Bite Marks

‘Remind me why we have sleep in your dark fucking greenhouse?’ Merrin asked as he hauled the wagon to the edge of the clearing.

Ryth’s greenhouse was normally a sight to behold, the first time Merrin had ever seen it, he could hardly believe his eyes. Even now there was a magic to the way it appeared before him once he placed the golden ring on its pedestal.

A deep purple glow emanated from the ring before spilling down the grooves of the pillar like a cascading waterfall and spreading out across the dead grass of the clearing. The web of light weaved itself into the perfect octagon on the earth, each point a solid beam of light that climbed up into the sky.

Shimmering support beams bridged the gaps between them and arched above Merrin’s head until they reached their peak in the centre. He’d seen it enough times to know that he had to move, but he was too tired and sluggish to do so with any speed.

He got out of the way just before a crackling burst of energy ripped through the air. Thick glass walls speared up from the ground, each pane looking as though it had been stolen from the night sky. The corner lights warped into pillars of obsidian so polished that Merrin could see his reflection on the surface.

Shadows shifted beyond the glass as the greenhouse stitched together its long-abandoned insides. Magic hung heavy in the air, its presence a foreboding comfort that enveloped him in an unfamiliar strength.

‘Because,’ Ryth said from beside him, ‘the magic here will help me recover my strength so that I can help you. That is what you want, correct?’

‘What I want,’ Merrin said with enough emphasis that Ryth knew exactly how he felt, even without their connection, ‘is to go to bed and sleep.’

‘You can, darling,’ Ryth said, running a clawed finger up his spine. ‘It just has to be inside the greenhouse. I set up a very comfortable bed for you.’

Gleaming metalwork laced itself into the glass, each panel depicting phases of the moon as they gently floated across the panes. He heard a soft twinkle, like wind-chimes in a gentle summer’s breeze, and he stared as a set of glass doors appeared on the pane before him. Beneath his feet, cobbles rose from under the fallen leaves, leading him right into the greenhouse. Before he could even reach for the handle, the doors creaked open.

‘Not as comfortable as my one in the Clocktower,’ Merrin said, earning him a glare from Ryth.

Merrin picked up the wagon and wheeled it inside. He hadn’t even gotten two steps inside before the smell of fresh blackberries and smoked hazel hit him. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, something akin to a warm hug and his favourite meal after a gruelling day.

‘I know you did not just liken your bed of straw to fur more expensive than that entire building is worth,’ Ryth said, trailing in after Merrin.

‘Is everything about money to you?’ Merrin asked, immediately knowing the response.

‘Says the thief,’ Ryth responded and swept in front of Merrin to hoist his satchel from the top of the wagon. ‘If you’re so tired then I suppose you won’t be wanting any treats before you lay down.’

‘You would withhold such a thing from me?’

‘I may,’ Ryth said, but his smile was too playful to be serious. ‘We can leave the unpacking until later. You should go and change out of those clothes to be more comfortable for the night.’

‘If you insist,’ Merrin said, and grabbed the knapsack with his night-clothes in, leaving the wagon near the door.

The greenhouse was split into four sections, each one getting an even segment, with another for the middle. Small gardens were cordoned off with stones, flora and fauna Merrin didn’t recognise peppered the beds within. Between the gardens were a selection of workstations and spots for relaxation.

A small fountain dripped fresh water from the wall opposite the door, and an arched trellis above it was wrapped in flowers that glowed a soft blue that Merrin could never remember the name of. A carved stone bench sat on the right side, a golden tray topped with two black glass chalices and an empty decanter with deep red dregs staining the bottom. Branches wrapped around the legs, winding up through the spindles on the back and curling above. Golden wires wrapped around in a loop, dazzling gemstones catching the low light and spreading prisms of colour across the black cobbled floor. Old parchment spilt from a once precarious stack, littering the area with pages coated in a sporadic scrawl of black ink.

On the left sat a stone table topped with a thick layer of black marble. Curling black tendrils of obsidian wrapped up the sides of the table, creating shelves and platforms perfect for holding ritual components and various trinkets he’d collected on the way. Each one shone with veins of deep purple that reacted to Merrin’s touch. At the very back of the table was a small pedestal, large enough to the glass dome that once contained Ryth’s crystallised skull.

None of that was of interest to Merrin right now, he was more focused on the soft pile of blankets and pillows in one of the garden beds. They’d cleared the plants the week prior in order to make room for a new ritual table, but the table proved too small for what they needed, leaving an empty space perfect for a nap pile.

Merrin kicked off his muddy boots and pulled out the clothes he needed from the knapsack. The journey over hadn’t been kind to his clothes, mud soaked the hems of his trousers and the rain had dampened his shirt the first few miles. Fortunately it had cleared up at the edge of the forest, but it still left him uncomfortably damp, something that he had been sure to let Ryth know every step of the way.

Peeling off his shirt, Merrin felt the warmed air of the greenhouse across his skin, but the feeling didn’t last long.

Chilled fingers traced over his ribcage and wrapped around his torso, the pinch of Ryth’s claws dangerously skirting across sensitive skin.

‘Ryth…’ Merrin warned.

‘What?’ Ryth asked against his neck. ‘Just a little bite won’t hurt. I have those tarts you like in my satchel.’

Merrin really should have known better than to accept such a bribe from Ryth, but they were his favourites, and Ryth was taking his weight like it was nothing. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?

‘Just a little bit,’ Merrin said and leant into Ryth’s embrace.

‘Thank you,’ Ryth said.

Razor-sharp fangs were against his neck within a second, obsidian tips piercing the thin skin as Ryth sank his teeth in. Blood draining from his body had become a familiar sensation by now, but he could feel the way it bolstered Ryth’s power, the whirr of his core a frantic, erratic thing that lulled Merrin’s eyes closed. His heart raced in his chest, his breath coming in small pants past his lips as Ryth drank just that bit more.