by West, Sinden
Michael moved away, wiping at my juices on his face as I lay there panting, my body still shaking from my climax.
“Tell me the bid,” he whispered.
And like a toy, I obeyed. My eyes went to the discrete mirror on the ceiling and the words began to pour from me in a wave as torrential as the polluted river that ran through our city. I spoke of companies whom I had never heard of; used jargon that I did not know while Michael watched me with his keen eyes and prompted me for more information. Afterwards, he had sex with me. He was gentle, and it was almost as if he were making love to me. So much so that I let myself close my eyes and pretend that he was someone else.
I wasn’t aware if Lake was still in the room or not. I rode out my orgasm that Michael gave me before drifting off to dream of better things.
Chapter Five
I woke up later, groggy, with my head pounding. I was still in the room of the ritual; tucked into the soft bed.
“Here. It’s only water.” Lake stood beside the bed and offered me a glass as I slowly sat up. I gave him a cautious look before taking it from him. My mouth was parched, besides, the ritual was done. They had no reason to do me more harm until next time. I looked around the room; Michael was gone. Back to his wife perhaps, to discuss what they had learned and to plot and scheme as they reclined in their marital bed. Or, perhaps, they lay with their backs to one another, silent and cold with no love lost between them.
“Did he get what he needed?” I asked, bitterness and ice in my voice. Gone was the crying emotional girl of earlier. Deep down, that wasn’t the real me. I was made of sterner stuff.
“Yes.”
I drained my glass and placed it down on the bedside table. It was still night, and a dim lamp beside the bed gave the only light. On the floor, the red ritual skirt lay discarded, and that reminded me of the garland. I reached up to touch my head, feeling the flowers and their spiky thorns. As I dragged it from my hair, some of those the thorns caught painfully, but I didn’t stop until I was free of the creation, even as it ripped hair from my scalp. I let it fall to the floor to settle on top of the skirt with locks of my hair visible. What did it matter? Every time I entered this room it was like I left part of me behind.
“Did you get what you needed?” I asked Lake. It would have been wiser not to speak to him; every word that came from my mouth seemed to be laced with the hurt and humiliation that I felt.
“Yes.” His voice was quieter now, and he opened his mouth again almost to say something else but then stopped himself.
“I need another drink. A real drink.” I threw the bed covers aside and swung my nude legs from the bed. Who had covered me? Michael or Lake? Either way, it didn’t matter. I made my way to the carved armoire that I knew from past experience would hold a robe for me. Predictably, it was red, but at least it was soft against my skin, and warm. Wrapping it around my nakedness, I caught sight of myself in the mirror with my messed hair and bleak eyes. Why was I born with my most hated color suiting me the best out of every hue in the rainbow?
Lake was already pouring our drinks as I descended the steps to sit in the high backed leather armchair. He passed the strong liquor to me before taking a seat opposite me, as if he knew that I had no desire to be that close to him. I raised the glass to my lips and tipped it down my throat; it burned, but I did not let it show on my face.
“Another?” Lake merely asked, to which I gave a nod. Again, my glass was filled, and I drained it effortlessly. This time though, he sat on the leather ottoman beside me. His eyes watched me like I was some type of specimen.
“What?” I snapped out.
“You must have heard of the Scryers who have been sacrificed. Why don’t you let us protect you? We could—”
“Shut up,” I cut in. “Your ‘protection’ is for solely selfish purposes. Let’s not pretend that this is anything else.”
He stiffened. “You’re understandably angry, Ivy, but don’t be foolish.”
I felt the heat of anger stain my cheeks at how he spoke to me, but mostly, I despised his calm voice; it was as if he were speaking to a stranger when we had been so important to each other; or at least, so I’d thought.
“I’ll be just fine, Lake Corin. Don’t you worry about me,” I said simply, managing to keep the anger from my voice. I stood and walked past him to the bar. I grabbed a bottle and turned to head for the door; all I wanted to do was get very, very drunk.
But as I swung around, he caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I am not your enemy, Ivy,” he said quietly, to which I laughed at his gall.
I pushed him away, and he let go of me easily as I let out a laugh. “Yes, you are my enemy. You were born my enemy, and you just made it worse the minute you lied to me.” I strode past him, clutching at the bottle with tense fingers. All I wanted was the quiet of a room and to drink until I passed out.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t know what you were when we first met,” he called after me. I continued on, my face not showing any indication that I had heard or cared. As I rounded a corner, I came face to face with Felix.
“I’ll escort you back to your room,” he said in his cool tone.
“Fuck off. I think I know the way by now.” Storming past him, I knew that he would follow me all the same until I was safely back in the assigned bedroom like some kind of pet, locked away in case of trouble. I took the liberty of slamming my door in his face as he tried to bid me goodnight. I gained a very slight amount of satisfaction from that.
With the door safely closed, I slid down the length of the wall to sit on the carpet and began to drink. I should have showered off Michael’s touch and the shame, but there hardly seemed any point. A numb acceptance had overcome me long ago and fighting, pretending, or scrubbing my skin so hard that it nearly bled, made no difference.
As the bitter liquid splashed over my lips and spilt down my throat, I thought of Anne. She had been gutted with something like a hunting knife, the newspapers said. Always such a little thing, it would not have taken long for blood to pulse from her body in red and black, guts strewn about like an animal’s.
I swallowed vomit—and then drank some more. As a drunken haze overcame me, my mind involuntarily turned to Lake even as I tried to think of other things. A small laugh escaped me; my body did so many involuntary things in the presence of the Corin family. “Traitor, traitor, traitor,” I chanted drunkenly as the world began to spin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let my head rest against the wall.
I met him by the river—that polluted path of water that one of the Corin family’s factories pumped poisons and waste into as a direct ‘fuck you’ to any environmentalists. So many groups tried to take them to court and make them accountable, but the Corins were always one step ahead, thanks to my curse and me. Their enemies were destroyed—either through financial ruin or sheer embarrassment. At least one had killed himself. He had been a pastor having a homosexual affair with a seventeen-year-old male prostitute. Illicit photographs were emailed to every member of his conservative congregation, and his wife lost their unborn child not long after. I tried to avoid the news after that — otherwise the guilt would have driven me crazy. I started to drink a hell of a lot more, as well.
It was not long after that episode that I met Lake. There was a park not far from Magdalena’s house that bordered the river. It had become customary for me to sit on a bench shadowed by a tree and just stare at the water passing by me each evening after work. I would stay until the light faded and left everything gray. Then from my purse I would pluck the silver hip flask that had once belonged to my mother and lift it to my lips and force foul-tasting liquor down my throat until a lovely invincible feeling came over me. It was odd that I would keep something so shiny and reflective, but it was like a punishment each time I drank from it, enhancing my self-loathing.
That day, when the world around me became deserted by others rushing home to loved ones, I took out the flask. It was only as I took the first swig that I h
eard the voice.
“Care to share?”
I choked in surprise. The flask fell to the grass as I gave great heaving coughs, covering my mouth as my eyes watered. The interloper sat next to me like he owned the goddamned place. My first impression, through teary eyes, was to be struck by his good looks. It was rare to find someone perfectly formed…and so miserable looking.
His hands had been thrust into the pockets of his long winter coat, and he pulled one free and let it endure the cold in order to retrieve my flask. He held it up, inspecting it. It was a valuable piece of silver, that much I knew, and he paused to read the mark before giving a slight nod of admiration and drinking deeply. My first instinct was to snatch it back; I wanted to drink all of it and had no desire to share. But then it hit me that my affair with alcohol was, perhaps, slightly out of control and to act like that would confirm that I was well over the edge.
So instead I watched him arch his graceful neck as the silver touched his delicate lips, and he took a long drink. Beneath his expensive open coat, he wore what looked like a t-shirt and jeans paired with sneakers. It was a strange combination—a corporate style coat with casual clothes, as if he were trying to be two different people. And the casual attempt didn’t fit. His looks were too intense, his face too perfectly formed, and his eyes were old. Those eyes…they reflected how I felt, or maybe it was the alcohol in my system, but right at that moment it was like there was a reflection in those eyes that didn’t fit with the young face, and in them, all I saw was me.
When he had his fill, he passed it back to me, and I took it silently, snapping out of my fanciful and ridiculous thoughts.
“So,” he said as he replaced his hands back into the warmth of his coat pockets. “What’s your misery?”
His voice was smooth and had the accent of someone who was well-traveled and privileged. It was the kind of voice that made you sit up and pay attention.
“What makes you think that I’m miserable?” It was hard to keep my voice even. I didn’t know what it was, whether it was his looks or his air of confidence, that attracted me, but all of a sudden I felt stupid, just like all those girls that I had been to school and college with who had fawned over men to such an extent that every clever brain cell in their head had drained.
His pretty lips twisted into a slight smile. “You’re drinking out here alone in the cold. That doesn’t spell happy. That spells someone who’s about to throw herself into the river.” He didn’t say this like he cared, more like he was just stating fact.
“I wasn’t.”
He gave a shrug. “It’s of no consequence to me what you do. I just didn’t want you to waste good drink, plus, this is a nice flask. It would look good in my collection.” He took it from my cold hands to have another drink.
“You have a collection of flasks?”
He handed it back to me. “Not yet, but I figure everyone needs a hobby. What’s yours?”
“Boxes.” The word came from me automatically, like I didn’t have a choice. I took a swig then continued, “I collect ornamental boxes that serve very little purpose.”
As I handed the flask back to him, my skin brushed against his at the same time that the silver reflected…and there was nothing. No shimmering, no fog.
I hid a smile.
“Okay, box girl. It could be worse; it’s better than collecting shoes. I had a girlfriend once who collected shoes.”
“No, shoes are fine. Shoes are useful.”
“So are boxes. They’re good for hiding things in.” Then he lifted the flask upside down and not a drip appeared. “Sorry, box girl. I’ve cleaned you out.” He stood and tucked the flask into an inside pocket in his woolen coat.
“Are you really stealing my flask?” I raised an eyebrow at him. If he were, I probably would have let him.
“No, I’m just holding it hostage.” He reached out and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink to replace what I just drank, and if you want to still jump in the river…well…it’s lovely in the moonlight.”
“I wasn’t going to jump in the river,” I said, half laughing at his nerve. It was like everything was one big joke to him, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink before coming upon me and my flask.
“It’s all right if you were. We’ll come back in summer and go skinny-dipping if you like. It’ll be fun.” Suddenly, he twirled me around as if we were dancing. “Now, let’s go. We have to find the seediest bar this side of town, the kind where your feet stick to the floor and there’s been the same guy sitting at a bar stool for the last twenty years.”
“What’s your name?” I laughed, delighted at the fact that I couldn’t read him, while also charmed at his drunken, light-hearted nature.
“Lake.” He did a dramatic bow. “It’s fucking stupid, I know.”
I thought it was perfect. “I’m Ivy.”
His face stretched in a smile, showing perfect white teeth. “Ah, Ivy. Then it’s fate. We both have nature names. Are you a nature lover, Ivy?”
I couldn’t help the frown that came over me. “No, I’m more of a destroyer.” All the light and fun in him seemed to disappear as if slowly evaporating into the atmosphere. His smile faded as he tilted his head to watch me. His eyes were on me so intensely that I had to look away. I looked down at the ground.
His feet scrunched on the fallen leaves beneath us as he stepped closer to me. I felt his hands brush against my hair, and his lips were planted softly on the crease in my forehead. I looked up in stunned surprise. “Oh, Ivy,” he whispered. “So am I.” Nothing seemed to move then, it was as if everything were frozen in time. The wind didn’t blow and the river didn’t run. It was only us. There was nothing but that moment.
Then he cracked a grin and everything seemed to revert to normal, time moved again, and I could breathe. My hand was grasped firmly in his. “Come, Ivy. We had better go quickly. We have a lot of drinking to do to become happy once more.” He pulled me along beside him, and I was forced to run.
“Why aren’t you happy?” I called to him as our shoes crushed the dry leaves beneath us and the threatening darkness of night loomed around us.
He looked back at me with a smile. “It’s a secret, Ivy. I have to drink more before I tell you all my secrets.”
He never did tell me though. I had to figure them out for myself. I never saw him that drunk or crazy again either. That night, he led me to a dark bar filled with unsavory people who were down on their luck, and for once, I felt fortune shine on me. I felt light and free, and perhaps that was how my infatuation with Lake began.
He walked me home as dawn began to rise. It felt so strange to walk out of the dark of the bar and into the light. With my hand tucked into his, I felt special instead of odd, like neither of us belonged here but not in a bad way. When we arrived outside of my building, all I really wanted to do was drag him inside and strip him naked so I could explore every inch of him, to taste him and savor him. But for some reason, I felt shy. As if doing what I yearned to would ruin that perfect night that we had just spent together, as if we had something chaste and pure, and to introduce the carnal would be like breaking a spell. Of course, I wouldn’t find that out until much later that it would be true.
I was graced with a kiss on the cheek, and then he was gone, taking the magic of the night with him, and I was left alone with no promises on a deserted street with winter looming grimly in the distance. Days passed with no sign of him, and then one day, I came home, and there he was sitting in our tiny apartment charming Penzance.
My heart stopped and I couldn’t seem to exhale the breath that I had just taken. Penzance, in her short skirt and tight top, was practically purring; her body language placed all her attention on him. His eyes flicked up to where I stood in the doorway.
He didn’t smile, and that was all right because seeing him sober, I realized that his face was the type on which smiles seemed wrong. They interrupted his perfection and intensity and made him appear so
very human, when in fact he seemed modeled on a god of ancient lore and it would be fitting that he would remain as motionless and perfect as carved marble.
“Hello, Ivy. I’ve been out of town since I saw you last. I thought that I’d swing by.” And then his face broke into the most wonderful smile and I could forgive him for breaking that inhuman idea that I had of him.
Penzance twisted her head to me and mouthed, “Lucky bitch,” with glee on her face. She stood, smoothing her skirt down, and she gave me a knowing look as she left the room. Lake’s eyes didn’t follow her; they remained solely on me.
“Hi,” I breathed, struggling to accept that he was really there in front of me, just as I had struggled to understand how infatuated I had become with this person that I had met only once.
What did we do that day? We walked mostly, beside the river, before dining in a restaurant with a view of the city. I didn’t ask for a last name, nor did I tell him mine. My normal reserved self evaporated in his company as if he had cast a spell that I was powerless against. We spoke of nothing important, nothing personal, and in the early hours of the morning, when dawn was not far off, he escorted me home and left me again with just another chaste kiss.
I had never believed in soulmates, barely love even, however, the way I felt around this person who was a stranger suddenly made me finally understand. He invaded my thoughts like a disease in my brain, and I could think of little else.
But then later, with the benefit of hindsight, once the truth was revealed, the horrible thought occurred to me that perhaps the attraction was because of who he was. The Corin blood that pumped through him perhaps acted like some kind of elixir, transforming me into a girl who was addicted to being around him, a girl who thought she was in love with him…
The idea of me being so attracted to the Corin bloodline was in itself enough to want to make me cast myself into the river with only the poisons running in its waters able to cleanse me of that disease.
