Penny winced. “I’m sorry. But you’re not a human now. You’re immortal. Don’t you have some kind of powers?”
“Not me. Never blessed or cursed with ‘em. Just fangs. Need to feed. Now, I can’t even do that.”
“Well... Then what’s happening? My apartment is a furnace, yours is a freezer... I’m holding onto you like a cat on a curtain rod.”
Brax laughed softly, “Yes, but you warm me up a treat. I’ll stand here all night.”
“I wish—but I’m thirsty, and I need something to drink, but my pipes are spitting steam. My throat is killing me. Is your throat killing you?”
“No, that’d be my utter shock,” he said as he wincingly walked through the door with her and didn’t get any sort of zap. He’d never been invited inside, but he supposed her refusal to get off of him while wanting to venture inside counted for something.
Penny was still talking. “I’m not supposed to ask you to touch me. That’s wrong. You’re evil. You killed people, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but not in the last sixteen months.”
“See? I hate you. But I kind of like you to talk to right now. Don’t tell anyone. Why are we out of orange juice?” Penny pulled him behind her as she pawed weakly in the fridge, keeping her feverish hand in his.
“Your secret is safe with me, and you’re right. It’s an oven in here.”
“So it’s not just me?”
“No. I think it’s the witchette upstairs.”
“There’s a witch upstairs?”
“Cute college girl? Cross between goth and butterflies?”
“Oh, her.”
“Pretty sure she’s not the real thing—and I don’t know what the hell she was doing, but suddenly you’re in the Sahara, and I’m in the Arctic, and it follows us wherever we go. Look.” Brax pointed to the floor. His boots had made ice tracks that melted as soon as they formed.
“You got my floor wet?”
“I’m literally making ice. I’m turning to ice.”
Brax paused. Sucked in air with a gasp, relieved that for a second it didn’t feel like frost was forming in his lungs. “Could that be?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t die from it, can you?” Penny found a carton of juice and drained it, frowning. “It turned warm.”
Brax nodded solemnly.Can’t die from it, can you?
Shecould. What if she couldn’t cool down? Humans had delicate little systems. He should know; he used to be one. A fever of 104 or 105, and their brains started to sizzle.
If I let her die, does that count as the curse coming back on me? Would I fry, too, at ten times the heat?
He swallowed. Ice wouldn’t kill him, probably, but flames? Flames absolutely could.
“I think we need to go pay that little witch a visit—but you’d better put on some pants.”
