Chapter 18
Fredrik
I’d just finished a bleak dystopian novel and coaxed my fire back to life when the landline rang so loudly that I nearly jumped out of my skin. The ancient thing only ever rang for emergencies or drunks who’d misdialed. Given it was past midnight on Saturday, it could be either.
“What?” I barked into the receiver.
“You need to get to the store.”
“Who is this?”
“You know who it is.” Felicity’s voice was sharp enough to cut steel. “The whole block’s out of power on Hideaway Ave.”
“Someone strung up too many Christmas lights and blew the grid?” I guessed.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Duh. That’s not why I’m calling.” She gave me a second to catch up, like a schoolteacher waiting for the slow kid in class.
“Oh shit. Noelle. She’s there, right?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? You didn’t tell her to leave, did you?”
“No.” After the way I’d acted that morning, I wouldn’t have blamed her for bolting. But she probably had nowhere else to go.
“I know she’s there. It’s an old building. You know what that means—”
“Yeah. I’m on my way.”
She didn’t have to explain to me how cold it was outside and how quickly the inside temperature would drop without the radiators. The building was a hundred years old and leaked so much heat that pigeons had tropical vacations under the eaves.
Adrenaline surged through my veins. I pulled on boots, grabbed my coat, and within minutes, I was on the road. When I arrived in town, I saw my sister was right. Hideaway Ave loomed in eerie darkness, like one side of the town square had disappeared.
I parked, fished a flashlight out of the glove box, and hurried to the store. As I opened the door, I winced at the cool air. It was only marginally warmer than the outside.
I bounded upstairs and knocked. “Noelle?”
“Fredrik?” Her voice was muffled, shaky.
I opened the door and swept the flashlight over the bed. Nothing but a mound of blankets, shifting a little.
“I’m here,” a voice said from underneath. “Trying to stay warm. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Her woolly hat appeared, followed by her face. She shielded her eyes from the flashlight. “I blew a fuse, I think. I dragged all the lights into this room, and they’re old-fashioned bulbs, not LEDs, and then I plugged in the vacuum cleaner and—bam. I’ve never been good at amp math.”
“Amp math?” I stared at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She sat up, wrapping the blankets around her like a cape. “I don’t even know how your fuse box works. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Cold dread washed through me. “You didn’t touch it, did you? Don’t ever touch that thing. It’s older than me… It’s lethal.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t touch it.”
Relief pricked the back of my neck. My ancient FPE panel could absolutely kill someone. I should have given her a safety briefing.
“Why were you even looking at the fuse box?”
Her voice wavered, like she was trying hard not to cry. “Because I thought I caused all this. I mean, I plugged in the vacuum cleaner, and everything went dark. Doesn’t that sound like me? Everything I touch turns to shit.”
I almost smiled. Almost. “You can’t black out a whole street, no matter what you plug in, Noelle.”
“You sure? Because I feel cursed.”
I could barely see her in the dark, but the way her voice cracked told me she was losing the fight against those tears.
Panic tightened my windpipe. She was staying in my store, and I’d made her feel this way. I was responsible. I had to fix this somehow.
“Thanks for checking on me,” she murmured, burrowing deeper under the blankets. “You can go now.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was tight and brittle and muffled by the blankets. She wrapped herself like a cigarillo, as if sheer willpower could keep the cold out.
“You’re not fine. The temperature’s only going to drop. I have a fire going at my house.”
The bundle of blankets stilled. Then a small voice piped up. “A real fireplace?”
“No. My house is on fire.”
“Smart-ass.” She scoffed, but it was softer this time.
“And I have a sauna,” I added.
Her head popped out, her eyes widening with interest. “A sauna?”
“The house has Finnish roots.”
Her face lit up. “So do I! My grandma was Finnish.”
“Then she’d approve. The original owner was a Finn. He built the sauna first, then the house.”
“How old is it?”
“Two hundred years.” Which was about how old I felt most days.
“I love old houses.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
She got up, still hugging herself, shivering so hard her teeth clicked. “I should pack some things.”
I stepped back into the hall while she threw a few essentials into a canvas bag. When she emerged, she looked small and fragile, bundled in winter gear but still shaking.
I cranked the car’s heaters and seat warmers to the max. She slid into the passenger seat, arms locked around herself, trying to look normal. But the involuntary tremors gave her away.
“It’s a short drive,” I said.
“All good. You didn’t have to—” She broke off as her teeth clattered together.
“Better safe than sorry.”
As I steered up toward Locke Heights, I formed a plan. Step one: get her to my house. Step two: get her warm, fast.
I knew what I had to do.