Page 91 of Mistletoe

Some part of Hal was glad to hear that. But he was still very angry with his brother, and that part of him was very loud.

“I should have you thrown out for crashing the party,” Hal said. The idea held a lot of appeal. “I won’t because I don’t want to spoil Emma’s day.”

Ethan glanced back into the house, the wedding guests visible through the window. “I’m glad that you have found your anchor. There are things I can tell you, information that I can share, about our condition. Surely you’ve wondered why you don’t age, but perhaps you haven’t noticed yet.”

“You kept me asleep in a cryo chamber.”

“For a time, but I ran out of the drugs. The last fifty or so years, you were sedated, not suspended. Normal aging applies.”

It was tempting. He was concerned about the growing age gap between him and Emma.

“That hair color is ridiculous on you,” Hal said with a sniff. “And you don’t need glasses.”

Ethan touched the rim of the glasses. “Part of the new persona. I’m a librarian now, if you can believe that.”

“That won’t fool anyone.”

“It helps that my previous reputation purported me to be a ravenous, bloodsucking fiend with glowing red eyes. A mild-mannered librarian simply does not turn that many heads.”

“Your eyes are still red.”

“Auburn in most lighting.”

Emma had found peace with her brother, but it was an ongoing journey. Hal unclenched a fist. Perhaps he could begin to find peace with his brother.

“Can I die?” Hal asked.

“Certainly.” Ethan tilted his head, considering the possibility. “It’d be difficult. You can handle a lot of pain and you heal quickly.”

“Speaking from experience.”

“Well, I didn’t want to sound like a complete bastard.”

Hal laughed unexpectedly.

Ethan continued, “Your skin is thick. I imagine that the right weapon, cold iron perhaps, in your heart would do the trick. Try not to get run through with any swords or spears. Are you particularly concerned about assassination attempts?”

“When Emma dies, I want to go with her,” Hal said. “I’m not lingering on for another damn eternity with my heart gone.”

“You don’t know.” Something like concern flickered across Ethan’s face. “She’s your anchor. The—and I hesitate to use this word, but I have yet to find a suitable term—the magic that affects you will share your lifespan with her.”

“Magic?” His brother, the doctor, the mad scientist, was spouting aboutmagic.

“Yes, it’s a horrid term. I challenge you to think of something better. The unusual radiation levels caused the genetic adaptation to mutate. Some of the mutations are contagious. This is well known. A slowing of the aging process and improved health in our partners appears to also be contagious.”

Magic sounded far more congenial than contagion.

“I’ll do that. Where can I write to you?” Hal asked.

“What?”

“Letters.” He mimed scribbling with a pencil in the air. “I need a mailing address to inform you when I think of something better thanmagicandcontagion.”

“Certainly.” Ethan appeared stunned as he produced a calling card.

“Vervain Hall,” Hal said, reading the address. “Someone’s doing well for himself.”

“I did marry a very wealthy widow.”

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