A moan from the bedroom draws my attention and when I enter the bedroom, I find Syrsee covered in sweat.
“No.” I say this out loud, trying to give the word power. But I already know that I’ve made a big mistake. I go over to her, place my hand on her wet forehead, and find her cold.
My heart thumps inside my chest, ready to panic. But I force myself to stay calm. Cold is better than hot, isn’t it? Plus, she’s not dying. She’s not human, so she’s not dying. She’s going to live to be very old. This is not the end. Paul did not just tell me how to kill her—heneedsher.
It’s this last thought that finally snaps me out of the urge to panic. Paul needs her. He would not have gone to all this trouble if all he wanted to do was kill her.
I go back out in the kitchen and read the labels in the jars again. Then pick up the one that says ‘Chills.’
I eat it as I’m walking back into the bedroom. Then I sit next to her, bite the palm of my hand, and put it over her lips.
She reaches up and grabs my arm, pulling it down to her mouth. And this reaction is so sudden and unexpected, and I am so on edge, that I nearly pull away. Especially when I realize that she’s not awake. Her eyes are still closed. But I calm down, get a hold of myself, and watch as she feeds on me like I’m food.
It’s kind of erotic. I can feel her pulling the blood out of my hand and it sends a weird sensation through my entire body. Mymind swims and floats and I have a sudden urge to drink her dry. Not a sip, but all of her.
Then I nearly laugh out loud. Because of course I do! ‘Thirst’ is a label on a jar in my kitchen.
I grab it, milk the blood from Syrsee, mix it in, eat it.
Relief.
But then I hear gasping from the bedroom and at the same time, I’m looking at the jar on the counter that says ‘Gasping.’ I don’t even hesitate this time. I bite, I milk myself, I mix. I eat. I go back into the bedroom, teeth already puncturing the skin on my palm, and I hold my hand over Syrsee’s mouth. She’s too busy grabbing at her throat, trying to breathe—eyes still closed—to grab at me this time. But when I place my hand over her mouth the instincts kick in and she feeds.
A few moments later, she’s breathing normally again.
But this time, her feeding doesn’t elicit an unwanted erotic response. This time she sucks all the energy out of me. I barely have enough strength to pull my hand away and stand up. And it takes a real, concentrated effort to make my way back out to the kitchen and open the lid on the jar labeled ‘Fatigue.’
Only the understanding that this Black magic is going to help me makes it possible for me to bleed myself out yet another time and mix my blood into the pudding.
I eat it. And from the very first spoonful, I feel stronger. By the time I’m done, I feel like a brand-new man. Or, rather, a brand-new monster.
There is only one jar left. ‘Purging.’ And if the pattern holds, this one is for Syrsee. I prepare the pudding with my blood and then grab a bucket from the little kitchen closet, put some water in it, and take it into the bedroom.
Syrsee is sleeping, but it’s coming, so I’m ready.
And by the time she’s done with her purging, her fever is gone, her face is flushed pink with blood, and she is the most beautiful creature that ever lived.
But really, the point is that by the time she’s done I have eaten all the jars and she has eaten me.
I want to be pissed off about this. I want to hate Paul for what he just did to us—even though I don’t even understand what he just did to us. But I can’t be angry with him. Not anymore. I don’t feel it. I want to see him. I want to save him. I want…
“Ryet?”
I startle at the voice, because I’m looking down at Syrsee as this word appears. And it’s not coming from her.
“That’s what he calls you, right?”
I look up and find Jane standing at the end of the bed.
She leans forward a little. “Can you see me?”
I nod.
“Can you… talk?”
I nod again.
“So… are you going to?”
