Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
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.