by Lyssa Dering
Seraphim’s jewel-like eyes have no life in them at all. His cheeks hold no color. “Don’t pretend you really care about me.”
I gasp. My poor baby! “I do care! I care so much.” Something terrible must have happened to make him this dejected and ill-looking. I kiss him on the top of the head.
Reluctantly, I leave him. I storm into the kitchen, gripping the towel at my waist hard. “You’d better tell me what made him scream,” I practically growl at Mercer. I haven’t been this angry since last week, when I caught a Love plant manager stealing my product and selling it on his own. And I ate him!
“This, boss,” says Mercer. “It was in the groceries. I didn’t buy it, I swear. I promise.”
Peering into the sink, I almost have a heart attack. It’s a brain!
I fasten my towel more securely around my waist, vibrating all over. “I didn’t earmark anyone!” I whisper, not wanting Seraphim to overhear.
“I know. I didn’t get this one for you. It was just…in the groceries. It was in this box.” Mercer retrieves some soggy cardboard from the floor.
I grimace. Disgusting! Is this soaked in…brain juice? I take the box from Mercer with my fingertips and turn it over. It doesn’t have a label or message or anything that might give me a clue as to where it came from.
I set the box on the edge of the sink before nudging Mercer. “Move, please. And get me a knife.”
I turn my attention to the brain. I pick it up, and it’s got the proper weight and texture for a brain. I bring it to my nose and sniff, and it smells real and fresh. I wash it under the tap.
Mercer holds out the knife, and I take it. I look behind me into the living room, where Seraphim is still sitting on the couch, staring. It pleases me he hasn’t tried to escape with Mercer and myself distracted, but I hate seeing him vacant like this.
“Please go watch Seraphim,” I say. “Make sure he doesn’t come in here.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” says Mercer.
I cut off a chunk of the brain’s cortex and pop it into my mouth. Mmm, yes, it’s a real brain. Not special, but nutritious nonetheless.
I swallow the bite and stare at the organ. Whose is it, though? Does it even belong to anyone? Maybe it’s like the other things in Wish City that simply appear, even as Wish slumbers. The bakery down the street, for instance, and the photographs of Wish’s family in City Hall. The sex toys, Wish’s shirts, the television with the looping clouds video…
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. This brain is different from those things! It isn’t about Wish. Yes, he has feared having his brain snatched from his skull since he was a child. But he put this one in the groceries! It’s clearly meant as food. And I’m the only person in Wish City who dines on brains.
I growl, slapping the metal edge of the sink. Is this a message? A warning? An attack? I did tell Wish that Seraphim was here. But maybe Wish didn’t need me to tell him. Maybe he knows everything after all. Maybe all I’ve done by putting him in a coma is barely restrain a god.
He’s supposed to be incapacitated! Trapped and useless. Only alive because I don’t know what will happen if I kill him. Wish’s theory, shared by his parents and the government, was that everything he’d made would disappear if he died. And it’s just that—a theory. But there hasn’t been a single other person born with Wish’s specific abilities, and even the barest chance that I’ll end up—poof!—gone is far from worth it. I will not succumb to nonexistence. I will not be nothing.
Panic wets my underarms and my brow, mixing sweat with the water droplets drying on my skin. I should put this brain in the refrigerator so it doesn’t go to waste. But opening the door, the cool air hitting my skin, I see there isn’t a single spot empty now that Seraphim’s food is in there.
I scowl. I grip the knife handle hard and hack at the brain, slicing off piece after piece and wolfing them down.
How dare he! How dare Wish torment my specimen so. If only I could stay home and console Seraphim, watch him, make sure he doesn’t stay depressed. He seems overly unsettled for having simply seen a brain, but after getting upset during the tour earlier, he must be overwhelmed. My fragile little doll. I don’t know what I’ll say to calm him down, or how I’ll explain the existence of a human brain in the groceries…
By the time the brain is gone, I’m uncomfortably full and in an awful mood. Usually eating a brain boosts my spirits considerably, but this one feels heavy and wrong in my stomach.
I want to stay home! Maybe it’s time to choose one of my soldiers to perform my Love plant duties. Now that I have Seraphim here, I don’t need the plants to keep me occupied. But this isn’t a decision I can make without some thought, and I should remember that Seraphim’s presence in my home is temporary. Perhaps he will come to see me as trustworthy, as a lover he wants to touch again and again. But he’ll still be a meal. I won’t be able to keep myself from eating him at some point, and before he dies, he’ll learn the truth.
The only question now is, will Wish be the one to show him that truth, with his little grocery bag tricks? Or will it be me, petting Seraphim’s tear-soaked cheek and looking into his eyes as he learns I’m a monster?
I’ve only known Seraphim a short time, yet my heart bruises at the thought of losing him. And why? Because I held him in sleep? Because he is the first man in this Universe-forsaken dimension to show mutual interest in me?
I am a pathetic, lonely creature. Seraphim will be able to learn that truth without anyone leaving him clues.
I enter the living room on slow feet, feeling hopeless. Mercer trains his eyes on me, but Seraphim doesn’t. He’s lying on his side on the couch now, palms pressed together under his cheek. So cute. Sulking like a child, a precious angel, the most adorable food I could ever ask for.
I don’t deserve him.
“Need anything, boss?” Mercer’s voice brings me back to reality.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I say. “Then I’ll be leaving.” The sun’s still out, but I want to get my obligations over with. And maybe pay Wish a little early visit and talk to the physician overseeing his care to make sure she hasn’t turned on me and decreased his sedation. The Universe doesn’t love me, but if my problems can be fixed simply by eating her, I will be forever grateful.
“You’ll watch Seraphim while I’m gone, Mercer,” I continue. “Keep him safe and in the house. And please cook for him if he doesn’t want to do it himself.”
“You got it,” says Mercer.
“I can cook a damn steak,” Seraphim grumbles.
I don’t pat him on the head like I want to, but only because I’m afraid he’ll bat me away again or ignore me completely. At the moment, I’m not feeling strong enough in my heart to deal with that.
“I’ll be back soon.” I smile at him instead. “Mercer will take good care of you.”
“Whatever,” Seraphim says, and rolls over so his back is facing me.
6
Sera
I end up not having the steak. After seeing a human brain live and in color, the bloody meat turns my stomach. Momentarily forgetting that I couldn’t use my power didn’t help. Panic is one of the worst feelings in the world—lungs starving, breath short, heart pounding through every fiber and sinew, like some great big gong of war. I used to be able to get rid of that feeling as soon as it started, but today, I only added to it. The throbbing in my temples subsided as always, but I’ve still got a faint headache. I hardly feel up for eating or, honestly, doing anything at all.
But I decide to make pasta. That fruit and grain bar wasn’t enough to completely rid me of the empty feeling in my gut, and cooking gives me an excuse to be in the kitchen while Mercer stays in the living room, messing around on his phone. After putting a pot of water on the stove, I dig the magnetic letters out of my pocket and dump them onto the chrome counter. Given the words on that disgusting, soggy box and the refrigerator were anagrams of each other, I’m thinking there might be a more meaningful anagram hidden inside the magn
ets.
I put the letters in alphabetical order: A, B, D, E, E, E, F, I, N, R, W. I spell a few words: BEEF, DEER, BRAID, FADE. Then I make “BRAIN,” and I get stuck on that for a while, but the remaining letters don’t seem to spell anything that makes sense when I put all the words together.
Once the water boils, I pour the pasta (“FARFALLE (BOW TIE)”) into the pot and then go back to the letters.
As soon as I look at them again, scattered in their nonsensical, multicolored cluster, one word jumps out at me: FIEND. Quickly, I isolate the rest of the letters and try as many combinations as I can find. WEAR BE, WAR BEE, BEAR WE, ARE WEB. I spell word after word after word…
Then I hit on BEWARE. As I slide the blue “E” into place, my whole scalp tingles. My stomach goes cold.
FIEND BEWARE. BEWARE FIEND.
A hiss tells me my pasta is boiling over. I race to the stove to turn down the heat. I find a spoon in a drawer—metal, because apparently, that’s all Fiend has—and carefully scrape off the bow ties stuck to the bottom of the pot.
I go back to the letters, fingering my bottom lip restlessly. I’ve always taken pride in my intuition; I mean, I never miss anything. How many years have I spent looking out for unmarked goon cars or a twitch in a potential hookup’s face that says he knows too much about me? And this? “Beware Fiend?” It’s obviously a warning. It can’t be anything but a warning, and if Wish is responsible for all the weird shit in this house, then doesn’t the message have to be from him? Mercer seemed just as shocked as I did about the brain, so I doubt he was the one who delivered it. And Fiend… Fiend was a mess. Buzzing around like a manic hornet and doing Universe-knows-what to that brain. All I know is it’s gone now, and the trash can by the stove is lined but empty.
Taking a deep breath, I put the letters back on the refrigerator, careful to mix them up. Then I go stand in front of the stove, wiggling my bare toes against the linoleum while I scowl at the boiling water as it roils over my pasta.
It’s possible the letters contain more than one message, I guess. Maybe I only found that combo because I’ve been suspicious of Fiend. But I tried spelling a lot of different words, and my gut says this is right. I wish I could tell my brain to get rid of the sharp, fear-induced nausea that’s swimming around in there.
If Wish sent this message, then Fiend was lying. All that stuff about how he’s in charge of Wish City in Wish’s place, and Wish telling him to make sure “people like me” have a smooth transition—it was all bullshit, wasn’t it? Which isn’t that big of a shock, but what the fuck does Fiend want from me then? Is it just about sex? Or does he have some plan to hurt me in ways that don’t involve choking me while I get off?
Running my fingers over my still-sore throat, I get tired suddenly. I could be in immediate danger—something horrible could be coming for me. But I don’t have enough information about Fiend or this world to figure out anything concrete about it at the moment. I’m trapped in this house, helpless and alone. Apparently, Wish is on my side, but if all he can do is send me messages that barely make sense, how is he going to help me? How am I going to help myself?
I planned to search for an escape route. Maybe there’s a hidden doorway somewhere in the house, a window obscured, something. Will Mercer be careless enough to believe an excuse for me explore the whole house? I can probably get a better look at one or two rooms, maybe more if he’s the dumb muscle type of goon. Maybe Mercer has a weapon I can steal to get the upper hand. But on the off-chance I’m able to escape while Fiend is gone, do I really want to be out there where I have no clue where to go and no one to contact?
Maybe, for the time being, I should wait things out. See if I can learn more about Fiend’s motives while secretly making a more responsible plan for getting out of here. At the very least, I should gather some supplies: food, clothes, water.
I shut off the burner and take the pot to the sink to drain it. Glancing up at the ceiling, I notice for the first time that a cluster of bird silhouettes decorate one corner.
“You need to give me something more,” I whisper harshly. “This place you made is really fucking confusing, Wish.” If I thought he could actually hear me—and if I didn’t feel like curling up in the fetal position right here on the floor—I might go on a hissing rant about all the things he told us in the hideout to keep us from killing ourselves, and how every single one turned out to be bullshit. Fiend may be a liar, but honestly, so is Wish.
Fiend
Nothing seems amiss at City Hall. Nothing seems amiss with Wish’s physician, either. And while it’s impossible to really know if she’s given me a false report, if I start looking at all my soldiers like enemies, I’ll turn into a full-blown lunatic quick!
The important thing is Wish is still asleep. I slapped him across the face a few times just to be sure, and while his heartbeat went crazy, he didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flutter his eyelashes or twitch a finger. And Dr. Wyatt was calm and collected no matter what questions I threw at her. I even asked her outright if she’d done something different with his anesthesia, and she tried to show me a chart. She’s very professional.
Going to all my Love plants is particularly grating today, however. For the first hour, the brain breaking down in my belly gives me indigestion and puts bile in the back of my throat, and every single manager or assistant manager has a comment about how I’m up and about during the day. They’ll get to go home early. Isn’t that wonderful? I should do this more often!
No, and I don’t care. Although I suppose that’s hypocritical considering I’m only out in the afternoon so I can get home to Seraphim sooner. I want to hold him close and pretend we’re lovers for a little while longer before Wish ruins everything.
Luckily all is well with the Love plants. The flowers are growing big and strong, and production’s on schedule. The east plant had an issue with one of their distributors succumbing to addiction, but this happens sometimes, and the way I see it, he’s paying us now instead of me paying him. Wish City is never short on people wanting to get into the Love business, which is the largest and most lucrative industry here and where all the power lies. I have the biggest house in the whole dimension, the highest number of employees, and here, there isn’t a government, so I don’t have to pay taxes. (Only Wish knows why he decided to make a building called City Hall.)
On the way home, sitting in the back seat while Neisha drives, I check over the financial reports on my phone. Money’s better than ever. With a few taps, I give everyone who works for me a little bonus, just to keep them loyal.
Immediately, a ding sounds inside the car. A muffled, female, robotic voice coming from the front seat says, “Bank deposit: six hundred credits.”
Neisha grins at me via the rearview mirror. “Thanks, boss!”
Her joy makes me smile, even if the expression is fleeting. “You’re very welcome, Neisha.”
I lean my head against the tinted window and close my eyes, trying to remember Seraphim’s scent and the feel of him beneath me. It’s different when they’re willing; I know this now. It changes the energy, makes it more potent. It was as if I could feel his soul, as if he was trying to hand me just a tiny bit of it. He wasn’t running away, emotionally or otherwise, like the man I bound, doing everything he could to keep me from the heart of him.
When I inquired as to Seraphim’s well-being after he saw Wish’s gift, though, I felt how shuttered he was. He didn’t want me anywhere near him. My nose burns faintly with the hint of tears, and I rub along the bridge until it goes away. No, I won’t cry for Seraphim. It’s shameful enough that I’ve often sobbed in anguish thinking how I may never get to have Wish as prey. If I want to stoke my yearning for Seraphim, however, all I have to do is crack open his skull and dig in. He’s already mine, and unlike Wish, he doesn’t have the power to snuff me out with a single thought upon waking.
Neisha slows in front of my house’s iron gate and shifts the car into Park.
I put my hand on the door h
andle. “Thank you, N—”
“Boss?” she asks.
I tighten my grip but attempt a carefree expression. “Yes?”
Neisha turns in her seat to look at me past the headrest. “Is everything going okay with the specimen?”
I tilt my head. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” My voice comes out a little too high-pitched.
“You just don’t seem very happy. Is there anything I can do?” I see nothing but innocent concern in Neisha’s big, brown eyes, and I don’t know what to do with it. Never has one of my soldiers asked me such a question.
“Neisha, I will let you know. But there is no reason to be worried about me.”
She smiles. “Okay, boss.”
I step out into the wretched sunlight.
This is one of the few times I’ve looked upon my house during the day. Wish made it for himself, I think, so it isn’t as ominous as I’d prefer, even with its lack of windows. It could do with some ravens and gargoyles, or at least some stone lions flanking the door. And I could have it all, probably, if I moved. My soldiers tell me there’s a suburb that’s cropped up twenty miles to the north, but, well…sometimes it’s as if Wish takes care of me here. It’s probably wishful thinking on my part since I’ve made him a prisoner in his own head and am nothing if not his natural enemy, but why else would he have removed the windows after I moved in? And isn’t my rightful place underneath his bed, even if he isn’t there to sleep on it?
Not that I have affection for Wish. I hate him most of the time. And if our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t have removed the windows.
Inside, I’m on edge when I don’t immediately see Seraphim. When I call out for Mercer, his voice reaches me from further inside the house. I find him sitting on a chair outside the master bedroom, the door of which stands slightly ajar.
“He’s in there,” says Mercer, and points at the door. “Thanks for the bonus, by the way.” He grins, showing me his white teeth.
“You’re welcome, Mercer. Thank you for watching my specimen. Now, you may leave.”
