Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
There’s a part of me that thinks my doubt is absurd. I mean, she’s a Black witch and she’s filled with the blood of two old and powerful vampires. Not to mention whatever magic was done to her with those jars and vials we consumed back at my cabin.
But there’s a limit. There has to be a limit to this protection, if that’s what is. This ability to live long past your scheduled demise, and then come back, even better than ever.
Which is a relative term.
This is when I start thinking about me.
I’m… a vampire.
Which should not be a shock, considering all the decades it took to bring me across this finish line. But it is.
I am a vampire.
Not some creature in a book. Not some actor in a movie.
This is my life.
And I have wings.
I’m lying in bed next to Syrsee, who hasn’t moved at all from the position I put her in, but I’m sitting up, resting against pillows, so I can see my body. And it’s not the blue-black bruising body, either. I’m pale to the point of almost being silver. And there isn’t a bite mark on me, thanks to Syrsee’s blood. “What does it all mean?”
“It means you’re complete.”
I look over at the open door and find Paul staring back at me. He looks the same. Beautiful. Dangerous. Predatory.
“Oh, come on, Ryet. Let it go.” He comes in my room without asking and walks over to the bed, bending down to pet Syrsee’s head as he looks at her with adoration. “You’re magnificent. Admit it.” Then he looks back up at me.
We just stare at each other for a while. I don’t know what he sees in me, but in him I see the truth. That he is evil. That I am evil. And Syrsee is, too. “We do not belong in this world.”
Paul scoffs. “It is them who don’t belong here, Ryet. This realm belongs to us.” He stands up, walks over to a massive wingback leather chair, and sinks down into it, crossing his legs and leaning on one of the wide arms as he props his head up with a hand. He looks tired, but exuberant at the same time. “You know what I don’t understand about you, Ryet?”
“Tell me.” My reply doesn’t come out snide or condescending like it used to and I’m surprised to realize that I actually want to hear what he doesn’t understand about me.
“All that church-boy shit you did growing up and you never found it. I mean, it’s all spelled out in there, Ryet.”
“Spelled out in… where? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“See?” He points at me. “This is what I mean. Your… innocence? It’s adorable.” Then he laughs, because I’m getting irritated and I think it’s leaking out of me as red light from my eyes, because Paul will not stop staring at me. “The truth, Ryet. It’s right there.” He pans a hand across the space in front of the chair as if the truth is something tangible that can be with us in this room.
“Why do you have to be so cryptic, Paul? Why can’t you just say what’s on your fucking mind with as few words as possible?”
“Like you?” He chuckles.
“Yeah. Like me. It would save a lot of time.”
“I’m a poet, Ryet.”
This makes me guffaw. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I like symbols, and nuances, and allegories, and, of course, the playfulness of a good double entendre.”
“Well, I like candid, forthright, plainspoken truth.”
“‘If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, and—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.’” He smiles at me.
I just sigh.
“I’m Kipling, Ryet.”
I roll my eyes. “OK.”
“You’re a textbook. Both are good in their own way. I make beautiful things, such as yourself. But you? You just want to peel back all the layers of that beauty and see the bloody inner workings. Which is fine with me. As a poet, I can appreciate the abstract elegance in scientific illustrations.”
“Anyway.” Why do I even bother trying to talk to him? “You were saying? About me missing something in the church?”
He sighs now. It’s a long one. “One day you’ll understand. One day you’ll see all the symbols and nuances that I planted along the way.” Then he gives me a sad smile and a long moment of silence. I’m just about to demand he tell me about the truth about what I’m missing when he speaks again. “This is a place of evil, Ryet. You know this, but I’m telling you again. This is the Kingdom of Darkness. It says as much in the Book. There is no goodness here. It’s not meant to be good because this place is not meant for us.”