Page 14

This is what it means to be a vampire.

I sit up straight in bed , gasping, simultaneously feverish and chilled, and with an urge to vomit. But then I realize I’m not in bed. I’m not anywhere. I’m sitting on the ground—except there is no ground. I’m just in a golden mist.

“Well, at least it’s not purple.”

I turn and find Paul standing a little bit away, wearing a very nice black suit and with his feet hidden in the swirls of gold. I get out of the bed. “What is this? Why am I here? What do you want?”

Paul smiles. And for some reason, this smile of his—while gross, it’s always been gross—is also comforting. Not really the smile. Just… him. The fact that he’s here. I let out a breath in the same moment when he speaks again. “You came to me, dear Syrsee. I should be the one asking you that question.”

I get to my feet, disagreeing with him by shaking my head. “I don’t even know where I am, so stop with the lies.”

Paul pans a hand through the space in front of him, parting a path through the gold mist. The space around me changes to a room. A very nice room, actually. Like a penthouse sort of place with high ceilings and massive windows that show a cityscape blurred through a haze of sheer white curtains. “Relax, Syrsee. We’re going to be here for a little while. You might as well get comfortable.”

I walk over to the window and pull the curtain aside. I don’t recognize the city, but it’s not America, that’s for certain. The scene is nothing but old, weathered, gray buildings outlined by an even gloomier sky. “Where is this?” I turn to face him. “Where did you bring me?”

“It’s anywhere you want it to be. Because it’s nowhere at all. We’re in the gold now. You saw it.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you know what it is. You just don’t remember what it is.”

“Same difference. What is it?”

“It’s your magic, of course. Your new magic. Black witch magic. You had the purple because I gave that to you. It’s mine to give, you see. I gave that purple magic to Ryet. And Josep, as well. You’re all under my spell at the moment.”

This makes me recoil. “What does that mean?”

Paul walks forward to a seating arrangement in the center of the large room. Two golden wingback chairs face each other. There is a small table between them with a tea service for two. He pans his hand to the chair nearest me. “Have a seat. Let’s tea.”

I scoff. “Let’s tea?”

“We have things to discuss, why not get comfortable?”

There is a three-tiered tray of cookies and finger sandwiches on the table with the tea service and I’m suddenly very hungry for food, so I walk over to the chair and sit.

Paul waits for me to settle before taking his own seat across from me. Then he reaches for the teapot and pours us both a cup. “Go ahead. Help yourself to sugar and milk.” His smile is big and feels genuine.

If anything coming from a monster like him is ever genuine.

I add some milk to my tea, then sigh and take a sip as I lean back in my chair. It’s surprisingly good. And sweet, even though I didn’t add sugar.

Paul takes a sip of his as well, but while I hold the hot tea cup in my hands—loving the warmth—he puts his down. “Take a cake, if you’d like. They’re delicious.”

“This is a dream. Why are we eating and drinking in a dream?”

“It’s not a dream. It’s like a dream, but you know as well as anyone that the dreamwalk isn’t really a dream. The purple isn’t exactly real, but it’s definitely not imaginary, either. The gold acts in a similar way, but it’s far more powerful than the purple.”

“Why?”

“Why is it more powerful? Well, it’s Black magic, Syrsee. That’s the most powerful magic in the whole realm. I literally live off it. All vampires do and we do nothing but suck up energy. That’s why we need your blood.”

I sigh. Because I hate that he knows so much and I know so little. I hate that I need him to feed me this information. Someone should’ve taught me this shit. The Guild should’ve taught me this shit.

“You’ll understand it more once you start using it regularly.”

I feign disinterest with a shrug. “Whatever. I don’t even care.”

“Good. We’re not here to discuss the power, we’re here to discuss your future.”

“Ya know, you’re pretty confident that you’re allowed to have an opinion about my future. I mean, this is nice and all”—I wave my hand at the room—“but you’re stuck. I can leave and do whatever I want. You can’t.”

I’m not actually sure this is true, but I’m running with it anyway. Because there’s something to it, that’s for sure. Otherwise, why meet up with me here? He has to know we’re at Ryet’s home. And even if he doesn’t actually have that information, it’s a logical first guess.

But he didn’t come to the cabin. He’s controlling this experience, I do understand that. But he’s not really in control.

I am.

“You’re very astute, Syrsee. Do you know that?”

I’m so used to him being smarmy and assholishly charming that I find his new serious, calm, deliberate, and almost cold nature off-putting.

Frightening, actually. That’s a better word. Because only people who know they’ve won act like this. And I didn’t even know we were playing a game, so there’s no way I’m the winner here.

“Why are we here, Paul?”

“I just told you. To discuss your future. And you took us off track to try to convince yourself that I’m not really in control of your future, but as your maker, I disagree. You are mine. I’ve already told you this. Ryet is mine. I’ve told you that as well. We’re doing this together whether you want to or not.”

“Doing what, though?”

“That’s all very need-to-know. And you don’t need to know. Yet.”

“Then why should I help you?”

“I don’t need your help. Well”—he pauses to smile. It’s a very confident smile—“I don’t need your permission to take your help.”

‘Take my help.’ It feels like a weird way to phrase things.

“Then, again, why am I here?”

As soon as I say this, Ryet appears. Not standing in front of me, or sitting next to us having tea—but in the bed. He’s naked and lying on top of the covers. All stretched out on his stomach and showing off that glorious body of his.

I look over at Paul with an eyebrow raised. “What’s going on?”

“Do you love him?”

“You don’t have the right to ask me that question. We’re not friends .”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Well, you would be wrong. I like him, but love him? No, Paul. I do not love him. I’m his food.”

Paul laughs. “My darling, he is your food.”

“What? How the hell do you figure? He feeds on me!”

“He feeds on you so he can feed you back. It’s a symbiotic relationship. That means?—”

“I know what it means, you asshole. I’m not stupid.”

Paul flicks a finger in the air. “Of course you’re not. I know that better than anyone. I am, after all, the one who educated you.”

“You didn’t—” But I don’t even bother finishing. Because of course, he was the one who sent me to college. He was probably the one who chose all my classes.

The moment this thought runs through my head, he smiles. “Did you enjoy the piano?”

“What?”

“You took two semesters of it. I like the piano, myself. I had fantasies of you playing for me one day, but I suppose that’s all they were. Fantasies. You did like it, though, didn’t you?”

“Is that why Ryet plays instruments? So he can play for you one day?”

“Why does Ryet do anything? Why does he make things with his hands? Why does he build houses, and fix cars, and all those other things he does?”

“So he’s got no free will?”

“I never expected you to be such an either-or person, Syrsee. I have to admit, it’s throwing me. There is no black and white, my sweet.”

I curl up my lip at the term of endearment. Sweet. That’s probably how he literally sees me. A piece of candy to suck on.

“It’s all very gray.”

“Well”—I sigh—“I just don’t see it that way.”

“Then you’re going to have a very hard time adjusting to what’s coming next.”

My stomach sinks and I suddenly feel sick. “What’s that mean?”

“It means, if you want to survive with your mind intact, you will learn to love the gray.” He gets up and walks over to the bed, stopping next to Ryet.

Paul begins to loosen his tie. His head turns so he can meet my gaze as he does this, undoing the knot and pulling on the tie so the silk slides through his collar. He drops it to the floor and tugs his dress shirt out of his pants.

I should look away. Should get up and try to leave, because I know where this is going. But I can’t. I’m watching his fingers as he unbuttons his white shirt. It opens, revealing his muscular chest.

It’s an illusion. I know this. I’ve seen the real him. He’s gross. Blue-black skin and horns. He literally looks like a demon. But that’s not how he looks right now. Right now—as he slips his suit coat off and lets the dress shirt slide down his arms—he looks like a god.

My eyes slide down his chest and once again find his fingertips, watching as they unbutton his trousers, then pull the zipper down. I might even be holding my breath at this point, that’s how captivated I am.

Ryet groans and rolls over and my gaze immediately goes to him. He’s hard. Like he knows what Paul is doing. But he can’t possibly—his eyes are still closed.

I get up and walk over to the bed. “Ryet? Ryet, wake up.”

“He can’t wake up.”

I look over at Paul. We are on opposite sides of the bed with Ryet between us. “Why not?”

“Because he’s busy taking care of you. Out there. Where your physical body lives. You’re sick. He’s fixing you. So his spirit is otherwise occupied.”

“Why bring him into this at all, then? Just… stop .”

“I brought him here for you, Syrsee.”

“If that’s true, then you would leave. And let us be alone. But instead, you’re taking off your clothes. So if you brought him here for me, then why are you doing that?”

“You really do think the worst of me, don’t you?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think the best of you, that’s for sure.”

“Haven’t I? I seem to recall that I was the one who saved you. Just like I saved Ryet’s children by burning them alive all those years ago. Your soul is filthy and so is Ryet’s. And although those children of his were innocent, they were tainted. I’ve already explained it to Ryet. He’s accepted it as truth. And now, dear Syrsee, it’s time for you to accept your truth.”

Once again, I feel sick. Like I might throw up. “What is my truth?”

Paul’s smile is warm now. “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as his truth. You’re going to have Ryet’s baby, Syrsee.”

I let out a breath and a little bit of relief washes over me. I knew this. I mean, not exactly knew this. But that is my destiny as a Black witch, right? That’s our purpose in life. To make new Black witches. So I’ve known for a while now that this was coming. “OK. Is that it? Just… make a baby with Ryet?” I point to his naked body displayed before me on the bed.

But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know this is not it. Why would Paul be here, undressing himself in front of me, if all I had to do was make a baby with Ryet?

“You’re part of this baby as well?” I have to force these words out past the lump forming in my throat.

Paul nods. “I am. I play a different role than Ryet. I won’t be inside you. Well”—he stops to chuckle—“I’ve already been inside you. Many times.”

I’m shaking my head. I did have that dream, but?—

“It wasn’t a dream, Syrsee. It was a dream walk . There is a very big difference. But that’s not what I’m talking about. You see, I am Ryet.”

I replay these words in my head. “What… what does that mean?”

“We’re connected. I made him. I’m inside him. Which means every time he’s been inside you, I’ve been inside you.” He whispers these last few words, making them intimate. “Sometimes I take over. Like that first time, when he was very sick. It was me between your legs, Syrsee. It was my mouth. It was my tongue. I was the one who made you come.”

I’m shaking my head again.

“Do you want me to describe it? Do you want me to tell you what your pussy tasted like? Shall I tell you how you moaned and screamed?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I already told you. I’m preparing you”—he nods his head to Ryet—“for your future.” He slips his trousers down his hips and grabs his cock, fisting it as he looks me in the eyes. He smiles, then kneels down on the bed next to Ryet. Positioning his hips right up next to Ryet’s.

Then he lies down on his side, tilting his head to look at me. “Join us?”

“Syrsee?” I look down and find Ryet awake. “What are you doing? Get back in bed.”

I blink at him, then look at Paul. “He can’t see me. This is your space, Syrsee. Not his.”

“Why are you dressed? Are you going somewhere?” Ryet sits up and when I look back over at him, he looks a little bit scared. Like I was trying to leave him.

“No.” I say this quickly before that wrong idea of his has time to take hold.

Which makes his smile and reach for me as his eyes find mine. “Then take off your clothes and get in bed with me.”

This is when I realize he doesn’t have wings. He looks like he did that day in that shitty cottage in White River. He looks like a really hot man.

“You want him. Why deny it, Syrsee? You tell yourself that you don’t love him, but you do. I made you that way.”

My mouth opens, ready to protest.

But Paul puts up a hand, silencing me. “But even if I didn’t bake it into the cake, so to speak, you would still love him. I mean…” He chuckles. “ Look at him, Syrsee. Have you ever seen a more beautiful man in your life? He’s fucking hot. I made him this way for you. To make it easier. It’s always easier to love the darkness when it’s beautiful.”

“Syrsee?”

I look back over at Ryet. “Hm?”

“Come back to bed.” He lies back, getting comfortable and smirking at me as his hand slides down his stomach and fists his cock. He begins to jerk off, looking me straight in the eyes. “Well, if you’re not coming to bed, take off your clothes, Syrsee. Let me watch.”

Let me watch ? “I don’t think that’s something Ryet would say.”

“You don’t think so?”

I look over at Paul and find him looking at me. “No. You’ve got it wrong. You’re ruining the illusion.”

“No, dear Syrsee. You’ve got him all wrong. He didn’t fuck a lot of women. In that time after Jane and before you, I mean. But when he did…” Paul winks. “I was there, remember. In his head? He’s dirty, Syrsee. You just haven’t seen that side of him yet.”

My thoughts drift back to that first night we met and how filthy hot the sex was. If that was Ryet, and not Paul, then yeah. He is dirty. “You said that was you, though. The first time Ryet and I had sex?”

“It was me. But I take my cues from him. He would’ve eaten your pussy with the same enthusiasm, trust me. Or don’t, actually. Just… take off your clothes, get into bed, and see for yourself.”

“With you watching? I’m sure you’d love that.”

“Watching? Hardly. I’m going to participate.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes. I am. Because I want to drink you, Syrsee. And you like to be fed on, don’t you? You’re addicted to the pull already, aren’t you?”

I don’t know what to say to this. I mean, I’m definitely not addicted. Not yet. But I do like it. And this… offer of his. To drink me. I’ve got to admit, it’s compelling.

Not only that, I’m fantasizing now. Ryet on one side of my neck, Paul on the other. Both of them pulling the blood out of me at the same time. Just picturing it turns me on.

But it doesn’t have to be just a fantasy. I have them both, naked, right here in front of me.

I pull my shirt up over my head, forcing myself not to look at Paul. Then I slip my pants down my legs. Ryet opens his arms to me and I slide into bed next to him.

I’m acutely aware that Paul—naked Paul—is just inches away. But Ryet is kissing me now. His hands exploring my body, sliding up and down my thigh as his tongue twists inside my mouth.

Time skips, or something, because the next thing I know I’m lying on my back and Ryet is positioned over top of me. Paul is leaning in to my neck. I expect him to bite. Expect him to drink. But he whispers instead. “It’s him, see? It’s just him. And I’m here to remind you of that.”

Then his hand slides down to my thigh, gripping my leg as he pulls it open.

Ryet is between my legs now, looking down at me like he’s hungry. But I don’t mind. Because Paul is finally at my neck, his teeth grazing over my skin, and I’m waiting for the bite. Wanting it. And when it happens, I close my eyes just as Ryet slips inside me.

My back arches. The pull of blood and the fucking—it feels good. Both at once feels more than good. It’s glorious. I have them both and I suddenly realize, I want them both.

Ryet and Paul.

This is when Paul pulls back and whispers in my ear. “We serve very different purposes. Learn to love us that way, Syrsee. And everything will be fine.”

I don’t know what that means. I don’t even care what that means because Ryet is thrusting inside of me, his movements hard now, more urgent. And I’m gripping him, my fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

Ryet leans down, his mouth on mine, moaning things about babies, and all I can do is agree. “Yes,” that’s what I’m saying back. “Babies. Anything. Just keep going.”

Paul is sucking the blood out of me, but then I’m sucking the blood out of him.

This is what it means to be a vampire.

Sharing.

The blood, the sex, each other.

“You’re right.” Paul’s voice is right up in my ear. “That’s what it means. That’s what we’re getting ready for. The share, Syrsee. It must happen in your physical body, not just the spiritual one. But don’t worry. By the time that happens, you’ll be more than ready.”

A phone rings and I sit up in bed, blinking.

I’m not in some luxury hotel room having sex with Paul and Ryet. I’m in the cabin. Ryet is lying next to me, but he’s not a man. His black wings are long and leathery. His body is… well, bruised is the first word that comes to mind. But I’ve never seen a human with skin the color of a bruise.

This is when I remember the phone is ringing. But I only remember because it stops.

That’s when I see all the jars lined up on the nightstand nearest the door.

I let out a breath, feeling sick and both feverish and cold at the same time. I shudder, then lean over and press my hand against Ryet’s back. He feels the same. The black-blue skin feels like regular skin. But it’s very hot. Like that time in his cottage up in White River.

He needs blood. I don’t know what he’s been doing with those jars, but whatever it was, it’s not enough. He needs blood. And that’s my job here in this arrangement. So I don’t even hesitate. I scoot up next to him—as close to him as I can get. “Ryet.”

“Hmmm.” It’s not a word, just a low rumble.

“You need to drink.”

He moves a little, aiming his mouth in my direction. And then he latches on to the side of my neck, making me wince from the force of his fangs. They feel different. Not little needle pricks, but more like the bite of an animal.

But the pain doesn’t last. The moment he starts taking blood from me, all those feelings rush in. The ones that make me like what we’re doing. The ones that make me crave it.

I close my eyes and enjoy it. Because why not? There’s no way to change what’s happening.

But before I can even do that, it’s over. Too soon. Ryet pulls away and falls back asleep.

The phone rings again, so I open my eyes and get up. I grab a flannel shirt off the floor and put it on as I walk out of the bedroom. The ringing is coming from a landline phone in the kitchen. I pick up the handle and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Oh. My God! Syrsee! What the fuck! I’ve been calling there for hours!”

“Zusi?”

“Are you OK? I’m coming to see you.”

“ No .” Normally Zusi is the not the kind of girl you can deter with a simple objection. She is a bulldozer. She plows right through simple objections. But this one is not simple, nor is it an objection.

It’s a command.

“You will not come see me. Do you understand me, Zusannah?”

This stops her too. She hates when people call her Zusannah. Only Tristin calls her Zusannah and that’s only when he’s trying to make her listen to him by pissing her off.

She blows out a breath on the other end of the phone. “Why? Because you’re mad? I didn’t betray you. You have to know that. If you’re my best friend, then you do know that.”

She’s right. I do know that. After the dreamwalk I just came out of, it’s very, very clear that everything is need-to-know and Paul is the one who decides who needs to know.

He would never think of telling Zusi his plans. Or the Guild, for that matter. I don’t care what kind of deal they have going, there is no way the Guild knows more about what is happening to Ryet and me than we do. Or I do. My part, at least.

“I have to go. Do not call back. I mean it.” Then I slam the phone down and start trying to make sense of the kitchen.

The phone rings again and I answer it through clenched teeth. “ What ?”

“Syrsee?”

I sigh, closing my eyes. Because it’s not Zusi, it’s Tristin. “What do you want?”

“Listen, you know how Zusi is. When she wants something, she does not give up.”

“I don’t want to see her, or talk to her, Tristin. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Which is why I’m calling.”

“Explain.”

“There are things you need to know. And if you’re not going to listen to us, will you at least take a look at some of the research?”

“What research?”

“It’s a project that Zusi has been working on in secret since—I dunno. Grade eleven, I think.”

“A project ?”

“Will you at least write down the URL? It’s all on a website.”

“Hold on.” I’m so annoyed right now. “I need to find a pen and paper.” I start opening drawers, finally finding one with what I’m looking for. Then I pick up the receiver again. “Go ahead.” He gives me the URL, then the log-in credentials, and I write it down. “Is that it?”

“Will you promise to look at it?”

“Fine, Tristin. I’ll look at it. Please don’t call back. And pass this message along to Zusi as well. Tell her…” I sigh, frustrated. “Tell her we’ll talk soon. But only if she gives me my space.”

Then I just hang up the phone without waiting for an answer.

I leave the kitchen and go back into the bedroom to check on Ryet. He’s still a vampire. A very scary-looking vampire. But when I place my hand flat on his back, right between those wings, he feels much cooler than he was before he fed.

How much longer? How much longer will it go on like this?

And what is the deal with all the sickness? First him, then me, now him again. It’s like a cycle of… something. I got a little information out of Paul, but not nearly enough.

My eyes involuntarily track a path through the open bedroom door and to the counter where I left the notepad. I doubt it’s going to be much help, but at this point, any new information is better than none.

I leave Ryet to sleep it off—feeling a little sick myself, but trying not to think about it—and go back out to get the notepad. Then I find the cellphone I bought while Ryet was feeding off me those first ten days, and navigate to the website.

I’m immediately presented with a log-in page. I enter the credentials that Zusi gave me—they are not words or anything. Both the username and the password are just long strings of numbers, letters, and characters. The kind of super-strong combination that is automatically generated by a browser AI.

The webpage reloads and I lean in, squinting my eyes at the small screen as it populates.

Then I gasp. Because the first thing I see is some kind of digital art depicting the Ice Maiden I saw in my dreamwalk with Lucia that night I banished Paul.

The whole scene is there, actually. The horse and rider. Coyrah, the Ice Maiden, taming the aquis equī out on the ice and turning into the night mare.

“What is this?” I whisper these words out loud as I navigate the menu. There are a couple dozen folders and all of them have something to do with me. ‘Syrsee’s Ancestors.’ ‘Syrsee’s Dreams.’ ‘Syrsee’s Nightmares.’ ‘Syrsee’s Diet.’ ‘Syrsee’s Education.’ ‘Syrsee’s Habits.’ On and on like that.

Research? This isn’t research. This is… a dossier .

Zusi was spying on me.

The whole fucking time.