“Burnfingers will do.” The boy’s knuckles were white where his fingers clutched at the upholstery. “They cannot bother us no more, Steven. Mouse’s singing made most of the bad things give up. I took care of the rest.”
“You sure did.” Steven’s grip relaxed slightly and a flicker of interest replaced some of the terror in his eyes. “You shot ’em, didn’t you?”
“That’s just what I did. Want to see my gun?”
The boy drew back slightly. “No! I’m afraid of guns.”
“No reason to be afraid, if you know what you are doing. You’re not afraid of a hammer, are you? Or a saw?”
“N-no.”
“Well, a gun is just another kind of tool.”
“I never thought of it like that before.”
“That is because you live in the city, where people think of guns wrongly. Tell me what else you are afraid of.”
“Fire. I’m scared of fire. That’s one reason why I was so frightened back there.”
Burnfingers shook his head and chuckled. “Another tool. Fire is a gift the gods gave man long ago. If you learn to know it and how to make use of it, then it will be your good friend forever. There is no reason to be frightened of it.”
Steven sounded uncertain. “Mom always warned me to be careful of matches and the stove and things like that. I just don’t feel comfortable around them.” Burnfingers noted that the boy’s hands had finally relaxed, no longer dug for dear life at the fabric of the couch.
“Be careful, of course. But friendly, too. There’s more than one reason why I am called Burnfingers Begay. Want to see a trick?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just between you and me. Not for your mom or dad or anyone else.”
Steven peered past the big stranger. His parents were in the front seats, chatting to each other. Wendy had her eyes closed as her feet tapped time to the music. Despite not reacting to the rhythm, Mouse looked as if she was listening. He turned back to the powerful, soft-spoken man who had saved him and his family, and suddenly he was no longer afraid.
“All right. Sure.”
“Good. Put out your hand like this.” Burnfingers extended his left hand, demonstrating how to place the thumb against the tip of the forefinger.
Steven struggled to position his much smaller fingers. “Like this?”
“No. Cross them a little more.” Burnfingers gently adjusted the boy’s hand. “Now you do—this.” He snapped his fingers. A tiny dancing flame burst from the tip of his thumb, burning merrily.
Even for a ten-year-old, Steven’s eyes became very wide. “Wow, that’s neat! How’d you do that?”
“Practice, and knowing how things are.” He gestured with his burning thumb. “Blow it out. Go on, go ahead.”
Steven leaned forward, hesitated a moment, then exhaled sharply. The flame vanished. Where it had danced was no darkening of the skin, no scorch mark.
“It’s a trick.”
Burnfingers smiled. “Didn’t I say so? Most of life is a trick, Steven. Physics is a trick, and chemistry a trick, and mathematics the neatest trick of them all. Now you try it.”
“Okay,” the boy said dubiously. He concentrated hard on his thumb as he snapped his fingers together. They popped cleanly, but several attempts produced only sore fingers and no flame.
“You do right with your fingers but not with your head. That’s where the trick part is.” He leaned close and whispered in the boy’s ear. Steven listened intently, nodding as he did so. “Now try again.”
Steven did so, repeatedly. The fourth attempt brought forth a tiny but unmistakable puff of smoke. “Gee!” Steven started to smile, staring at his hand in wonder.
“You see?” Burnfingers sat back, satisfied. “Like most tricks it is just a question of practice and getting your head straight. Concentrate now.”
Steven leaned forward eagerly, trying to set his mind the way the Navajo had instructed him. As he concentrated, he relaxed, and as he relaxed, the fear and terror of the past hours faded from his memory.
Which was what Burnfingers had intended all along.
8
FRANK DROVE EASILY. Alicia had swiveled her chair around in order to talk with Wendy, who kneeled on the floor next to her mother.
“He was so good-looking I didn’t see his eyes,” she was saying. “Or maybe I did and I just ignored what was there.”
Alicia stroked her daughter’s hair. “It’s all right. It doesn’t matter now.”
Mouse stood nearby, staring out the windshield. “Do not berate yourself, child. It is difficult much of the time to tell devils from men. Most devils have a little man in them, and most men a little devil in them. What one has to learn is how to judge proportions.”
Alicia smiled tolerantly. “A very clever metaphor.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” said Mouse innocently. “It’s the literal truth.”
“I take it, then, you’ve had a lot of experience with men?” As soon as she said it Alicia was sorry. That wasn’t her style at all. It was one of the main reasons she hated attending the parties thrown by Frank’s business associates. The women who came had raised bitchiness to a high art, and she wanted no part of it.
She needn’t have worried. It affected Mouse not in the slightest. “As a matter of fact I do know quite a bit about men. I’ve known men who were intelligent and handsome, men who were witty, men who were evil, a few who were everything. I’ve also known some devils, and I say again there are times when it is hard to tell them apart.” She smiled warmly down at Wendy.
“Don’t think you are the first woman who has had trouble making the distinction. The only difference in your case was that the differences were more clear-cut than usual.”
“I can tell you’ve had a lot of experience,” Wendy replied, “but really, how old are you?”
