Page 19 of You Give Me Fever

"I think so have I," said Clara, sitting at the tiny table in the kitchen corner. "Shall I assume you're new to handling a skillet?"

“Oh, you mean this?" The shadow demon confidently tossed an apple to himself as he grinned at her, his teeth flashing bright white in the lightning.

"Sir, I think you'll find that's an apple," Clara said. "I thought your people were at least familiar with those after the whole garden incident. That," she pointed to the heavy black pan on her stovetop. "Is a skillet."

Shiver inspected the stove—a looming giant, even to a creature like himself coming in around seven foot. It was black with silver trimmings and little compartments and drawers to one side. He reached for the skillet and pulled back with a hiss.

"Clara, by any chance, is this iron?"

Clara chuckled, getting to her feet.

"Probably for the best we don't use it anyway," she said, opening the bread box. "I don't feel up to making a fire."

Shiver chewed his bottom lip—when had he last been corporeal enough to do that? —wondering if he was indeed as useless as he felt. He watched Clara moving about the kitchen and gathering supplies—a loaf of bread that he could smell she had made herself, a crock of butter, and a wedge of cheese carefully wrapped in brown paper and twine. He scrambled to find something to contribute, a way to care for her as he'd promised he would. He returned to the apple, finding a knife and slicing clumsy chunks of it beside her at the table.

"I don't know how you do it," said Shiver, watching her with furtive glances. "Everything is already so difficult for humans, just staying alive—and you're alone out here."

Clara shrugged, smiling softly. "I have the chickens," she said. “Although I recently lost my goat, Australia."

Shiver looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Your goat was called Australia?"

"It's a perfectly suitable goat name. She needed something more adventurous than Nan, which was the name of every other goat in town."

"I'm sure your goat was quite the thrill seeker. Was she also an aviatrix?"

"She could have been! She had many secrets," Clara was laughing now, passing Shiver a slice of bread with butter. "I liked the name. I saw it in an atlas at the library when I was little, and I spent days saying it under my breath and thinking of kangaroos and snakes. Then I would tell my parents, 'I'm off to see Australia' and…"

She pursed her lips, trailing off. Shiver knew how this particular tale of adventure ended. Little Clara would go off to see Australia, and what that really meant was work. Cleaning, milking, feeding… somewhere in there, she might find time to dream.

He frowned down at what she had put into his hand. Bread and butter.

Bread… and butter. No two things in this world were so simple, basic, and common, and yet so complex, so emotional, so comforting—such a gesture of welcome, an edible embrace. He took a bite and could hear songs on his tongue, taste the wind with its salty finish, he could feel cold air blasting his hair back from his face and the warm crackle of the fire and… humming. He could hear a woman humming. His mother.

Shiver's eyes were burning with tears when he looked back up at Clara—Clara who had made this bread and probably hummed as she did. Clara had a slice of apple halfway into her mouth when she caught him staring.

"So I guess you can eat actual food?" She asked, looking down at his hands where the bread had been just a second ago. She cut him another slice.

"Evidently I'm doing a lot of new things," he muttered, taking the bread with a soft thanks and snatching a bit of cheese.

Clara frowned, averting her gaze. Her head was clearing now that she had eaten. What was meant to happen now? He was a demon, not a handsome, traveling brush salesman she could have a night of passion with and remember fondly. He had horns. His eyes glowed. What a shock her two remaining aunts would get if she should one day introduce him as her beau.

"I suppose we're… not going to talk about what I said upstairs," said Shiver, examining the wood grain of the table.

Clara's heart jumped into her throat. She had also supposed this, but here they were with that terrifying word hovering between them yet again, and it was Shiver himself bringing it up. She shredded her bread into little pieces.

"Men say things like that all the time," she said, frowning down at her fingers. "It doesn't mean anything. It has something to do with your… livers."

"I haven't a liver, Clara, you might have noticed I'm a shadow."

She flicked her eyes up to his face.

"Increasingly less of a shadow these days," she said. His eyes were no longer glowing orbs; they were almond-shaped and they changed expression, thick dark eyebrows standing out above them. His nose was long, a little crooked, as if he'd been punched. His lips were full, pulled into an expression of discomfort. He was still shadowy, but solid as stone.

"Do you begin to understand?" He asked, edging his hand toward the center of the table, spiderlike fingers creeping close to her pale knuckles, but stopping just short of touching her. "Something is… changing me. You. You are changing me."

Clara shook her head, starting to pull her hand back in so she could twist her fingers together as she always did when her feelings were too big for her chest, but this time Shiver grabbed her hand, leaning forward to try and catch her eyes.