Embers and Icicles

Chapter Three

Heat buzzed from the tens of radiators scattered around the room. The dim orange light they emitted was the only source of brightness in the room. Stanley–the short, square rimmed glasses wearing, ginger haired man now entering the room–carried a steaming bowl of water towards the center of the room.

The man sitting there was coated in ice despite the warmth of the room. He spun around in his chair, the dim light shrouding his silver hair and sharp features in a soft halo of light.

While Stanley's skin was flushing pink, sweat dripping down his face, the man's pale skin and ice patches scattered across his body didn't show any sign of the uncomfortable temperature.

"Silver, I got you the boiling water you asked for, sir," Stanley said, holding out the bowl he was carrying.

"I wish you had gone a little slower, Stanley. I still have too many good years left."

"Sorry, sir. The water took longer than I expected to heat up."

"Well, it's here now. Bring it over, and don't drop it this time."

Stanley nodded and brought the hot water over, careful not to go too quickly in case it spilled. He could feel the scalding heat even through his oven mitts.

Silver reached out and stuck his hand in the water without even flinching. He sighed in relief as his hand submerged. "That's nice. I can nearly feel something. Stanley, be a good boy and stick your hand in. I want you to tell me how it feels."

"B-but ... my hand. It'll burn."

"I didn't give you those powers for you to stand there and be a pussy. You'll be fine–the water's hardly even warm." Silver locked his hand around Stanley's wrist and pulled off the oven mitt.

He stared into Stanley's eyes, saying, "Do it, Stanley. Don't make me do something you'll regret. Burns can heal. There are some things that can't."

Stanley nodded, braced himself, and dipped his fingers carefully past the rim of the bowl. The heat was immediately unbearable, blisters pushing their way to the surface of his skin.

He managed to stifle the scream, but not the way his face contorted in pain. Grunts and whimpers of pain slipped through his tightening airway as he struggled to draw a full breath into his lungs.

Silver observed him with cool indifference. "Describe it," he said. "How does it feel?"

"Sir, plea–"

"Describe it."

"I-it's like a thousand needles stabbing my palm, r-ripping through the skin and bone and muscles until I just want to tear off my hand to stop the–"

Beep.

The sound resounded through the room, and Silver's eyes darted to the monitor resting on the corner of his desk. Stanley took the opportunity to pull his hand from the bowl and take a few steadying breaths.

"Ah, my gaggle of idiots is back." Silver watched them disinterestedly as Chevy walked in, trailed like a mother hen by his little ducklings. Though two of them weren't walking. In the snake elemental one's–Sammy's–hands was a large jar filled with faintly glowing blue goop. Dougie.

And the body slung over Chevy's shoulder was exciting enough to bring a grin to Silver's face that Stanley couldn't even cause.

Sammy placed Dougie's trapped body gently on the ground and stepped back, his forked tongue flicking out to test the air. He must not have liked whatever he felt, because he took a small step back.

That was likely a good move. Silver in a good mood was even less predictable than him in a bad one. Now that he had his prize, the flame boy Chevy was lowering to the floor, he had little motivation to worry about the gang's safety. They had gotten him what he needed, and if they were smart they would get out quick.