“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. Butthat’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?
