Wednesday had always had a knack for escaping dire situations. A gift, you could say.
But, this time, she was sure that Burt had at last out smarted her. Burt gave her a crooked smile.
She had no choice.
“Help!” Wednesday found herself exclaiming. “He’s trying to kill me!”
The audience erupted into laughter.
“Please, I’m serious!”
Burt smiled even wider as she came closer to the bed of hot coals. “Do not stall, Ms. Thomas. Do you doubt my talents?” He cried, facing the crowd and feigning shock.
Wednesday struggled to undo the rope, dragging her heels across the stage. It was fruitless; Wednesday was flung onto the bed of…
Roses.
“Wednesday, darling, did you really think I would do away with you in front of a live audience? Tsk, tsk, tsk! I am not capable of such bad form.” Burt admonished.
Wednesday glared at him as she swirled her bourbon. Slowly, she lifted her glass to her red mouth and loudly crunched her ice.