Page 19

This is how I got here.

I open the box up and find … I have no idea. Something old and, from the look of the patina, made of copper.

It’s a disc with an elaborate design that might’ve been pulled straight out of the dreamwalk I took with Lucia after Paul beheaded her.

The exact moment when Coyrah, the Ice Maiden, tamed the aquis equī and turned into the night mare.

The Horse and Rider. Which, now that I think about it, feels like a very important symbol for the Guild and not so much any kind of representation of me.

It’s off-putting. Why does the Guild identify with this horse and rider symbol? I mean, they’ve put it up everywhere. And I get it, it’s a logo for the Guild Lounge, or whatever. But why this symbol if it’s all about me ?

This is when I notice that there is an aged yellow envelope attached to the underside of the lid. The flap has been sealed with purple wax that is turning black along the edges and embossed with the same horse and rider symbol.

It appears to my untrained eye that this envelope has never been opened. There is clearly something inside the envelope because it’s bulging a bit.

I pause here. Am I supposed to unseal this thing? What if it’s a trap? What if there’s a curse inside? What if there’s some kind of poisonous powder that pops out at me?

I roll my eyes and sigh, then grip the edge of the paper and rip the seal open. The wax lifts up, taking a layer of the paper with it. I pull out a small book that has a stitched binding. When I open it up, I find seven small watercolor paintings, again depicting the scene that Lucia showed me in that dreamwalk. Coyrah, the Ice Maiden, taming the aquis equī.

But the last picture is different. It’s an illustration of a woman—who may or may not be me—holding the disc up. Looking into it and seeing her reflection. There is writing, which I don’t understand, along with a few symbols, also indecipherable, but I think it’s showing me a mirror.

I look back down at the disc. The design of the horse and rider is in copper relief. But when I pick it up, I find a shiny surface on the other side and my own face staring back at me.

It is a mirror. A very old, very intricate mirror.

And even though I can’t read that writing I know it’s a magical item. One made for me.

I smile and hold it to my chest. Something mine. All mine.

“What’s that?”

I look over, surprised, and find Ryet—in all his vampire glory—bracing himself against the doorjamb to the bedroom. He’s pale, and weak, and breathing heavy. Like it’s a labor to even be alive.

“You’re awake!” I put the mirror down and rush over to him, placing a hand on his cheek. He’s cool now. Maybe too cool. “How are you feeling?”

Ryet attempts a smile, doesn’t quite manage it, and hoarsely croaks out his words. “Better, I think. But not great. How long was I out?”

“A day or so? I kinda lost track of time, so I don’t really know.”

“How are you feeling? My last memory is of taking care of you. I ate some…” His gaze goes over to the complement of jars on the kitchen counter. “Some of those. And fed you my blood. Did it work?”

“I think so? I’m not sure. I don’t feel all the way better. My stomach is really upset. But I don’t have a craving for blood and I’m not unconscious, so… jars for the win?”

He manages a bigger smile and nods his head over at the box. “What’s that?”

“Tristin just dropped it off.” I take Ryet’s hand and lead him over to the table. “Come on, sit down. Let’s look at it because I don’t really know what it is.”

He sits, his wings drooping to the floor like he hasn’t got the energy to hold them up. He lets out a long sigh, then reluctantly slides his eyes up to meet mine. “I look like a monster.”

I shrug one shoulder and take the seat across from him.

“Don’t I repulse you, Syrsee?”

I sigh as well. “It’s… just… who you are, Ryet. And I’ve already seen the hot version, so that’s how you are in my mind.” I pause, think about what I just said, then add, “Wow. That was really shallow and inconsiderate of me.”

He attempts a chuckle. “At least it’s the truth.”

“I don’t think you’ll always look like this. Paul doesn’t look like that most of the time.”

“He hides it.”

“Well.” I swallow. Because this is… hard. “I can’t deny that you’re scary, Ryet. You look like a demon.”

“I am a demon.”

“Right. But… you’re my demon.” My smile is real when it comes out. “And this”—I reach for the copper disc and hold it up—“this is mine too. Two things. I have two things in this world that are mine. Just mine and no one else’s. You, and this thing right here. So… whatever you look like, it doesn’t matter. That’s what I meant when I said I see you as hot-Ryet. I wasn’t trying to say I prefer you as a man, I’m saying that all I care about is the man inside.”

He stretches his arms across the table and takes my hand in both of his, giving it a squeeze and letting out a breath at the same time. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“It’s gonna be OK, Ryet. I really think it is.”

He doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he winces. Like he knows something. Something bad.

Which makes me want to change the subject, so that’s what I do. “I never explained what happened to me when I was in that room up in the Montana mansion. But this is what happened to me.” I hand him the little book of watercolor illustrations and he takes it from me, shuffling through the pages slowly, studying each one.

When he’s done, he starts over and looks through them again. Then, finally, he looks at me. “What is this?”

“A myth? The truth? I’m not really sure. But that girl—she tamed this monster and…”

I begin to tell the story, trying to recall all the little details, like how Lucia took me underwater and I thought I was gonna drown. And the ice, and the little girl who tames the sea monster that looked like a cross between a seahorse and an octopus.

“But what does it mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, Ryet. It’s just the beginning of my bloodline. I think.”

He sighs and looks past me. “Your bloodline.” Then he looks me in the eyes. “Everything’s about blood these days. You drank me. Do you remember?”

I nod. “I do.”

“It’s… well… I have something to tell you.”

A weird feeling passes through my body. Like my muscles release every bit of stored energy inside them and it floods my bloodstream all at once. It’s a sudden burst of adrenaline, and then, a moment later, it’s a feeling of being spent. Done. Drained.

As this is happening Ryet is talking. I’m watching his mouth, his words echoing in my head. I’m hearing them: “There is a cycle happening inside you, Syrsee. And this cycle requires you to be—” I’m hearing it. But it’s not really sinking in. Because he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying.

“Syrsee?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

I’m hot now. But not just now. I’ve been hot this whole time. Feverish. My stomach hurts. My head is spinning. Everything aches. And aside from that, I’m having feelings. A rush of feelings. Despair. Loneliness. Regret. Contempt. Estrangement. Fear. Shame. Guilt.

My eyes track over to the kitchen counter where all eight empty vials are lined up.

Ryet’s gaze must follow mine because he gets up, chair scraping across the floor, and walks over to them. He just looks down, stares at them. Then points at one and looks at me. “Did you drink these?”

I nod. It’s a slow, small act of acknowledgement.

“ Why ?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I was… compelled to. I worked out that you ate whatever was in the jars and…” A small breath comes out of me. And with this breath comes understanding. A realization hits me just like that adrenaline in my bloodstream a few minutes ago. And once again, I feel spent. Drained.

Also stupid.

Because I walked right into it. All of it, from that moment when I stood outside my grandma’s cabin door up in the Colorado mountains, thinking about how wrong I was to abandon her for ten years and how I was compelled to risk my life to see her again before she died, up to this very moment right here—or, actually, however long ago it’s been now since I drank the contents of those vials.

“The magic will be gone with me,” Grandma says.

I’m in her disgusting death cabin again, right in this moment. It’s enveloped in a purple and gold mist. Particles are dancing in the drafts coming from the shitty windows and under the front door. My grandma is dying and I am stupid.

“You must learn to do it on your own,” she croaks. “You must make your own choices now, Syrsee. I did what I could, but I can’t live your life for you.” And then she nods to the beautiful man I now know as Paul. He’s drinking blood from a child just a few feet away from us. “He will come for you too. He will get you. And he will make you offers, dear heart.” She frowns and smiles at the same time. “These offers will tear at you.”

“What kind of offers?” It doesn’t even sound like me. Back then I was sweet. A Guild librarian. Maybe I wasn’t innocent, but I was… ignorant, I guess. It’s the only word that fits. And while it’s not quite a synonym for ‘innocent,’ it implies a certain amount of blamelessness. If only due to lack of information.

“ What ?” When Ryet speaks the illusion all around me shimmers. But just for a moment.

“They will tear at you,” Grandma continues. “At your heart, and your soul, and your desires. He will make promises, darling.” She’s cupping my face with her hands. “You need to be ready to hear them. Because they will be magnificent promises.”

“I’m not going to?—”

“Oh, but you will.”

“Grandma, I have the entire Guild of Guardians on my side. They’re not gonna let him?—”

“They don’t get a say, Syrsee. Only you get a say. And you. Will. Say. Yes.”

“But I won’t.”

“You’re not listening.”

And she was right about that. More than any of it. Because I wasn’t listening. At that time, which was only a couple of months ago, I could not imagine giving in to the demon vampire’s whims and desires.

Yet here I am.

“This is done,” Grandma says. “It is known. He is going to promise you something you want very badly.”

“Syrsee.” Again, the gold and purple illusion shimmers when Ryet interrupts.

But once again, I push on. I need to hear this last part. I need to face the truth. “What, though? I don’t need anything.”

“ Syrsee .” Ryet’s tone is more insistent.

“No. You don’t,” Grandma says. “But someone you love will. So be very sure about the man you give your heart to, my love. Because he will be your downfall. He will steal your soul .”

But she was wrong about that part.

Ryet didn’t steal my soul. He didn’t have to. I just… gave it away.

“ Syrsee !” He’s raising his voice now. “You need to listen to me. I need you to pay attention. This is important. You need to face the truth.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that.

If Paul were here, I would give him one of those slow, dramatic claps. Well played, vampire. Well played . Because I have done everything according to plan. His plan.

My grandmother warned me. And wow, was my inclination to hate her right on point, or what? It’s the only thing I got right, actually. She didn’t save me, she sold me. Well, fine. Sold is a very strong and specific word. It implies a transaction.

There was no transaction. Not only did I never put up a fight, I didn’t even get anything in return. For any of this.

I guess maybe I could put a monetary value on my Guild education. I am not a literal idiot. But they didn’t teach me anything important. They didn’t teach me to suss out liars, or how to protect my eternal soul, or how to come to terms with my pre-planned future.

They just… kept me occupied. Like a… fuckin’… hamster on a wheel.

I’m a hen, I’m a hamster… I’m a fool .

I look up at Ryet and find him staring at me. His eyes are glowing gold . His body is black and purple, the color of a bruise. His wings like a bat. His hunger a vibration, a low one right now, but I can still feel it. “Did you hear me?”

Oh, I heard him. But hearing something and processing something are two very different things.

“I think you need to drink.”

These words should be coming out of my mouth. These words should be directed at the fucking vampire standing in front of me. He’s the one who drinks blood. Not me.

But I’m the one who needs it.

I’m sweating now. Profusely. My head is spinning and the dreamwalk is gone. Or whatever that was. It’s gone. Grandma is dead, Ryet is a vampire, and I am… a hen.

I’m making eggs inside me right now.

Eggs that will be used to make babies.

Babies that will be handed over to Paul so he can complete whatever it is he’s doing.

That’s what Ryet just told me. I am in the middle of a cycle. That’s why I’m sick.

And just as I realize this, I also realize that I’m in bed now. Ryet is placing a cold washcloth on my forehead. Then another around my throat.

I blink. Meet his gaze with clear vision. “What’s happening?”

He’s holding my mirror. The present Tristin gave me. The one thing that is mine. “I think this is how we get Paul out.”

I laugh. It’s borderline hysterical. Because of course it’s how we get Paul out. Of course it’s how we save his demon ass. This whole thing is about him . My life has nothing to do with me.

“You need blood, Syrsee.” Ryet is kneeling down on the bed next me. “Take a drink.”

I think I lost time. I think this because his words come out in a certain tone. Like he’s told me this before—which he has—and I’ve rejected the offer. Which I don’t remember doing. So I lost some time.

He’s lying down next to me now, pulling me towards him so we are face to face. Just inches apart. “It’s not my fault. You can’t blame me, Syrsee.”

He’s right about that. I can’t. He didn’t do this to me. I did this to myself. Every step of the way I made choices. This is how I got here. I made choices.

Still, I will blame Ryet for this until the end of my days. I will spend my life feeding him like a hen and when I am taking the long drink, I will still be blaming him. And when I stare into those now-gold eyes of his, I say this, but leave it unspoken.

And he hears me. Because he sighs. A long, tired breath of inevitability. “We’re both sick.”

I laugh right out loud.

“We’re both sick, Syrsee. We need each other. I’m not using you. You’re not using me. We’re just…”

“Using each other?” I’m surprised at how weak I sound.

“That’s one way to put it. But it’s more like… a symbiosis. It’s an alliance, Syrsee. We’re a team. We exist, not as singular people, but a pair.”

I might believe that if I hadn’t heard what else he was saying during my… episode of truth-facing. “You said we need to save Paul because he’s…” I shake my head, unable to come up with a word for what Ryet said. “He’s… part father? To this demon baby I must have?”

“Not exactly.”

I sit up. Straight up. Staring at those devil eyes of his. “Not. Exactly ?”

“He drinks. Josep drinks. I’m the only one who needs to?—”

“ Fuck me ?” I blink. And we stare at each other for what seems like forever. “That’s what you said, right? The four of us. Them drinking me?—”

“And you drinking them.”

“You say that like it matters, Ryet. Like I’m getting something out of this!”

He exhales. It’s a long one. “I didn’t create this game, OK? It wasn’t me. I’m just stuck in it like you are. I’m trying to?—”

“You’re trying to get me to accept the fact that you’re going to implant a demon baby inside me while your blood brothers drink my soul. That’s what you’re trying to do, Ryet.”

He shrugs. “Fine. If you want to see it that way, then fine. But I would like to see it another way.”

I laugh. “Oh, I’m sure you would.”

“I would like to see it as us saving each other.”

“I’m going to be impregnated with a demon , Ryet.”

“It’s not a demon, Syrsee. It’s a vampire. Like me. It’s like us. It’s ours. It will be ours .”

I’m repulsed. Just thinking about a vampire growing inside me makes me want to vomit.

“Paul is not going to take it to feed on. And let’s face it, if this wasn’t happening to you, then that would be the other outcome. You’re a Black witch. I didn’t make you a Black witch. Someone else did.”

“Paul?”

“I don’t know, Syrsee. I don’t have all the facts. I don’t have all the answers. All I can tell you is that we don’t have a choice. It’s either… you get pregnant. Like… now ”—he points at the ground when he says that last word—“or we’re both gonna die. Because if you don’t get pregnant, you die. And if I don’t have your blood, I die. This is the sick, sad reality of our lives.”

“Maybe we should die?” I shrug. “Maybe we’re supposed to die? Did you ever consider that maybe this is just a test and if we refuse to give up the last crumbs of our souls, perhaps there is a better future waiting for us?”

Ryet guffaws. “A better future where? Heaven , Syrsee? Are you really trying to convince me that if we kill ourselves tonight, we’ll save our souls and go to Heaven ?” He laughs again. “You’re not that stupid. I know you’re not.”

I want to fight with him. I want to scream at him. But I’m sick. And my head is not spinning now, it’s pounding. And even if I had the strength and fortitude to give up my life for my eternal soul, they’re not gonna let me.

He’s not gonna let me. I know this because he’s holding up the mirror. Right in front of our faces. I recoil at my reflection. I’m pale with black circles under my eyes. I look old, and worn down, and ugly.

That can’t be me. It can’t be.

“Just stare into it.” We lock eyes in the mirror.

And the moment we do this, reality shifts.

The bedroom is gone and in its place is the snowy clearing in the woods. Paul is right where he always is.

Sitting on the fallen tree trunk holding that baby.