Commissioned Artwork by @PTGHO (Paz The Great Horned One)

  Crystal Meadows baked under the mountain’s skin, its heat fed by hidden springs and thermal pools. Once the city’s engineers tamed the swelter with temperature regulators, the wealthy quickly claimed it—building airy mansions, pristine shopping corridors, and parks with imported turf. Even underground, the air here felt bright. A beautiful "above ground, underground" if you could afford to live there.

  One such home was custom built to the specifications of its owner: a mansion with open spaces plush with carpeted walls, dark and rich cherry wood furniture polished to a shine and a chandelier with a sparkling array of crystals hovering above the foyer.

  The sound of laughter and applause came from a luxurious den as a stout corgi in a tuxedo took a bow for an audience of one. An orange tabbi in a green suit was sprawled across an expensive chaise lounge, wiping a tear from his eye.

  "Oh, Reginald," Sparks chuckled. "Your one-man musical renditions always bring me such joy."

  The corgi smiled thinly as he dabbed his sweat away with a handkerchief. A sharp knock at the door startled them both. Sparks checked a gold pocket watch. "A bit late for visitors," he murmured. "Go see who that is please, Reginald."

  After a moment of muffled voices, Reginald returned, trailed by a broad-shouldered lizard in a dark-suit and a red-eyed cowbird. No introductions were necessary--Don Vincent Pazienza and his shadow, Tristopher.

  "Apologies, sir," Reginald offered. "They…insisted."

  Sparks rose, smoothing his suit vest. "Quite all right. Why don't you call it an early night, Reginald. I believe we have some early morning appointments tomorrow."

  The corgi hesitated, eyes flicking between the guests, then dutifully left. Silence pooled until the front door clicked shut.

  "You're lucky," Pazienza began, sporting a needle toothed grin. "Good help is so hard to find these days." He stepped past Sparks without a glance and moved straight to the open liquor cabinet, pulling an intricate decanter of dark amber liquid. Tiny precious jewels floated across the surface, glinting in the light of the room. Pazienza popped the crystal stopper and drank it dry in one swallow.

  "That was a several thousand klopen bottle of Elaven brandy," Sparks said tightly, trying to suppress his irritation.

  "I'll take it from your tab," the gangster growled in response.

  Sparks’ tail twitched in annoyance. "What are you talking about? I have no debt with you."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "You do now." Pazienza's grin had vanished. "Your latest 'art project’ was one of mine. You've severed one of my streams of revenue and made me look weak. How am I supposed to offer protection against a threat like the Crimson Lotus?"

  The bakery. Sparks felt the heat drain from his chest. It should have been safe. The troubled owner had his own insurance policy. No mention of Pazienza or his shell companies. The mobster selected another bottle to sample. His face curled in disgust and he put it back. "As a way of recompense, you will deliver me five hundred thousand klopens by week's end," he declared.

  "That's…tight," Sparks managed. "Even for me."

  He spied the Don’s limo through the bay window. The driver had cut across his front lawn, tearing up the manicured and imported turf. A scar to remember him by. The lizard loved throwing his weight around. Pazienza perused an open cigar box and Sparks conjured a candle’s flame in offering. The cold shroud of a counterspell passed over him and extinguished the fire, making his tail poof with a shiver. Tristopher’s stare boring into his back pinned him like a knife.

  "One week. Seven days. 500 thousand," Pazienza reiterated, having drained another expensive liquor. He let the empty bottle drop, shattering crystal across the hardwood. "See you then. Don't disappoint me." The stench of brandy and hot reptile breath filled Sparks’ nose. He watched them leave and chew another trench through the lawn on his way out.

  Swearing under his breath, he grabbed his mobile Slate and dialed his attorney-slash-financial advisor Gaul Sootmin. Even if he had enough available, money needed to be already in motion to move that much in a week. Gaul would have to pull all the right strings or they'd be tight enough to hang him. The call rang several times until voicemail picked up. Sparks canceled the call and typed out a text in a flurry of runes.

  Need $$$ NOW. CALL!

  The screen stayed dark. He picked up the empty decanter of Elaven brandy and hurled it against the stone fireplace, sending more crystal fragments rattling across the hardwood floor.

  He needed to blow off some steam. Grabbing his suit coat, he left the house and strode down the drive, past the ruts in the lawn, into Crystal Meadows’ pristine streets. Too clean. Too lit. He turned corner after corner until the polished lamps gave way to rusted ones, the air cooling, the roads narrowing. Here, the city’s shine wore off. This section of Caverlock had once been the stalwart force of New Warren’s manufacturing boom. Its storefronts now sagged behind warped shutters; its rail spurs ended in piles of scrap. He stopped at a crumbling shopfront whose windows had been boarded so long they’d rotted. For Sparks, it was perfect.

  He closed his eyes and focused. Focused on his power. That little spark smoldering inside him. The power answered his call and flooded his veins with molten ice. Flames erupted from his palms, wild and eager, until his will bent them into shape. The fire obeyed, enveloping the structure. It was hypnotic. A mesmerizing dance with a pure element of nature. The snaps and pops of wood disintegrating as their song. The instruments, tongues of flame, hungrily devouring everything offered.

  The wall of heat plucking at his whiskers cooled. Sparks opened his eyes. Only blackened stone and ash remained. Too quick. Too small. Hardly worthy of his portfolio. His phone chimed an alert. One new message from a contact listed only as V.

  Pick up the trash outside Grenda's tomorrow afternoon.

  Sparks typed a reply: I need a lot in a short period.

  V's jobs were always lucrative. They only reached out when needing a particular skill set. The timing couldn't be better. He watched the three dots on the screen bounce up and down until the response came through.

  Then I suggest you talk that over with the dumpster.

  He hesitated. Gaul would throw a fit if he didn't clear this with him first. Still, V’s money had always been good before. Better to ask for forgiveness and all that. He typed in his answer and hit send.