Phoenix

Burning the Man

The dance ended on a high trilling note of trepidation with the dancers freezing on their tiptoes, arms outstretched. When the lights went out and the dancers walked offstage, Ash continued to float on a wave of emotion she hadn't let herself feel since leaving the orphanage. She closed her eyes and pictured the dance all over again, remembering the sorrow in every turn, the wonder in a raised arm, the devastation of a bowed head.

"You there." A sharp voice cracked her reverie. "The one in the vest. Our coal's gone out."

The complaint came from an unremarkable man in the front row—medium build, medium height, medium everything, from the tone of his skin to the hazel of his eyes. He was the kind of man you'd forget in an instant, except for the fact that he held himself with the authority of an Elite and spoke in a tone that commanded attention.

She took a deep breath, scrounged under the counter for a metal bucket filled with fresh coals, another bucket with a lighter and a pair of tongs, and made her way towards him, not knowing what she'd do once she got there but seeing no choice but to go anyway.

Thankfully, the coal in question was easy enough to find—balanced on the end of a silver smoke flute, cold and soot grey. She kneeled down and grasped it with her tongs, dropping it into the empty bucket.

So far, so good.

Using the lighter, she lit a new coal and went to place it on the smoke flute when the unremarkable man gripped her wrist. "Not there." Her manoeuvred her tongs to the edge of the flute. "There. Or you'll burn the flavour."

"Sorry," she muttered, moving the coal to the indicated position and making to stand. But the unremarkable man kept hold of her wrist.

"I'll take your apology later," he said, between puffs on the pipe, each breath drawing new smoke through the bubbling chamber. "In my room—the Tower suite." He coughed and a tendril of smoke came out his nose. "Free of charge, I assume." He manoeuvred her hand to his upper thigh, and rubbed.

Ash wrenched her hand away, almost topping backwards from the sudden movement. She found she was shaking all over and for a fleeting second, she wished she could conjure another freak accident so he'd burn like the boy in the alley. She even imagined taking the hot coal and shoving it right down his filthy mouth. Then, she remembered the smell of burning flesh in the alley, the boy's glazed eyes in death and the sick sister he'd left behind.

Freia. That was her name.

It was enough to simmer her boiling rage and remind her what Jai would've said. Walk away. It's not worth it. Attacking an Elite will ruin your life.

Her bucket of coals clanked in her hand as she turned back to the bar.

It wasn't long before another voice called out to her. It came from the front row again, but this time from the most central position near the stage. "You there. Our tobacco wasn't flossed and now our flavour's burnt." A pause. "Oh, and these coals are quick light. Substandard. Fix it."

Ash's insides lurched, recognising the rise and fall of that voice. Lydia Syntra of Seers Advertising had changed out of her A-line skirt and was now addressing her in a glittering eel-green dress. Her lips were smeared a deep burgundy, her hair scraped into such a tight bun, it gave her head the appearance of a bald egg.

Jai was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, get on with it." Lydia clicked her fingers, showing no signs of recognising Ash. "Or are you going to stand there and make us change it ourselves?"

Ash stumbled forward, wishing her steps would crack chasms in the floor so she could fall straight through. She was so overcome with the shock of seeing Lydia that she forgot she didn't know how to change the tobacco. While she stood there dumbly, inspecting Lydia's shisha, the blonde woman's lips crooked with displeasure and turned to the man sitting next to her. "Honestly, the service here is appalling. I'm complaining to the Madame."