Cinnamon and Copper by E. J. Sidle

When I see him, my mouth fills with teeth. I can’t smell him, not through the bars and layers of spellwork, but I remember the scent of his blood—cinnamon and copper. I want to kiss him, want to slit his throat and drink him dry. I’m not sure which one I want most.

It must show on my face, because he smiles. No self-preservation. I always liked that about him.

“Hey, bloodbag,” I whisper.

“Don’t call me that,” he chastises, still smiling. “You look like shit. They feeding you?”

“No,” I hiss. “Preemptive measures. If I feed, I’m strong enough for a prison break.”

He starts talking, but I’m not listening. Instead, I watch the way his throat moves when he swallows, the bags under his eyes, the soft flush on his skin. He’s so alive, and I’ve never wanted to gut him more.

I think I love him, and I hate him. I definitely want to eat him. I wonder if he knows. Wonder if he’d let me.

“Hey!” he snaps, holding up a cupcake. “Made you this. Had to substitute some of the wet ingredients.”


“The guards checked for a nail file,” he continues, sliding the cupcake toward me. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon.”

I don’t ask him to stay, but I watch him until he’s gone. The spells relax just enough for me to grab the cupcake. It smells like him, like cinnamon and copper.

My teeth throb. “See you soon.”

E. J. Sidle is an Australian, although she currently lives in Scotland. She has a day job that takes up too many hours, and likes to spend her free time with her dog, Bullet. E. J. also enjoys travelling, playing video games, and drinking ludicrous volumes of coffee.  Come say hi on Twitter.