Releasing him, Marcus squirmed away through the tables and chairs. He pushed himself upright and twisted around. A spray of flame scorched just above his head, close enough to catch his nappy hair. His Afro combusted. Long began to swing the heavy weapon back around on him to finish the toasting. Hair aflame, Marcus surged forward. His tongue shot out, tagging Long on his forehead with enough force to snap his head back. He grasped the tubing, yanked it free, and ducked as liquid shot into the air, combusting when a lick of flame touched it.
For a few moments, Long leaped and whirled through a twisting, cursing dance of spurting flame. He was no Natya, but it was quite a show. He tossed the canister in one direction, where it rolled into the legs of a jumble of chairs, igniting them. He dropped the flamethrower itself. He kicked it away with his clawed foot, and then stood brushing ash from his scales. He watched Marcus with deep irritation in his stylized reptilian features. Marcus stared back at him, catching his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. Around them, the warehouse was quickly becoming an inferno. Flame climbed the walls and smoke blackened the rafters, billowing lower and lower with each passing moment.
“All right,” Long said, flexing his neck and moving into his slightly sideways fighting stance, “let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”
The two collided at full force: Long with his sideways attack, Marcus propelled by the sinuous muscles of his tail. Marcus hammered on Long’s torso, his fists blistering against his scales. Long swatted at him with his claws. Marcus was quicker; Long had more power. He could also spit fire. He pulled back his head, puckered his lips, and phoosh! It was more distracting than damaging, though. The fire extinguished itself as quickly as it appeared, little more than singing Marcus’s eyebrows.
They broke apart and for a few frantic moments they exchanged blows with their tails. Marcus tried to trip the dragon up, but Long planted his feet solidly and came on. He connected with a swing that threw Marcus to the side and sent him rolling. Marcus squirmed back. He’d use his tongue instead. He tagged Long on the forehead, on the shoulder, on the chest. Each thwack of impact was wet with venom, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. His fucking scales! Marcus thought. His venom wasn’t getting through them.
“You ain’t so tough,” Long said. He spat a quick jet of flame, just for effect. “Come on, fucker, stop slithering and fight.”
A beam fell from the ceiling, one side of it crashing down and making a diagonal barrier between the two jokers. It landed almost on top of Long, who backpedaled in response. Marcus used the moment.
He shot forward, grabbed the beam as he slid under it, and snapped his tail forward like a whip. He wrapped the tip around Long’s neck, pinched it tight. He released the beam and used all his torso strength to draw his upper body forward. Once he was poised above Long, anchored to his neck, he battered him with a quick barrage of jabs. Long pulled his head back to spit, but Marcus was expecting that. He slammed a fist through the joker’s puckered lips and into his mouth. He grabbed his tongue and yanked it taut. To the dragon’s obvious horror, Marcus leaned in close and licked the length of it. Intimate, yes. Slobbery, indeed. But mostly … venomous. He released the tongue, which snapped back into Long’s mouth, and sprung away.
Long spat and spat again, quick bursts of flame erupting each time, vanishing just as quickly. His eyes stretched wide and wild, casting about for some rescue, even looking at Marcus beseechingly. Marcus crossed his arms and offered nothing. Long tried to run, but his steps were so unsteady it was all he could do to stay upright. He began to claw at his throat. He dropped to his knees and then, a moment later, reached for the floor as he crashed down face-forward into a sprawling heap.
Marcus didn’t let him rest. He bent over him, twisted his head around. Through his coughs he asked, “Why’d you do it?”
Long just looked at him, his eyes glazed and floating.
“Why’d you off Twitch?” Marcus said, shaking him. “What did he ever do to you?”
“The one and only told me to.” Long sounded out of it, his mouth thick and his words strangely whimsical, as if he were drunk. “The one and only most holy.”
“Who’s the most holy?”
“Squidface.”
“You mean Father Squid? What does he have to do with anything?”
“Take it up with the squid. Take it up with…”
Long’s eyes fell shut. Marcus punched him, but to no effect. And then he punched him again, just for fun.
Then he heard the sirens.
♣
Marcus couldn’t complain about the way things turned out. He had dragged Long to safety before the fire department showed up. Boy were the cops glad to get their hands on him. There were going to be some lingering legal issues, Flipper had said, but considering all the attention Infamous Black Tongue had received recently—and the stink of police corruption around the whole thing—he didn’t expect the cops to pursue any disturbing the peace or destruction of property charges. When Marcus gave Father Squid’s name as a suspect, Flipper promised to use that to his advantage as well.
Reporters swarmed him, suddenly his best friends, all smiles and congratulations and a million questions. Blinking in the harsh camera lights, Marcus wished his hair hadn’t looked so pathetic, singed and showing reddened scalp in spots. Oh, well, it was proof he’d taken Long out the hard way.
With that behind him, Marcus focused on another pressing matter.
Natya’s performance that night was awesome. Her best yet. For a long time she danced on her own, just her body stepping and sliding, her arms sinuous, her face pure beauty, as if her mind was somewhere else entirely, somewhere wonderful. The spectral images joined her later, first just as ribbons of light, and then in birdlike forms that sailed around her, gliding on gusts of music. By the end she’d become a glowing sun, around which a swirling solar system rotated. Marcus had felt the heat of her hot on his face, and in other places as well.
The warmth faded fast once he was outside in the alley behind the playhouse. He stood there shivering in the rear of the alley, half hidden in the shadows, clutching a single flower. Occasional flakes of snow fell. He couldn’t feel the tip of his tail anymore, but he wasn’t gonna let that discourage him. He sported a new wool cap, pulled snug down over his ears. He’d bought it to hide his singed scalp, but was glad for the warmth of it now. Listening to Nat King Cole wafting in the night air, he wondered if they celebrated Christmas in Sri Lanka. Probably not. He should have looked that up when he Googled the place. Regardless, he was going to buy her presents. Lots of presents. He’d get her nice things, or maybe he’d make her something. He’d figure it out. Tonight, though, he’d keep it simple. A single flower.
He thought, “Hey, Natya, how you doing?…” No, not like that. I’ll say … “Hey, Natya, great dancing tonight. Loved it. Hey, you ever been to Trincomalee? I hear good things about it. Been thinking about going…”
The door swung open. Natya stepped out. She said something back inside, a few good-byes. A burst of laughter came back out at her. A few more words, and then she let the door click shut. For a few wondrous moments, Marcus felt the world’s possibilities condensed down into two beings separated by only a few steps, a few seconds. Natya exhaled a plume of mist. Marcus thought how wonderful it would be to be that warm air, coming up out of Natya’s lungs, through that throat and mouth and lips. His hands, despite the cold, were sweating where they clutched the flower. Marcus slid toward her.
“Hey, girl!” a female voice called, and then sang, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”