Embers and Icicles

Chapter One

Frank downed his second high-ball of the day, and quickly asked for a third. It wasn't like anyone was counting–It was a random Wednesday evening in the middle of Edgeline, the city aptly named for its position right on Ship's Haven's border. The only people around had given up on life already, or were at the very least close.

Officially, Haven was neutral territory, but most acknowledged that it truly belonged to Silver. He was an elusive Ice Inanimate human and criminal mastermind who had had an iron grip on the land for as long as most could remember.

The criminals and outcasts of the rest of the world saw him as their savior, the man who wouldn't turn anyone away, who would hire anyone to get a job done. And his labs, in all their glory–the shining frontier of magical advancement–were the ultimate goal for every slightly crooked scientist who was fed up with all the rules and regulations slowing down progress.

Frank let a flame play across his knuckles as he took a long gulp of the drink the bartender had placed on the counter. It was a risk for him to be here, in the territory of the very man holding a bounty over his head, but Edgeline was the type of place where everybody minded their own business, and a criminal could disappear in a day.

Silver's men couldn't possibly patrol every facet of Ship's Haven, and Frank knew enough about his operations that he was confident he could avoid them.

Even the few patrons who hung around the bar on a Wednesday–mostly low-powered elementals or powerless humans who had given up on life–knew enough to keep their heads down and their gazes averted. Frank let the fire dancing across his hand die out and slapped more cash on the table than he could afford; he had seen a woman, or woman adjacent person, discreetly glancing at him from across the bar.

Whether they were keeping an eye on him out of interest or because they suspected that he was the famed Frank Fahrenheit who Silver was searching for, an excess of money was often a good display of strength, and Frank never passed up an opportunity to impress someone attractive.

He brought the heat back into his fingertips and saluted them with a sly smirk. His feet had just barely gotten under him, when his exit from the bar was cut short by a form that was more wall than person. Apparently, Frank's attempt to slide off the face of the earth hadn't gone quite as well as he thought.

Silver's men–the Frozen Hand–had finally caught up with him.

The three usuals sauntered up, as well as a larger and somewhat blobby man who Frank didn't recognize.

"Hey, boys. You finally pulled your heads out of your own asses long enough to find me. Congrats, I didn't think you would ever be able to do it," Frank cracked his knuckles, checking the exits and other patrons. No matter how you cut it, this wasn't going to be pretty. His best hope was to avoid the fight all together. Since that wasn't going to be an option, he needed to control the variables.

"I wouldn't talk so much about asses, Frank. I'm starting to think yours needs to be whooped. C'mon outside, boy. It would be a shame if this fine establishment somehow burned down," Chevy, the boss, said. He was of the Corporeal sect–the sect that manipulated all things living and dead–and his power came in the form of superhuman strength.

Chevy's past was as shady as his shark-skin was tough and his muscles were large. He tipped his fedora, a bold hat choice that strangely worked on him. Frank noted that in a normal way, a scared for his safety way. In fact, he didn't even note it at all. For sure.

Frank had often wondered why the men in front of him didn't leave behind all the crap jobs and wild goose chases Silver sent them on, but it wasn't a difficult question to answer. Frank knew better than anyone how difficult it was to leave the Frozen Hand behind–No matter how far he ran, they always seemed to catch up.