Free Slayed by Amanda Marrone Page A

parents to put in for a metro-gig so we could stay in one place and I could have some semblance of a life. But they always said it’s the little towns that need the most help. It’s embarrassing to admit my parents chosethe “little towns” over me. “Most of the big cities have in-house hunters. We’re freelancers,” I say, hoping she won’t ask more and we can move on.
    “How often do you get to go home?”
    I turn away from her and rifle through my toiletry bag. “We don’t.”
    “So your house is just sitting empty all the time or do you have relatives living in it?”
    I take in a deep breath, turn back to her and force a smile on my face. I wave around the room. “This is home. And we used to travel with my grandfather until he was institutionalized. He passed away ten years ago. I don’t think my mom has any family left—at least she’s never talked about them.”
    “Oh,” Kiki says quietly. “I guess if you’re always traveling around a lot it doesn’t make sense to have a house.”
    “Exactly.” Tears prick my eyes and I turn from her and blink them away. “So, how about we start today’s lesson.”
    “Wait,” Kiki says. She opens her large pink bag and takes out a handheld recorder and a spiral notebook. She turns the recorder on and holds it toward me. “What do I need to know?”
    I point to the recorder. “Is that necessary?”
    “I don’t want to miss anything.”
    “No recordings.”
    “Fine,” she says, putting it away.
    “Okay, you know the basics—stake in the heart.” I put my hand over my heart. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s located a little to the left of—”
    “Got it covered,” she says. She rifles through her bag and pulls out a folder. She opens it and takes out a diagram showing a heart inside a rib cage. “I did some research last night. I also found this cool website that sells vampire stakes. Look at these.” She takes out some more printouts and spreads them on the bed. “I ordered a few of these and a couple of these,” she says, pointing to some intricately carved stakes. “I wasn’t sure which ones would be the most durable; we’ll have to test them out.”
    I look at the stakes and roll my eyes. “These may be pretty, but if they break, you’re screwed.”
    “Well, it would be way more convenient if you could use, say, a metal stake that wouldn’t break. Can we?”
    “The theory is they have to be staked by something that was once alive.”
    “Is that the same kind of theory that thinks it’s a necessity to decapitate heads after you stake the body?”
    I toss her a stake. “Just use this. Trust me; it’ll get the job done.”
    She grimaces as she catches it. “It looks like a fence post.”
    “I
know
, you already mentioned that,” I say, findingit difficult to hide my annoyance. “But they’re cheap and they work.”
    She puts the stake down on the bed, folds her hands in her lap, and looks at me like I’m a small child who doesn’t know the first thing about hunting. “Daphne, just because the cheap prototype stake works doesn’t mean you should ignore the kick-ass, hand-turned, spindle-style, aged-cedar stake with leather covered handle for a ‘sure grip.’”
    She holds up a picture and I have to admit it does look cool. Of course owning something like that sends the message that you enjoy hunting vampires. Which I do not.
    She picks up another picture. “And look at this one—cherry-stained hawthorn with
roses
carved on it. Is that totally sweet or what?”
    I look at the price and almost faint. “It’s also two hundred dollars—that’s almost half of what we’re getting paid per kill. And I’m fairly certain the people making these are not expecting them to be plunged into any actual vampires.”
    She pouts. “But they’re so pretty.”
    “If you want to use the fancy stakes I won’t stop you.”
    She bounces on the bed. “Yay! I’m having them express-mailed so they should arrive