In the pocket of her pants, Molly carried a book of matches. They weren’t necessary, but a little showmanship tended to open the already loose hands on the boardwalk a little wider.

Picking a patron was an art. Younger men worked better than older ones, and a younger man who had only just begun flirting with a girl – or, even better, more than one – worked the best.

Selecting her prize, she sidled up, greeting the women first before turning to the man, saying “Light your cigarette for you, sir?” She held up a match, and before anyone could say a word, she tossed it away, snapped her fingers, and the tip of her ring finger erupted into flame. There was a jump of surprise and a little titter from the women. Then, they reached forward to examine her finger, gripping her by the wrist and passing their own hands over the fire. Molly let them do as they pleased, holding perfectly still until they were satisfied, and the man leaned forward to light his cigarette.

“A penny is customary for a tip,” she said. She always asked with eyes lowered, half-bent at the waist. Before, when she wasn’t as skilled at picking patrons, she had been kicked and laughed at by men too ungentlemanly to honor a contract, even if they hadn’t known they were entering one.

This man laughed but stuck a nickel into her outstretched hand. She straightened, grinned, and tipped her cap. As a final flourish – a gift for generosity – she opened her palm and lit a flame, extinguishing it by pulling in one finger after another.

As she dashed back into the crowd, she cried, “Come visit the Blue Sky theater for more.”

Her next few patrons only tipped pennies, but the final one gave her a dime, so it wasn’t bad for a couple hours work.

She returned to the shabby boarding house on the farthest edge of the shabby side of the island. It had burned down once and was rebuilt worse than before. The windows either wouldn’t open or wouldn’t shut and little puddles of water gathered on the uneven floors in the top rooms when it rained. The food was lousy but plentiful, and the rent was cheaper than anywhere else.

Alice and Annie were on the stairs as she dashed up them.

“Good day, Molly?” Alice asked.

“Yep,” she replied, grinning. “Don’t wait for me. I’ve got to collect Edward.”

Annie turned, but she couldn’t quite hide the look of distaste on her face. Molly did not let this bother her. She never did.

Edward was still in his room when she knocked.

“Ready?” she asked.

He put down the book he was reading. “I suppose,” he said, rising languidly to his feet.

She repositioned the cap on her head, her hair curling around its edges. It badly needed cutting again.

Years ago, she had determined that looking like an interesting boy was better than being an ugly girl and accordingly, purloined Edward’s castoffs, the pants and shirts he outgrew as he gained six inches on her.

She remained small and dark and slight, someone to forget unless she happened to be aflame. He grew tall and golden, which was highly fitting. In their world of cheap parlor tricks, he could do something wondrous.

As the older one, she had figured out her talent first, crying out “watch me” to anyone who would look and, eager and unafraid, set herself on fire. It had taken Edward longer, his talent undiscovered until after they had been plucked from the orphanage and sent to live in the country. When Edward had been unable to sleep, Molly would stroke his hair and tell him the tales she remembered from their father. Then, she got sick, and, to comfort her, he retold these stories, and they came alive, the little characters performing on a private stage meant only for her and Edward. But his gift was inconsistent and, for a long while, only worked in her presence. Once they started on the circuit, she would stand, silent and unseen, in the wings of theaters in his line of sight so that he could perform.

She didn’t have to stand in the wings anymore, but she still did.

He didn’t watch her perform at all.

The Blue Sky theater was a shade of blue so bright it hurt to look at, but despite this impairment, still boasted the best shows on the boardwalk though the owner paid only slightly more than the other theaters offering acts of lesser quality. The Blue Sky had been there longer than the amusement park that sat behind it, but it did well by siphoning off the park crowd.

Inside the theater, Molly left Edward backstage sitting with his eyes closed, head bent forward, hands clasped tightly around his knees. Molly crouched at the stage’s edge and watched Andres, the manager of their troupe, who created sculptures out of ice, Annie who levitated objects and her partner Alice who could disappear but only for around a minute, and Henri who grew plants from nothing.

They trotted out their wares and received their applause, and then Molly stepped on stage. She waited for all the lights to dim before going to work.

It started with the tip of one finger. She held the flame close to her face, before extinguishing it, sinking the room into darkness. She opened her palm and a flame rose from its center. This she tossed to her other hand before allowing it to spread up her bare arms. Eventually, all the flames slid back down and erupted from the ends of her fingers. She extinguished again and then, lighting one finger, began to write glowing messages in the dark. The audience laughed and applauded where they were intended to and, in some places, where they weren’t. By this time, the oil lamps had been set out, so she carefully lit each one, the stage glowing with their soft light, so much better than any of the new electric ones and a far better atmosphere for what came next.

Her applause arrived and went, and Edward stepped on stage. Whether the audience knew it or not, this was what they were waiting for. He smiled, that warm one that he only used for strangers, and said, “Please, will you come closer? The children can sit on the stage, but mind the lamps.”

When everyone was situated, he said, “I’d like to tell you a story. But what story will we have today?” He looked thoughtful and then said, “Let’s have a new one, yes? But what about?” He knelt on the stage beside a flock of children. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

There were always ideas, and today’s were a lion, named Harold, and a bear, named Bear, and a trip under the sea.

“Right,” Edward said. “Let’s begin.”

He spoke, voice honey-warm and sweet, and as he did, a tableau formed itself before him. There they were – the old, scraggly bear and the young, spirited lion and their ship with its many masts and crew of animals, bustling around, their movements as purposeful as Edward’s words. Soon, they dove beneath the waves and encountered wonders that would have been difficult to imagine, but there they were, shimmering in colors that seemed too bright to be real.

It was so still it seemed that the audience had been frozen, hardly moving to breathe as Edward created something fragile but tangible, something better than the gaudy ephemerality found next door at the amusement park.

Once the story was completed, the little ship with its bear captain and sword-wielding lion still remained on the stage, laying inert on the floor. From experience, Molly knew that, when held, this object would hum with the remembrance of the story.

Edward smiled and knelt down in front of a little girl whose mouth was still agape. “Here,” he said. “A souvenir for you.”

The child reached out slowly for it and, once she had it in her possession, cradled it against her stomach. Then, Edward stood, bowed, and left the stage. The applause was, as always, delayed, but when it came it was thunderous. Edward never came out for a second bow which Molly thought he should.

The audience scattered, and the stage was set for the next show. Molly removed each of the lamps with Alice and Annie while Andres and Henri swept the stage.

“I think,” Andres said to Molly, “that we should talk again about the double act.”

Henri shook his head. “He’s never going to let it go.”

“Just think of the spectacle,” Andres said. “Fire and ice.”

“Think of the mess,” Alice said. “Or would you be cleaning up the puddles of water between acts?”

“I was thinking it would be our close,” Andres said.

“Edward always closes,” Molly said.

“Well, he doesn’t have to,” Andres said which was a lie, for no one wanted to go on after Edward.

“I’ll think about it,” Molly said.

Andres nodded, knowing she wouldn’t.

Andres had never liked Edward. Not when they first joined the troupe, not when they started on the circuit, not when Edward became their headliner, and not now. Andres wanted to believe the worst of him. But he didn’t truly know Edward, the boy that she had cared for, who she promised never to abandon, and who had promised to never abandon her.

Edward always slipped outside between shows. He stood on the steps that led into the theater’s backdoor, his arms folded over the railing and his shoulders hunched forward.

Molly fell in beside him. “Light your cigarette for you, sir?” she asked.

“Molly,” he said. He didn’t smoke, and he wouldn’t let her near him with a fire.

“It went well I think,” she said, knowing that he needed the praise and eager to give it to him.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “They were dazzled like they always are.”

“They’re easy to dazzle,” he said.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You should go back in.”

She patted him on the shoulder and reached for the door. “Don’t be too long.” She let the door slam behind her.

As she knew he would be, Edward was late coming back in for the second show.

“Molly, your brother,” Andres said.

“Yes,” she said and headed outside.

Edward had moved down to the alley’s mouth where he was speaking to a handsomely-dressed man, much too handsomely-dressed to be on this side of the island. This had happened before. Wealthy men came and offered Edward what they believed would be attractive to him, and he always listened politely, and then Molly, seeing them for the exploiters that they were, turned them away. This, however, was the first time he had spoken to one of them without her.

Edward was the type to be taken in. When he was younger, he would spend what little money she was able to give him on cheap novels about virtuous boys who were plucked from the margins and gutters where they resided by well-meaning and kindly patrons who would make them respectable. He still believed, she was sure, in this fantasy.

“Edward,” she called, advancing toward him. “Who are you talking to?”

He turned to look at her and said, “I’ll only be a moment.”

“He has a show now,” Molly said to the other man. “You’re welcome to buy a ticket if you like”

“Thank you, but I’ve already seen it,” he said. He held out his hand for Edward to shake. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

“What did this one want?” Molly asked once the man had gone.

“Nothing of note,” Edward said, slipping in the stage door behind her.

She left him sitting in the dark of the wings, far from the light of the stage.