I couldn’t seem to remember what warmth felt like. There was a pile of matchsticks laying in a wood-burning stove. I couldn’t see any other matches around me. I stumbled into another room; had it gotten lighter or had my vision grown accustomed to the darkness? Through a window, a dense fog concealed much of the landscape. Tree-shaped silhouettes were all that was visible beyond a snow-covered clearing. No moon hung in the sky, but the howl of wolves sounded in the distance.

Retreating from the window, nondescript kitchen elements stood out around me. Drab countertops, a worn table surrounded by dusty chairs, and a tired refrigerator-stove combo were all visible. Checking the cabinet drawers, I found more matchbooks which I hastily struck upon my return to the stove. Using them all, a tiny flame finally stood proudly atop the matches. Triumph at its sight emboldened me and the prospect of warmth finally within my grasp added to it. I couldn’t stand the cold any longer. But a sense of foreboding ruined my relief as the howls grew closer.

I awoke groggily in my bed. The curtains were drawn closed, blocking out my lakefront view. That was unusual since I always left them open. The sun was my alarm clock and I’d grown accustomed to seeing the calm waters every morning. It was much less jarring than a loud blaring piece of technology that furiously flashed the time.

My body was stiff, and my limbs felt restricted. Removing the covers revealed a plethora of bandages covering my upper body, my underwear, a threshold, to bandaged legs. There was rustling in the other room.

I tried to silently jump to my feet but got tangled in the sheets. My face absorbed the impact with the floor. Unfortunately, there were no soiled clothes meticulously placed on the floor to cushion my fall. The ruckus of footsteps hurriedly approached. My current fighting ability wasn’t conducive to defending against a siege; my chiseled, rock-hard abs likened to the bricks of a castle. If I couldn’t mount a retreat, the invading hoard could have their way with royalty. I would not let my purity be soiled by some thief or junky trying to steal my TV, so I tried to roll under the bed. The unsuccessful motion gave me a headache. The bedroom door burst open revealing my sad entanglement.

“What are you doing?” A woman’s sultry voice asked. It was either sultry or perturbed, they sound very similar to me. Regardless, I was suddenly less concerned about the chastity of my royal personage. Crooking my neck, an Asian woman of average height in a naughty nurse costume stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Shawn had to be making up to me for his irritating existence, but I wasn’t sure how he knew about this particular fantasy.

She must have known what I was thinking by the way I leered at her because she rolled her eyes. “I’m Leah. Dale sent me to take care of you.” My smile didn’t fade. “No. Not that kind of care.” That’s when it faded. “He said you wouldn’t go to the hospital because the mob put a bounty on your head.”

“That guy…” Recalling his joke, I tried to play it off with a chuckle, “Wait, are you the nurse he knows there?” The naughty nurse costume may have actually been regular scrubs.

“Yes. I’m also his wife.” Shock crossed my face. Dale never mentioned anyone that filled that role in his life. I opened my mouth to inquire, but she sighed and answered my question before I could ask “He doesn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t want to damage his ‘street cred’. He wants his boys to think he’s some kind of player.”

I unraveled myself and stood, but she tried to stop me. I shooed her away, then inspected myself. Prodding my legs first, nothing was broken, fractured, or torn and very little bruising was still present. Heart and brain were already healed from before. She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” She asked curiously. “You were in terrible shape. You had bruising everywhere, and I was sure you had broken bones in some places.”

I was about to respond, but she answered for me, “Oh yeah, Dale said you had healing powers or something.” Being cut off caused my eyebrows to furrow and mouth to quirk to the side. Her mocking expression told me she didn’t believe it.

Continuing my examination by poking my ribs, I winced. There was more bruising, but the broken rib was fixed; the cracked ones, however, still needed some work. I took a ragged breath, which caused a coughing fit ending with flecks of blood in my hand. She rushed to my side, but I took another, much deeper, breath. I gave her a thumbs up, “It’s just a little blood in the lungs, nothing to worry about.”

Leah stared at me in concern. She smelled of lilacs. Her short, tapered hair, longer in the front, framed her face. Her figure was hidden by blue scrubs, but the formless attire couldn’t hide an athletic build. She caught me staring again and smirked. I averted my wandering eyes and sat back down on the bed. She snorted, then surprised me with curious prodding.

“Why aren’t you in pain?” She commented. I felt like a piece of meat or a lab rat, which, in this circumstance, I was fine with. I went to make a joke including the use of magic hands, but she cut me off again. “I know, I know. It’s magic!” And she made the gesture before my arms were in position. My brow tightened again, but I curbed the frustration to finish my self-inspection.

She had done a good job bandaging me. I supposed, given her profession, that was to be expected. My eyes closed and I scanned the aches, nothing major. Healing was prioritized properly while I was unconscious. That meant the previous mishap on the ride back and in the bathroom was only because of the brain damage. Flushing warmed my skin with sudden realization; my attention shifted back and forth from my practically naked body and Leah. My lips parted to speak, but prior to my inquiry, she cut me off yet again.

“Yes, I bandaged you.” Then I looked sheepishly to the side. Leah rolled her eyes once more. “Dale helped me undress you and no, we didn’t do anything to you.”

“Stop doing that. You don’t know what I’m going to say.” I admonished.

“You’re just like every other man,” she explained. “And Dale doesn’t seem to mind. I know what he wants before he does.” She said with a playful flick of an eyebrow. My heart fluttered.

“Do you have a sister?” I asked hopeful.

“Yes, but my parents are holding out for a doctor or a lawyer.” Leah said crossing her arms, a satisfied grin on her face.

“I have my own business.” I said, taking one more shot.

“-that doesn’t make you any money.” She reported. She was right, but she didn’t know that. I pursed my lips and tilted my head with my best you-have-no-idea-how-much-money-I-make-and-could-be-rich-for-all-you-know face. She translated the gesture and responded with a you-know-I-know-you’re-not-rich face. “I saw your billboard.” Both slights gravely wounded me worse than any battle could.

The odd desperation I felt made me consider that I was still being affected by Jeff’s love energy. As I suspected, when I checked, it was still there. My soul chose to focus on healing my body, rather than converting the foreign influence. It was even separated from my own reserve which felt uncomfortable. It was the first time that had happened.

Emotionally tainted energy could be used for healing, but it was far less efficient. The reason a mage needs the emotions is to conjure magic. During my fight with Cara, hatred allowed me to use electricity, whereas love allowed me to use ice. Emotions are linked to an element. At the top, happiness creates wind abilities; to the right, fear gives control over water; the bottom of the circle, sadness provides command over earth, and fire answers to anger. Each also gives you different physical benefits as well. A boost to brain function; dexterity and agility; constitution for defense; and finally, a supplement to strength and power. Since it’s within the body, my energy can do those as well, but with a steep penalty to the cost.

My shortcoming is that I can’t create those emotional energies. I can feel the emotions, but it doesn’t alter my magic. As a mage, it makes me very weak, and it was a contention during Al’s lessons. The most efficient use of my power is healing and giving people a second chance. It is neutral, so people can absorb it easily.

To heal, it makes more sense for me to convert the emotional energy for me to use it more easily and efficiently, but in desperate situations, it’s better to act. While unconscious though, there was no immediate danger, so my subconscious chose to take its time. I was thankful for that, ice could be handy, so I was hoping I could continue to hold it for future use.

Leah shrugged and turned to leave the room. “I’ll call Dale and tell him you’re feeling better,” My eyes followed the sway of her hips. “Stop looking at my butt.” She scolded without looking back. My mouth dropped open. Was I really that transparent?

I chided myself so I could get my act together. She and Dale had helped me, and I was returning the favor with lechery. A swift smack to the face and a draw of my curtains improved my resolve to be more conscious with my actions – and intentions. Inhaling the glow of the sun comforted me, casting away the aches that clouded my senses. Forcing child-like innocence and glee onto my face, my feet led me out to the rest of the apartment.

My body was able to operate from the burger fuel I gave it, but I’d burned through it a long time ago. My stomach rumbled as I graced Leah with my noble presence. “Hey, is there any food?” I asked before realizing she was on the phone.

It turned out the conversation was over because she hung up right after my question. “Chinese food’s on the table.” She said pointing, then scrutinized my fixed expression with skepticism. “I didn’t make it, racist.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean – I mean, I didn’t say-” I ugh’d in defense and composed myself once more. “You’re mean.” A mischievous smirk told me it was a joke she played often on the unsuspecting.

I wasn’t enjoying her humor at my expense. With a laugh, she remarked, “And that’s another reason Dale likes me.”

My ‘hanger’ subsided with the presence of food. Approaching the table, the smell of stir-fried vegetables soothed me further. The take-out bag read, ‘Kung Fu Restaurant’ on it, and one of the white boxes within had Kung Fu Chicken written hastily in black marker on a top flap. I shrugged and picked it up. The restaurant and food names seemed more racist than whatever Leah mockingly accused me of. Then I noticed my laptop wasn’t cuddling with unopened mail on the table.

“Did you clean my apartment?” I inquired. It was rhetorical, considering the scent of citrus, missing bottles on the floor around the recycling bin, and the lack of residue coloring the plastic garbage lid.

“Yes, it was a pig stye. The way you live is disgusting, and there was no way in hell I was going to sit in your filth.” Leah complained..

“Language!” I scolded. She eyed me suspiciously then slowly moved her attention to the television, maintaining her questioning glare as long as possible before switching to the screen.

“Dale said his shift is almost over.” She mentioned, picking up the remote. “And that he was going to be on the news.” She powered on the television.

The famous philanthropist, Evan King, was answering an interview question about his and his wife’s charity with a British accent. Leah changed the channel to the stunning actress, Irma Betty, kissing her co-star, Omar Hughs. The next, a music video for Torn Venture’s new chart topping single. And finally, a news station covering a local story.

“…on top of her, holding her down!” exclaimed a raspy woman’s voice. I moved within sight of the screen carrying the Kung Fu Chicken and a set of chopsticks. It was an older woman covering herself in a shawl. She was standing in front of hedges that obscured a window and a brick wall.

I dropped a piece of chicken on the floor. It made me wish I had a dog, but Leah would probably pick it up later, so I left it. After admitting that I lacked the skills to use chopsticks, I went and grabbed a fork from a drawer.

“Candace Everdeen and her husband saw the events unfold from across the street after hearing a loud bang from their neighbor’s home.” The voice of a female reporter said. You could tell that’s what she was by the fake tone of importance in her voice. It was my impression that reporters assumed we were simpletons and always talked down to their viewers.

My legs were stiff, returning to the living room. I’d wondered how long I’d been out for me to be all creaky. Crooking my neck side to side, it cracked. A chorus of pops and cracks sounded as I rolled my shoulders, arched my back, and rolled my wrists. I almost lost more food to the floor’s insatiable appetite with the last motion.

“I thought a bomb had gone off then I saw my neighbor’s daughter being attacked by a man I’d never seen before. I told my husband that he needed to do something.” The older lady continued.

“According to neighbors, Cara Hasbrook had been bed-ridden for the past several months and they thought her to be dead a couple days prior to the incident, but Jenny Hammerschmidt had a different story to tell,” the reporter narrated.

“Debra was lying about how sick her daughter was. She’s always telling stories for attention. It was obvious by the way that girl’s boyfriend was beating the *BEEP* out of her. There was blood everywhere! Then they got up like it was nothing. I tell you – there’s something very wrong with that family.” A prudish, wrinkled woman, probably in her mid-70s, explained.

I plunged a fork into the chicken which emerged from its white paper cage. It found adventured into my cavernous maw. Pearly white stalactites and stalagmites tore into the poor bird’s flesh as it explored. It took revenge with fire. I coughed. Heat radiated from my mouth and warmed my face. A drop of sweat pooled on my eyebrow. My senses had dulled since I’d come back to life, but the chicken was still spicy; very spicy. Leah noticed my plight.

“Those are for Dale. They’re the hottest you can get. You should probably just put them back and grab something else.” She spoke without expression.

“I’m fine, I can handle it.” I claimed, puffing up my chest.

“He’ll be mad if you eat too much.” The monotony of her tone revealed that, in her mind, I was trying to be a ‘man’. She gave my ego the out it needed to save me from the self-inflicted torture. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to prove anyway, I looked like a mummy in his underwear.

“I wouldn’t want Dale to be upset with me. I’m just going to put them back.” I shrugged nonchalantly. I exchanged the black-belt chicken for some fried rice then returned my attention to the TV.

The reporter continued, “One witness spoke with the assailant and claimed he’ll be haunted for the rest of his life.”

A haggard man with dark rings hung low on his face, clearly from several sleepless nights. He stared at an invisible object on the ground. “It was his eyes. There was something in his eyes. In that moment, I thought it was over. My life flashed before my eyes and he saw it all.” The man’s face contorted momentarily, then he looked squarely at the reporter and grew fervent. “He was the devil, that’s the only explanation. He could have snapped his fingers and we would have been cast into the abyss.” He pulled on the chain of a necklace. A cross emerged from his shirt, which he clasped in his hands, then he closed his eyes. “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...” The guy took a breath to continue, but the station cut to the next section of the story. I couldn’t imagine why he was so frightened; all I said was ‘no’.

“You can see, behind me, a boarded-up hole. The remnants of the struggle make that haunted man’s claim a little more plausible. As we enter the home, you can see the damage throughout the room and blood stains on the carpet reveal the extent of the attacker’s rage. Mrs. Hasbrook and her husband just wanted to help their daughter, but they definitely got more than they bargained for.” A smile crept across my face.

The camera was on Mrs. Hasbrook then; Cara sat next to her. She comforted her mom with an arm behind her back. “I just wanted to cure my daughter. I was desperate. When I saw Jesse’s billboard, I thought, what could it hurt. Our appointment was at 9:30, but he showed up late, attacked my daughter, and destroyed my home.” She smiled at her daughter, holding back tears, but it was off, like she was a bad actor.

“Ha, I was right! The appointment was at 9:30, not 9,” I exclaimed. Leah jumped and her startled eyes fell on me. “Shawn said the appointment was at 9 and all of this would have been avoided if he just paid more attention when I talked.”

Debra Hasbrook spoke further. “After we all had time to calm down, we had a chance to talk. At first, I thought it was a miracle, but Cara explained the truth, it was just her medicine finally taking effect.” They hugged then and both turned to the interviewer with smiles on their faces. Something about them didn’t feel right, however. Their smiles didn’t seem genuine and Mrs. Hasbrook’s eyes had an odd softness to them. Then Cara looked directly into the camera, but it was more like it was through it. Right at me. I paused stuffing my face to make a startling observation; my grin straightened into a serious line.

My concern was replaced with delight once more when the screen showed my incredibly well-crafted advertisement. “This is the billboard that Mrs. Hasbrook saw. Jesse Gil claims to be able to heal the sick and bring people back from the dead. A strong statement, but maybe the claim isn’t as preposterous as it seems. Despite the destruction, Cara did make a miraculous recovery. We tried to reach out to Mr. Gil, but his security detail stopped us at the door.”

Dale stood at attention with his shoulders back. He wore a stern expression and his security uniform like he was part of the secret service. He held two fingers to his ear and turned as if to listen to something, then spoke with an official tone. I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Gil is not available for comment.” That was all he said before it switched back to the reporter, microphone in hand, standing on the sidewalk near my building.

“It’s clear the Hasbrooks got more than they bargained for. Some are saying they’re just liars, but could they have really made a deal with the devil? What will happen when he comes back to collect? This is Jenna Farrow reporting. Back to you John.”

The smile on my face grew. Leah’s head pivoted toward me as the news anchor, John, made some clever remark about trading his soul to cure a stubbed toe. The co-anchor’s fake laugh grated on me, but it couldn’t dampen my excitement.

I was wringing my hands. “My business is going to explode.” They may have bad-mouthed me, but they said Cara made a miraculous recovery and they aired my brilliant marketing strategy. I may get more crazy people, religious nutjobs, and enraged picketers, but I’ll also get some that want to have clandestine meetings at crossroads to make a deal in exchange for their soul – or their money. Shawn, you beautiful marketing accident, I thought. I will have to remember to thank him later – or not. Not even he could ruin my growing elation at the possibilities.

“There is something wrong with you.” Leah chimed pulling me from my machinations. “Stop grinning like that. You’re creeping me out.” My smile had become so wide that I thought my mouth was escaping the confines of my face. “If you start laughing maniacally, I’m going to lose it. You look like an evil leprechaun about to count his gold.”

“You wound me.” Mocking an arrow going through my heart. “How could you say such cruel things?” Sure, I was excited about the prospect of getting more business, but more specifically, more money, but calling me leprechaun was a bit harsh. She might not be too far off the mark with evil, though. I couldn’t counter with a jibe before we were pulled back to the screen.

They panned to the meteorologist. Contrary to what was expected. She didn’t join in the news anchor’s heckling. The weather person usually played along with their jokes as a transition. Instead, she stared to the left. My left, her right.

She wore a modest blue blouse. Naturally curly, shoulder-length hair wrapped around a boney face. That is to say, it had sharp lines with pronounced cheekbones. Her eyes were the color of autumn. Browns and yellows, with subdued flecks of green. She was pretty in the childhood-friend-that-you-had-a-crush-on-but-she-thinks-of-you-like-a-brother kind of way.

“Jesse Gil isn’t the devil.” The woman said with conviction. “He’s a good man.” I didn’t recognize her. “He saved my aunt a couple weeks ago out of the kindness of his heart.” That didn’t sound like me at all; kindness didn’t pay the bills. Then I remembered the hospital job I never got paid for, but I didn’t remember seeing her there.

There was silence and the camera was back on the anchors. It was awkward. The anchors didn’t seem to know how to respond to the woman’s off-scripted comments. They wore forced smiles, their eyes darting to the right and signaling sharply with exaggerated head-flicks. My right, their left. It was obvious that they wanted attention to return to the woman that was supposed to be pointing out storms and cold fronts. After a couple moments, it did, and the weather forecast began as if nothing strange had transpired.

“I can’t imagine you helping someone for free,” Leah commented. She shifted toward me as I set the Chinese food container back on the table. “Do you know her or something?” I picked up another random container, avoiding the chicken that had defeated me earlier.

Before taking a bite of beef and broccoli, I looked to Leah, then turned my body away from her, toward an invisible horizon beyond the wall. I feigned distant memories of a better time, one in which haters hate and lovers love. Wistful words fell from my mouth, “It’s a tragic story. I saw her sobbing at a coffee shop downtown. Between sobs, she paused to look up at me, and her torment tugged at me. I comforted her and she confided in me. You see, her poor aunt was dying, but she couldn’t afford her treatment. The woman raised her after she was abandoned by her parent. I healed her aunt, expecting nothing in return, but then – she kissed me. She wanted to thank me, by offering to become my wife, but I refused. She told me that she loved me, but I wouldn’t take advantage of a young, impressionable girl. I let her down gently and walked away without looking back, but as I left, I heard her crying. They weren’t tears of mourning; they were tears of heartbreak.” I trailed off as I finished and looked down in dismay. I turned to Leah slowly, showing that the decision weighed heavily upon me. Then the weight was lifted abruptly. I responded with stone-faced as if I hadn’t just told an unnecessarily elaborate lie. “I don’t. I never saw her before, and that was the hospital job that the mob put a price on my head for.”

She stared at me in astonishment. “You really are the devil, aren’t you?” I cackled in response but paused suddenly. I remembered Mrs. Hasbrook’s odd behavior and listless gaze. Something was off about that, but what really chilled me about the interview was when Cara broke the fourth wall. There had been something menacing in her returned-to-the-living gray eyes – no, that wasn’t right. Her eyes had been black.