Spell Fire
© Barbara V. Evers, Do Not Copy Without Permission Karen sat forward, then settled back against the canvas beach chair. She slapped at the gritty sand coating her ankles. It clung in desperation to her saltwater-slick skin. Sighing, she tried the “great beach read” again. After two sentences, she dropped the book to her lap and glanced at her husband. Eyes closed, his chest rose and fell with low rumbles. She squinted at the rising sun. That’s when she got a whiff. A scorched odor wafted on the cool ocean breeze. It drifted in and out, pulled in waves, sometimes overpowering the essence of sunscreen and sweat. She glanced around and lurched forward, yanking her sunglasses off as she twisted in the chair. “What the—” “Synbatec, wastopaneer, tacise.” A frenetic young man, dressed in coat and tie, boogied behind her. Flames licked upward battling the brilliant white glare of paper grasped in his hand. “Synbatec.” He shoved the papers away from his body, closer to the umb