Page 3 of A Heart of Winter
“You don’t honestly think that Michael?—”
“Sweet thing, I wouldn’t put anything past that fucking viper. You’re better off without him. We just need to make your heart realize that fact.”
It sounded more like a nice fantasy than reality, but what was I going to say? That people were supposed to like flashy parties and maybe there was something wrong with me? Morwenna didn’t like parties, and there was nothing wrong with her.
I took a drink of my tea and nodded, keeping silent.
She smiled, ran a gentle hand through my hair, and continued. “I’ve got some property in Minnesota. They’re used to the snow, so if it’s worse than usual, they’ll just hunker down and live with it. They won’t pretend it’s nothing and die of hypothermia because they refuse to use their winter coats because the cuts aren’t stylish enough.”
I winced, but she wasn’t entirely wrong about Manhattan. But also?—
“You own property? Since when?”
With a shrug, she waved me off. “It’s a pretty little place in the middle of nowhere. It reminded me of home, but moreremote, so I made the human records give it to me. It was just sitting there before, so it’s not like anyone misses it.”
I blinked, considering what she wasn’t telling me, or whether she truly knew that no one missed it, but it was usually better not to question her. It wasn’t like I would change her mind.
“You think I should . . . leave home?” I looked around my penthouse, forlorn. I’d spent the fifty years since I bought the building getting everything just how I wanted it. It was perfect.
“Just for a while, baby. Once you get over Michael and stop causing flash blizzards in September, then you can come right back and hole up again. Right where you want to be.” She paused and bit her lip. “Or you could take a vacation. Try somewhere new. I hear Hawaii is nice.”
Hawaii? Didn’t they have bugs the size of my head?
And hells, if it started snowing there, what were people going to think?
Still, Morwenna never said anything without a reason, and they were usually very good reasons, so maybe it was something I should think about.
For the moment, though, I supposed I needed to pack a bag for . . . for Minnesota.
Never once in my three hundred years of life thought I’d be saying that.
The Burn
The cabin truly was a lot like the one we had grown up together in.
It was made of wood, rough-hewn from great logs, the wood grain and seams showing in the walls outside and in. No silly modern things like insulation and drywall for my best friend.
The building had no central heating; not even radiators buzzing away to keep it warm. I prayed silently to myself that they existed and were simply turned off, but I already knew the truth.
The whole building was ice cold when I arrived, snow swirling in the air around me from my out of control powers.
There was no garage. No heated space for my car to stay safe and snow-free in the blizzards to come. The driveway wasn’t even paved; it was a mile of jagged gray gravel that had crunched under my tires all the way up from the main road.
The key was freezing in my hand, the doorknob and locks even colder, and when I finally got into the building, I’d been expecting a warm haven from the icy freeze outside, only to find it exactly the same temperature inside. It was, at least, out of the wind and falling snow, but that was the only improvement.
Yes, I loved winter. But it wasn’t about the cold, it was about comfort from the threat of cold. I loved curling up by a roaring fire with tea or cocoa, under a nice blanket, with slippers and a book.
And for the last twenty years, it had been about snuggling with Michael.
A blast of wind tore the door from my tenuous grip, shoving it wide open and blowing snow into the entryway all around me. Onto my two great trunks, stacked there in the entry like sentries waiting for my arrival.
I shook off my shock and turned back to the door, forcing it closed and then locking the knob and deadbolt both. It wouldn’t do to freeze to death out of pure shock.
Okay, well that wasn’t terribly likely. The witch who’d raised Morwenna and me had once said the snow was in my blood. It was why I hadn’t frozen to death on the streets alone after my mother died and before the witch took me in, even though it had been a terrible winter.
And likely, it had been a terrible winter that year because of my grief over my mother’s death and father’s abandonment.
I’d always had an affinity for the cold and snow; it was a part of me. A part of me I didn’t like all that much.
