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Sticks and candles are strewn all over the basement floor, but mostly huddled in the corner farthest from the wooden stairs. There they’d arranged a little lean-to made of old branches and stuffed it with wood shavings doused in lighter fluid.
She doesn’t know why they couldn’t do this outside. Besides the fire itself risking the integrity of their home, the smoke would build up and sneak into everyone’s lungs. Sure, they usually smoked stuff for fun, but grass was different than lighter fluid and wood. But she doesn’t ask him. The ceiling is still wet with paint infused with alien magic as another safety measure for their house. Why hadn’t they done that before?
No one else probably had to start a real fire down here before, she decides, and the realization makes the back of her neck tingle. More tests had been administered to her than the other members of the Connection. Her loyalty is the most distrusted. Why? She couldn’t even leave. Where would she go? They are all her friends, her lovers, her… Connection. Couldn’t he see that yet?
Words stick in her throat. No, he could not. Something about her was too flighty and weak. Too human. Too mundane. Lacking real magic. The other lovers all could cast spells faster and easier than she could. She was too dumb. So, of course she needed more instruction.
“This is an easy spell,” he assures her. “It’s the first spell I ever learned, and I was an infant.”
He snaps his fingers, and three candle wicks light in a flash. Another snap and they’re reduced to little curls of smoke.
If it was magic, why did she need lighter fluid?
As if he’d read her mind, he says, “If anything should catch in that kindling, you’ll be successful. A candle has but a single wick. I have learned to control my fires. For you, we just need to start one.”
Deep inhale, sharp exhale, and she adjusts her stance to a more robust one, legs apart and right arm held out to her side. With her left hand, she snaps. He winces. No fire.
“Is that really how you snap? With your index finger?”
She nods as her cheeks started to burn.
“Try with your middle finger.”
She bounces her index, ring, then middle finger against the tip of her thumb. After a brief hesitation, she snaps her fingers together and a crisper sound rings out. Caught up in the hand movements, she stares and practices a few more snaps, even trying her ring finger. Shaking both her hands out, she arranges her fingers in the new orientation and snaps again.
No fire.
And again.
No fire.
And again.
No fire.
“You may also need to sing,” he says, but the disappointment creeping in is impossible to ignore. He steps thoughtfully up the stairs in search of a book.
Without him there to potentially stop any fires from getting out of control, she keeps her hands as still as possible. But as the minutes grind down, she is unable to help herself and ends up rubbing her shirt between her index finger and thumbs.
“Back,” he says curtly. “I haven’t needed to find this spell before. I had to look for it.”
Shoulders falling, she gets into position again as he starts to sing to her. Copying his intonations, she snaps. And snaps. And snaps. The flush on her face goes scarlet as the reality of her ineptitude washes over her. It’s not fair. He was born doing this magic. It’s easy for him.
“Um… do you think Teresa could try and help me?”
His frown deepens. “Why?”
“You’re too good at it. Maybe I need help from someone else who had to learn.”
He pauses, considering, and for a moment her heart soars with the possibility that the other alien would be allowed to help her. Dreaming of gentle hands, soft voice, tender touch, sweet laughter, she smiles, nervous and pleading, as he approaches her instead of the stairs. Hesitating, she almost gets on her knees when he places a hand on the top of her head, fingers threading through her hair.
“You don’t need anyone but me to help you,” he says carefully. Each word is precise and layered with intentions. “I run this household. I am a master and a teacher. You will learn from me.” He squeezes and presses his fingerprints harder into her scalp. “And me alone.”
Her smile fades, and the questing look in her eyes erodes into a neutral stare that slides past his face and toward the back wall. They stand together while he repeats himself, and her body slackens. Silence stretches to fill in the seconds before he repeats himself again. Satisfied by her blank expression, he pulls his hand down over her face, around her neck, and then away.
“Now, let’s try again.”
She snaps with her index finger, but he chides her again. She’s slower to change her hand position and doesn’t always remember, but she snaps and sings and snaps and sings and snaps and sings at the firewood. After several minutes, he suggests she get closer. The light fluid odor mixed with the wet paint scent tickles her nose, but she obeys.
More snaps and song. Because he is her master and teacher, she tries again and again and again.
“Get closer,” he growls.
She nods and acquiesces. Fear of burning has been loosened from her mind. Following his instructions has become paramount. Biting her lip, she leans in and bends over until she is mere inches away from the sticks as she continues her attempts.
More minutes tick by.
“Enough.”
The kindling bursts into flame, and she jumps back as it climbs higher, catching the wood and crackling. Every candle lights in unison. All the flames glow hot and bright, swelling and growing even after she stops her spell. The walls start to blacken with soot as more smoke fills the room. Wax pools along the floor, and the wicks start to drown. She has eyes only for the campfire ablaze before her as it climbs higher and higher.
Smoke chokes her lungs and irritates her eyes. Rubbing them, she tries to coo and soothe the flames, but they’re not hers to calm.
He snaps and all the fires go out. Wisps of smoke curl around the sooty room as the wax starts to cool. He leaves up the stairs in a dramatic flourish of his robes.
“Should I come, too, Master?” she asks slowly, watching him go.
He doesn’t answer, just locks the door behind him.