Free The House on Hancock Hill by Indra Vaughn

anymore.
    The tea tasted stale, so I got up and poured it out, swallowing a painkiller with water instead. Hopefully it would help me sleep. Outside, the wind began to howl in earnest, the kind that makes it extra cozy to be buried beneath a comforter. I switched off all the lights and the gas fire, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed.
     
     
    I T COULDN ’ T have been more than a few hours later that I woke to a strange noise. For a minute, I thought I was still in Detroit, and it took me a while to figure out I was hearing my teeth clatter. When I checked the time on my phone, my breath fogged in the air.
    The heating had given out. Pulling on my socks and wrapping myself in a comforter burrito, I made my way to the kitchen window above the nook. From what I could see, all the lights at Annie’s were out, and I wasn’t about to frighten the life out of her by ringing the doorbell at one in the morning. Fiddling with the thermostat did nothing at all, not even after a charmed third try. Since the apartment wasn’t part of the house, I reckoned it worked on a separate furnace that was more than likely in the garage below me. I didn’t have a key to get in there, not that I had the faintest clue about heating units. I was battling the bulk of the comforter and hobbling back to the bedroom when a knock on my door made me jump a foot.
    “Who is it?” I called.
    “It’s me, Henry.” I gawked at the door. “Would you let me in? It’s freezing out here.”
    Nearly tripping over the duvet, I hurried to the door and undid the locks. “Hey, sorry,” I said, stepping aside. “Please come in.”
    “The power went out on the whole block,” Henry told me, pushing the door shut against snowflakes drifting through. “I came to check if you were okay.”
    “I was just going to wrap myself up in three blankets and this thing and hope for the best.”
    Henry gave me a once-over, like he’d only just noticed my attire, and lifted an eyebrow. “Does the fireplace work?”
    “I’m guessing not, since it has an electric switch.” I turned back to Henry. “What about Mrs. Mitchell?”
    “I went by there already, and she’s settled in her living room by the open fire. I made sure she had enough wood to last the night.”
    God, this guy really was a saint.
    Saint Henry pushed his way into my bedroom, and I tried not to feel self-conscious about the rumpled sheets and clothes strewn on the floor.
    “You can’t stay here by yourself after nearly freezing to death yesterday,” Henry said, walking back out. “There’s a terrible draft coming in from the garage.” He swallowed, looked at me, and looked away again. “I have an open wood fire in my bedroom. You’ll come stay at my place, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”
    “You’re not sleeping on the floor,” I said immediately, not really thinking it through. “Not on my account.”
    “We’ll deal with that later. Let’s get out of here before we can’t walk through the snow anymore.”
    Dropping the comforter quickly, I hopped about pulling clothes on as fast as I could. My fingers and toes were like the icicles I used to eat off the porch as a kid, and I was shaking by the time I walked back into the living room. Henry frowned at me.
    “Don’t you have anything warmer?” he asked as I reached for the too-thin coat I’d worn all day.
    “This is all I’ve got, plus the blankets.” I shrugged. Henry made a dismissive noise and shrugged out of his coat, thrusting it into my hands. The thing weighed a ton. “What about you?” I said, clutching his monstrosity to my chest, bewildered.
    Gruffly Henry said, “I’ll be all right. It’s not far, but your lips are blue again. Put it on.”
    “No,” I demurred. “Mine won’t fit you, and if it’s not far I’ll be fine.” I shoved the coat back into Henry’s arms and before he could protest, I pulled mine on and opened the door. “Holy crap,” I squawked when wind so icy it felt like a hundred tiny