Free Gifts of the Blood by Vicki Keire

you’d go, and I appreciate it. But I’d rather you have a normal day. You help me that way, by being steady and reminding me there’s a normal world that isn’t centered on me being sick.” He deflected further bathing maneuvers with one hand and took my fingers with his other. “I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for that, Caspia. For being steady and keeping me anchored to reality. Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.”
    I swallowed hard. He was counting on me to keep him anchored to reality? Oh, hell. “It’s what sisters do,” I told him solemnly. “Or at least, we try,” I amended. Below us, Amberlyn honked her late-model VW Bug. “I’ll see you right after Ceramics, aka Slime-a-ramics, before work, ok?”
    I left him laughing on the couch, Ethan’s jacket draped over one of my arms. “It offers some protection against the cold and… other things...” he’d said. The shiver that took me when I slipped it on had nothing to do with the chill October wind that welcomed me when my feet hit the sidewalk. Instead, I shivered as I wondered what those ‘other things’ might be, in anticipation and fear of finding out, and in stubborn rejection of that tiny voice that hadn’t left me, the one still reminding me that my brother was too fragile. The winter will take him, the winter will take him .
    “Like hell,” I announced as I sprinted to Amberlyn’s car, pulling Ethan’s jacket closer.
    ***
     
    “What are you, like, my shadow now?”
    I balanced a pile of fabric, including a heavier than it looked leather jacket, an extra sweater my landlord Mr. Moore had just shoved at me, and my work apron on one forearm while I made a fist with my other hand and jammed it against my hip. I tried to look fierce as a tall, dark-clad figure uncoiled itself from the alley wall that ran perpendicular to my apartment.
    “I told you I would see you again.” In the full afternoon light, he looked almost disappointingly normal. I remembered just a flash of the dreams he’d starred in last night and ducked my head to hide a blush. Today, his blue-green eyes sparkled with amusement rather than some strange inner light. His mouth twisted slightly at one corner, as if holding back his full smile. He was dressed for the weather like any other citizen of Whitfield; jeans this time, paired with a thick black sweater. “You’ve been busy all day. I thought I might walk you to work.”
    “Oh.” My mouth stayed in that perfect round formation longer than it needed to as his words sunk in. He knew my schedule. He knew the shape of my days. I turned to him, the mouth of the alley dappled with wavering patterns of sunlight and shade. “Do I dare ask how you know that?” I finally ventured.
    He slipped up beside me, taking my bandaged hand in his own. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, flipping my hand so it lay palm up in his own. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m involved now. I’m not supposed to be, but I am.” His thumb rubbed against my exposed palm in a slow circular motion. That one single exposed piece of skin seemed to grow and expand until it took up a disproportionate amount of my attention, focusing my brain in like a laser on the single point of contact between us. It made it hard to think. I might have protested if it didn’t feel so good.
    A chill wind barreled down the alley opening at the same time that a cloud hid all sunlight. A violent, full body shiver brought me back to myself, and I wrenched my hand away from his. “What’s that supposed to mean?" I demanded while I still had the chance to think straight.
    He sighed. “Different things.” Somehow, when he was rubbing my palm, he’d managed to take my extra clothes from me. He held them neatly stacked underneath one arm. “Right now, it means getting you to work safely, and on time.” His fingers curled around my upper arm, propelling me down the sidewalk.
    I had about a million questions for him. I sorted through them, trying