“Maybe you should cool it,” I fruitlessly suggest.

Not fruitless, Superego chirps. Sour grapes are still fruit.

“Why?” Tally2 laughs. “I want to see the tricks she’s learned.”

From Molly’s position, there’s a horrible rock crusher crunching. This is worse than Brody’s persistent knuckle cracking—way, way worse. Shapeshifting is grossly fascinating, like pimple popping or ingrown hair removal videos. Should I turn my head? Yes, yes I should. Do I? Yeah, no. I’m mesmerized.

“Ah, come on. Sit. Roll over. Fetch.”

A silver beast stands near the fire where Molly previously stood, clothing shredded. She has the same coloring as Connor, but she’s much smaller. Subjectively smaller, anyway, considering her shoulders still reach my head. Her downright scary demeanor makes up for the size deficit. She’s set on taking an indigestible bite out of Tally. Maybe she can use her torn attire to floss those gnarly chompers after her snack.

“Oh!” Tally2 claps her hands excitedly. “I have a great one. I’ll teach you the best trick of all.”

“Just stop,” Brody recommends.

She won’t. She never does. Crashing is the only thing to stop a Tally train once it gets going.

Full disclosure: I want to see where she’s heading, Superego chimes in unhelpfully. Choo Choo!

“I’ll teach you how to…” Her voice lowers to a mere murmur, full of the most contempt I’ve ever heard. “Play dead.”

Molly charges her. While it should register Tally2 isn’t really Tally OG, just her replica, I’m scared of someone getting hurt.

What side should we cheer for? Superego muses.

Cheering? Hard no. I need to protect them both. There’s only one way to do that, and it has to happen fast. I’ll give them the misbehaving child treatment. Cue fiery distraction.

My biggest concern is control. Can I stop the fire fuel once it starts flowing? If I tap into a single source, the release pressure will prevent easy closure. I might not be strong enough to shut it again. How do I reduce the stress? Divide and conquer.

My heart is the safety deposit box containing my spark, and it has multiple valves. Instead of one exit point, I choose four to redistribute flow. My skin bubbles where the flame travels, but it isn’t painful. It’s an itchy bug bite post-feast. The streams converge in my arm, trickling toward my fingers. It doesn’t take long for the itch to become wildly uncomfortable. When my palm begins to sting, I immediately shut off the fire fuel tap.

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Now I’m stuck. I’ve coaxed the fire into my fingers, but how do I get it out? Brody’s been watching intently. Sensing my conundrum, he slaps me enthusiastically on the back, shooting me ahead several steps. The forward jerk causes the sparks to sizzle under the surface like a rocket powering up before blasting off, igniting the piled wood.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a celebration-worthy achievement. I over-gauged the energy needed to accomplish the ignition task. Too much has poured through, and the leftovers are gnawing hungrily at my fingertips. Bright side: Molly and Tally2 are effectively distracted. Molly stands whimpering while Tally2 has a smug smile gracing her stupidly beautiful face. Dim side: neither seems aware of my post-fire-starting drama. Brody notices, though. He tries blowing on my hand. Sadly, my fingers aren’t birthday candles, so he doesn’t get his wish. I follow a natural impulse to shake my hand, trying to remove something stuck to it. Not only does that not work, it makes matters worse. Sparks shoot out from my fingertips, incinerating anything they touch. Brody’s shirt is caught in the crossfire. He slaps at it furiously.

I hear a long, loud roar, feel the earth shaking, and cower as Phelan stops in front of me, black beast mode engaged. Huh. Chestnut and Sesame Seed. That’s fresh. Prickly, too. You ever pick up a chestnut bur barehanded? This pain is like that. He doesn’t have to knock me to my knees. I’m already there. He uses one large paw, careful of the claws, to pat the residual flame.

Sorry, Bud. You’ll need to give her more than a love tap, Superego commiserates.

He opens his massive jaw, exposing terrifyingly sharp teeth. Woah. Eating my hand off is a little extreme, right? I wince as the pooled fire fuel reaches maximum threshold. Okay, take the hand! One will do me fine.

Thankfully, his idea of removal is different than mine. He sucks in a giant breath, eating my flame. As the fire lets loose of my hand, I first experience relief, second numbness, and third throbbing. Hat trick firework fingers. I’d cheer if I wasn’t so freaked out.

Once the pulsing ache recedes enough for me to actively survey my surroundings, I notice Molly’s taken a few calculated steps back, Connor’s disappeared, and Brody’s cringing. Tally’s still annoyingly smug.

In a move that shocks and awes me, Phelan rubs my hand with his snout, checking to see if I’m okay and apologizing. He grunts and heads back to where he came from when I nod my assurances I’m physically fine. Molly isn’t far behind him, tail tucked in deference. Once they’re out of sight, I hear another long, loud roar. Brody flinches.

Someone isn’t happy, Superego notes unnecessarily.

“What kind of trouble are you in?”

He dodges. “Are you good? What’s your thermometer reading?”

“Frosty,” I lie. “Sorry about your shirt.”

He takes what’s left and throws it in the fire. “I’ll be around,” he assures me, “but you probably won’t see me again tonight.”

“That’s cool,” I reply evenly, desperate not to show weakness so he won’t feel obligated to stay. “I’ll be otherwise engaged.”

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” The smile in his eyes settles my nerves.

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell Tally something for me?”

“Tell me yourself, Flea-Dip. I’m right here.” She’s standing with her hands clasped, proud of the experiment results.

“Suit yourself.” He picks her up and throws her into the fire.