Cold Spot

The hotel was cold enough to turn breath to fog, except for Nick's. His never did, no matter what. It just flowed from his lips, stagnant and caked with dust, when he remembered to go through the motions. It was on his list of things to do when he could. He was not preoccupied. There were too many other fine motions he had to take care of.

There was a revolver in front of him, worn and polished, engraved with twining ivy along the barrel. He had his cloth and worked the metal smooth. His fine brush took away the bits of grime. The interior of the barrel needed his attention too and that was the next bit he worked at. All practiced motions, all routine, all designed to test his fine control. The barrel was clean and he turned to the rotating chambers. Those too needed a cloth run over and in between.

And that was everything finished and perfect. The hands went to the next task of putting all the separate parts back together. He didn't need to think about anything anymore with them finally slotting together with heavy clicks and thunks and locks. He ran his finger over the final mechanisms, rolling the chambers with a marching drum tempo. The reverberations ran up his thumb and into his arm. It was heavy. It was so beautifully heavy.

"I hate when you do that," said a whisper of wind, even colder than the hotel. The ice fell into his lungs and bloomed into sharp crystals piercing his heart. He let out the held breath he took an hour ago and forgot about.

"You know the routine," Nick said, "You know my part in all this."

"But you take it so quick. Can't you let me savor it for a while?"

"We are on assignment."

"So? Work and pleasure can mix, if you just let them."

He checked the sights and they were still straight. And he moved them over his room, the quaint antique dresser, the chipped mirror slowly rusting green with endless time, across the heavy dark door and stopping on the too soft mattress over the broken frame.

A woman sat there, legs crossed, back straight, staring directly at him. And he was staring through her. He could do that. She wasn't all there.

"Anne," Nick said, "could you please get back in your gun?"

"No. I don't want to. You kept me in the case all day. I need time to stretch out. It's cramped in there."

"You do not have a body, Anne."

"It's the spirit of the thing, Nick. Just let me enjoy the room. I love the décor."

She did not love the décor, but it was much more interesting than the dark confines of a latched steel case. And he let her enjoy it, pretending to look in the mirror and only seeing a faint whisp of blue smoke coiling unceasingly in the nonexistent wind.

Nick watched her move, watched the suggestion of her cocoon-like body shed into the earth so long ago. The raw soul kept strong over the ages, turned into a denser core of smoke right where her heart once was. A dancing tether ran out and back to the gun on the table. She drifted and he watched the dress of her own soul flow in the wind. It billowed from her like clouds.

As Anne preened herself as best she could, phantom fingers making imperceptible changes that would not hold, he found himself doing the same. It was another meticulous task to keep his fingers busy. His own clothes hung heavy across his shoulders, and they did not warm him. He kept his hair short, and it did not grow. Smooth cheeks and an odd open cut on his jawline from the last time he tried to shape everything on his face. He was not successful. But he was professional at least, his tie cinched up tight around his neck, watching Anne flit around the room with unrestrained curiosity, even if it was most likely feigned.

"Do you think this will be a long job?" she asked hopefully.

"Not sure," sighed Nick, "Lot of floors to cover, but its most likely in the basement. Bad things always happen in basements."

"Then we should check that place last."

"But the agency stressed promptness."

"Second to last then."

She stuck out her tongue, that same faint wriggly blue smoke collecting into a line that suggested a muscle and went back to looking at herself.

"This mirror is terrible," she said, "there's nothing in there."

"There never is."

"Then all mirrors are terrible. You think there would be some advancement in mirror-based technology. As far as I'm concerned this is just a shiny wall."

"And since when do you care about walls?"

"Oh, I don't, but mirrors should be mirrors, walls should be walls. Not this abomination. Keep me out while you patrol? Please? I'll be good."

Nick rose and stretched, listening to his bones grind into their sockets. There were clicks and pops and a tooth gnash in there as well, but they were all just as quick as they should be. He could not complain. He moved when he wanted and they had the gun in hand, despite the urge to put it back in its holster and shutter poor Anne. He kept it out. Anne kept trying to peak in the mirror and glimpse something of herself.

"You look wonderful," Nick said,"your hair and makeup are perfect. Your dress is immaculate."

"I don't trust you," she huffed.

"You should. Would I ever lie to you?"

"Yes. Yes, you would. Does this dress make my butt look big? Is that a good thing now?"

"You've had that same dress as long as we've been working together, and it hasn't changed. So, I don't know. I've never seen you out of it. And I don't know. I guess it depends on who you ask."

Anne kept coiling, smoke interweaving like held hands more and more until the form was a knot. Nick let her twist in the wind. She'd pull herself out once they were moving. He was already there, stalking through the door. Anne followed him, not particularly worried about the fact that he closed it in her face.

The agency told them that there was a haunting somewhere in the abandoned hotel up in the mountains. So, the brass asked a pair of problem solvers to step from their stasis and actually do something for once in their lives. Nick did not protest. Anne did, if only to herself. She wanted to actually go downtown, maybe to a theater or a museum. Those had problems too sometimes and they were near more people that were not Nick.

Anne flittered about the hall, head twitching back and forth over every single detail. The wallpaper was cracked and peeling. The windows were faded and broken from vandalizing stones and the occasional hailstorm. They could look out over the city. The knives of the skyline cut over the trees and rivaled the surrounding mountains. Nick gave into the momentary curiosity to gauge the daylight left. They would be fine.

Anne sighed and the wind in the hall picked up with the breath. Nick did not shiver. He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. She was engrossed with the building, the glinting sunlight off the office buildings. She faded into the light, almost imperceptible. He looked to where she crossed into the shadows to find her, to trace the cord connecting them both. He waited. He leaned against the wall and he just waited. They had time for this at least. She sighed and the whole hallway dropped below freezing for just a moment.

"Can you take me out there sometime?" she asked.

"I'll see. There's a process," he said.

"Even if the process says no?"

"I'll see. Y'know-"

"The vault. I know. It's hard. It's hard even for me to get out of the case without you."

"But I'll still try. Aidan and Katie got a day out. He had to be very quiet, but they went to La Chocolatier. They said it was good."

Anne hummed and whimpered and slowly breezed back into the shadows. Nick kept walking, kept his eyes to the light, kept the gun about him just in case the shadows turned deadly. They did not. Their chosen floor had no perils other than the black mold growing along the leaking pipes and the rotting floorboards that creaked every other step. Still, the cold persisted and he kept the pace.

"Top down then," he said as they came to the stairs.

"I thought you said the basement was the nest," said Anne.

"I did."

Anne hummed and smiled, lips pooling that same blue smoke until it spilled from the cracks and consumed her form. She went back into her home, the empty chambers of the revolver and was content to let Nick do the walking up the of stairs.

---

They did not go with the plan. Nick had lied and Anne did not care. They did not quite start at the top. They started very near the top, in the cluster of penthouse suites with large baths and wet bars. There was nothing worth stealing. The bottles were already gone, and even if they weren't then they would have been charged by the front desk if they were taken away. The jacuzzies didn't work. They smelled of mold and mildew and aged rusted metal. Anne did her best to turn the faucet and will the water to flow clear. She just got ice crystals slowly plinking out. Each one hit the old tubs with a xylophone rhythm. Nick just watched the shadows, glancing out every so often to the skyline under the moth-eaten curtains.

The hotel was old. The streets were old. The lamps were old too. The city had left this particular district behind like an ambling herd, giving back its scraps to a forest of green to consume and flourish under. Nick tapped a brittle window. It shattered into a fine snow with his touch.

"That's like 50 bucks you just lost," said Anne.

"Only if you tell the agency," he said, "Because I sure won't."

"They'll know. They always know. The psychic imprints of the window reverberate through the veil. The portents will call upon you for a slap on the wrist and a good tongue lashing. Do you think this shampoo is still any good?"

"I'm sure that soap of all kinds doesn't really go bad. But I doubt you'll actually use it."

"I like to have things, ok? Even if they're kind of impractical. It's like people who collect stamps. You don't use the stamps, but you just have them. Do people still send mail? I remember something about that going away."

"Most of it is advertisements and junk now. Nothing important happens with mail anymore."

"I'm ok with that. I never like getting letters. They'd have this loopy writing and I could never read it. Ooooh, this is pretty. What do you think lived here?"

Anne breezed on through to the other room, rattling the pictures in their tattered frames, and gusted to a small seashell on a dresser. It was an out of place bit of décor at the best of times, but now it was just a bleached reminder of a creature that lived and died a million miles away.

"No clue," he said, "I think someone left it there by accident."

Anne was not listening. She was concentrating, trying to make the poor thing rattle and shake. It took a minute to find the right frequency, but it started to dance across the cracked wood. Then it found the edge and decided that its life would best be spent in a million little pieces dashed against the ground. Anne was very pleased with herself.

"There," she said, "that's one less thing for the haunt to affect."

"Good job. I now have to deal with shrapnel," Nick said.

"Don't be like that. You'll be fine. It's your job to take shrapnel."

"You're not wrong. There's one more place we can check."

She let the tether pull her along as Nick opened the balcony door. It slipped its guiding rails and crashed into the floor, adding more barbed specks to whip into a frenzy. He didn't care. She didn't care. She simply slipped into the light and felt the rays fray her edges. Her core remained strong.

Nick leaned over the railing, gazing down the green hills of the ancient forest. He saw the roads run through the trees like razor wire. He looked down to the cracked asphalt parking lot to the agency's car they let him drive. It was early autumn, not late enough into the season to start killing off leaves. He traced the lines up until he came to the city again.

It was knives. It was teeth. It was claws. The city slowly crawled along a forgotten path that left husks in its wake. The city did not like husks. Terrible, awful things moved in when no one paid attention. And then they sent in their own terrible, awful things to sweep them away. He drummed his fingers along the railing, wishing for a seat that wouldn't fall through the moment he made contact.

Anne looked out over the city. It was spires. It was towers. It was peaks. The wind ran through the maze of glass and reflecting sunlight like birds in a storm. She felt the pull of it deep in her whisper core. Every time the idea surged, the tether to the gun kept her close. A mixed blessing really. She watched.

The sun was setting, tipping over the edge where its strength could no longer keep it upright. They both watched the decline.

"It wasn't going to come out today was it?" Anne said.

"No," said Nick, "It's a night creature and there's a full moon tonight. That's when it's going to stir. It's why you're so wound up."

"I am not wound up. Ok, well, I am, but I've been locked up in that thing for who knows how long. How long was it?"

Nick took a moment to stare at the sky.

"Three months," he said.

"Holy shit, three months."

"Yeah. I tried."

"I know you did. I really, really do. But fuck. Three months. That's not even one of my longer stints in the vault. I've heard decades, decades just locked away, waiting for an assignment. And it's not like these are that extraordinary."

She did not break away from the horizon and neither did Nick. The blue sky, streaked with cloud, the silhouette of an airplane gliding a long, a flock of birds turning east for greener pastures, all passed them by. They stood and watched and did nothing, nothing at all because there was nothing to do, nothing they really wanted to do, other than just stare outside and watch the world together.

Nick felt a sharp chill run through his palm, almost to the point of pain. Anne slipped something like her hand into his. The sensation mellowed and rounded into a pleasing chill. It hurt. It tingled. It ignited a gentle turn in his core as slow instincts ran through the sewn together nerves. He finally shivered and coughed. Anne hummed and tried to ignore the pull of the gun as best she could.

"Are we staying here tonight?" she asked.

"I think it's a good idea," said Nick, "Unless you want to go back in the case."

"No. No. Nonono. Hell no. I will find a way to pull the trigger and then you'd have another hole in your head if you try and put me back in."

He smiled as she glared at him. He felt the gun twitch in his hand as it resonated with her ire. He did nothing. He did nothing at all, other than continue to stare at the falling sun and the growing dark. Anne disappeared and Nick stayed still.

She was settling on the bed, hovering a few inches into the mattress. She pretended to stretch, pretended to toss and turn and snuggle into the blankets, as moth eaten and ripped as they were. She patted a spot next to her and eyed Nick.

He was strong. He was made that way, broad shoulders and dark hair in a tight, close sculpture. He had even darker eyes, almost wholly black until the milky whites cut in. She watched him move, the mechanical joints and ligaments slotting together to a full machine. He settled next to her, creaking the bed and folding it towards him. She stayed right where she was. She forgot to follow the motion as she probably should.

"You look tired, Nick," said Anne.

"I think I am. It's been a while since I've had a break. Couple of solo assignments before this, they tagged me with Aiden and Katie for some stupid reason without bringing you on. I tried, by the way, for all the good that did."

"I know you did, Nick. And I know that it's trying to break down a mountain with an ice pick with the agency."

"I should have tried harder."

"The only thing that you can probably do at this point is break in and steal me. That's going to cause a lot more problems down the line, I think."

He threw his forearm over his eyes and let the breath rattle in his chest. A chill settled over his stomach as Anne wrapped a bit of herself over his body. It was pleasantly numb at the frayed edges.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "but I have to ask. Can I borrow you for a bit? I know you're tired, but I have to cram so much in such a short time."

"I get it," he sighed, "and I was looking forward to it. Just give me like five minutes."

"You can take 10. Hell, 15. I can watch you sleep. I like that too."

"Thank you. Keep your whatever right where it is. It feels nice."

It was her head, trails of silken hair blooming across his chest. The humidity landed against his skin and froze into a thin sheet of crystalline ice. He felt the cold pierce into him, down the permutation of work and life until it reached his spine. Nick was cold. Nick was delightfully cold. He did not need to breathe, but he still felt the urge slow. It was a remnant instinct, like his heart beating or his free hand working to stroke the hair of the phantom. It just went right through, only a soft breeze of resistance to indicate his trespass. Anne did not mind. She put what should be her cheek against what might be the back of his hand.

The chill crept into his heart and it all slowed down, barely moving the ice-cold blood in his veins. He breathed through the crystals and simply drifted.

"Ok," he said, "one arm. Is that enough?"

"Oh, that's plenty Nick," said Anne, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The chill flowed again, coiled in his shoulder and moved over his bones. It got to his joint and the whole limb gave a sharp jerk upwards. He waved off the apology and tried to relax. Anne needed focus to inhabit and infuse. He let her focus. He let her take control in the clumsy shuddering motions of a forgotten nervous system. He moved through it. He let her move through him.

And then it was gone. He felt the shadow of his arm, the absence of any feedback, the limb ignoring any orders it received. She was careful. She could make it bend and she could make it break. She just let it rise, hovering an inch over his stomach. Then it dropped. She picked it up again, loving the weight of hand that was and was not her own.

It tingled for both of them. Beyond the cold, beyond the alien void, it just tingled. Nerves collided with one another and cascaded into his core. She took the arm straight up to the ceiling. worked to balance it so that nothing would fall. The joint protested but even that was kind of novel in a way.

There was a rising breeze in the room, sending the peeling wallpaper into a husked dance to break away and fall like snow. Anne was laughing, luxuriating in a body that was not her own like a friend's favorite chair.

"Someone's having fun," said Nick.

"You're smiling too, Nick," she laughed, "don't tell me you're not."

"It tickles having you ride along. It's like my bones have a knife scraping inside them."

"That's what tickling feels like to you? You're weird. That's weird. I'm going to keep playing with you and you can't stop me."

"I really can't, can I? Go ahead then. Do what you need to do. Just leave enough left over for me to do my job."

"Maybe. I like having fun. And don't tell me you don't like having fun."

"I never said I didn't. We already have a short leash. I just don't want a noose."

She kissed his cheek, blooming one more rose bud of ice and snow that laced its way through his teeth. He kept his eyes closed. It was better for him not to know. It was all a suggestion anyway. No matter what he thought it was, the dream was better.

He felt the pressure change on his arm first, laying it long and straight by his side. The nerves still fought the unfamiliar motion, but he willed it to go slack. Nothing would hurt him. It simply wasn't possible here, like this. He let the wind rise and fall out of his chest and simply let it be for as long as it could.

His fingers curled up and he felt the pressure change. His smile widened. And then a jumping chuckle rose though his chest.