7 - Syrsee
Carrots and sticks
The first page of the book is a mirror. And even though this is weird, it feels inevitable. A mirror. A mirror.
Amirror.
Looking into the mirror I see myself, but a moment later I see Ryet and Paul in a bed. Our bed. I mean, mine and Ryet’s. And since this is a book, I know what to do with the mirror. I enter it, of course. That’s what I’ve been doing with all the books since I came back to the Guild, so it’s practically a habit now.
And then I’m her, the woman in bed with Paul and Ryet, and we’re feeding and naked. All twisted together and writhing on the scarlet-stained sheets.
My eyes are closed and I enjoy the feeling of the pull coming out of both sides of my neck. It feelssogood. It has to though, doesn’t it? Because I’m not the kind of woman who has two men at once. It’s not my thing.
It wasn’t, at least.
But I find that I like being with Paul now. I desire him. Not in all the ways, but in this singular, specific way. I like being his food. I like being his… well, I’m not sure what I am to him or he to me. His part comes off as kind of custodial. A guardian. Which is ridiculous, because the word ‘guardian’ implies a level of protection and so far nothing about what has happened to me feels anything like protection.
Though I suppose it could always get worse.
“You think too much, Syrsee.” It’s not Paul who says this, it’s Ryet. Which is a clue. A clue that this isn’t real. But of course, I knew that. I literally stepped into a book. A story. A fiction.
This whole thing, it’s nothing but a fantasy. A good one, for sure. Butfake. I know this.
“You don’t know anything. You’re a baby, dear Syrsee,” Paul says. His face is right up against mine, smiling. And his teeth are dripping with my blood. “Nothing but a baby.” Then he laughs and dives back down into his meal, which is me.
My grandma’s words come back to me in this moment—magnificent promises.
It bothers me. Because while Paul did casually reference a few promises while we were making our way to this point in time, they have nothing to do with why I let him feed on me in these dreams. Nothing at all, actually.
I let him feed on me for the same reason I allow Ryet to do it too.
Because I like it.
It’s as simple as that. I let him do it because it feels good.
A hand slips between my legs and when I turn my head, Ryet is smiling at me. His mouth is covered in my blood too. And not for the first time I wonder… how long will it last?
How long will they desire me? How long before I lose whatever it is that attracts them? How long before I am an old, empty bag of skin that tastes like a bitter pill?
It’s going to end. Everything ends eventually.
“You don’t have to worry about that, dear Syrsee.”
I turn and look at Paul. At his bloody mouth and dancing eyes. “Why not? I mean, it’s a logical worry if you ask me. I’m not a vampire. I’m a Black witch. And Black witches get old, so why wouldn’t I? My blood will get stale. You’ll make more Black witches and they will be young, and sweet, and gullible.”
He places a hand on my cheek, still smiling. “So. You like it, do you?”
“It’s impossible not to.”
“Not impossible,” he counters. “But it’s very hard to fight the Darkness. Especially on your own. It knows, Syrsee. It knows exactly what you want. And it’s powerful enough to give it to you—at least temporarily. And it has no conscience, so it doesn’t care what you’re feeling. It doesn’t care if it chews you up and spits you out. And while all your desires are becoming manifest, you don’t care either. It’s the way of evil. It’s always been the way of evil.”
“This doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“No?” Paul laughs. “It wasn’t supposed to. All of this”—he pans a hand to the bed, and the blood, and Ryet, who is still feeding on me while his fingers dance between my legs—“all ofthisis meant to make you feel better.”
I blink. Because an understanding manifests. I blink again. “Where am I?”
Paul pets me like I’m a kitten. “You’re right here, darling.”
