“I didn’t know Wulf could throw fire,” I said.
“It’s this gadget I bought,” Early said, pulling a propane torch out of her Hermès shoulder bag. “I bought it to caramelize crème brûlée, but you can torch anything with it.”
“Your town house?” I asked.
“That was an accident.”
“My car?”
“I was practicing. And how did I get all that flour on me? I can’t remember.”
“Flour?” Clara said. “What flour?”
I agreed. “I don’t remember any flour.”
Early pulled the trigger and—whoosh—about ten inches of blue flame shot out.
“Whoa,” Clara said. “That’s way beyond crème brûlée.”
“I like fire,” Early said, flicking the flamethrower, shooting out fire.
&nbs
p; “So now what?” I asked her.
“World domination and chaos. My name is Anarchy!” she said, waving the torch around, shooting flames out at us. “What’s my name?” she asked us.
“Anarchy,” we said in unison.
“I want the stone, and you are going to get it for me.”
When she said you, she pointed at me and set my chef apron on fire. I batted at it with a kitchen towel, and Clara shot it with water from the sink hose.
“Jeez Louise,” I said, untying the wet apron, examining the hole in it. “Could you be more careful with that flamethrower! It’s not like aprons grow on trees.”
“You have twenty-four hours to get the stone to me, or I’ll burn your house to the ground,” she said.
She aimed the torch at a stack of towels and phffffft. Up in flames.
“I don’t have the stone,” I said to her. “Wulf has the stone.”
Okay, that was a rotten thing to do to Wulf, but I didn’t care. I was willing to throw him under the bus to get rid of Early or Anarchy or whoever the heck she was at the moment.
“Pay attention,” she said. “I’m telling you to get it and bring it to me. You’re making me angry.”
Phfffft. She cremated a tray of soft pretzel rolls.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson’s going to be in here any minute, and he’s going to be pissed.”
“I want that stone!” Anarchy shrieked.
“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Where do you want it delivered?”
She pulled a card out of her purse. “This is my cell phone. I’m currently between addresses.”
“Okeydokey,” I said. “Would you like a cupcake for the road?”
“I don’t eat cupcakes,” she said. “Do I look like I eat cupcakes? I don’t think so. I work glutes and abs seven days a week. I haven’t got a single cellulite dimple. I eat like an alpaca. Sprouts and watercress.”