“I hate rain!” the girl grumbled as she angled the umbrella toward the wind in an effort to keep semi-dry. She didn’t hear the car that approached from down the hill and behind her or see it swerve hard to the left. It crossed into the oncoming lane and roared past her a meter from the curb. A sheet of muddy, oily water drenched her.
With a sheik of fury she glared after the car as it crested the hill and started down the other side. Just before it disappeared, a ball of fire shot over the car leaving a foot wide line of charred paint across the roof.

“Holy shit!” the girl whispered, staring at her hand. The sound of a collision made her look up. It had come from the other side of the hill. “Oh, shit!”

Rain forgotten she broke into a run, aiming not for the top of the hill but for the next house up the street. She had her keys out and in the lock before she came to a stop. Frantically she twisted the knob then nearly took a header into the foyer. Slamming the door, she peered out to the street from behind the lace curtains that covered matching windows on either side of the door.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” her mother’s voice came from the living room.

The girl caught her breath and let the curtain close.

“Yeah, mom, it’s me.”

“What’s going on? Why’d you slam the door?”

The open umbrella dripped on the polished wood floor. She pulled it closed and set it in the stand behind the door.

“It sounded like some kinda…”

“Ronnie! What happened to you?” Her mother stood in the archway and stared.

The girl looked down at herself. ‘God I hate rain!’ she thought.

“Some car splashed me.”

“Well get upstairs and get out of those wet clothes,” her mother ordered then planted a kiss atop Ronnie’s fiery red head. “I’ll hug you when you’re dry.”

“Okay, mom,” she replied and headed for the stairs.

The door swung open and Jennifer, her elder sister, stepped inside folding her umbrella.

“You guys see the wreck?” she said without looking up.

“That what I heard?” Ronnie asked innocently from the bottom step.

“Ronnie, you’re getting muddy water all over the carpet,” her mother said.
Jennifer looked up and smirked. “Thought you hated the water.”

“Some jerk splashed me!” Ronnie called back as she trotted up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed and locked, she looked down at her hand. The palm still felt warm. She concentrated on that feeling and her hand grew hot, but not uncomfortably. When the flames popped into existence she flinched and instinctively closed her fingers. The flames disappeared.

‘I got super powers,’ she thought.

Holding up one finger she imagined it bursting into flame and twitched only slightly when it did. Drawing a circle in the air, the flame followed her gesture.

“Cool!”

She pointed the finger at the shampoo bottle. A small ball of fire the size of a walnut hit the bottle and knocked it into the bathtub. The blue-green soap oozed out through the melted plastic.

“You okay up there?” her mother called from downstairs.

“Just dropped the shampoo!” she called back.

In quick succession three more balls of fire riddled the shampoo bottle. She held up her finger, a slow smile spreading.

“Jennifer! Did you burn something?”

“No, mom!”

Ronnie picked up the bottle, the shampoo dribbled out thickly. She dropped it into the sink.

‘Do I wanna be a super hero?’

Of course she didn’t. Super heroes were always in the news, Golden Avenger this, American Eagle that. All so boring. All they did was stop bank robbers and stuff. What did she care if a bank got robbed? Besides, whoever heard of a twelve-year old super hero? Sitting on the edge of the tub she pulled off her soaked Nikes followed by her socks.

‘Super heroes ARE famous.’ She told herself. Ronnie wanted to be famous but not that way. She wanted to be a movie star.

Wiggling out of her jeans she thought about the car outside. She hadn’t hit it, exactly, but she had seen what the fire had done to the paint. Kicking her pants into the corner she picked up the shampoo bottle again. Holding it by the cap she let the fire out, this time to engulf the entire bottle. It shriveled up and turned black, the stench of burning plastic filled the room.

“Crap!”

Hurriedly she pushed up the window and tossed the remains of the bottle out into the backyard.

The pounding on the door made her jump.

“Ronnie? What are you burning in there?” Jennifer tried the door knob.

“God, Jen! I just opened the window! That smell is coming from outside!”

“It’s raining, stupid,” her sister said her voice fading as she returned to her room.

Flames crept inexorably upward as ‘Juliet’ paced the small plywood platform, script in hand, talking to herself. Retarded by the thick layers of water-based tempera paint slathered on butcher paper, the fire spread slowly, and unnoticed. In the wings, a red-haired girl of thirteen, dressed as a serving maid, watched the paper blacken and crumble to ash then smiled as the backdrop caught and flared.

“Lindsey!” Mr. Mynatt, the director and drama teacher, dashed across the stage to stand just below the set that had been constructed for the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. He had spotted the flames. “Lindsey! Get DOWN!”

The teacher’s panic broke through Lindsey’s concentration and she turned to look down.

“What?”

It was all she managed before she screamed as fire ate through the frilly costume she loved so much. The railing, never designed to support any weight, gave way and she fell, her back flaming, the fifteen feet to the stage. Mr. Mynatt pulled his jacket off and dropped to his knees beside the stricken girl using the coat to smother the fire.

“Someone call an ambulance!” He screamed as he patted frantically at the flames.

From off-stage the redhead watched, undisturbed. Only she knew the fire on the set had stopped the moment the girl on the balcony had burst into flames. One corner of her lips curled up.

“No reason to let it all burn up,” she whispered. “I guess I am Juliet now.” It was to be her very first starring role.

“I SAID get off me!”

The girl was jammed into one corner of the Cadillac Seville’s backseat, her blouse torn and one breast exposed, with a 240 pound football player trying to force his hand between her legs. What had begun as a huge adventure for her had rapidly deteriorated into a wrestling match she had no chance of winning. At fifteen, her experience with boys had only extended to a few in her class she’d found interesting. Nothing had prepared her for the attentions of a twenty year-old college sophomore.

They had met at one of Seattle’s coffee houses and he had offered to buy her a cup. Flattered by the attention of a college guy, especially one as good looking as Johnny Bershears, she had accepted. It only took him a few minutes to convince her to join him at a frat party and fifteen minutes after she’d ostensibly gone to bed, he’d picked her up a block from her house in a new Cadillac.

He had explained that the party was over on the Peninsula and taken the ferry to Bremerton. He’d offered her a beer as they drove and excited by the idea of drinking, she’d taken it. By the time they rolled to a stop, she’d downed three and was well on her way to her first drunk. It had been easy from there for the young man to entice her into the back seat but after ripping open her blouse, she’d found a sudden reserve of awareness.

“If you don’t…” she began but his fist shut her up.

Dazed and a little drunk, she was almost limp as the jock at last got a good grip on her panties and pulled, ripping out the seam at one side. It was at that point, during his hurried fumbling to get his pants open, that the green eyes of his victim blazed with fire.
The gas tank erupted sending an orange fireball nearly a hundred feet in the air. Eighteen miles away, a ranger, perched in his fire tower, lifted the high-powered binoculars to his eyes.

The girl, engulfed in flame, carefully picked her way through the forest as the blazing car behind her consumed the body of the football player. She never looked back. Slowly the nimbus of fire diminished to nothing, leaving the beautiful red-head nude and unblemished. Turning one hand up, she willed a blue-white flame into existence and caused it to swell to the size of a tennis ball, the light more than sufficient to illuminate her path.

Angling down slope she found a stream and stopped. With the flick of a wrist the flaming ball hit the surface of the water and disappeared in a hiss of stream. Squatting, she scooped water up in cupped hands and drank. She felt as if she’d been roasting in the desert for a week.

Sirens began to wail in the distance and she stood, fingers dripping, weighting her options. It had been two years since she’d discovered she could control fire and, other than that one incident with the play, she’d managed to control herself. The football player would have been her first time, if he hadn’t been such a jerk but NO ONE was gonna force her.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Walk home naked or get a ride with the fire department? Either way there would be too many questions. Perhaps there was another option. She smiled and burst into flame.

That first flight was the most terrifying and the most exciting thing she’d ever done. It was simple enough to get airborne; all she needed to do was direct her flame straight down and she rocketed into the night sky. Far more quickly than she expected the black forest beneath her dwindled and the dome of star expanded to a point she thought she could detect the curvature of the planet. That was the point terror took over. How high was she? And with that thought her flames sputtered out.

For a briefest of instances she hung weightless, caught at that point where velocity and gravity equaled out, then gravity won. With a scream of pure terror she plunged earthward, the freezing air at over ten thousand feet chilling her naked flesh. Instincts kicked in and her body burst into flame before she’d fallen a thousand feet.

“Parachute!” was her first coherent thought. “Like they do on TV!”

Uncurling her body, she spread her arms and legs and felt the instant increase in wind resistance. Concentrating on the bottoms of her feet, she willed her flames into twin pillars and felt her direction shift. Unfortunately, with her legs spread, the force of her blasts caused her to start a slow barrel roll but she corrected by bringing her feet together.

Semi-stable, she experimented with moving her arms and figured out how to turn then climb. The last thing, diving, scared the shit out of her and she learned to stop on a dime as the top of a tree loomed. Curling her legs, and spreading her arms, she stopped close enough for the needles on the pine to shrivel in the heat. Slowly uncoiling, still with her arms outstretched, she adjusted her flame’s direction and volume until she hovered. With a little nudge, she moved back from the tree, then to the left. Up slightly. Right. Down slowly, and using her new understanding of her powers, she steered away from tree limbs to land lightly on the forest floor. Allowing her flames to die away, she stood thinking then grinned.

“This is gonna be fun!”

“Richard King, Emerald City news.”

The red light over the camera winked out and King leaned back in his anchor’s chair.

“Wonder what this one is going to be called,” he said to no one in particular.

“Is Naked Flaming Chick taken?” the floor director smirked.

Several hundred people had seen a fiery streak earlier that evening and the majority had described the cause as a flying nude girl covered in fire but of course, no one had a camera.

King shook his head and unhooked his mike. “Just what we need, a flaming superhero in Seattle,” he snorted. “The rain will put her out in a week.”

“Maybe someone will get pictured of that!” the camera man said as he locked his charge in place. “She’d just be Naked Flying Chick, then.”

“Pervert,” said Rachel Ramos, King’s co-anchor. Rachel was Seattle’s sexist TV personality and King would have given a week salary to see her naked.

“You all assume she’s one of the good guys,” the weather girl, with the unfortunate name of Diana Leak, said. “She could just as easily be another villain.”

“Veronica, where’s my blouse!”

The girl rolled her eyes. She HATED that name!

“RONNIE!” she bellowed in reply.

The door to her bedroom swung open and her elder sister stood, fists on hips, wearing only a lacey bra and panties.

“Where’s my blouse, RONNIE?”

“I don’t know, JENNIE!” Of course, she knew. It was mixed in the ashes of a certain football player.

The sisters glared at each other for a second.

“What do you need it for anyway?” Ronnie asked. “Just so Roger can rip it off ya?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“You gonna get a room this time or do it in the back seat?”

Jennie cocked a hip and held out a hand, “Just gimme my blouse!”

“Ain’t got it,” Ronnie replied as she climbed off the bed. “And ain’t seen it.” She slammed the door in her sister’s face.

“Whatever!” Jennie snarled from the hall.

Ronnie fell backwards onto the bed then rolled onto her belly. Chin propped on fists she thought about the previous evening. Strangely, one of the two things that bothered her about what had happened was Jennifer’s blouse. It had been so pretty. The other thing was that she hadn’t gotten laid, something she’d decided to do after walking in on Jen and Roger Hawkins fucking like mad on the living room couch. Roger’d gotten all embarrassed and jumped up, his pants around his ankles. Ronnie had her first good look at a man and it was only Jennie throwing a pillow at her that got her out of the room.

“Fuck,” she muttered, thinking about the possibilities the guy last night had represented.

“Veronica! Jennifer! Your father’s home!”

Ronnie rolled her eyes.

“Be right down!” she called.

Same old ritual every weekday night. Her dad had to count heads and make sure his ‘girls’ where home and safe. She stepped into the hall and almost bumped into Jen who was hopping on one foot trying to pull on a pair of Ronnie’s jeans.

“Those are MINE,” Ronnie protested.

“You can have them back when I get my blouse!”

Jennie buttoned the fly and zippered them up. They fit her like a glove.

“Where are my girls!” Their father called from the entry hall.

Both skipped down the steps side by side and were pulled into one of dad’s bear hugs. He kissed each on the top of the head, Jennifer’s golden and Veronica’s fiery red.

“How are my babies doing today?” Richard King asked, glancing from one to the other.

“Daaad,” Jennifer whined. “I’m 18, I’m not a baby!”

“You’ll always be to me,” King said and he herded them into the dining room. They took their places around the table as the maid brought in the soup.

“Dad, what’s the story on that fire girl?” Jennifer said between sips of clam chowder.

“Just what I reported,” he replied. “No one got a good look at her OR a picture.”

“I heard she was naked,” Jen said.

“You’d be naked too if you were on fire!” Ronnie snapped. Father and sister both looked at her in surprise. “I mean, she’s on fire, right? All her clothes got burned off…”

Something in the way she said it made her sister stare at her a lot longer than was comfortable.

“Yeah,” Jen agreed slowly. “I guess you’re right. Probably burned to ashes…hope it wasn’t anything borrowed…”

“Fuck,” Ronnie thought. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Their father headed back to the station at 7:30 and the household staff followed 15 minutes later leaving the two girls alone.

“So where IS my blouse, Ronnie?” Jennifer asked slowly, searching her younger sister’s face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ronnie replied.

Something clicked.

“That football player!” Jen whispered in horror.

“What football player?” Ronnie’s face betrayed nothing, not even the slightest interest.

“You’re a great actress, Ronnie, but I KNOW you..”

An icy claw clutched at Ronnie’s heart. “How could she know?”

“What happened?” Jen demanded. When Ronnie made no effort to answer, cogs began to turn. She inhaled sharply. “Did he rape you?” Ronnie looked away.
Jennifer enfolder her little sister in her arms and stroked her hair as Ronnie sobbed against her shoulder.

“What happened?” she whispered to the top of Ronnie’s head.

Tear streaked, Ronnie pull away and met her sister’s eyes. “I thought he was so nice,” she managed between hiccups. “He bought me coffee and said there was this party.” She buried her face in Jen’s shoulder, hot tears soaking through the blouse. “He gave me beer,” she continued, her voice muffled. “I think I got drunk…”

Jennifer didn’t pick that moment to remonstrate her sister about alcohol. It wasn’t the time and both know well enough how it could kill. Their mother had died less than a year ago, killed by a drunk driver.

“Oh, Ronnie,” Jen hugged her tighter.

“He told me to lay down in the back, I’d be more comfortable. Jen, he punched me!” Ronnie lifted her head and Jen could see where her tears had worn tracks through the makeup under her sister’s left eye. “And when I woke up…” She burst into tears again.

“What happened to the car?”

Ronnie sniffled and tried to pull herself together.

“After…after…” she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He threw me out but by then the beer had worn off, I guess. He told me I was a good fuck and said ‘let’s do it again sometime’.”

Jen flashed on the many times a remark like that had sent her sister into a towering rage.

“Don’t know what happened,” Ronnie said, her voice filled with fear. “I just exploded into flames!”

The confession didn’t seem surprise Jennifer. “So you are a mutant too,” she said.

“Too?” Ronnie’s eyes locked up Jen’s, all emotions gone. “What do you mean TOO?”

Jennifer made a gesture like she was throwing pixie dust and a miniature snow storm swirled between the two of them.

“WHY DIDN”T YOU TELL ME!”

Jen shook her head, “It’s just small things, like the snow. Nothing like FLYING.”

Horror clouded Ronnie’s face.

“Are you gonna tell!” she managed before the sobs took over.

Jennifer hugged her sister. “Of course NOT,” she replied. “That bastard raped you, he deserved it!” She couldn’t see the smile of satisfaction Ronnie was hiding in her shoulder. “Are you gonna be one of those superheroes now?”

Ronnie looked up at her shaking her head.

“I wanna be an actress,” she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands. “Besides superheroes gotta be good and stuff. I don’t think killing a rapist comes under good deeds.”

“It does to some people, sis,” Jen said soberly.

“I just want to act, Jen…”

“God damnit, Jack! Memorize your fucking lines!” Ronnie stormed off, stage right. She had to get out after over an hour of that moron flubbing his lines. How could people be so stupid?

Kicking the fire door open, she stepped out into the rainy Seattle night and glared up at endless grey as if it was all a plot to rain just on her. Without thought, she raised an arm and shot a ball of fire into the sky where it vanished into the low hanging clouds. She was into her third week of a six week drama camp and had almost reached a breaking point.

“Ronnie?” The drama coach stood just inside the door out of the rain. “Get back in here before you catch cold.”

She swung around, a hot retort already on her lips only to hold it back at the last moment. Even so, the glare in the girl’s eyes made the coach take a step back. The girl was not quite 16, possibly the most beautiful creature the man had ever seen, and standing out in the rain wearing only a thin pale blue blouse with no bra. That made him forget for a moment she WAS only 15.

“Jack’s got it,” he said, tearing his eyes from her rain soaked shirt and perfect breasts. “Can we give it another try?”

“Fine,” she snapped and pushed past him, her chest sliding across his.

She hadn’t needed to squeeze up against him like that, but the look on his face and the rise in his pants made her feel mischievous. Giving her hips a little extra swing, she strutted out onto the stage and the waiting Jack-the-line-flubber. Every word the boy had been struggling to remember disappeared like morning fog in sunshine when he saw Ronnie standing before him in a wet shirt.

“Uh…ah…” was all he managed as he stared down at her tits.

An impish smile appeared and she stepped close, catching the boy by the shoulders and pulling him against her body.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she whispered as her cheek touched his. Her breath on his ear made him forget to breathe. “I won’t do it again.”

Her arms went around his body and her breasts flattened against his chest as she hugged him tightly. Over his shoulder she grinned when something began to poke at her just below the navel. She stepped back, leaving him erect and exposed.

“You just give me everything you’ve got,” she said, glancing pointedly as his crouch. “I know we can come together on this.”

It was Jack’s turn to flee the stage as a wet stain appeared on the front of his pants.

‘Whatda ya know,’ Ronnie thought. ‘I don’t even have to touch them…’ She looked over at Mr. Taylor, the drama coach. ‘Wonder if it will work on you?’

Don Taylor sat behind the desk with his feet up, a script in his hand. After rereading the same line five times, he gave up and tossed the script on to the desk. Ronnie King’s body kept flashing through his mind.

“She’s fifteen for Christ’s sakes!”

It wasn’t the first time he’d found one of the student attractive but this girl was different. She’d made Jack come in his pants just by hugging him. All Don could imagine was…

“Mr. Taylor?”

The door to his office swung open and Ronnie King, dressed in loose terry cloth shorts and a ‘wife beater’ tee shirt stood there clasping her hands at her waist.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I can’t get the improv stuff out of my head. I suck...”

That day’s exercise had been improvisation and Ronnie had been terrible.

“Ronnie, it is after midnight,” he swallowed hard.

He should have stopped her right there but he didn’t and she stepped around the desk. She stopped just behind that back of the chair and leaned her butt on the edge of the desk. It put her breasts, barely covered by the thin wife beater, at eye level and less than 18 inches away. Dropping his feet to the floor, he pivoted the chair. This allowed him to put some distance between them but also gave him a better view of her. She smelled like she’d just showered and her hair was damp.

“You just need to practice,” he began.

Ronnie did a little hop and planted her ass on the desk then spread her knees and leaned forward on hands gripping the edge of the desk between her thighs. The terry cloth shorts gapped open at the leg. No panties. He had to get rid of her, fast. Leaning forward he started to rise. Her hand on his shoulder gently stopped him.

“Ronnie, this is not the time or place for this,” he said, trying to fight down the growing tightness in his pants.

“When is the right time and place, Mr. Taylor, I’m ready for you anytime, anywhere.” Her fingers played with the collar of his polo shirt.

Pivoting the chair to face away from her he came to his feet and put some space between them. He did not turn around fearing she’d see the effect she was having on him.

“It’s late, Ronnie, you had better get to bed.”

She sighed deeply and he made the mistake of looking back at her. The way she was leaning caused the shirt to fall forward and give him an unrestricted view of one breast. The nipple was hard and he licked his lips.

‘San Quinton quail,’ he thought to himself.

His hand closed into a fist as he fought his urges.

“Bed, Ronnie,” he said as he pulled open the door.

With another sigh, she slipped to the floor and rounded the desk. As she stepped past him she stopped, her body close enough for him to feel the heat. She looked up at him with huge green eyes.

“I just don’t have any experience,” she said in a small voice. “I need someone older to teach me all I need to know. Please, show me what you’ve got…” Purposely she looked down at his erection.

“Bed, Ronnie,” he managed between clinched jaws.

When she turned her hand brushed across the front of his slacks then closed around his erection for just a moment.

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Taylor,” she said releasing her grip.

Taylor slammed the door and dropped back into the chair. That had been the hardest…no, most difficult thing he’d ever done. That girl would make the Pope cry.

Ronnie stretched like a cat and pulled her pillow down into a better position.

‘That was fun,’ she thought remembering how Mr. Taylor’s hard cock had felt in her hand. Her first hard-on. Not as big as Roger’s. She grinned. ‘The next one will be’, she promised herself.

“Get dressed,” the man said as he threw the wad of clothes at the girl. “I got an appointment in fifteen minutes.”

Buttoning his slacks and pulling up the zipper, he eyed the young red head. She was fuckin’ hot, that was for sure and she’d been a fuckin’ virgin...in Hollywood. He shook his head.

“Do I get the part?”

It wasn’t much of a part, just a 30 second commercial, but had been enough to get him laid.

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” he said with an open leer.

“But you said if I fucked you, I’d get the part!”

“I said ‘maybe’ you’d get the part.” He pulled on his shirt and began to button it up. “That’s how it works in Hollywood, babe. You put out, maybe you get some work. Now get your ass dressed and get out.” He stepped into his shoes and snugged up his tie.
She pulled her jeans up her long legs then stood and gave a little hop to get them over her hips. It did interesting things to her tits. Not bothering with her bra, she pulled her shirt over her head and tucked it into the waistband of her pants then buttoned them up.

“Look,” he began, “maybe I can find you something.” He had to admit, the girl was stunningly beautiful. He’d been surprised at how quickly she’d peeled out of her clothes ‘just so I can get a look at her body’. From there, it was the same as nearly every girl that came through his door. Once you get ‘em naked, you can do just about anything you want. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

Her green eyes locked on his and for an instant he thought he saw a flash of fire then she grinned like a kid.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” she said, some of her initial enthusiasm returning.
He scooped up her panties and held them out on a finger.

“Mind if I keep these?”

“Sure, you can say you knew me when.”

Ronnie pulled the office door closed and stood for a moment in the empty hallway fighting the urge to burn down the building. She might have been a virgin in Hollywood but she knew how things worked. She’d never hear from the asshole but he’d hear from her.

He flipped through the short stack of head shots, pausing a moment on each. It was nearly midnight and, like half the population of Los Angeles, he was still up and running. After banging the red head that morning, his day had gone straight to shit as one client after another called in to cancel appointments. Now all he had was a half dozen photos and no real idea which would be the next hot prospect. He stopped at the last, the red head. Ronnie King. It was a good name for a star and she was devastating beautiful.
A wash of heat on his back made him pivot his desk chair and stare out the window in open-mouthed amazement. On the other side of the thin pane of glass hovered a nude woman awash in flame. There was a brilliant white flash and droplets of superheated glass peppered his body, more than a few burning though his shirt and embedding themselves in his flesh. Instinctively he threw up his arms to cover his head.

“I’ve decided to take my business to someone else.” The voice was familiar.

“Ms. King?”

Her body, no longer flaming but still naked, landed on his lap, her knees ramming into his stomach hard enough that he almost lost his lunch. This time the fire in her eyes was real. Grabbing him by the tie, she cinched it tight, choking him. He struggled to catch his breath.

“I don’t like being dismissed,” she said, her lips an inch from his face. “I especially don’t like getting fucked and then dismissed.”

He grabbed her wrists and tried to force her hands open. She was much stronger than he expected.

“If you’d just given me the part, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“I..I’ll..” he fought to get out the words. She eased up enough for him to take a breath.

“You’ll…you’ll...what?”

“You got the job,” he managed. She was heavier than he would have expected and he couldn’t get enough leverage to dump her off.

“How very sweet of you,” she purred. “But you’re too late.”

He tried to scream but the pain as his skin began to blacken made it impossible.

Ronnie came to her feet, a half smile touching her lips then she wrinkled her nose. It smelled like a bad barbeque. At her feet the corpse of the first man she’d ever fucked lay on his side curled up into a fetal position, the color of charcoal briquettes. She had ridden him and his chair to the floor as the intense heat turned the man into a grotesque heap and the chair into ash.

She reached across the body and picked up the head shot she’d given the man that morning. No sense wasting it on him anymore. Those things cost money. Glancing around the room she considered for the briefest of moments before lifting a hand. Flame erupted from her palm and she played it over the room like a garden hose. Out in the hall the fire alarm started to raise hell but corners had been cut in construction and the automatic sprinkler system never went off. It was probably for the best. Getting wet would have just pissed her off.

Turning she stepped to the window and burst into flame, except for the hand holding the photo. Without a backwards glance she rocketed into the night sky, a reverse shooting star. This asshole hadn’t worked out but the next one would.

A well-manicured masculine hand slid a folded sheaf of paper across the table where it was met by well-manicured female hand. Fingers touched briefly.

“It is everything I promised,” the man said with a smile. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You’d better be up to driving your ‘hard bargain’ too,” Ronnie purred as she stroked the back of the man’s hand.

He was in his fifties, handsome, well-groomed, and very prominent in the television industry.  A new pilot was in the works and he said he had been looking for just the right beauty for the lead role, but she also had to have brains. He knew Ronnie King had the ‘look’ and after thirty minutes in his office, he knew she had the brains. Somehow, this girl, barely eighteen, had talked him into a contract. Her ‘incentives’ had been irresistible but while he could look, she would not let him touch until he had a signed piece of paper.

It had taken the legal department over an hour to draw up the contract exactly as she’d requested and the thought of her waiting for him at his table at the Brown Derby had him hectoring the lawyers every ten minutes. When they had finished it, he’d only scanned it before he’d scrawled his signature at the bottom and stuffed it into his briefcase. Three times he had to remind himself of the speed limit and he was afraid she might have changed her mind but when he spotted her in the restaurant he began to relax.

“Shall we have dinner first,” he suggested, praying she’d reject the idea.

“That would be very nice,” she replied.

A stockinged toe slid up his calf where it rubbed up and down. She appeared to the world to be engrossed in the menu. Looking up she tilted her head and smiled.

“Maybe not,” she said. “I don’t see anything that interests me on the menu.”

Her foot slipped between his thighs and came to rest on his growing erection.

“I think you are ready to go,” she said, her foot rubbing.

Christ, he was fifty years old, not some randy school boy, but this girl had him so hard he wasn’t sure if he could walk upright. He was almost disappointed when she dropped her foot to the floor.

“How about a milkshake though,” she said. “Before we go? And maybe a cocktail for you?”

“I think that might be a fine idea,” he replied.

He lay on his back, panting like an old dog, his body covered in sweat. Ronnie lay beside him propped up on three pillows, smoking. She smiled as she watched him struggle to recover.

‘An older man was a good idea,’ she thought. ‘They know what they’re doing and they’re so grateful.’

This time had been a far better experience. Jonathon was an attentive lover and gave generously. She’d come three times and it had felt wonderful. He might be a keeper … for now. Drawing on the cigarette a last time she crushed it out in the ashtray.

“You know what I’d like to try?” she said, rolling on top of him and resting her chin on his chest so she could look into his eyes.

“God, I hope it’s not another round,” he said with a weak smile.

“Oh, no, I want you at full strength next time.”

“What then?”

“I’ve never smoked pot…”

It didn’t take long to find out she loved fucking while stoned better than fucking while straight.

 

“Alright! Let’s do this!”

Ronnie stood off stage, wringing her hands as her co-stars ran through the first few lines that lead to her intro. On cue, she rapped on the door and waited the three second it took for the door to be pulled open. With a smile and with perfect timing, she launched her professional acting career.

The Testarossa roared up onto Interstate 5 and hit 100 mph before it reached the top of the onramp. Sleek and sexy in Ferrari’s traditional red, the convertible effortlessly accelerated to one-thirty and began to weave through traffic, the flame red hair of the driver whipping like a pendent in a hurricane.

Radar picked her up within ten miles and one of the California Highway Patrol’s ever-present Bell Ranger helicopters drifted toward the speeding sports car. Several onramps ahead, one of the CHP’s new Buick GNX patrol cars rolled out from its radar position and started up onto the freeway. Though it was the fastest American production that year, it never had a chance as the Ferrari rocketed by with the chopper on her tail.
Ronnie King grinned and down shifted.

As nearly perfect as man could make it, the car howled in response as the speedometer climbed passed 150. Shifting at the red line, Ronnie watched the helicopter fall back as she pushed the machine up to 180. Nothing could touch her.

“Fuck!”

Ahead three semi-tractor trailers were lined up side by side. She had about two seconds to make a decision before she was on them. She aimed the hurtling car for the center. At 183 mph, the Ferrari hit the trailer and disintegrated. Later it was reported that a something flaming was ejected from the car just as it hit. The body of the driver was never found.

Ronnie lay in the tub with her eyes closed, the water up to her chin. The bathroom door opened but she didn’t bother to open her eyes. She sensed him as he sat on the edge of the tube. His hand dipped into the water and slid down her belly and she allowed her legs to part slightly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she said with a slight sneer.

Jonathan had given her everything she’d wanted, a starring role in a hit TV show, a beach house in Malibu, but maybe it was time to trade up.

“What about this one?”

The producer dropped a head shot of a stunning redhead on the desk.

“I heard she blew up at some intern last week,” the man behind the desk said picking up the photo. “She’s damn hot though.”

Pre-production was just getting started on Zodiac Studios’ new movie and the producer had been going crazy trying to find someone the writer would accept. In Hollywood, a writer’s opinion of an actress usually didn’t matter but when the writer was also the studio head, things changed.

Sean Quillan considered the red head for a long minute raising the producer’s hopes. They had worked together on four films in the last five years and Quillan’s eye for new talent was almost magical.

“Temper we can handle,” Quillan said. “What’s her name?”

“Ronnie King,” the producer replied.

“From that TV program?”

Quillan’s great distain for television was legendary. He swore no work of his would ever make it to the small screen. He also refused to have one of the ‘damned’ things in his studio.

“Sean, just watch part of one episode.”

The look Quillan gave him made his blood run cold. Maybe he’d gone too far.

Quillan laughed. “I’m not going to eat you for suggesting it, Mason, but see if you can get her in here. There’s something special about her.”

It was Capricorn that pulled the fiery redhead from the brink of destruction so many years ago, dried her out and got her off the drugs that would have killed a lesser woman. Drugs and booze were easy and there was always someone to buy a beautiful girl a drink, or a vial. A movie called "Noir", scripted by Sean "Capricorn" Quinlin had just been wrapped and Capricorn could not pass up the opportunity for a party. On the couch lay a very dazed Ronnie King, so dazed in fact she was unaware of the two men slowly stripping her with all eyes watching, Over the evening she had consumed a half gallon of whiskey and nearly a dozen pills. None but Capricorn realized she was moments away from death.

Removing his pipes from the inside pocket of his jacket, he played, enthralling the entire room in the melody and leaving them all stupefied when the spell wore off. Gathering up Ronnie, Capricorn carried her out to a secluded spot in the backyard and teleported the two of them to Zodiakos Kyklos. For three days the girl's life hung in the balance until Pisces returned from one of her extended missions to some third world country and drew the poisons from Ronnie's body. For weeks afterward, Capricorn sat with the woman and talked to her, spinning tales of the elder races, drawing her out until her strength returned.

The beach house was burned to the ground sometime later with a huge loss of life, including the two men that had fed Ronnie King the booze and drugs. From that point on, Ronnie King's life changed. Now ... she was Leo of Zodiac.