Phil flipped a match. Its head touched the blistering sidewalk, burst into flame.
“Cool,” she said. “Lemonade?”
“Thanks.” The cold liquid slid down his parched throat. His eyes slid over her. Moist golden-brown skin, curly auburn hair, body radiating sultry heat.
“Folks away?”
“Sick. Heat stroke. Bad summer for them.”
Standing barefoot on the burning concrete, she smiled, extended her hand. “But good for us.”
Mesmerized by the fire in her eyes, he took her hand, stood, screamed as her flaming breath enveloped them.
They rose together on leathery wings, talons entwined, leaving piles of ash on the steaming sidewalk.