.

“Yeah, so, we’re having lunch,” Clarke says. “Want to join?”

A hint of pink rises in Lexa’s cheeks, and her eyes never leave Clarke’s.

“I’m only here to pick up a coffee on my way to class. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Things have been weirdly formal between the two of them since Kane dropped by, but at least they’re past pretending like the other doesn’t exist. Clarke had been starting to feel like a bother in her own room.

“You know Lexa Woods?” Octavia asks as soon as Lexa’s out of earshot.

“Yeah, she’s my roommate. How do you know her?”

“You’re rooming with Woods?” Raven asks, her eyes bugging out of her skull. “Get the fuck out!”

“Do you guys know something I don’t…?” Clarke asks.

“Girl’s a freaking genius,” Octavia says.

“She’s the only person in our year that has a higher SAT score than me,” Raven says, two parts admiration and one part jealousy.

“How do you even know that? Wait, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she’s majoring in Political Science, Philosophy, and she’s Prelaw.”

“Plus, she’s bilingual.”

“And she never misses a day at the gym, so. She’s pretty much untouchable,” Octavia concludes.

“How do you guys know all this?”

“She’s the big buzz on campus,” Raven says, matter-of-fact. “Geeze, you need to get out more, Griffin.”

“I do get out,” Clarke says defensively. “Every night.”

“Speaking of,” Octavia says, leaning over the center of the table. “Does she know about your Slayerness?”

“No,” Clarke says, watching Lexa at the coffee machine. “No, she doesn’t.”

“That’s probably rough,” Raven says sympathetically.

Clarke looks back to her food and frowns. She feels kinda disappointed in herself for not knowing any of those things about Lexa. And here she’d thought she had a decent read on her roomie.

“Sneaking out through the window every night isn’t fun,” she says absentmindedly.

That sets Raven and Octavia off on another tangent, but Clarke isn’t listening anymore. Her eyes are tracking Lexa across the dining hall until she’s out of sight.

###

The university library is a towering, sixteen-story building with plenty of cozy study nooks and private rooms. It’s the only place, aside from her room, that Lexa’s able to concentrate.

Except, it seems, tonight.

She groans, frustrated, closes Facebook and Twitter for what feels like the millionth time, and tries to refocus on the reading she has to have done for tomorrow’s Intro to Ethics class.

It’s a dense Kant essay, though, and Lexa’s brain seems much more interested in theorizing about Clarke (Does Clarke have a secret boyfriend? Is that why she sneaks out every night when she thinks Lexa’s asleep? Has she just been imagining the way the air seems thicker, practically electric, when they’re in the same room? Is her hopefulness messing with her gaydar?) than learning about deontology.

With a defeated grumble, Lexa opens Facebook back up and picks up the mindless scrolling.

She’s zoned so far out that she practically yelps with a messenger window pops up at the bottom of the screen.

Clarke: studying hard…

Clarke: or hardly studying?

A huge grin breaks out on Lexa’s face that she can’t control.

Lexa: I’m trying to spend some quality time with my good friend Immanuel Kant, but FB has other plans for me.

Clarke: hardly studying it is! I probably shouldn’t distract you anymore than you already are.

Lexa’s heart jolts and her fingers fly over the keyboard.

Lexa: I really don’t mind. I’ve earned a study break anyway.

Clarke: cool.

Lexa waits, the three-dot speech bubble telling her that Clarke’s typing. She waits so long that she nearly breaks the spine of her textbook with all her fidgeting.

Finally, a new message pings.

Clarke: would you wanna, idk, get lunch sometime this week?

Then another, this one coming much quicker.

Clarke: we haven’t really had the chance to hang out, bond as roommates. And I totally owe you for that one time you defended my honor.

Lexa laughs and then covers her mouth, embarrassed. Thankfully, she seems to have the floor to herself.

Lexa: I did no such thing.

Lexa: But yes. I’d enjoy getting lunch.

Clarke: awesome. I gotta run now, but do you want me to stop by the library with some coffee? I’ll be heading by there anyway.

Gulping, Lexa flexes her fingers over the keyboard. This is her chance to ask Clarke where she goes so late at night…

Lexa: I appreciate the offer, but I actually already have coffee.

Lexa: Looking forward to lunch, though!

Clarke: yeah, me too!

She signs off after that, and Lexa lets out a deep breath. Better not to push her away, she thinks. There’s plenty of time for that to happen naturally.

###

“This has been great, you guys, really,” Clarke says, removing her pointy party hat and pushing up off Raven’s floor. “But I have to go patrol.”

“Aw, come on!” Octavia says. “It’s your birthday! You don’t get the night off?”

Clarke has to repress a shudder as the memories of her last birthday creep up. “The forces of darkness don’t know that,” she says, trying to keep the smile on her face from slipping. “And even if they did, something tells me they wouldn’t be too keen on celebrating.”

“Do you want us to come?” Raven asks hopefully.

Raven and Octavia have both been lobbying to join her on patrol since they found out about her job, but so far Clarke’s been able to keep them out of trouble.

“Nah,” she says, trying to play it off as casual even though the thought of putting them in that dangerous situation makes her sick to her stomach. “I’m only gonna do a quick sweep before going home. You guys stay. Have an extra piece of cake for me.”

They share a knowing look but, maybe because it’s her birthday, they don’t argue.

“Have a nice night,” Octavia says.

“Say hi to Lexa for us,” Raven adds in a sing-song.

Clarke collects her jean jacket from Raven’s bed. “What’s the supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just…say hi to Lexa for us,” Raven says, but then her and Octavia giggle. Actually giggle.

“Whatever,” Clarke says, heading for the door. “I told you there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Yup, that’s why you turned down three different invitations to hang out this week in favor of getting coffee with the roomie,” Octavia says, her voice getting all high and flutter at the end of her sentence.

“I’m kinda shocked you even showed up tonight,” Raven teases.

She knows she’s been spending a lot more time with Lexa—morning coffees, a standing lunch on Thursdays—but it’s not like she’s neglecting her friends. Clarke flips them off as she heads for the door, but she can hear them singing ‘Happy birthday, lovesick Clarkie’ all the way down the hall.

Her smile fades once she’s outside, a sharp October wind hitting her in the face and making her eyes water. The sensation takes her back to last year, to her Cruciamentum. She remembers running, terrified and slow—far, far too slow—back to her parents’ house…away from the crypt with the faulty padlock where her test was supposed to take place.

Thankfully, her mom had been working a double shift and was safe at the hospital. But her dad…he’d come home from the lab early to make sure Clarke had someone there to celebrate her birthday.

She sniffles and swipes at the tear tracks on her cheeks. She’s almost to the edge of campus and she has to be focused, dammit. No more dwelling on a past she can’t change.

Luck must be on her side tonight because she stumbles upon a pair of vamps in the first cemetery she visits: the perfect distraction.

“Happy birthday to me,” she says to herself, and then, louder, “Step on up, boys. Who needs therapy when I can wail on loser vamps for free?”

The first one whips around and bares his teeth. “Slayer.”

“The one and only.”

They share a look and then take off running.

“Oh, come on!” Clarke yells, pulling a stake out of her boot and then charging after them. She gains ground quickly and launches herself at a headstone, landing in a handstand on top of it. Then she flips forward, catching one of the vampires in the back with her feet and planting in a crouch in front of him. The second he sits up, she drives the stake through his heart.

“Hey!” The other vamp slows and turns. “That was my brother!”

“He’s dust now,” Clarke says with a feral grin.

Crying out in rage, he runs toward her, teeth bared and eyes glowing. He’s all emotion and no nuance. She blocks his first punch easily, and then lands one to his face, feeling his nose crunch under her knuckles. Using his disorientation to her advantage, Clarke roundhouse kicks him, forcing him to the ground with a thud.

Then she nails him in the heart with her stake.

“I need to find a better fighter,” she says, clenching her fists. “That wasn’t cathartic at all.”

She makes it through another graveyard before coming across more action. It’s the sound of metal scraping against stone that draws her, makes the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. She follows the grating noise to an ornate mausoleum, the name ‘De Luca’ carved in blocky letters along the top.

Sticking to the shadows, Clarke creeps into the entryway and watches for a second as a tall, lean vampire attempts to chafe away at one of the mausoleum walls with a rusty shovel. Once she’s sure that it’s working alone, she steps into the tomb, clucking her tongue. “Do you have a permit for these renovations? Because something tells me Mr. De Luca isn’t gonna be very pleased with you for disturbing his eternal rest unless you have the proper papers.”

The vamp tilts its chin toward Clarke and laughs, the noise sending a chill down her spine. “No disturbance. Only fun. Such fun will be had on the Notte Della Morte di Fuoco.”

“Celebrating my birthday?” Clarke asks. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Fool,” the vampire hisses. “You know not of your fate.”

“Well then why don’t you clue me in,” she says, skipping further into the room and holding her stake poised at shoulder height. “And spare me the riddles. I don’t have time for games.”

The vampire turns completely toward her then, seeming to grow several feet as it straightens. Clarke gasps when she notices strange, fluid markings on its forehead and the way its shape wavers and shimmers, never settling. A sharp ache radiates out from the base of her skull as she tries to concentrate and get a clear picture of the vampire…or demon…whatever it is.

“When the moon is born again, spirits will howl—set free by the sacrifice, a guardian of the foul.”

“So much for no riddles,” Clarke quips.

Then the thing slashes at her. She ducks, letting out a surprised squeak, but its constant shifting messes with her depth perception. It catches her in the shoulder, leaving three, deep gashes across her collarbone and down her chest.

Whimpering in pain, she jumps back, hoping to put herself out of the thing’s reach, but a powerful gust knocks her back into the far wall of the mausoleum. Her head hits the stone and the wind is knocked out of her.

The thing laughs again and rise, rise, rises over Clarke, looming until she can’t see anything but a shimmering black swirl.

Gasping for breath—confused and scared and shaking—Clarke scrambles to her feet and takes off running for what she hopes is the exit.

She doesn’t stop when the cool night air stabs down into her lungs…she doesn’t stop till she back at her building, too afraid of what she might find if she looks over her shoulder.

###

“I can’t believe you’re canceling on me, champ,” Gustus says, his voice gravelly over the phone. “We’ve never broken our boxing date. Not for anything.”

Lexa frowns and jots down another item on her list of things to do. “I know, but it was Clarke’s birthday today. I want to surprise her with dinner, and she’s only free between four and six tomorrow.”

“So you’re canceling on me for a date,” he says, suddenly sounding a little less hurt and a little more intrigued.

“It’s not a date,” she corrects sternly.

“Sure sounds like one.”

“We’re just friends…I think.”

Gustus oohs.

“Shut up. It’s not like that,” she says, ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart that’s insisting she wants it to be like that. Lexa swallows hard and continues. “She’s been extra on edge these past couple days, and I merely want to do something nice for her.”

Gustus grunts knowingly.

“Stop it,” Lexa says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but I can hear what you’re thinking.”

“You read minds now, do you?”

The rattling of keys sounds on the other side of the door.

“Your mind simply happens to be an open book,” she says. “I have to go, though. I promise to make the cancellation up to you later.”

“I know you will,” Gustus says. Lexa can hear the smile in his voice. “Have a nice night.”

“You as well,” Lexa says and hangs up just as Clarke bursts into the room, chest heaving and hair a tangled mess. “Oh my god.”

“Hi,” Clarke says, clearly winded. She pads over to her side of the room, turning her back to Lexa and carefully removing her jacket.

Lexa still hears her sharp intake of breath.

“Clarke, you’re bleeding!”

“Was I? Hadn’t noticed. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Lexa stands from her desk and rushes over to her, stopping just shy of touching her shoulder.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” she says.

“No,” Clarke says sharply, whipping around. She clearly didn’t realize how close Lexa had gotten because she stumbles backward, losing her balance.

Lexa does touch her then, wrapping an arm around her waist. In turn, Clarke drapes an arm over Lexa’s shoulder. They look at each other, eyes locking.

Inches apart as they are, Lexa can see Clarke in immense detail…the way her eyes look like fine, blue marble.

“No,” Clarke repeats, her gaze drifting down to Lexa’s lips for just a second before darting back up. “I’m, uh. I heal fast.”

“It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood. You probably need a transfusion.”

“Trust me, Lexa. I’m fine.”

She gets distracted by the way Clarke’s voice lingers on her name, husky and gentle.

“At least let me clean the wounds and bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

Again Clarke’s eyes fall to Lexa’s lips. “Okay.”

She guides Clarke to the edge of her bed and retrieves the first aid kit from on top of her desk.

“You should, um. I need you to take your shirt off,” Lexa says.

“Right,” Clarke says, but she remains still as Lexa sets the kit next to her. “Can you…I need help.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Lexa feels blood pool in her cheeks as she reaches for the hem of Clarke’s shirt. She slowly lifts it up, trying her best not to jostle her, and together they ease Clarke’s uninjured arm out. Then Lexa does her best to stretch the neck hole and slide it over her head. Finally, she peels the fabric away from Clarke’s blood-soaked shoulder.

Both of them wince as the shirt hits the ground with a dull thump.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth,” Lexa says.

“Fine,” Clarke nods, her cheeks way too pale. “I’ll stay here.”

She returns as quickly as she can without outright sprinting in the halls and drawing attention to herself.

Clarke’s eyes have drifted closed in her absence.

“Clarke!” Lexa says loudly, falling to her knees in front of her. “Clarke, you have to stay conscious.”

“I’m here,” Clarke says, her eyes fluttering open. “No worries.”

Lexa hums, deciding not to touch that one, and starts dabbing lightly at the deep gashes. They’re silent for several minutes before she asks, “What happened?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to you?” Lexa repeats. “Where did you get these?”

“Oh.” Clarke titters, and Lexa seriously considers calling an ambulance against her will. “Angry dog. Out of control. Big, big dog.”

Lexa cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, concentrates instead on cleaning out the wounds with hydrogen peroxide. Clarke doesn’t even flinch as the cleaner starts to bubble.

“I’d get a lot of cuts and scrapes as a kid,” she says quietly, almost hoping Clarke doesn’t hear her. “I was adventurous, you know? Always climbing trees. And my mom used to dump way too much hydrogen peroxide on them, but she’d sit there and blow on my finger or knee until I felt better.”

“Are you two close?” Clarke asks.

Lexa glances up from the wound. Clarke’s studying her closely, a sudden intensity in her eyes.

“She kicked me out when I was 16,” Lexa admits. “I moved in with my cousin Anya.”

“So not close then,” Clarke says. Then adds, her voice dripping with empathy, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. What’s done is done.”

Clarke nods, her expression distant and pained. Lexa goes to work rubbing antibiotic ointment along the edges of Clarke’s angry, red injuries.

“You’re hands are soft,” Clarke whispers as she’s finishing up.

Lexa doesn’t know what to say to that so she focuses on taping gauze strips over the gashes, feeling her cheeks burn and burn.

###

“This is torture,” Clarke whines, slamming a book down on the table where her, Raven, and Octavia have been reading for hours. “We’re not finding anything helpful.”

“There was that one article about the construction of the De Luca crypt,” Octavia says.

“Yeah, and it told us squat about the family’s potential for dirty dealings,” Raven says. “We should take a break.”

“Agreed,” Clarke says, letting her head fall onto the stack of books. Her shoulder aches unpleasantly, but the gashes have since closed up and are now just large puckered lines. They’ll probably scar, but—all things considered—she’s feeling pretty lucky.

“Great,” Raven says. “So tell us. What’s the latest deal with you and Lexa?”

Clarke lifts her head enough to glare at Raven.

“Have you guys kissed yet?” Octavia piles on.

Frowning, she sits back in her seat, thinking about Lexa’s careful hands as she’d bandaged her up and, god, how those lips look even more luscious up close. “No…there’ve been a couple times when I thought she was going to make a move, but. Nothing.”

“Maybe that means you should make with the smoochies,” Raven says. “You don’t seem like the type to wait around for someone else to get smart and buck up.”

“I didn’t used to be,” Clarke admits.

“What happened,” Octavia asks.

“I was called,” Clarke says. “Now dating me comes with lots and lots of baggage. I just don’t want to force that on anyone.”

“So tell her what you are,” Raven says simply.

“It’s not that easy,” Clarke says, pouting out her lower lip. “You guys shouldn’t even know.”

“So long as you’re breaking the rules,” Octavia says, “what’s one more person?”

Clarke bites her lower lip. There’ve been plenty of times she’s wanted to just blurt everything out, let Lexa in on her big secret, but it’s not the kind of information you can just dump on a person. Raven and Octavia believed her because they’d witnessed the supernatural firsthand, and she’s not about to purposefully give Lexa a demonstration.

“Can we talk about something else?” she asks.

“Sure,” Raven says. “Let’s talk about how we’re not gonna get anywhere researching demons at the public library. We need someone with a bigger collection of occult classics.”

Clarke puckers her lips. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Why do you sound so upset about that?”

She lets out a long, deep sigh. “Because I know just the person we need to talk to.”

###

Gustus isn’t answering his phone. Which wouldn’t be strange—sometimes he needs time to himself—but they just solidified plans to kick off the weekend with drinks and videogames at his place yesterday.

“Come on, come on,” Lexa chants, jumping from one foot to the other on the patio outside his apartment building. She’s holding the phone so tightly, her knuckles are white with the effort.

Finally, someone exits out the front door, and Lexa slips inside.

The door to Gustus’ room is locked and everything is quiet on the other side. She pounds on the door a couple times, shouting his name.

No answer.

The worry that something serious has happened settles, icy, in the pit of her stomach. She slides down the wall and stares blankly for several minutes before dialing Clarke’s cell.

“Hello, lovely Lexa,” Clarke answers, her voice bright and cheery on the other line. It brings an infinitesimal smile to Lexa’s lips.

“Hi, Clarke,” she greets somberly.

Clarke’s tone changes instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I think something’s happened to my friend, Gustus. We were supposed to hang out today, but he’s not home and he’s not answering my calls. He’s not the type to disappear without a word and I-I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m glad you picked me,” Clarke says, and then her voice takes on a business-like tone. “Where are you? I’m coming.”

She sighs, pleased that Clarke’s taking this seriously. “I’m at his apartment.”

“What’s the address? I’ll be there in ten.”

Lexa gives Clarke directions to the apartment complex and then hangs up the phone. The tightness in her chest is eased a bit knowing that Clarke’s on the way, but she still has a distinctly bad feeling.

Clarke texts when she’s downstairs.

“So your friend has no history of doing things like this, taking off? Secluding himself for a couple days?” Clarke asks, following Lexa up the stairs. It strikes her as both strange and comforting that Clarke seems so sure of herself, like she’s knows exactly what to do.

“Not without notice,” Lexa says.

Clarke nods. “How long has he been gone?”

“I only started to suspect something happened a couple hours ago.”

They reach the landing with Gustus’s room and Lexa points out the door. Clarke steps up to it and jiggles the knob in her hand before sliding a bobby pin out of her hair. The strands that are usually tucked away into a crown around Clarke’s head fall in her face.

Lexa’s fingertips tingle with the urge to smooth them back behind her ear.

“It’s too soon to involve the police, then,” Clarke says, working the lock. “We’ll just have to do some detective work on our own.” After a couple seconds, she adds, “One of us should probably be playing lookout.”

“Oh, right. Sure,” Lexa says, dazed, and takes a couple steps away from Clarke to glance down the stairwell.

As soon as her back’s turned, Lexa swears she hears a crunching sound.

“We’re in,” Clarke says, gesturing into the apartment. “I feel a little skeevy snooping on some guy I don’t know, so. You good to lead the way?”

Lexa swallows hard but nods. As she creeps through the doorway, she notices that the frame is splintered around the lock.

“Does anyone else live here with him?” Clarke asks. “Like, any rooms off limits?”

“No, only Gustus. You have free reign,” Lexa says, moving into the kitchen and checking the notepad stuck to the refrigerator. Nothing.

“This friend of yours must be loaded,” Clarke says, “to be able to afford off-campus housing without a roomie his freshman year.”

“He’s actually a fourth-year student,” Lexa explains, joining Clarke in the small living room. She’s casually poking through the mail on the coffee table.

“Oh. How did you two become friends?”

Lexa fidgets with the ring on her right hand, twirling it around and around. “We went to high school together. We were both loners who spent a lot of time in the weight room. Eventually he kinda adopted me: first as a workout buddy, then as an actual friend.”

Clarke looks up at her, the intensity in her eyes grabbing ahold of her. “We’ll find him, Lexa.”

She smiles tightly. “I appreciate you coming over to help.”

“Of course,” Clarke says, standing. “But I don’t see anything that’s gonna tell us what happened in here—your friend is freakishly clean. Take me to the bedroom?”

Lexa cocks an eyebrow.

“That’s, um…you know what I mean.”

“It’s back here,” Lexa says, trying her best to stifle a smile and failing. She sobers right up as soon as they reach the end of the short hallway, though.

“Is something wrong?” Clarke asks.

Lexa doesn’t answer, just gapes at the scene in front of her.

Clarke pushes around her to have a look and hums, low in her throat.

Gustus’s bedroom is a total mess. The lamp’s been knocked off the nightstand, clothes are strewn about the room, a corner of one of his posters has come unstuck from the wall and curled in on itself, and—worst of all—the window’s been shattered.

Clarke moves inside, going right for the window and picking a large shard of glass up off the bed. “I don’t think your friend left voluntarily.”

“Gustus,” Lexa whispers hoarsely, covering her mouth.

She watches, starting to feel like she’s in a dream, as Clarke hops gingerly onto the bed, avoiding sharp bits of glass, and sticks her head out the open window. She’s muttering to herself, too quiet for Lexa to catch everything, but she thinks she hears the words vampire and invitation.

Clarke studies the room for several minutes longer—or it could be hours…seconds…Lexa can’t say for sure—before joining her in the hallway. She puts her hands on Lexa’s shoulders, and they’re way too cold, the product of spending too much time in a window-less room in late October.

“We should contact the police,” Clarke says, her voice gentle, “and then I should get you home.”

Lexa nods but doesn’t move. Clarke frowns thoughtfully and leads her back into the living room. She leaves Lexa on the couch, and then paces the length of the room as she talks to the police.

The next couple hours are a blur for Lexa as they wait for an officer to arrive on the scene and give statements. She starts to feel sick as she goes over the details for the umpteenth time, but finally they’re dismissed with an unhelpful “We’ll contact you if we find anything, ma’am.”

They’re both quiet in the car as Clarke drives them back to campus, Lexa staring wordlessly out the window and Clarke tapping her thumb against the steering wheel.

As soon as they get back to their room, though, Lexa starts to feel incredibly antsy. She sits down at her desk, looks at all the post-it notes she’s left for herself about things to do and meetings to make, and suddenly feels the urge to rip them all the shreds. Curling her hands into tight fists, Lexa stands, and the abruptness of the motion knocks her chair backward.

“Whoa there.” Clarke rights the chair and then grabs Lexa’s hands, giving them a squeeze. “We’re not going to give up, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa spits, realizing she’s angry as the words leave her mouth. “And what are we—two college students—going to do about this that the police can’t?”

Clarke ducks her head, and Lexa tugs her hands back.

“That’s what I thought.”

She drops down on the edge of her bed and lets her head fall against her chest.

Clarke follows, sitting next to her but keeping plenty of distance between them. “I know this is not a very convincing argument, but you’re just gonna have to trust that I’m going to do everything I can to find out what happened to your friend. And that’s not some meaningless platitude.”

Lexa glances over at her, confused by the passion in Clarke’s voice. Clarke meets her gaze head on, tilting her chin back. Her lips are pressed into a thin line and her eyes are sparkling with intensity.

“Lexa,” she says, her voice thick and strained. “Lexa, I have something really weird I need to tell you.”

Her mouth suddenly feels dry and she finds herself leaning into Clarke every-so-slightly. “Okay.”

“It’s, um, it’s hard to…,” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “The world is a lot different than a lot of people think and-”

A knock at their door cuts Clarke off.

“Lexa, it’s me,” Anya says, her voice muffled by the door. “I rushed over as soon as I got your message.”

Clarke practically jumps off the bed and moves back to her side of the room.

With a sigh, Lexa answers the door.

“What’s going on?” Anya demands. “Did you get ahold of Gustus?”

When she shakes her head no, Anya frowns and pulls her in for a hug.

“So, I’m gonna go…study or something,” Clarke says, pushing past them out the door. She doesn’t make eye contact with Lexa, just runs from the room.

“Was that the roommate?” Anya asks.

Lexa nods.

Anya watches her retreat with a cocked eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“Just get in here,” Lexa says, grabbing Anya by the collar of her jacket and tugging her into the room.

Later that night, after Anya’s left and Clarke still hasn’t returned, Lexa curls in on herself and tugs her comforter up over her head. The whole time she’d been here, Anya had tried to stay positive, focusing on the fact that they didn’t know what could have happened. There can be hope in uncertainty, Lexa knows.

But there’s also fear, and—now that she’s alone—Lexa gives herself over to one terrifying worst-case-scenario after another.

When she hears Clarke come in, though, she swallows back her sobs and tries to make her breathing as deep and even as she can.

“Lexa?” Clarke asks the darkness, her voice soft.

She doesn’t answer.

Clarke moves around the dorm for a while, presumably getting ready for bed. But then Lexa hears the window scrape open and Clarke whispers, “I’m gonna find him for you, I promise,” before dropping to the ground below.

Lexa counts to thirty before following.

At first, it seems like Clarke’s wandering aimlessly around campus—no destination in mind. After travelling the perimeter, though, she cuts off toward town.

Lexa considers herself a fit person, but keeping pace with Clarke as she speed walks through the main streets and out toward the rural areas is leaving her breathless.

Clarke, on the other hand, hardly seems winded at all.

Thankfully, she finally slows down when she gets to the entrance of a cemetery. Lexa’s not really sure what she’s expecting at this point—she’s mostly just grateful that she has a second to catch her breath—but then Clarke goes into the graveyard.

Lexa glances around her as if looking for some clue from the universe on how to react. She hasn’t seen another person since the edge of town, though, and the universe hasn’t done her any favors—not today, not ever.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she follows after Clarke.

For a while, it looks as though Clarke simply likes taking strolls through cemeteries. She weaves in and out of the headstones, fiddling with something in her hands and whistling a tune that gets carried away on the night wind. In fact, Lexa’s just about ready to turn around and go back to the dorm when Clarke shouts in surprise and runs toward a tree.

“Stay away from them,” she calls.

From her position several feet away, Lexa can’t tell much of what’s going on, but she’s pretty sure Clarke’s punching a man square in the face before flipping him onto his back.

Lexa can’t help but note that she has excellent form.

When she goes to stab the man with whatever’s in her hands, he rolls out of the way. Clarke curses, trying to wrench the weapon free from the soggy earth, but she doesn’t recover in time. The man kicks her in the chin, and she goes flying backward, landing with a smack against the ground.

“Clarke!” Lexa yells, running to her side.

She should find a bloody, unconscious mess, but Clarke sits up with impressive reflexes and stares, dumbfounded. “Lexa? What are you doing here?”

Lexa doesn’t get a chance to answer. The man Clarke’s been fighting charges for them, roaring loudly, and Clarke pushes her away.

“Get back!”

Lexa stumbles and lands on her bum. The place on her chest where Clarke had applied pressure aches from the force of the push. She watches, mouth agape, as Clarke somersaults right between the guy’s legs and pops up onto her feet behind him.

It’s only a moment that Clarke isn’t standing between Lexa and the man—that Lexa gets a clear picture of the man’s face—but that’s enough. The yellow eyes and warped skin are immediately seared into Lexa’s memory.

The next moment, the man is gone, disappearing into the air, and Clarke’s left standing there, essentially unscathed.

“I thought you were asleep,” Clarke starts in immediately. “Did you follow me here?”

“Wh-what was that?” Lexa asks, struggling to form more specific words.

Clarke shakes her head, looking at Lexa with a mix of sympathy, fear, and some unreadable emotion. Hope?

“You’re in shock,” she says. “We should get you back to the room, and then we can talk in the morning, okay?”

Lexa stands, then, a little shaky on her feet. “You really think I could sleep after that? What’s going on, Clarke?”

“I understand that you have questions, and I want to answer them. I do. But you really, really can’t be here right now,” Clarke says.

“Oh, but you’re completely safe?” Lexa scoffs.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Lexa says. “You’re-”

“Shut up,” Clarke cuts her off. Her nostrils flare and she looks like an instrument wound too tight, tense and filled with potential for destruction.

“What is it?” Lexa whispers.

Instead of answering her, Clarke yells, “Show yourself,” into the dark.

Lexa’s heart nearly stops when a tall man with a full beard steps out from behind a large crypt. He’s grinning a feral, thirsty grin that makes her stomach turn.

“Step right up,” Clarke says, holding out her arms. “I’ve got plenty of butt-kicking to go around.”

“I’m not here to fight you,” he says.

“Maybe no one’s clued you in to how this works,” Clarke says. “You make the world a little bit shitter just by existing. I slay, restoring the world to its former, innocuous shittiness, and the cycle continues forever and ever, amen.”

“Clarke,” Lexa says, finally finding her voice. “That’s him. That’s Gustus.”

She whips around to look at Lexa, her eyebrows practically skimming her hairline. “Wait, really?”

Lexa nods dumbly.

Turning back to Gustus, she says, “Who turned you?”

He starts to pace in front of them, his eyes fixed on Lexa even though he’s talking to Clarke. “Wrong question. The who isn’t important. It’s the why.”

Clarke grunts. “Okay, fine, fill me in. Why were you turned?”

“For the Notte Della Morte di Fuoco.”

The words mean nothing to Lexa, but Clarke stiffens.

“You’re working for…it.”

“Myself and so many others. You’re in for such a treat, Griffin.”

“Awesome. I’ll be sure to leave room in my diet.”

The quip is dripping with bravado, but Lexa can hear the slight quaver in Clarke’s voice. She’s scared.

Gustus grin unfolds and, as it does, his face morphs—the same yellow eyes and wrinkled skin as the man Clarke just eliminated. Lexa gasps and stumbles backward a couple steps.

“So will I,” he says, and then cackles as he runs off.

They’re silent for a long while after he’s gone. Clarke’s the one who eventually breaks the quiet shock.

“Fuck.”

“That thing he did with his face,” Lexa says. “That’s not…human.”

“No,” Clarke says mournfully. “No, it’s not.”

“What happened to him?”

Clarke turns to her then, her mouth twisted with anguish. “Lexa, we should really go home. We can talk there.”

“No,” Lexa says firmly. “No more putting it off. Tell me what happened to him and that other guy…tell me what you are.”

Clarke reaches for her, but Lexa moves out of her reach.

“You need time to process, Lexa. You need to calm down, and I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

“Stop saying my name,” Lexa says, anger mounting, “like I’m some kind of animal you’re talking down from a fit!”

“Lex—okay. I’m sorry,” Clarke says, catching herself. “Your friend’s been turned.”

“Into what?” Lexa’s practically yelling now. “Say it! Say the words!”

She sighs, looking more and more pained by the second. “He’s a vampire.”

Lexa lets that sink in as Clarke watches her closely, waiting for the explosion.

And that’s when she starts laughing. “A vampire, of course. Feeds on blood. A little stake through the heart and he goes poof. You know, I really should have seen it sooner.”

“I know this is hard for you to hear,” Clarke says.

“How could you?” Lexa snaps. “You have a mother that still loves you enough to try to have a relationship with you. You have Raven and Octavia and Wells. You even have Marcus working to have a relationship with you. I had two people in my life, Clarke! Now one of them is….”

“You have me, too,” Clarke says, her voice soft and pleading.

“Do I? You’ve been doing whatever it is that you do all semester, and I just assumed you were sneaking out to party or meet with boys. I thought you were a regular person. What are you by the way? The one true champion of good? You’re the thing sent by the universe to balance the scales, keep the mortal struggle stable?”

Clarke lets out a humorless laugh. “Kinda, yeah.”

Lexa sneers. “What a joke. This is all your fault! Gustus is…you brought this here!”

Clarke recoils like she’s been smacked in the face. “That’s not how it works,” she says, but it sounds like maybe she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince Lexa.

“I have to go,” Lexa says, backing away. “I can’t be here anymore.”

“Please let me walk you home,” Clarke says, taking a tentative step toward her. “It’s not safe.”

“Whatever,” Lexa says, and then she turns away from Clarke and takes off running.

###

“Thanks for coming with me, you guys,” Clarke says as she pulls into the development where Abby lives.

“Are you kidding?” Raven asks. “We’re totally excited to get down and dirty with the research.”

“We like being able to contribute,” Octavia says.

“You also know that I’m totally using you guys to diffuse the awkwardness, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Raven says.

“It was super obvious when you asked,” Octavia adds.

“Good, as long as that’s clear,” Clarke says, laughing. She pulls into the driveway of the two-story colonial house she used to think of as home. The familiar cheery blue paint and white shutters leave a warmth in her chest that she kinda resents.

As soon as she cuts the engine, she grabs her phone from the cup holder and checks for messages—nothing.

“Lexa still hasn’t answered you?” Raven asks, leaning forward from the backseat.

“That would be a no,” Clarke says, heaving out a sigh. “Though I can’t really blame her. She does think I’m responsible for her friend’s death.”

“But you’re not,” Octavia reminds her.

“She’ll realize that eventually,” Raven says, placing a comforting hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

“I just wish I knew where she was, you know?” she says. “And that she’s safe. She took off last night and never came back to the dorm.”

The girls are silent for a moment, considering the possibilities.

“Well,” Clarke says, shelving that unpleasantness and gearing up for one of a different kind. “Let’s rip the Band-Aid off.”

Raven and Octavia follow her up the pathway to the front door. She unlocks it and ushers them into the airy, bright foyer.

“Hello?” Clarke calls. “Anybody home?”

Kane comes into the hallway and leans against a wall. He’s twirling his glasses between his forefinger and his thumb, a habit that puts Clarke at ease.

“Well this is a surprise,” he says. “We had no idea you’d be coming home for the weekend, Clarke. And with guests. I’m Marcus Kane, by the way,” he says, extending his hand.

“This is Raven and Octavia,” Clarke introduces them. “They, uh, they’re gonna help us do some research.”

“Oh? Of what nature?”

“We know she’s the Slayer,” Octavia offers helpfully.

That gets Kane to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve tried to give you space, Clarke, but this is simply unacceptable. Exactly how careless have you been with your sacred duty?”

“Relax, Watcher Man,” Raven says. “A vamp attacked me one night, and Clarke was there to make sure I didn’t become a meal.”

“They kinda figured it out on their own from there,” Clarke says.

“I see,” Kane says, but he’s still frowning.

“She really did try to put us off the scent,” Octavia says, “but I think you’ll find we’re pretty hard to dissuade.”

Raven shoots finger guns at him.

Despite himself, Kane smiles. “Fine then, Clarke did her job. You mentioned there was something to research?”

“Yeah, um, something called the Notte Della Morte di Fuoco,” Clarke says. “I was attacked on my birthday by some swirly monster thing that had the usually stuff to say—I know nothing of my fate, death and destruction, blah blah blah.”

“The Night of Fiery Death,” Kane says. “Interesting. This thing that attacked you, you took care of it?”

“Unfortunately, no. There was no slayage to be had. They left me with a wicked present, though.” Clarke drops her bags to the ground and tugs her shirt away from her shoulder where there are still faint, pink marks.

Kane takes a couple steps forward to examine the injuries and winces. “It’s been awhile since your birthday.”

“The cuts were pretty deep,” Clarke confirms, and then turns to Raven and Octavia. “With my advanced Slayer healing, most injuries don’t last more than a couple days.”

“This is most unusual,” Kane says. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

He places a hesitant hand on Clarke’s shoulder. She looks up at him and gives him a small smile. “Thanks. Me too. I’d like to know how to fight this thing, though, whatever it is. I want to be ready for round two.”

“And for whatever this fiery death is…sounds pretty unpleasant if you ask me,” Octavia says.

“Right. I think I know a couple texts we can start with. This way to my study.”

Octavia and Raven start off after him, peppering him with questions about his readings and experience in the field. Clarke hangs back for a second, watching, and lets out a sigh of relief.

It almost feels right, like being at home.

###

“How was Gustus’ mom?” Anya asks, moving about her small kitchen as she makes the two of them mac and cheese for dinner.

“A mess,” Lexa murmurs, stirring honey into her tea absentmindedly. She hasn’t slept well the past couple of nights, and she’s definitely not ready to go back to school tomorrow.

“Yeah, that’s to be expected,” Anya says. “It’s only been a couple days, though, and the police have widened their search. They’re going to find him.”

“Come on, Anya,” Lexa says, too tired to infuse my emotion into her voice. She just sounds apathetic. “You can stop pretending to be hopeful for me. I don’t need your fake optimism.”

“Who says I’m pretending, little one?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Anya turns off the burner and joins Lexa at the table. “I know what you’re doing.”

Lexa glares at her until she continues.

“Do you remember the first week after you came to live with me?”

Not expecting that, Lexa blinks a couple times. “I-yeah, of course. It was the happiest week of my life.”

“Huh. That’s not how I remember it. You wouldn’t speak to me for the first couple days, too busy stomping around the apartment and slamming every door you walked through.”

Lexa thinks about it for a second, but can’t recall ever doing that. She’d been thrilled to be free of her mother’s house. That’s all she can remember…well that and the searing bitterness over being kicked out in the first place.

Oh.

Anya must read the revelation on her face. “Yeah, you were a total brat.”

“Made you regret agreeing to take me in, huh?”

“Not at all, little one. God, no.” Anya shakes her head vehemently. “I understood your grief and how you were using anger to process it.”

Realizing where she’s going with this, Lexa ducks her head. “I suppose that’s still my way.”

“It is,” Anya agrees. “You’re not a child anymore, though. You can be angry and not let that anger get in the way of your relationships. By all means, process your feelings however you need to. But don’t push away the people who are trying to help you.”

A tear runs down Lexa’s cheek and then drips off her chin onto the table. “I’m scared, Anya.”

Anya stands and holds out her hands for a hug. “I think that’s normal. The world is a scary place sometimes.”

Lexa wants to snort and tell her she doesn’t know the half of it, but she stays quiet and scoots away from the table instead. She falls into Anya’s arms, tucking her face into her neck, and allows herself to be comforted.

Later that night, Lexa sits in her bedroom window and watches the clouds shift and shimmer in the sky. She wonders if Clarke is out there right now, fighting evil creatures. She wonders if she’s thinking about her, too. She wonders if they’re nice thoughts.

That’s probably too much to hope for after what Lexa said in the cemetery.

She really does push people away when they’re trying to help.

A dull ache flares up in the back of her throat, and she moves into her bed. Sleep doesn’t come—it’s been elusive all weekend—so she uses the time to play out different versions of her reunion with Clarke in her head.

They all have one thing in common, though: Clarke forgives her.

###

Lexa’s still not back in the dorm by the time Clarke returns late Sunday evening. She presses her lips together and sets her backpack, full of ancient texts Kane sent with her since their weekend search for information lacked any major breakthroughs, on her desk. Then she gets to work unpacking her clean laundry.

She thinks back to the non-research-y parts of the weekend with mixed feelings. While it was fun hanging out with Raven and Octavia and introducing them to Wells, things with Abby were still tense. Clarke couldn’t tell whether she was happy to have her back home or not.

Though, to be fair, she wasn’t certain of her own feelings on the matter. She really shouldn’t expect different from her mom.

Not for the first time, Clarke longs for her pre-slayer existence. Things had been so much easier then, what with her family happy and her biggest worry being math tests and papers to write for English class.

Being the one girl in all the world sucks.

The doorknob rattles then and Lexa steps into the dorm.

It feels like someone detonates a firecracker in Clarke’s heart when she sees her face, sees that she’s unharmed.

Lexa freezes just inside the doorway, and their eyes lock.

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison.

Lexa smiles and Clarke laughs breathlessly.

Though the impulse to rush to her is strong, she keeps herself locked in place, remembering the way Lexa reacted to Clarke trying to touch her in the cemetery.

“Your news—everything that I learned on Thursday—it was a bit much,” Lexa says, shrugging apologetically. “I shouldn’t have taken my confusion out on you.”

“I understand,” Clarke says. “You should know that if I could have done something, anything, to protect Gustus, I would have.”

“I do know that,” she says, her eyes softening.

“So. We’re good?”

“Um, just one more thing, actually,” Lexa says, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“What is it?”

It takes Lexa three long strides to be standing in front of Clarke, and then her hands are in Clarke’s hair…her lips inches away.

“Stop me if this isn’t okay,” Lexa whispers.

“Okay,” Clarke says, her eyes fluttering shut.

She can feel the smile on Lexa’s lips when she finally kisses her.

###

After the need to kiss and kiss and kiss Clarke isn’t the only thing Lexa can think about, they get off Clarke’s bed long enough to brush their teeth and change into pajamas.

When Lexa tries to get into her bed for the night, though, Clarke flips back her comforter and clucks her tongue. “In that big a hurry to get away from me, huh?”

Lexa smirks and settles under the sheets next to her. “Yup, because you’re absolutely insufferable,” she teases before stealing another kiss.

In response, Clarke wraps her arm around Lexa’s waist and urges her closer. Lexa fits her leg in between Clarke’s thighs and cups the back of her head.

When they break apart for air, their foreheads fall together.

“I’d been waiting all semester for you to do that,” Clarke gasps.

Her eyes are still adjusting to the dark, so Lexa can’t see her, but every other sense is positively brimming with Clarke. “Why did I have to make the first move, huh Griffin? You have working lips.”

“Now you sound like Raven and Octavia.”

“Talk to them a lot about me, did you?”

Lexa can feel the heat of Clarke’s blush. “They’re nosey, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure.”

“And I bet you never said a single word about me to your friends.”

“Oh, no, I talked Gustus’ ear off,” Lexa says and then she grows serious, remembering.

“Again, I am so sorry about him,” Clarke says against Lexa’s cheek and then gives it a kiss.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Oh, but I do.” Clarke’s voice is filled with regret so thick it makes Lexa’s heart ache. “It’s all part of the Slayer package: enhanced senses, superhuman strength, accelerated healing, and infinite remorse over the lives you couldn’t preserve.”

“Accelerated healing?” Lexa asks.

Clarke hears the rest of her unfinished question. “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t have to go to the hospital after the big dog attack.”

“Which was actually a demon?” Lexa checks.

“The one to beat,” she answers, nuzzling into Lexa’s neck.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a big evil out there—an evil that wanted your friend on its side for some reason—and my Watcher hasn’t been able to ID it. On top of that, we’ve been given pretty chilling yet vague, always vague, info about some night of fiery death that’s supposedly going to include a ritual sacrifice, which usually amounts to something big and scary. But we don’t know when it is or how to stop it.”

Lexa strokes Clarke’s hair, running her fingers through the silky, wavy stands. “Sounds stressful.”

“Always.”

“How long have you been the Slayer?”

“I was called when I was 17, in the summer right before the 11th grade,” Clarke says, laughing bitterly. Her warm breath teases the skin of Lexa’s neck.

“And it’s always been this serious…this heavy?”

Clarke pulls away just enough to be able to look Lexa in the eye. Their sight has adjusted to the moonlight, and Lexa can see the fire in her stare.

“It sure feels that way, but looking back on it, there’ve definitely been some slower times when being the Slayer didn’t suck. Like, before my mother found out, and things were still nice at home. That helped balance out the constant danger.”

“You’re mother doesn’t like your sacred duty, I take it.” It’s not a question; Lexa can hear it distinctly in her voice.

“She’s always going on about how it’s changed me. Which, duh. But my attitude has nothing to do with my Slayerness…well, almost nothing.”

Lexa raises her eyebrows.

“My mom started dating my Watcher, Kane. He’s supposed to be working round the clock to make me a better Slayer, and then he goes and starts making out with my mom. Can you say, ‘distracting’?”

So much about the last couple months starts to make sense to Lexa.

“Are your parents divorced?” Lexa asks. “Or was your dad just a deadbeat?”

Clarke stiffens in Lexa’s arms.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it,” Lexa says. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s…no, I want to share this stuff with you, I just—” Clarke breaks off and takes in a deep breath. “When a Slayer turns 18, she’s put through a test. Basically, she’s stripped of her powers and forced to face a vampire or demon or whatever fresh hell the Watchers’ Council deems necessary.”

“That’s…that sounds horrible.”

“It is. Total bullshit. Anyway, the Council didn’t have enough control over my test subject and it broke out of the arena while I was still in the process of being delivered.”

Lexa gasps.

“It went for my home. Dad was there. You can fill in the blanks, I’m sure,” Clarke finishes, her voice cracking.

Lexa hugs her tight, arms flexing possessively around Clarke. “On your birthday.”

“On my birthday.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke nods against her shoulder.

“What about you? Got any tragic stories you wanna share?”

Lexa hesitates, her brain flooding with memories. There’s way too much about her shitty childhood she could count as tragic, but the mere thought of unpacking it all fills Lexa with exhaustion.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” she says evasively. “Do you have to patrol tonight?”

“I probably should…,” Clarke trails off.

“But?”

“But I’d much rather spend the night here,” she whispers, “pretending nothing exists outside your arms.”

Lexa squeezes her, their lips seeking each other in the dark.

When they pull away, Clarke hums in satisfaction. “What were we talking about again?”

“Nothing,” Lexa says. “Nothing at all.”

###

“Okay, Kane, we’re all ready. What did you find out?”

Clarke, Raven, Octavia, and Lexa are all crowded into one of the library’s study rooms, with Clarke’s cell phone on speaker in the middle of the table.

Lexa’s brought a notebook, which Clarke thinks is adorable, and Raven’s prepared some info she got out of her take-home research, as well.

“I think the thing that attacked you was a ghoul of sorts. Ghouls are known for their shape-shifting abilities and predilection for grave robbing.”

“Fits the profile so far,” Clarke says.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this is your standard ghoul. Its magic seems to be unfocused, probably the reason it can’t maintain a single form, yet the power it’s giving off is strong. I believe the key to destroying this demon will be finding its power source and destroying it.”

“Great,” Clarke says. “Any idea what that power source could be?”

“I’m still looking into the possibilities,” Kane says. “Raven, what were you able to discern of the riddle this ghoul gave Clarke?”

Raven sits up straighter in her chair, looking pleased to have to floor. “Okay, the first part—‘when the moon is born again, spirits will howl’—seems to indicate that this death fest is going to take place during a new moon. The next one will be in a week and a half, and I actually found reference to a night of annual supernatural importance that takes place around the same time in the Rossi Chronicles.”

Clarke sighs. “That does not give us much time.”

“Have you any theories on what the second part of the riddle means?” Kane asks.

“‘Set free by the sacrifice, a guardian of the foul,’” Raven reads it out loud. “Yeah, I got zip. Outside of the obvious, of course. Someone’s gonna die to set the havoc in motion.”

“I’ll continue looking into who the ‘guardian of the foul’ could be,” Kane says, “but there are two possible readings.”

“Someone who protects foul things and someone who protects people from foul things,” Raven says.

“Precisely.”

“Damn those demons,” Clarke says, smirking at Lexa. “They never say exactly what they mean.”

Lexa smiles back.

“Alright, everyone,” Kane says. “Thanks for your hard work. Clarke, you keep up on training. We’ll get this figured out—I know we will.”

“I have full faith in you guys,” Clarke says, nodding at Raven and Octavia.

“Uh, before we break I have some news,” Octavia says, looking a little nervous.

“Finally,” Raven says.

“What’s up?” Clarke asks.

“So, thanks to my lack of attention span, I’m not super great at reading mystical texts for hours on end, but I think I’ve come up with a different way I can help.”

“Which is?” Kane prompts, his voice crackling over the phone.

“I’ve kinda been reading up on witchcraft, and I tried my first spell yesterday.”

Everyone stares at Octavia in stunned silence.

She continues, “It was just a simple summoning of an element, but it went really well. Actually, I set my roommate’s futon on fire, but it was easy to put out and nobody got hurt…C’mon! Someone say something.”

“Witchcraft is a useful skill,” Kane says.

“But?” Octavia asks.

“It’s dangerous. You should be very careful.”

“And probably wait to do spells unless one of us is around to put out any flames,” Clarke says.

“You guys aren’t mad, though?” Octavia checks.

“I told you they wouldn’t be.” Raven nudges her with her elbow.

“Of course not,” Clarke says. “So long as you’re safe, spells are gonna be totally helpful!”

“I’ll send you some literature,” Kane tells her.

Octavia smiles. “I may or may not read it.”

Kane lets out an exasperated sigh that sounds like static over the speaker.

“Anybody else have an announcement?” Clarke asks. When no one answers, she pretends to bang a gavel on the table. “Great, meeting adjourned. We’ve got a lot of prep to do, so let’s get back to work.”

###

Since it’s looking more and more like Clarke’s going to have an apocalypse situation on her hands, she’s been showing Lexa, Octavia, and Raven some demon-fighting tactics after class.

Lexa can tell it worries her, the idea of having her friends on the front-lines of a supernatural battle, but she seems to be even more worried about fighting the ghoul.

“Octavia’s using magic again!” Raven calls from across the gymnastics warehouse they’re renting on Marcus’s dime three times a week.

“Octavia, no cheating,” Clarke says. “We’ve been over this.”

“I have to practice deploying my skills in the heat of battle somehow,” Octavia complains.

“Not by setting me on fire, you don’t,” Raven says, tackling O to the ground.

Clarke turns back to Lexa. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“You were about to let me punch you in the face,” Lexa says.

“Ah, yes, the epitome of romance.”

“I’m certainly wooed,” Lexa says, smirking.

Clarke smiles back. “Remember my notes from last time?”

“I keep telegraphing my punches and I need better aim during my roundhouse kicks.”

“Good,” Clarke says, nodding her approval. They start circling each other, hands raised and at the ready. “On your mark, get set—”

“Go,” Lexa shouts for her, and then jabs her in the stomach. Clarke jerks back, but the move hardly slows her down. She aims a swift kick at Lexa’s shin and, even though she can tell she’s restraining her Slayer strength quite a bit, Lexa still falls to her knees as a sharp pain shoots through her leg.

She doesn’t give up, though, stopping Clarke’s next kick by catching her ankle and flipping her onto her back. Clarke lands with a smack on the mats, and Lexa climbs on top of her, straddling her waist. She mimes holding a stake high in the air and then plunges it into Clarke’s heart.

“Gotcha.”

“Oh yeah?” Clarke cocks her head, a devilish grin on her face.

“Don’t you dare,” Lexa says. But Clarke’s already grabbed ahold of her wrists and tugged her arms over her head, throwing Lexa’s center of balance off. She quickly rolls them over, pinning Lexa down with her weight.

“Gotcha right back,” Clarke says, smiling. Her eyes drift down to Lexa’s lips, and her tongue comes out to wet her own.

“Get a room, you two,” Raven says, leaning over them.

“They have a room, remember? A school-sanctioned room.” Octavia waggles her eyebrows and nudges Raven in the side with her elbow.

“What’s up, guys?” Clarke asks, sounding annoyed by the interruption.

“It’s eight,” Raven says. “Time to lock up and hit the road.”

Clarke pushes off Lexa and hops up onto her feet before offering her hand and tugging Lexa up next to her.

Lexa’s leg aches in protest. “Next time,” she says, rubbing at her shin, “one of you is up against the Slayer.”

“Nuh-uh!” Raven shakes her head. “I’ll take Little Miss Cheats A Lot over Super Strength any day.”

Octavia chuckles.

“Are you saying you don’t like to spar with me?” Clarke asks her as they gather their stuff and turn off the lights.

“I’m saying my body can only take so much of it.”

“Aww, come on, I go easy on you.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Lexa says, “but it’s little comfort when I wake up as a giant bruise the next morning.”

Clarke frowns. “Maybe we should get some dummies to practice on.”

“You mean, like, mannequins and not some dumb kids who’ll let us beat them up, right?” Octavia checks.

“No, I mean dumb kids. Know of anyone?” Clarke asks, rolling her eyes at Octavia as she locks the door to the building.

Octavia sticks her tongue out in response.

On the walk back to campus, Raven and Octavia chatter about one of their classes while Clarke is pensive and silent, holding onto Lexa’s hand tightly. There’s a crease between her eyebrows that Lexa knows means she’s thinking about the upcoming battle.

Lexa squeezes her hand. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Clarke laughs once and flashes Lexa an unconvincing smile. “They’re filled with the usual doom and gloom. Nothing we haven’t already talked about.”

“We can always talk about it again if you need to,” Lexa says.

“I know.”

“But now’s not one of those times,” she guesses.

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m too spent. I just wanna drop you guys off, do a quick sweep of the town, and then snuggle up to my beautiful girlfriend and forget my troubles for the night.”

Lexa nods, feeling warmth spread through her chest when Clarke says the word girlfriend.

Once Octavia and Raven are home safe, Clarke walks Lexa to the front door of their dorm.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” she says.

Lexa kisses the tip of her nose. “Be safe.”

“You know me,” Clarke says, raising her eyebrows. “I’m never in danger.”

After stealing a couple kisses, Clarke jogs off into the darkness. Lexa watches her go, feeling the swell of panic rise in her chest. It’s not easy to see Clarke off on patrol, especially since Lexa never knows if that’s it—that’s the last time she’ll see her alive.

But she never says anything, knows that’d only put unnecessary pressure on Clarke. She simply waits in agony, always expecting to hear that the last source of light in her life has been snuffed out.

###

They haven’t talked about Gustus since finding out he’d been turned, but Clarke knows Lexa’s still grieving. On top of that, she has papers due or upcoming exams in most of her classes, but she’s been prioritizing Slay Gang activities over her schoolwork.

In other words, Lexa’s seriously stressed. She’s been pacing the dorm for days, sucking on peppermint candies and having Clarke quiz her using stacks of notecards.

They’ve just finished going over the capitals of African countries for the third time, and Lexa has that look in her eye that means she’s gonna insist another go.

“We should go on a date tonight,” Clarke says, blurting it out before Lexa can ask her to shuffle the deck.

“A date?” Lexa asks, coming to a halt.

“Yeah, you know, that thing people do when they’re dating: get dinner, spend time together…spend time together.”

Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “I mean, yeah. That sounds…yeah!”

“Great.” Clarke winks. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Lexa smiles to herself, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Okay.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Clarke says, picking the note cards back up. “You wanna go through these ten more times?”

Shaking her head, Lexa says, “Don’t be ridiculous. I think three more times will be more than sufficient.”

Clarke laughs.

Later that night, Clarke’s getting ready in Raven’s room. Raven and Octavia sit cross-legged on the bed playing cards while she puts on makeup in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door.

“Where are you taking her?” Octavia asks, dealing cards with impressive speed.

“We’re just going to that little Mediterranean place on the edge of campus, then, depending on how we feel after that, we’ll go dancing at Skaikru or come back to the dorm and watch a movie in bed.”

“Sounds like there’s a good potential for sexy times either way,” Raven says, and Clarke can see her smirking at Octavia in the mirror.

“That’s the idea,” she says as she finishes applying her shimmery lipstick. When finished, she spins around and strikes a pose. “How do I look?”

“Smoking hot,” Raven says. Octavia gives her a thumbs up.

With a smug smile, Clarke turns back to the mirror and does one more check of her outfit: a simple black dress that shows off plenty of cleavage and a jean jacket. It’s sexy enough for a date, and casual enough for a date that’s basically taking place on campus.

“What time is it?” she asks, gathering her wallet and keys and making sure she still has a stake squirreled away in the inside pocket of her jacket.

“Almost 7,” Octavia says.

“Alright, well I guess I’m off.”

“Good luck,” Raven says, giving Clarke a meaningful look.

“Stay safe,” Octavia calls as she closes the door.

It takes her less than five minutes to walk back to her and Lexa’s dorm, but she pauses outside to steady her excited heart before knocking.

Lexa opens the door right away, and Clarke’s eyes sweep the length of her body. She’s wearing a white blouse and fitted trousers that accentuate her thighs perfectly. She finds herself unable to stop gaping.

“I wasn’t sure how fancied up I should get,” Lexa says sheepishly, eyeing Clarke right back.

“You look perfect,” Clarke assures her.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Oh, go on then,” Clarke teases.

Lexa steps out from the doorway and right into Clarke’s personal space, grabbing hold of the lapels on her jean jacket and staring into her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she says, and then gives Clarke a kiss.

Clarke feels herself blushing hard.

“Right, um, let’s get going.”

The Continental Grills is a small, yellow-roofed building across the street from the music conservatory on campus. When Clarke and Lexa get there, the cozy dining room is nearly full of other couples and groups. They get seated by the window, and their host lights the candle in the middle of their table before leaving.

“This was a good idea,” Lexa says, scanning the menu. “It was starting to feel as though our room was a prison.”

“And it reeks of peppermint,” Clarke adds, making a show of frowning.

Lexa scoffs and, seconds later, Clarke feels her foot brushing up and down Clarke’s leg.

They play footsie while reading the menu, and by the time their busy waiter reaches their table, they’ve decided to order a falafel platter and a couple types of kabobs to share.

“So,” Clarke says. “What made you want to have three majors anyway?”

“Clearly, I’m a masochist,” Lexa quips. “I think it was the shitty childhood.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a walking cliché. Momma never loved me, and I got so accustomed to the pain that I crave it now.”

“Is that,” Clarke asks, cocking an eyebrow, “common?”

Lexa shrugs, and they both laugh.

“But Anya was there for you,” Clarke says, growing serious. “Yeah?”

Lexa nods. “She was the best. I watched her grow up with shitty parents, too, but she got out, you know? Went off to college, made something of herself. It gave me hope that I could do that, too.”

“And so you picked three majors to hedge your bets,” Clarke says. “To make sure you got a successful career out of one of them?”

With a pensive frown, Lexa pokes at the ice cubes in her water with a straw. “That’s probably part of it.”

Before Clarke can ask her to elaborate, their waiter comes back with their food. They both dig in, silently eating for several minutes.

Finally, Clarke asks, “And what are the other parts?”

“Of my decision to triple major?” Lexa asks. Clarke nods. “Well, I’m mostly interested in political science and running for office someday, but I think the discipline is lacking if you only study polisci. You need a firm grip on ethics and the nature of humans—which I get to learn about in my philosophy classes—and you need to know how to work within the law.”

Clarke stares blankly, trying to grapple with the awed respect she feels for this woman. As she watches Lexa slide a grilled onion off a skewer with the utmost care, something swells in her chest and she speaks before she has any time to process it.

“I love you.”

Lexa pauses and glances up from her food, her lips forming a surprised ‘o.’

Clarke flushes and looks down at her lap. “That, uh, that just kind of came out. I don’t mean to pressure you or make you feel uncomfortable or anything like that. I felt it, so I said it, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to—”

“I love you, too,” Lexa says with an awestruck smile.

They finish their meal in kind of a bashful haze, sneaking glances at each other and making casual conversation.

“So,” Clarke says as she’s signing the check. “Where to next? A night of dancing or getting cozy in your bed?”

Lexa’s eyes darken. “Definitely cozy in bed.”

They walk hand-in-hand back to the dorm, taking the long way to admire the campus’ picturesque architecture and sprawling lawns. As they near home, Clarke can feel her heart rate speeding up and her stomach flipping pleasantly. She’s looked forward to this for a long time, so it’s extra disappointing when they find a familiar figure lingering at the end of their hallway.

“Kane?” Clarke asks. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says, noticing Clarke and Lexa’s linked hands, “but I’ve uncovered vital information about the Notte Della Morte di Fuoco that you should hear immediately.”

###

After they call Octavia and Raven, the group gathers in the library.

“Okay,” Clarke snips, and Lexa can tell she’s pissed about the interruption. “You have the floor, Kane.”

“I did some more research into the De Luca family and I’ve finally had a breakthrough.”

Lexa zones out as Marcus goes into detail about an Allegra De Luca and her quick and unusual climb to power in the early 1900s. She tries to pay attention, she really does, but she’s far too distracted by Clarke—the way Clarke keeps moistening her lips and the way she flips her hair over her shoulder and the way she fiddles with her silver ring by moving it from one finger to another.

“So…Allegra is the ghoul?” Raven says, breaking through Lexa’s preoccupation.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Marcus says. “If we can find the amulet she channeled her powers through and destroy it, I’m fairly certain the Allegra ghoul will become corporeal and, therefore, can be fought.”

“Fairly certain?” Clarke repeats.

“Well the only way to be sure is to test the theory,” he says apologetically.

“Typical,” Clarke says, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

“I found something about a locator spell in one of those magic books you sent me,” Octavia says. “I’ll have to go over the ingredients again, but I think it’d be pretty simple to perform.”

“And you think that could lead us to the amulet?” Marcus asks.

“I think so.”

“Great, theories and guesses. That’s all we have to fight this thing?” Clarke asks, getting testier by the second. Lexa places a calming hand on her knee.

“There’s more, actually,” Marcus says, glancing down at his shoes.

“What is it?” Raven asks.

“In addition to studying the De Luca family, I’ve been reading the Watcher Diaries again—looking for any prophecy regarding or mention of Notte Della Morte di Fuoco. While I didn’t find that, I did find something interesting in the oldest diaries.”

Clarke’s head snaps up and Lexa feels her stomach turn, a reaction to the edge in Marcus’ voice.

“Many of the first Watchers referred to the Slayer as a guardian, a keeper of all things foul and evil.”

“Oh no,” Raven whispers, the first to understand.

“Okay…?” Clarke says. “If you have another theory, just spit it out.”

“I’m afraid this one isn’t conjecture,” Marcus says.

Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“On the Notte Della Morte di Fuoco, you will face Allegra and you will die. I’m certain of it.”

###

Lexa’s been avoiding Clarke for days. Not that Clarke blames her. If she’d found out her girlfriend had an expiration date, she wouldn’t exactly be chomping at the bit to torture herself with last minute memories.

Besides, Clarke hasn’t felt much like hanging out anyway. Learning about your impending death doesn’t exactly put a girl in a good mood.

So she’s not exactly sure what she’s doing back home…it’s not like Abby’s coldness and constant exasperation with Clarke’s duty is going to put her in a chipper state of mind. But everything has felt so now-or-never the past couple days. Maybe this is desperation to set things right.

“Clarke,” Abby says, surprised, when she opens the door. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Yeah, probably,” Clarke says, shrugging.

Abby raises her eyebrows but doesn’t comment further. She steps out of the doorway, silently inviting Clarke in.

“You and Marcus have been getting along again,” she comments, leading Clarke into the kitchen. “He seems relieved.”

“Yeah, well…the time for me to stop throwing a fit came and went.”

Abby stops to study her face. Whatever she finds there makes her frown. “Can I make you something for lunch? A turkey sandwich? Mac and cheese?”

“No thanks, I’m not very hungry.”

Abby nods, her face falling infinitesimally.

“I’ll take some tea, though,” Clarke hurries to add.

“Green tea and honey coming up,” Abby says. Clarke takes a seat at the kitchen table while she sets the kettle on the burner. As she’s looking through the pantry, she says, “You’re lucky you came when you did. I work the night shift tonight. Any other day, I’d have already been at the hospital.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Clarke says mournfully. “Luck girl.”

Abby joins her at the table then. “Something’s wrong.”

It’s the certainty with which she says it, the way she reads Clarke with no effort at all. That’s what makes her burst into tears.

Abby gets out of her chair to wrap Clarke in her arms. The familiar smell of her lavender lotion surrounds Clarke, and suddenly she’s crying harder and hugging Abby so tightly around the waist she could easily be hindering her ability to breathe. But Abby doesn’t complain.

They stay locked in that position until the tea kettle whistles, loud and intrusive.

Silently, Abby prepares the tea and then sets the steaming mug on the table in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, folding her hands around the cup.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Abby says, reaching out to cup Clarke’s cheek in her palm. She leans into the touch. “It’s me who should be repenting. I’m supposed to be the adult, and here I am pouting over something I can’t control.”

“It’s not like I handled it well, either,” Clarke says, mustering a laugh. “I tried to call the police on Kane when he first approached me about being the Slayer.”

Abby grins. “He didn’t tell me about that.”

“I think he’s trying really hard to keep his duty to me and his relationship with you separate.”

“I’d noticed that, too,” Abby says softly, then pauses before adding, “I’m sorry I started seeing him before you were ready.”

Clarke nods. “I was furious with you for a long time for trying to replace dad. But I know that’s not actually what you were doing.”

“I love your father. His death was so abrupt, and Marcus was so supportive. Eventually, I got used to relying on him. He became my rock.”

“You guys are good together,” Clarke admits, frowning into her tea.

“What’s bothering you?” Abby asks.

She gulps and looks up. Abby’s eyes are shining with worry. “There’s this pretty powerful demon on the loose…so powerful I might not be able to stop it.”

Abby’s eyebrows come together. “What gives you that idea? I’m told you’re quite the capable fighter.”

“There’s this night—an usher in the apocalypse kind of night—and from what we’ve heard about it,” Clarke says, choosing her words carefully, “someone’s gonna die. And I probably won’t be able to prevent it.”

“From what you’ve heard?”

“You know, demon intel, ancient texts…all the reliable Slayer sources.”

Abby gives her a questioning look. “Those don’t sound very reliable.”

“In the Slayer game, they’re all we’ve got.”

“So screw ‘em,” Abby says, making Clarke choke on her tea. “You’re a Griffin, and Griffins don’t let, um, ancient texts and demons push us around!”

Clarke laughs. “Mom, come on. It’s not that easy. In fact, it’s a whole mess of complicated.”

“I’m sure it is, but if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that my daughter is stubborn as hell. I don’t believe for a second that she’s going to let the forces of darkness or stuffy old men who are long dead determine the outcome of her battles.”

Clarke sits up a little straighter, feeling a glimmer of hope spark in her chest.

“There’s my girl,” Abby says, smiling wide.

“Thanks, mom. We could really use you on the team. Kane’s pep talks are kinda dismal.”

She laughs. “I’m always here if you need me. Now, speaking of your team, are you going to tell me about this girl you’re seeing or do I have to keep teasing info out of Marcus?”

Clarke freezes.

“That’s right. I’m not as out of the loop as you’d like to think.”

“I’m gonna kill Kane,” Clarke says, but she can’t keep the smile off her face.

###

Lexa can’t help but notice what day it is. Even though time has passed in disjointed fits and starts since the night of her date with Clarke, this day stands out in sharp contrast to the rest.

The new moon…the day Clarke dies.

She tries to keep her eyes focused on her textbook, but they wander of their own accord over to where Clarke’s packing weapons into a duffle bag. There’s something different about her that Lexa can’t quite put her finger on, but it’s something that makes her quiet and pensive.

“You gonna study all night?” Clarke asks, not looking at all surprised to catch Lexa staring.

It’s the first words they’ve spoken to each other in three days, and her heart jumps into her throat at the sound of Clarke’s voice. “Probably.”

“In that case,” Clarke grabs something off her desk and tosses it to Lexa. A package of peppermints. “Good luck.”

Lexa tries to swallow, but her throat feels way too thick. “You too.”

Clarke nods and hikes the duffle up onto her shoulder. Her eyes shine with determination, and Lexa feels tears pool in her own. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…sure.”

With a nod, Clarke moves for the door. When her fingertips touch the knob, the gravity of the moment crushes Lexa all at once. Before she can talk herself out of it, she’s standing from her chair and flinging herself into Clarke’s arms.

Clarke hugs her so tight, Lexa can’t breathe. But she couldn’t care less—welcomes the pain, even. She grabs Clarke’s face in both her hands and kisses her deep, their movements languid and their lips salty from both their tears.

Lexa’s quivering by the time they break apart.

“I have to go,” Clarke whispers, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“I know,” Lexa whispers back. “I…I can’t—”

“I understand,” Clarke says.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

That seems to be all there’s left to say because, though they linger several moments longer, neither of them speaks.

Eventually, Clarke releases Lexa and steps away. She nods, her lower lip trembling. Quickly, Clarke gives her forehead a wet kiss…and then she’s gone.

###

“Where’s the girlfriend?” Raven asks Clarke as she approaches their agreed upon rendezvous spot behind the community garden on campus, which doesn’t get much foot traffic—human or otherwise.

Kane, Octavia, and Raven are already there, setting up for O’s spell. Clarke dumps the weapons next to the fence with a clang.

“She’s not coming.”

They all look at her, curiosity plain on their faces.

“Did you guys…?” Kane asks, clearly too uncomfortable with the end of his sentence to finish it.

“No, not exactly,” Clarke says. “But I’m kinda glad she’s not here, you know? One less person to worry about.”

The group nods.

“You got everything you need for the spell?” she asks Octavia, eager to move onto a different subject.

“I do. It’s technically a demon locator spell, but I used some ripped up pages from Allegra’s diary when creating the powder. That modification should help us hone in on her amulet. I really, really hope.”

Clarke can tell Octavia’s nervous because she’s speaking way too fast. She smiles at her. “You can do this, O.”

Octavia takes a deep breath and sits down in front of a square she’s drawn on the ground. Marcus sits across from her and nods when he’s ready.

After taking another steadying breath, Octavia recites, “Thespia, we walk in shadow, walk in blindness. You are the protector of the night. Thespia, goddess, ruler of all darkness—we implore you—open a window to the world of the Underbeing. With your knowledge, may we go in safety. With your grace, may we speak of your benevolence.”

They sprinkle a pungent-smelling powder onto the square and then open their eyes.

“It didn’t work,” Octavia says after a second, frowning. But then a single, bright light comes into existence, hovering over the crude map.

“Bless you, Thespia,” Raven cheers.

Octavia shushes her, focusing on the light. “Goddess of darkness, our path is murky and the woods are dense. I beseech thee, guide us. Show us the way.”

The orb instantly becomes more animated, dancing from side to side.

“This is it!” Octavia says. “The light will lead us to the amulet.”

“Looks like we’re heading out, then,” Clarke says, picking up the weapons. “Good work, O.”

Octavia glows.

The glamor leads them off campus and into the cemetery where Clarke first faced the ghoul. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when it leads them directly to the De Luca crypt, but some part of her was expecting this to be less obvious.

She goes inside first, doing a sweep of the crypt before ushering the others in when she’s sure it’s safe.

The light hovers in front of the smashed wall, and, when Raven shines her flashlight on it, everyone gasps. A cobweb-filled staircase descends into a thick darkness.

“I guess we’re going down,” Raven says.

“First,” Clarke says, unzipping her duffle, “we distribute weapons.”

Once everyone has stakes hidden in their clothing in addition to a bigger weapon—Kane chooses a mace, Raven grabs the crossbow, Octavia brandishes a sword, and Clarke swings a battle axe over her shoulder—they climb into the wall.

“Is everyone clear on the plan?” Clarke asks.

“We avoid demons as much as possible, track down the amulet, and get any humans the hell outta dodge,” Raven says.

“Good then. Let’s kick some ass.”

###

Lexa gets through three pages of text before she realizes she hasn’t comprehended a single damn thing. Her mind is very much elsewhere, with Clarke and the rest of the Slay Gang.

“This is impossible,” she groans, letting her book fall shut.

She gets up and starts pacing the room, weighing the pros and cons of going after them.

Pro: she doesn’t have to sit here and wonder what the hell is going on.

Con: she could get killed wandering around by herself at night.

Pro: she could prove to herself and to Clarke that she’s not a coward.

Con: she could end up walking around cemeteries for hours and never find them.

With a sigh, she falls back onto Clarke’s bed and stares up at the ceiling. The sheets smell strongly of her, of citrusy shampoo and her deodorant. Tears spring to Lexa’s eyes—just when she’d gotten herself to stop crying—as memories of their nights tangled together, giggling and kissing and being happy, come rushing back to her.

And just like that her decision is made. Lexa tugs on her peacoat, a stake still hidden in the inside breast pocket, shoves her feet into her boots, and rushes out the door.

She’s definitely waited too long to follow to catch the gang at the rendezvous point, but that doesn’t faze her. She feels a calming certainty that she can track them down at a graveyard.

Following her instincts, Lexa cuts through town and hops a fence into the Sunnydale Cemetery. She’s never been to the De Luca mausoleum, but she’s heard Clarke talk about it enough to know what she’s looking for.

Inside, Lexa finds Clarke’s duffle bag abandoned and empty. Her heart speeds up, and she can feel her pulse in the tips of her fingers.

“Hey there, champ. I can’t believe Allegra was right…I was kinda banking on you being smarter than this. But here you are. Just like it said you’d be.”

Lexa’s stomach drops into the soles of her shoes and she spins around way too fast. Her hands curl into fists and she gulps, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

“Gustus.”

###

Deep, deep under the De Luca crypt—like thousands of stairs deep—Clarke and the gang find a cavernous hall lit by candles. Moss and vines hang from the dirt ceiling dozens of feet above their heads and a wide river flows through the center of the room, filling the space with a rushing sound and giving off a sulfuric scent.

Vampires rove the space, looking eager and alert. At the front of the hall, Clarke notices a giant altar. Allegra’s ghoul is leaning over it, its shimmering head bent in prayer. Hanging above the altar are three humans, stripped and dripping blood.

Clarke thinks she recognizes at least one of them as a student.

“Fuck,” Raven whispers, taking it all in beside her.

“That pretty much sums it up,” Clarke replies.

“Looks like there are about a dozen vampires,” Kane says.

“Eleven,” she confirms. “Not as many as I feared, but still dangerous. Remember, stick to evasive maneuvers unless you have a clear shot to the heart. Then stake away. None of you need to be heroes here.”

“Got it, boss,” Octavia says. “That’s all you.”

“I’d bet the amulet has a special place on the altar,” Kane says.

“That was my thought, too, which means it’s gonna be pretty hard to get to it without attracting Her Ghoulishness’s attention.”

“We’ll have to thin the herd as much as we can before you get to the boss battle, then,” Raven says, a smirk on her face. Then she aims the crossbow and nails a vamp right through the back.

He explodes—dust.

Four other vampires turn and zero in on them in the mouth of the staircase.

Clarke snarls. “Game on.”

###

“W-what are you doing here?” Lexa asks, edging her way back toward the door.

Gustus, noticing her movement, easily cuts her off.

“Same thing you are—wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

“Great, then you’ll take me to Clarke and we can both have a front row seat,” Lexa says, infusing a confidence she doesn’t feel into her voice.

He chuckles. “You don’t get it. And how could you? You’re only human after all.”

“How about you explain it to me,” she suggests, trying not to be too obvious as she looks around the mausoleum. There are candles holders jutting out from the walls and a high ceiling. She could probably throw herself through the circular window set into the back wall in a pinch, but it’d hurt.

“I’m not here to lead you to the party.” His face morphs then, turning him into the monster Lexa’s been seeing in her nightmares. “I’m here to prevent you from getting there.”

###

Focus, Clarke has to keep reminding herself. Stop trying to watch your friends’ every move and focus, dammit Griffin.

By the sounds of it, Octavia’s conjuring fireball after fireball, taking vamps out that way. She can also hear Raven and Kane yelling directions to each other, no doubt coordinating their kills.

She’s so tensed and ready for the sound of screams, though, she hardly stops a vampire from kicking her in the face.

Be it a blessing or a curse, the ghoul is too focused on its incantation to care much that its henchmen are being taken out.

Clarke ducks, narrowly avoiding a punch and then knocks a vamp’s feet out from under her. As soon as she hits the ground, though, she kicks herself back up. With a frustrated cry, Clarke swings her axe in a controlled arc, slicing through the vampire’s neck.

The second her head hits the ground, she turns to dust.

“Clarke, help!” Raven calls then, and she turns just in time to see Kane hit the ground.

“No!” Clarke runs over to them, jumping across the river. She brings her axe down, hard, and leaves a giant gash down the vamp’s leg. It doubles over, and Raven takes the opportunity to drive a stake into its heart.

Clarke crouches over Kane and gently rolls him on his back. There are three long cuts in his left cheek.

“What happened?” she asks.

“It was going for my eyes and missed,” Kane says, coughing.

“Yeah, but then he nailed you right in the stomach,” Raven supplies helpfully.

“Are you going to be okay?” Clarke checks.

“Of course,” Kane says, holding out his hands. Raven and Clarke help him to his feet. “We need to get to those people.”

“And we will,” Clarke says, “but first I need you to stay alive.”

He nods. “I know. You go.”

Clarke gives him the once over before running back into battle, heading for Octavia, who’s being cornered by three vamps at once.

They’ve killed all but four vampires before the earth starts trembling around them.

“Enough!” the ghoul shouts, its voice reverberating throughout the space. Clarke feels a chill crawl down her back as it looks directly at her. “You’ve had your turn and now it’s mine. The fun has only just begun.”

###

“That means I’m close, right?” Lexa asks, tilting her chin up in defiance. “I’m close to where I need to be.”

“Or maybe as far as you could possibly get,” Gustus says, but she knows him too well. Even as a vampire, his nostrils flare when he lies.

Interesting.

“Why are you even working for this thing?” she asks. “The Gus I knew was a lone wolf type. Like to make his own way and hated authority.”

He rankles at the use of the nickname. “Give it up, champ. Your friend is dead—gone without a trace.”

“Well now, that’s not entirely the truth. Is it?”

Gustus rolls his eyes.

“You still have the memories of my friend. You have his face, his personality.”

“Yeah, but I also have no soul, which means I won’t feel a goddamn thing when I rip your throat out with my teeth. Stop trying to get ahold of something that isn’t there, kid.”

Lexa works her jaw. Maybe what he’s saying is true, but she still has to try. “The Gustus I knew liked a fair fight. You’re saying that’s not true anymore?”

“Well it’s not fun if it’s too easy, everybody knows that.”

“Then I have a wager for you.”

“I’m listening.”

She takes a deep breath, thoughts racing through her head. “To make things interesting, how about you tell me your boss’s weaknesses.”

Gustus raises an eyebrow. “How does that even the playing field? You’re a wimpy little human and I’m still gonna snap you in two like a toothpick no matter what you know.”

“Ah, but I’m not a wimpy human. I can hold my own in a fight—though you know my style, so time will tell if that’ll actually work to my advantage.”

He snorts, unimpressed.

“If I know how to kill your boss, it heightens the stakes. If I manage to beat you, which I’m not saying is likely, then I have a fighting chance.”

He narrows his yellow eyes at her, considering. “You know what? Fine. There’s no chance you’re walking out of here anyway.”

“Right then,” Lexa says, holding out her hand for a shake.

Gustus laughs at her but does it anyway. She takes a big step back afterward, and then nods at him to continue.

“There’s only one way to kill the ghoul,” he says. “A classic slice and dice—you cut it to pieces and burn them with the amulet. That is, if you can make it corporeal in the first place.”

“Noted,” she says, acutely aware that she’s running out of time.

“Now,” Gustus says, grinning. “Let’s have some fun.”

He lunges for her, but she somersaults out of the way and jumps up to her feet behind him. She realizes she could make a break for the door but takes a second too long to deliberate. Gustus punches her in the face.

Lexa goes flying backward, whamming into the wall of the crypt. She cries out in pain.

“The louder you are,” he says, “the more fun it is for me.”

He approaches her again, a hungry gleam in his eye, but Lexa hops up and grabs hold of one of the candle holders. She uses the leverage to swing her legs through the air, and her feet connect with his chin—one right after the other.

He stumbles back a few steps and rubs at the injury. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s learned some new moves.”

“And one of us is still using his old, tired material.”

With an angry shout, he dives for her, hands outstretched and ready to close around her neck. Once again, she ducks out of the way and ends up behind him. She kicks him in the middle of his back, making him fall forward onto his face.

Her stake gets caught in her coat pocket, though, so her opportunity to end it comes and goes. Gustus pushes to his feet and bares his teeth at her.

“I’m going to enjoy draining you,” he says. “What do you think, though? Should I turn you into a vampire? Your girl won’t make it through the night, but I would love to see you tortured by the thought that she’d hate what you became for an eternity.”

Lexa’s fingers curl around her weapon, her knuckles going white with the effort.

“No opinion, huh? I guess I’ll just have to do whatever feels right in the moment.”

She’s ready to dance out of his way again as he charges for her a third time, but the ground beneath them starts to rumble. Lexa’s thrown off balance and Gustus lands on top of her…and her stake.

He explodes all over her a second later.

Lexa takes a second to compose herself. Then she stands up, brushes herself off, and climbs into the wall of the reverberating crypt as tears stream silently down her face.

###

“You were foolish to come,” Allegra says, delighted by the fact.

“What can I say,” Clarke says, “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“Knew you’d be a sacrifice,” it continues, “yet here you are. So noble, so idiotic.”

Once again, trying to focus on the ghoul as its form shifts and shifts and shifts gives Clarke a terrible, pounding headache. But she needs to keep its attention. Raven’s inching along the cavern wall on the other side of the river, headed for the altar.

“So four’s the magic number, huh?” Clarke says. “You kill me and those three random, then everything’s set for your night of fun, fun, fun?”

“Those children, they are not to die. Their blood supplies power, it’s true, but soon they will be changed and restored.”

Something dawns on her that makes her unable to breathe.

“Yes,” Allegra says, laughing. “Your friends, they will make excellent meals.”

“No,” Clarke mouths. She starts backing away, but suddenly the ghoul’s black mist surrounds her, licking at her skin and leaving thousands of tiny cuts.

“Yes…stay…watch your fate unfold.”

“How about we watch her kick your ass instead?” Raven calls and then throws the amulet down on the ground with all her might. The swollen, red jewel on the front shatters.

The ghoul shrinks in front of Clarke’s eyes, morphing into its final form with curled talons on its hands and a wide, wicked mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth.

The symbols on its forehead glow bright, the same red as the jewel on the amulet.

“I was so hoping you’d do that,” Allegra grins and then punches Clarke right in the nose.

She’s thrown backward several feet, landing painfully on her backside. The sounds of her friends fighting the remaining vamps surround her, making her dizzy with the knowledge that they’re going to die. All of them.

“Yes,” Allegra hisses. “Give into it.”

She’s tempted, wants so badly to just let it all end. After all, one Slayer dies, another one’s ushered in to fill her shoes. The world would restore the balance. It doesn’t need her specifically.

But then Abby’s words come to her: You’re a Griffin…I don’t believe for a second that you’re going to let the forces of darkness determine the outcome of your battles.

Clarke pushes to her feet and gives her axe a twirl. “Give into this, asshole!”

The blade connects with Allegra’s stomach, leaving a thin slash along her waist. The wound oozes a creamy, silver substance.

The ghoul laughs, but it doesn’t contain its usual edge of haunting glee. She realizes with a thrill that she’s freaked it out.

Capitalizing on its surprise, Clarke jumps into the air and kicks Allegra in the chest. They both stagger backward a couple steps, but she’s quick to recover, aiming a punch at the ghoul’s face.

Unfortunately, it’s recovered, too, and catches her wrist. It tips her forward and then spins her back, flipping her onto the ground.

It knocks the wind out of her, but she still kicks up, smashing into the ghoul’s chin with the heels of her boots and sending it backward several feet.

They both recover and glare at each other, locked in tense battle stances.

“This is fruitless,” Allegra says. “You will fail.”

“Well you know what they say.” Clarke shrugs. “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”

The ghoul cocks its head and she charges, wielding her axe expertly and creating a deeper, parallel gash in its stomach. Not missing a beat, she follows the momentum of the swing and twirls her body before kicking the ghoul in its injured flesh.

Allegra cries out, and Clarke hits it with an uppercut punch.

“No more!” the ghoul shrills and, before she can duck out of the way, closes a hand around her neck. Clarke claws at the hand, but the ghoul simply lifts her off the ground in response. She kicks desperately, trying to connect and cause some pain, but its grip is so tight—the talon-like fingernails cutting into the skin at the base of Clarke’s neck.

A clang echoes throughout the space as her axe falls to the ground.

She tries to throw another punch, but her body isn’t taking her commands anymore: too busy wasting all its energy yearning for oxygen.

The last thing she sees before darkness encroaches completely on her vision is the elated smile of Allegra, and the last thing she hears before everything goes quiet is the splash her body makes as it falls into the river.

The world goes still.

###

Lexa reaches the hall just in time to see Clarke crumple and flop into the river.

“No!” she screams, stumbling backward. “No, no no…”

The noise cuts through the room right as the earth stops rumbling, and everyone stops to look at her.

Allegra’s reaction strikes Lexa in particular. The ghoul looks utterly horrified to see her there.

It reminds her that she has a job to do—total mental breakdown can come later. Lexa takes off across the hall, sprinting as fast as she can. When she gets closer, she notices a battle axe at Allegra’s feet. Without hesitation, she scoops it off the ground and then rams it with all her might into the center of the ghoul’s head.

It lodges pretty deep, but she has to be certain. She tugs the blade free and slices again in the same spot. This time, the strange markings on Allegra’s head flicker and then burn out.

Immediately, Lexa turns to Clarke. She drags her body out of the water and sets her on her back.

“Come on, Clarke,” she pleads, starting CPR. “Come back to me, please? You promised. Come on.”

Octavia falls next to Lexa, crying softly. “Clarke? Clarke?”

It’s not long before Lexa senses Raven and Kane hovering over her, but she doesn’t spare them a single second of attention.

Clarke’s going to come back. She’s going to make sure of it. She has to live.

She has to.

###

Suddenly, she’s aware that every muscle in her body is cramping. She feels tired—endlessly tired—but the feeling that she’s forgotten to do something nags at her.

She needs to wake up.

“Clarke? Oh my god, she’s waking up.”

Is that novel somehow? Clarke tries to roll over, check the time, but her body is putting up some serious resistance.

She groans out something incomprehensible.

“You’re going to be okay,” a soothing, familiar voice whispers. “Oh, thank god, you’re going to be okay.”

Finally, Clarke gets her eyes to open, and when she does, she sees Lexa’s face swim into focus. Her lovely green eyes are shining with tears but she’s smiling.

“You have the most beautiful smile in the world,” Clarke says, her voice hoarse.

That makes Lexa sob for some reason and collapse into Clarke’s chest. She raises her hand to pet Lexa’s hair and notices tiny cuts all over her forearm.

Her memory starts to come back in tiny, frustratingly erratic pieces. When everything comes together at once, she sits up so fast she gets a head rush.

She doesn’t have time to say anything, though, because Raven, Octavia, and Kane are joining the hug.

“Could you guys ease up?” Clarke asks. “I was just choked to death and my lungs are feeling a little claustrophobic.”

They pull back, giving her some space.

“You’re really okay,” Raven says, her voice thick with tears.

“What about you guys?”

“We got some bumps, bruises, and broken bones.” Raven shrugs. “Nothing major.”

Clarke notices the ghoul a few feet away. “What about Allegra?”

“Lexa stopped it quite handily,” Kane says, the shock in his voice clear.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Lexa says, pulling away from Clarke. “We need to chop the body up and burn it with the amulet.”

Everyone stares at her in surprise.

“I came into some new information,” Lexa explains.

“Right then.” Kane claps his hands together. “Clarke, would you like to do the honors?”

She stands and tugs the axe out of the ghoul’s head. “Nothing would make me happier.”

As Clarke gets to slice her killer into tiny bits, the others recover the students from the altar. Octavia then kindles up a magic fire, and they gather around the flame as it grows and grows to consume the last of Allegra De Luca.

“You know what I just realized,” Clarke says.

“What?” Octavia asks.

“We did it. We saved the world. And you guys were awesome!”

“We learned from the best,” Raven says, but she’s grins smugly.

Lexa kisses the top of her head. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you.”

Once they’re sure the ghoul has been taken care of, they carry the unconscious students up to the surface and call an ambulance. Kane promises to stay behind to deal with the medics and tells the girls to go get some rest.

Dawn is just starting to turn the navy night sky into more of an indigo, and Clarke slides her fingers between Lexa’s. “Told you I’d see you tomorrow,” she says low in her ear.

“And I told you I couldn’t watch you die.”

“Not in so many words, really,” Clarke says, teasing.

“Don’t make me regret my super awesome moment of world saving, Griffin,” Lexa says, but she can’t quite muster a joking tone. Clarke itches to ask her for the full story of her night, but now doesn’t seem like the time.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she says.

“Really?” Lexa asks, smiling softly. “What’s that?”

“How about we curl up in my bed and pretend nothing exists outside each other’s arms.”

“I like that plan,” Lexa says. “I like it very much.”

### Epilogue ###

Lexa’s pretty sure it’s a dream, but usually her dreams don’t feel so real. As she runs through the cemetery, Lexa can feel her lungs working to draw in air and her skin’s alive with the certainty that a vampire is behind her.

She falls into an open grave—falls down, down, down—and lands in a crypt that feels so familiar, but she swears she’s never seen it.

Clarke runs past her then. “Hurry, follow me!”

Lexa does, follows her outside into the glaring sunlight…except they’re in the dorm. Everything is white. Cleansing.

Clarke hands her a red axe and a word slides to the tip of her tongue immediately: scythe.

“One Slayer dies, the next one’s called,” Clarke says. Then she opens her mouth wide to laugh, and the sound carries Lexa off like a wave.

She wakes with a start, safe in their room with Clarke’s arm slung over her waist.

The first thing Lexa notices is that she’s noticing so much more—she feels hyper aware and way too raw.

Slipping out from under Clarke’s grasp, she stands. She feels the movement in each of her muscles, elastic. Weightless like air.

She feels…strong.