For a minute, nothing. Then a pool of light gathered at the window across, smearing itself untidily against the grimy glass.
I didn’t know what to do after that. I looked at the moon, at the street below, and sucked in the warmth spreading in my blood.
The next night was the same. She let her pool of light shimmy across the lane one more time, and went down the stairs. I too pointed my torch at her, turned off the light, then turned it on again.
We did this every day now...."
From a new short story 'Inverter', published in Verve magazine. Read it here.