I don’t know what these jars are about, but before he ate them, he looked like a man. Mostly. And after he ate them, he looked like this.
A demon. A vampire. Because that’s what he is.
No, Syrsee.That’s what he’s always been.
It’s Paul’s voice in my head now. Real or imaginary, doesn’t matter. Because it’s true. Ryet was never a man. He was always a potential vampire.
And now, after a long sequence of events that culminated with the eating of whatever was in these jars, he’s reached some kind of… stasis. A state of… completion?
Doubtful. But he’s much further along than the last time I was awake.
I look down at the vials again. Maybe if I drink these potions it will change me into whatever I’ve always been too? Isn’t it better to just embrace the inevitable? So I can get past it and move on?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I uncork the tops and line them up on the counter. Then, one by one, I drink them like I’m doing shots of tequila.
They are very small amounts. Maybe a teaspoon each. So it’s all over in a matter of seconds.
I wipe my mouth, trying to decipher the lingering aftertaste.
It’s not bitter. It’s actually kind of sweet.
This is when I hear the crunching of gravel outside. I go to the window, pull the curtain back, and see a matte-gray Jeep, almost glowing in the moonlight. It looks more like one of those tricked-out off-road things than anything one might drive on the daily.
The driver’s door opens and Tristin steps out.
“Holy shit.” These words come out on a breath as I’m rushing to the door. He cannot come in here. I know he understands that Ryet is here, and he probably knows a lot more than me about what Ryet actually is—but he isnotcoming in here.
I pull the door open, step outside, and close it behind me.
Tristin is already walking up the stairs. So we’re looking each other in the eyes as this all happens.
“What are you doing here, Tristin? I told you guys I need some space.”
“I came to bring you this.” This is when I notice he’s holding a wooden box. Maybe six inches long by six inches wide, but thin and shallow too. One or two inches in depth.
“What is it?”
He thrusts it towards me. “A present. From the Guild.”
I don’t know what to say. I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to add this puzzle piece to the big picture trying to take shape before me.
“Take it, Syrsee. It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”
I don’t take it. I don’t think I want it. But I don’t think I have a choice, either, because Tristin sets it down on the top step and then turns and walks back towards that Jeep.
“Hey,” I call out.
He lets out a long sigh. Slowly turning his head towards me. Looking very… weary.
Maybe he’s faking it, but I can’t tell, so it comes off real.
“What?”
“Why, Tristin? Why is all this happening?”
He gives a very small shrug. “I know more than you about some things.” Then he nods his head towards the box. “But I have no idea what that is. I’m just a fuckin’ messenger, Syrsee. I’m just a fuckin’ errand boy.”
Then he gets back in his Jeep, backs up, making the gravel fly out from under his tires, and drives back down the way he came.
I stare at the empty driveway for a moment, then resign myself to this new twist of fate, pick up the box, and take it inside.
