I smiled, despite the fear that was also welling up inside of me. “Beats the hell out of me, friend.”
Then he, too, smiled, despite his own apparent fear. “Steven Littleton,” he said, his hand again held out, this time in greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Steven Littleton,” I said, my hand in his, flesh on flesh, a white spark of lightning coursing through me upon contact. It suddenly seemed as if two men such as us had never before met, which, all things considered, was probably very much true.
“Nice to meet you, too, Jack Jackowski,” he told me, “I think.” His smile returned, brighter than the sun high above, and if my heart hadn’t already stopped beating, it surely would have right about then. “Though it still doesn’t answer the question of what the hell you are.”
I nodded. “Nor does it
