Page 10

Bacon and dirt.

I watch Syrsee as she sleeps and think about what just happened. How she drank me and how it felt. It’s erotic, of course. It’s always been that way, even when Paul was feeding off me. The pull of blood straight from my veins is an aphrodisiac. A very powerful one. Paul explained it once. “It has to be this way, Ryet. How else could I convince men like you to drink monsters like me?”

I close my eyes, replaying that conversation back in my head and suddenly missing him and the way he used to tempt me.

It wasn’t exactly sexual, but it wasn’t exactly not, either.

It has been almost two weeks since I’ve talked to him now. We’ve been estranged for much longer periods. When he goes underground—and he would do this every dozen years or so—it’s always for months at a time. Sometimes years. But he never leaves me. He would find me in my dreams and I always felt him. Like he was watching me from some distance away.

Something has changed, though. Something very big, because I don’t feel him watching. What I do feel is his absence. I feel like I might never see him again.

He used to hover like a parent. Always asking me how I felt. Always asking me if I needed blood.

Which makes sense now. Since he literally made me.

How many times has he failed at this? How many Ryets has he gone through?

And how many more are out there?

Am I the only one?

It seems highly unlikely. I mean, there was no guarantee that Syrsee would feed me.

I’m still looking at her when I think these words. She fed off me tonight. Drank my blood, and not only was she able to keep it down, but it satiated something inside her.

She was restless and now she looks peaceful. The blood is what changed that.

Is she changing as well? No wings are growing out of her back, but is there some kind of second stage to the life of a Black witch?

Paul didn’t let me read the books either. Not literally, of course, but I wouldn’t know anything about the life stages of a Black witch because no one ever tells me anything.

This thought leads me down a new path and my mind drifts to the Guild and how she was approached in town. They want her back, but why? Is it because she is part of the Guild family?

Seems about as likely as there being no other scions out there, ready to transform into vampires.

The Guild is using her to get to me.

I am not afraid of these people. It might be na?ve, but I just don’t care about them.

I care about her.

She stirs in her sleep and a piece of hair falls over her face, obstructing my view. I casually, but carefully, push it out of the way so I can continue watching her.

Why is she drinking blood?

And why do I suddenly feel hungry?

My stomach rumbles at the thought of food, and because eating food is both something normal as well as something Syrsee needs, I get up, hike my pants back up my legs, leaving the button open, and go out into the kitchen.

My eyes find the clock as I approach the kitchen—it’s only ten-fifteen—and then I look through all the food she bought and put out on the counter and decide she was going to make chicken and pasta before she took me into the bedroom for sex.

So that’s what I make. And thirty minutes later, the whole place is filled with the scent of something good. Something I haven’t craved in decades. I go back into the bedroom and find Syrsee sprawled out on the bed, face down. She was naked, so she still is, of course. And the way her body is presented to me right now is enticing.

But for some reason, I’m craving that food more than I am her body.

“Syrsee.” I reach down and shake her shoulder.

“Hmm?” She mumbles this, turning over and giving me a spectacular view of her breasts as she sighs. “What’s up?”

“I made dinner. Come eat.”

She cracks one eye open. “You made dinner?” Then she smiles and sniffs. Maybe even gets a little excited.

“Chicken fettuccini.”

“Yum. And it’s like you were reading my mind. That’s what I was going to make.”

“Yep. I figured that out. Come on, get up. Get dressed. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

She sits up, but I can tell this takes some effort. Like she would almost rather sleep until morning. “I don’t want to get dressed.”

My eyebrow goes up. “OK.”

She laughs, then swings her legs out of bed and stands up, just a few inches from me now. She places her hands on my shoulders and leans up to kiss my mouth, just barely skimming her lips against mine so she can whisper. “Your blood, Ryet. It was… good .” She pulls back, tipping her head up so she can look me in the eyes. “Can I have another small taste?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, just kisses me again. This time her teeth graze over the tender skin. She doesn’t bite me, but I definitely get the feeling she wants to.

And hey, if she wants blood, who am I to deny her?

I bite my lip, just like Paul used to bite his lip for me, and then I let her lick up the blood.

It’s not enough. And I remember this feeling. The cravings.

But I also remember Paul being cautious. It felt like he just wanted to deny me the blood at the time. And he did. That was why he never let me drink too much. But I now realize it wasn’t to be in control or to make me want it more. There was a reason for his denial. And it was probably something biological. My biology, specifically. The slow, deliberate maturation process that he was in the middle of inducing inside me.

So I don’t bite my lip again once it’s healed. I just kiss Syrsee until I’m hard and I start to forget about the food.

But then my stomach grumbles and Syrsee pulls back, looking down at it. “You really do want food?”

“I feel like I’m starving, Syrsee.”

“I feel the same.” Her head tilts up so she can, once again, look me in the eyes. “Only I seem to crave your blood all of a sudden. What do you think this means?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But it’s…”

“Probably not good?” For such a serious subject, her tone is one of unconcern.

“Probably not.”

She just smiles at me. Then, without getting dressed, leaves the bedroom. Throwing one last glance over her shoulder as an invitation for me to join her.

I do.

She’s already looking for plates when I arrive in the kitchen. “That cupboard there.” I point at the one with plates in it.

She gets two and starts putting food on them while I grab a bottle of red wine that’s been chilling in the fridge since she got home.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting across from each other at the small dining room table. She’s naked, but unconcerned about this as she eats. Which I do find delightful, but it also worries me. It seems out of character. Granted, I haven’t known her that long. I actually barely know her at all. But her willingness to just eat dinner naked feels like something new. Feels a lot like this blood craving, actually.

I finish first and I almost go back for more, but this craving for food, in combination with Syrsee’s craving for blood, makes me hesitate.

What is going on now? Is this normal?

Maybe my hunger for real food is, but Syrsee shouldn’t be craving blood.

Actually, how would I know that? Paul never explained anything about the Black witches to me. I was just always hunting them. This one, specifically. What if drinking blood is something she needs to do? What if symbiosis is the whole point of our relationship?

“What in the world are you thinking about?”

I look up and find Syrsee staring at me. “What?”

“You face is nothing but angst. What’s up?”

“Don’t you think that wanting my blood is a bit weird?”

“A bit ?” She laughs, sitting back in her chair a little, giving me a really nice view of her breasts. “Of course I think it’s weird. All of this is weird.”

“Do you crave it? Or need it?”

“Hmm.” She studies me as she thoughtfully considers my question. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you want more right now?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it.” But her eyes are already looking at my lips. Then they slide up to meet my gaze. “But now that you mention it…” I get a coy smile from her here. And then she’s getting up and coming around the table to me. I grin as she lifts her leg over my lap and straddles me, settling her thighs on mine and placing her forearms on my shoulders, her fingertips playing with my hair right at the nape of my neck. “That was an offer?” Her voice is sweet and a little bit teasing.

“You really want more blood?”

“If you’re offering.”

I have a thousand questions. But mostly, I’m thinking about fucking her while she drinks me. She is, after all, naked in my lap.

She’s obviously reading my mind because her hand slips down to the zipper on my jeans. The button is still open so it’s an easy thing for her to just reach in and pull out my cock. I’m already hard, but when she starts stroking me, it gets even stiffer.

Syrsee is bold tonight. She doesn’t even hesitate, just lifts her hips up and presses the tip of my cock up to the entrance to her pussy. She’s already wet and the next thing I know I’m slipping inside her and she’s got her mouth pressed up against mine, whispering. “Let me drink. Please, let me drink.”

I bite, taste the blood for just a moment, and then her tongue licks it up. It’s over too quick. And then she’s asking for more. “Give me a real drink, Ryet. Give me what I give you.” These words come out low and sultry. Almost like she’s trying to seduce me into it.

I know this is a bad idea. I’ve spent the last sixty-five years listening to Paul tell me how drinking too much is a very bad idea. But when she starts moving on top of me, I suddenly don’t care. I want her to drink me. And I want her to do this while we fuck.

I bite the palm of my hand, letting my new fangs sink deep into my flesh so the blood will flow easily, and then I put it up to her mouth, letting her take a good suck. And all the while she is writhing in my lap. Her hips grinding on me. I grab them, squeeze tight at the bones, urging her to move faster.

Suddenly, there is a swell of feelings inside me. Warmth, and chills, and fire, and ice. And while all this is happening a light, golden mist begins to swirl up from the floor.

We come at the same time and I’m absolutely sure the whole world can hear us. But the only thing on my mind right now is her. Her blood, specifically.

And the moment that the craving hits me, she’s offering me her neck.

I don’t hesitate. I’m not even capable of hesitating. I sink my teeth deep into her neck and she recoils from the pain. But I’ve got her arms pinned to her sides and I don’t relent.

The first draw is magic. And this is when I realize what we’re doing. We’re drinking each other . We’re mixing our blood. Her inside me, me inside her. Over and over.

Is this what it means to have your own personal Black witch? Someone who was made for you, and only you? Are we doing it right?

But I’m too distracted by the taste of her blood to give these questions any more thought. It’s sweeter now. More enticing than it was, if that’s even possible.

Flashing red lights are going off in the part of my brain that is still capable of logic, but I ignore them. Paul’s face is there too, and then suddenly his words are loud in my head. “Be careful, Ryet. This is Black magic you’re doing. You’re making something here.”

But Syrsee is moaning in my lap and we taste too good to care about consequences.

I must pass out , because the next thing I know I’m waking up on the couch. I don’t even know how I got here. Or Syrsee, either. She’s lying alongside of me, her face pressed into the cushions. The euphoria of the drink is gone now and there is a feeling inside me that I can’t quite place. It’s not shame, exactly. It’s not regret, either. But it’s something like that. Something worrisome. Something that lingers in my gut like a mistake not yet realized.

I close my eyes again and start trying to make sense of things.

Syrsee is drinking blood.

I’m eating food.

She’s getting visits from the Guild.

I’m growing wings.

When I woke up in the truck out in the desert, I thought it was pretty much over. I mean, I knew the wings would be coming in. But that was all I was expecting. A physical change, which the craving of food is. But I don’t think it’s over. Whatever’s happening to me, these wings are just the beginning.

And Syrsee isn’t just some feeder I need to keep around to eat. Something is happening to her too. She’s sexy. I mean, she’s always been sexy, but she’s more than that now. She’s provocative.

She reminds me of—I sit up. Blinking into the darkness. Unable— unwilling , really—to finish that thought.

But there’s no way to deny it. Syrsee reminds me of Lucia .

“Holy shit.” I say this out loud. Then I say it again. “Ho-lee. Shit.”

I get up, button my jeans, and begin pacing the room. What if…

“No.” I say this out loud too. But saying it and believing it are not, in any way, related to reality in this case.

This is how Lucia became a vampire. It has to be. It’s never been a secret that Paul never considered her a true vampire. It’s also never been a secret that she started her life as a witch.

Though not a Black witch.

But what does it mean? What does this mean for Syrsee?

“Don’t you wish I was still here so you could ask?”

I turn, stunned, and find Paul sitting at the dining table eating a plate of food. But not pasta, like Syrsee and I had for dinner. It looks like… body parts. Bloody body parts. “You’re not here.”

“Does it matter, really? In the grand scheme of things?”

“I’m imagining this. You’re not here.”

“Where am I then, Ryet? Hmm? Do you have any ideas? Because I feel like I’m here.” He looks down at his arm, watching it… flicker? Shimmer? Wink? I’m not sure what it’s doing, except proving my point, actually.

He’s not here.

He’s in some kind of dreamwalk.

“I could answer all your questions, you know.”

“How?” I ask.

“Come find me.” He shrugs. Like it’s just that simple.

“Go home, you mean?”

This makes him smile. “So. You do think of it as home.” Then he starts laughing and with each passing second, he slowly disappears.

Slowly, gradually , the realization that I am asleep hits me. I’m aware that Paul was nothing but a dream, but I don’t open my eyes and fully wake up until I realize I’m not in bed. I’m not on the couch. I’m not in the house , actually.

I’m in the earth.

The sweetness of it is almost intoxicating. And once again, like when I stepped into the root cellar, I can smell everything as individual scents.

This is when I sit up.

Because I am in the root cellar.

Not just lying on the ground, either. I’m in a hole. Freshly-dug earth mounded around me. Covering me. Comforting me like a blanket.

I blink, seeing everything in the darkness. I’m not actually in the cellar, but the tunnel. Which kind of pisses me off because I’ve fucked up the passageway with this hole I dug. And it was me who dug it. I can smell the dirt under my fingernails.

I look down at them and realize they’re a little more claw-like than I remember them being last night. This is when I feel the wings. I can’t see them, and they’re not touching anything but air, but I know they’ve grown.

Sure enough, when I reach around and probe with my fingertips, the two small bumps of bone are much larger now. None of it is covered by skin. Or, at least, not the skin from my back. Maybe something else is covering the bone. A membrane, or something.

I should be thinking about how I’m turning into a literal monster, but the only thing running through my head is the question: How am I going to go out in public with wings ?

I lie back in the earth, pondering this.

Maybe I don’t go out in public? Maybe I stay right here in the dirt?

“Syrsee.” I say her name out loud as last night comes back to me. Then I really do get up. I step up out of the hole, realize I’m fully naked—which I wasn’t last night. Even while having sex—and then follow the tunnel back to the house.

When I get inside, I check the bedroom and find Syrsee fast asleep.

She drank me. Quite a bit, too.

But the mystery remains. My little trip to the tunnel, and subsequent imaginary conversation with Paul, has not solved any of my problems.

Which is: What is happening to us?

I want to think about this harder. Kinda… gather up clues and shit. Put them in some kind of order and then systematically come up with possibilities. But I can’t think straight. I probably need to drink, but that craving that is usually there isn’t.

Instead I have a craving for bacon. And dirt.

Which kinda feels OK. It’s a weird combination. But also normal in a “pickles and ice cream” way. Except that’s some cliché pregnancy thing.

I let out a breath, pausing here. Because I’ve gotten all my memories back. After Jane condemned me to an eternal Hell in my pre-third-birth delusion, I remembered everything. And now that I’m thinking about pregnancy cravings, I remember that Jane was always making me go get her Junior Mints.

The moment those two words form in my head I need Junior Mints. Do they even make them still?

I’m not sure, but my new mission in life is to hunt them down and find out.

I grab the truck key off the kitchen counter and walk towards the door, nearly pulling it open before I realize I’m naked, covered in dirt, wings are growing out of my back, and Syrsee should not be left alone.

This stops me.

I mean, the fuckery happening on my back should be what stops me. Or the fact that I haven’t put on pants. But what stops me is the idea that I’m not thinking clearly.

Junior Mints, Ryet? What the hell ?

I put the truck key back on the counter and take a breath. I feel like I’m stuck inside a manic episode where all the bright and shiny things need my attention. And by bright and shiny things, I mean food.

Yesterday, it was blood.

Today, it’s food.

What changed?

But I already know what changed. Syrsee drank me and then I drank her back and this explains why she’s craving blood.

Our cravings were passed in the blood exchange.

Weird.

And my response is also weird. Because this is kind of a big deal. If cravings can be passed through blood, what else?

Can we make each other sick by doing this?

Can we change things inside us? Like… genetically?

Paul is inside my head now. His voice, at least. “Don’t you wish I was still here so you could ask?”

Reluctantly, I do. I wish he was here. Because I don’t know what’s happening, and what if we’re doing something wrong?

“Why are you covered in dirt?”

I turn and find Syrsee standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She’s wearing a flannel that’s like five sizes too big for her and she’s clutching it to her body like she’s cold. I think it came from my closet.

“What?” I blink at her.

“Why are you covered in dirt?”

I look down at myself. Then at the floor. There’s a trail of dirt in the shape of footprints leading to the door to the basement. My first instinct is to lie. Maybe lie is a strong word. My first instinct is to deny. Deny the fact that I went unconscious drinking her and woke up in a hole under the house that I dug myself.

“I… woke up in a hole under the house.” There’s really no other explanation for it, so why bother lying?

She tilts her head and kicks her hip to the side, grinning at me. Unfazed by what I just said. Which isn’t exactly a normal reaction. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh. Yes. But.” I hold up a finger. “Did you just hear me? I woke up in a hole under the house.”

“I heard you. But I don’t want you to go hungry.”

“Right. About that. I’m actually not hungry for… you .”

“What?” Her face shifts into confusion. “What’s that mean? You’re craving some other witch’s blood?”

“No.” I nearly laugh. As if there is any other witch. “I’m craving food, Syrsee. Real food. Like bacon.” And dirt. But I don’t say that last part out loud.

“Oh.”

“And let me guess, you’re craving blood?”

She hesitates. Which means yes, she’s just not ready to admit it yet.

“It’s OK.” I think. Actually, it’s probably not OK, but I don’t wanna panic her. “I think it’s the exchange we did.” Now she’s confused. “When I drank you, and then you drank me, we…” I shrug. “Passed something along in the blood.”

“We passed along cravings?”

“It’s the only explanation I have. But I’m not an expert. If Paul were here—” I stop, unable to believe that I just said that out loud.

“If Paul were here, what ?” Her question comes with a tone , and I don’t blame her.

“I could ask him, that’s all.”

“I thought that was why we were going to the Guild. To get answers.”

“Yeah. But we’re not there. We’re here. And something weird is happening, so… sorry. It slipped out.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Ryet. If I didn’t capture him—trap him, whatever it was that I did—then we’d both be prisoners in that compound.”

I walk over to her, wanting to pull her close and give her a kiss. Touch her body. Maybe even fuck her. But I’m covered in dirt, so I keep a distance between us. “Do you wanna take a shower?”

She lets out a breath and drops her guard. “I do.” Her fingertips touch her head. “Sorry. I just don’t feel like myself. My head is?—”

“Foggy?”

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s from the blood too.”

“So I can’t have anymore?” She’s looking at me with sad eyes.

“Do you want more?”

I get a one-shoulder shrug and a tilt of her head. Meaning yes, but this is yet another thing that she doesn’t want to admit.

“I think we should hold off. I won’t drink you, either. Not until the craving comes back.” I smile at her, reaching for her hand. “Sound fair?”

She nods, but I can tell she’s still feeling confused.

“Come on.” I tug her back into the bedroom. “You can wash my new wings.” When I look over my shoulder I catch her sighing. And when her eyes meet mine, they are filled with doubts.

There is a crushing feeling in my chest. A feeling of loss. Because something has gone wrong here.

Something has gone terribly wrong.