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“There’s the charcloth in your boot.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You told me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, then I guess I don’t know about.”

“Besides,” said Amelia, “I can’t use it up on you. I promised I’d bring
charcloth back to my father.”

“Use it on me, and there’ll be fire for everyone! I promise. Use it on me.
Use the charcloth on me!” The salamander’s eyes were growing wider and
wilder. Amelia started to reach for her booth, but then she stopped.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “I see what you’re doing. You’re not the Fire
Salamander. You’re just an ordinary, shivering lizard in a bird bath, trying to
con a little girl into using her last scrap of charcloth on you for a few seconds
of warmth. You’re horrible. I almost did it, too. I almost --” She stared at the
salamander. His eyes were moist. “I almost --”

The salamander shrugged. “So sad to hear that’s what you think of me.
After all the warmth I’ve given you and your family.” He turned his tail on her,
and plodded to the far rim of the bird bath.” “Best of luck to you, humans. I’m
sorry I failed you.” He curled up, drawing his tail to his head, nearly a perfect
circle.

Amelia stood silently, caught there between the dead white church
garden and the black of the graveyard, watching the yellow salamander close
his eyes, now barely breathing. She saw him shiver.

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