Chapter 27
Aster slept for twenty consecutive hours. This was insane for many reasons.
Firstly because vampires don’t actually need to sleep, and secondly because Sylvia stuck next to her the entire time, right up until the final hour, when her foot had fallen so deeply asleep that she thought she was going to have to saw it off her body.
Apt metaphor.
Garbage. That was pretty much how she felt.
Physically. Emotionally. She felt like her soul had been beaten with a baseball bat and then stepped on by those metal-spike boots humans wore in the winter.
Those shoes were so ugly. And unnecessary.
Was it really that hard to have a sense of balance?
Sylvia enjoyed walking full-speed in six inch stilettos on the ice just to prove this point every winter.
She was regularly on the local news for it.
Thinking about humans and their embarrassing little ice-poking instruments, Sylvia eventually managed to wiggle out of Aster’s grip, feeling both relief and a crushing sadness once she was free of it.
Standing up and shaking out her limbs, Sylvia caught a view of herself in her standing mirror—and froze in place when she noticed Aster’s handprint red and swollen against her stomach.
She had been holding her so tightly, it’d left a mark.
Sylvia wanted to scream.
…But she didn’t want to wake Aster.
If that wasn’t a perfect description of her life, she didn’t know what else was—fury so hot in her chest that she could tear her own heart out, stamp on it with ice-spikes, but she didn’t. She didn’t because she didn’t want to scare the one single precious thing she had.
So she plucked her phone off the nightstand, and walked out of the room.
I really need a new case she thought as she looked at the long crack running from top to bottom.
You might never see Aster again after today, and you’re worried about a new case, she thought afterward.
Please for the love of god give me a moment of peace, she instructed her insufferable mind, slouching on the couch and flying to , because that’s what she did when she wanted to avoid worrisome thoughts and inevitabilities—online shopping.
Almost twelve separate cases made it into her cart before that bubbling sensation in the back of her skull got too loud, and she was forced to deal with reality. She groaned audibly, just loud enough to feel better but not enough to wake Aster, and opened iMessage.
Thumbing over to Ginger Dracula, she bit down on her lip when she saw half a dozen messages were already waiting for her. She ignored them all except the last one.
ginger dracula: Effect’s not going to last much longer, I’m almost out of radius. I delayed Richard as much as I could but he’s insistent we go back to Florida. Is your thrall good yet?
Is your thrall good yet. Sylvia almost bit the phone. This woman was so—
Sylvia: remind me to actually let Aster kill you next time.
The truth was, she wasn’t sure Aster could kill Yasmine. Or even really injure her. Sylvia was absolutely going to have let her try—it would be her equivalent of whatever men felt at a sports game—but she had good money that Yasmine would have wiggled out of it just like she always did.
ginger dracula: i’ll take that as a yes, then.
ginger dracula: so are we going to talk about the fact that you just tried to steal my family fortune from underneath my feet, or are you going to block me again?
Sylvia’s lip twitched in amusement. She had been hoping to get under Yasmine’s skin with that one. Unfortunately, given present circumstances, she couldn’t enjoy it very much.
Sylvia: the family fortune i helped you create? ok. also, i figured you were done with richard. old news, you know? i mean, you did divorce him. very publicly.
ginger dracula: divorce is just a way for a woman to get a man’s money without having to see him on a regular basis, Sylvia. you should know that.
Sylvia: fair. maybe i did pick him just to piss you off, a little bit. but mostly because we’re out of money, and i’m tired of being out of money.
ginger dracula: don’t give me that excuse. you two are always, perpetually, consistently, out of money. literally since the 1400s. it’s a lifestyle choice at this point. now let’s talk about the real reason you picked richard. i’m running out of texts. i have a limited plan.
Sylvia’s mouth dropped open. Not because Yasmine had seen right through her, but because of that last sentence.
Sylvia: a limited text plan??? what century are you living in? you can get unlimited data for like ten dollars a month, and you have alimony from a billionaire
Yasmine didn’t reply. Probably to save texts. Sylvia groaned.
Sylvia: fine. i wanted to fuck with the Council.
ginger dracula: hm. try again.
Sylvia scowled at her phone.
Sylvia: what happened to you saving texts?
No reply.
Sylvia: i hate you so much you infuriating cavewoman
No reply.
Sylvia’s heart began to racket in her chest. Fuck Yasmine for making her say it.
Sylvia: ok. fine, you sadist - i figured if i climbed to the top of the council’s stupid little hierarchy, one of their wonder-vampires could help me with my problem.
Sylvia: my… Aster problem.
ginger dracula: there it is.
Sylvia’s insides boiled. She was about to tell Yasmine to go fuck herself, when she got another expensive, limited-edition text from the other woman.
ginger dracula: do you still believe that? that you need someone else to fix it?
Sylvia churned her teeth.
Sylvia: you’re asking me if i think the curse i’ve tried to break for six hundred years is suddenly a mental health problem i can fix with cognitive behavioral therapy? yes, Yasmine, sure it is.
ginger dracula: have you ever *tried* cognitive behavioral therapy?
Sylvia: i tried bloodletting, leeches, and having my ear amputated. i can’t imagine it’s any more effective than those.
ginger dracula: i cannot stress how unrelated those things are to your mental health
Sylvia rolled her eyes. She threw her phone onto the other side of the couch, and went to get herself something from the fridge. She was hoping to find anything alcoholic—or maybe just straight up poison, that would be nice—but all that was left were Aster’s favorite iced green teas.
The sight softened her instantly. And that softness bored a hole in her, one that let all the rot rise to the surface. She stampeded in her slippers back to the couch and picked up the phone. She found several texts from Yasmine waiting for her.
ginger dracula: Sylvia? hello?
ginger dracula: let me guess, you just grabbed a whiskey
Sylvia: oh, fuck you. i grabbed nothing because there’s nothing in the fridge.
and there’s nothing in the fridge because i’ve been so fucking preoccupied with the fact that for the first time in my entire life, i can actually seem to kiss Aster without her blacking out on me.
i can hold her and touch her and she actually remembers.
Sylvia’s fingers were trembling by the time she sent the text. Yasmine didn’t reply for several seconds, and Sylvia feared for a moment that she’d run out of texts.
ginger dracula: Sylvia… isn’t that a good thing?
Sylvia: what? no, it’s not a *good thing,* asshole. do you know how much more it’s going to hurt when it inevitably happens again? when we go back to zero?
Sylvia: i can barely keep it together when she tries to kiss me every hundred years. i don’t think i can bear it if she tells me that she loves me again.
Sylvia’s fingers tightened so hard around her phone that the crack turned into a full fracture, splintering the pixels.
ginger dracula: but have you considered that maybe the suggestion won’t happen again? you’ve unwound her this time. all the memories are there. there’s nothing left to hide from.
Sylvia swallowed.
Sylvia: not all of them. not bucharest.
She saw Yasmine typing, but she threw her shattered phone to the couch before she could see what she was about to say.
Because Sylvia already knew what it would be.
Some version of it doesn’t matter, Sylvia.
And Yasmine could be right. None of it could matter to Aster.
But that didn’t change the fact that even if Aster forgave her for everything, for all of it, it could still happen again.
This whole cycle could repeat. And Sylvia could be back at square one.
And then she’d have to do this again. And again, she’d have to watch Aster realize she was missing moments of her life. And again, she’d look at Sylvia like Sylvia had stabbed her. And again, Sylvia would want to stab herself. Masochism was one thing—this was another.
So it didn’t matter what Yasmine thought. The plan was still on.
She was going to get Richard Ashcroft’s fucking number, and she was going to ride that golden ticket all the way up to the top of the vampire foodchain.
***
An hour later, Aster woke up to the sound of Sylvia loudly washing dishes in the sink.
Which was a weird sound to hear, because they had a dishwasher that Sylvia swore by religiously. In fact, ever since the invention of it in 1850, Sylvia never laid her hand on a sponge again—they’re festering with germs, Aster—even though Aster kept one by the kitchen sink.
“Sylvia?” Aster called out.
She felt a pit of disappointment roll around in her stomach that Sylvia hadn’t been lying beside her when she woke up. But Aster couldn’t exactly blame her. She had no idea how long she’d been out for. A quick glance at the clock said it had to be hours—maybe days.
She had never blacked out like that before—so completely, so dreamlessly, just a long black window of nothing. She wondered if that was how mortals slept. Like rocks, hovering near death.
“Coming, coming,” Sylvia said in a huff.
When Sylvia finally ambled into the room, she was wearing a soap-soaked apron, her hair high in a messy bun, and her cheeks tinted an adorable red, like she’d been really exerting herself.