Page 58 of Jack Frost

Page List

Font Size:

I lie on top of Jack, my legs still shaky from my second climax. I've never had two in such close succession before, and I feel washed clean. As his hands sweep lazily over my back, tracing my spine and shoulder blades, I feel cherished, too.

"I love you," he whispers against my hair.

For a second I'm terrified that I might cry.

And then the music—which I became deaf to during our lovemaking—changes to "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." Which makes us both burst into helpless laughter. We disentangle ourselves and get dressed, still laughing; and before we leave, Jack sweeps a sheet of fresh, flawless ice over the rink, concealing all the scratches and swirls we etched in its surface. On our way out he plops a roll of cash onto the front counter. It's more money than I've ever seen at once, but I don't comment.

Since he still doesn't have a phone, I call us a car, and we head for the nearest hotel that Jack deems suitable. He's a bit of an elitist about it, and I have to stifle the urge to talk to him about privilege and wastefulness. But when you're a powerful ice god keeping the entire planet from being burnt to a crisp, I guess you deserve a few nice things. A soft, comfortable bed in a four-star hotel seems reasonable from that point of view.

When we get into our room, we don't make love again, but we snuggle into the big king-sized bed and watch a dumb, darling little Christmas romance on TV. I feel so safe, and happy, and warm—which is odd, considering that my bedmate is so cold-blooded.

Once, while flipping through the channels during an ad break, we catch a glimpse of an update on the fires in Colorado and the Southwest.

Jack's fingers tighten on the remote, and he changes the channel quickly.

Has he been ignoring a warning signal so he can stay with me?

I eye his pale, crisp profile. I know he senses me watching him, but he won't look at me.

"Jack," I say quietly. "Is there anywhere else you need to be?"

He draws in a long, deep breath and gathers me closer. "No."

And I let the subject drop. Let him be selfish for just one night.

It is Christmas, after all.

My tastes are anything but patrician. When Jack asks where I want to eat breakfast the next day, I tell him Waffle House, because that's another place I enjoyed visiting when I was younger. My mother used to take me there as a treat whenever she got a little extra money. When we enter, the thickly twined smells of bacon and sticky syrup and black coffee engulf my senses. The hiss of hot grease and the chink of plates mingle with the murmur of diners and the merry calls of the staff.

I'm thrilled to see that Ms. Shara still works at this Waffle House. She used to throw an extra piece of bacon on my plate occasionally, or slip me leftover baked goods when she thought I looked particularly sad and underfed. She's plumper and grayer now, and somehow that only makes her dearer and more beautiful to me.

"Well, butter me up and call me a turkey!" she shouts when she sees me. "Emmie Caulfield!"

"Emmie?" Jack mouths at me, smirking. I ignore him and wave to Ms. Shara. "How are you?"

"Just fine, honey, just fine. You good, darling? You look good. You look happy."

And I can reply wholeheartedly, "I am happy."

"Mm-hm." Ms. Shara winks at me and then does a pretend double-take at Jack. "And who is this fine thing?"

"This is Jack." Why can't I stop smiling? I never smile this much, or this widely, not even with Karyl.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Shara." Jack gives her a little bow.

"Well, look at you with your nice manners!" Ms. Shara beams at him. "Not one of these slouchy-pants kids who comes in here muttering and grunting their order. No, this one's good people. I can tell. Well, get yourselves into a booth there and I'll be right with you."

By now I'm used to people eyeing us when we're out together. We make a beautiful couple, and that, mingled with the subtle magic of Jack's presence, makes most people take a second look, or a third. But when we're nearly done with our meal, a woman walks into the restaurant and seats herself at the counter, staring unabashedly at us. Jack's back is turned to her as he munches strips of cooled bacon, but his forehead contracts a little, and he shifts in his seat, angling his head as if he's listening for something.

"I've got a weird feeling," he begins.

"Like someone's watching us?" I nod pointedly behind him.

He twists to look—and then he turns very slowly back around to me. His face has gone rigid, with blue shadows sketched under his eyes. "That's Auxesia."

My jaws freeze mid-chew. "No." I thought she looked vaguely familiar; I've never seen her clothed, looking so normal. She's wearing skinny black pants and a big fluffy coat trimmed in faux fur. And she's staring at me.

"What does she want?" I whisper.