Fire flares to life in Aristelle’s palm, illuminating her foot tapping to a drum beat I recognize immediately. Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” seems a little too on point, but those in the audience who recognize it cheer and laugh, giving her early applause for being clever. I can’t see her face, but I doubt she acknowledges them.

As the guitar picks up, she sashays forward, her skintight black jeans and red crop top, moving with her toned body, drawing a few whistles from the crowd.

The opening chorus starts, and she whips a lit hand behind her as she rolls her body and then drops to a crouching spin, leaving her own flames chasing her. As Lou Gramm cries out about his fever of 103, Aristelle rises, spinning again as her arms burst into flame from wrist to shoulder. She waves them at her sides, letting the audience gasp at what they think is an impressive trick before she calls the flames back to her palms.

“Wish me luck,” Xander whispers next to my ear before he strolls onto the stage behind her. He wears a blue vest shimmering with hints of red, the perfect burning contrast to her. He eyes her up and down as he stops beside her, pulling out his deck and fanning it out in front of her. She pulls a card and lights it on fire, letting it burn down to her fingertips while Xander’s mouth drops open. He re-fans the deck and holds the cards out again. She gives them a withering glare, and they burst into flames without her even touching them. Xander lets them drop and brushes his hands together as Aristelle dances away, all fire and heat. Smiling his signature grin, Xander moves after her. When she rounds on him, he holds up his empty fingers, snapping a card into existence. It turns to smoke in his hand, and another takes its place.

As the chorus hits again, Xander pours out his cards, and Aristelle turns them into a waterfall of fire. The audience cheers as the cards run out. Aristelle spins until her back presses against Xander’s chest. They roll their bodies in time to the song. Xander’s fingers drift down her arms until she lights them up again, and he pulls back, shaking his fingers like he’s been burned.

He’s fine, of course.

I’m the one burning.

I try to tamp it down. It’s just a performance. How easily their bodies move together on the stage makes no difference to me. But I can’t help wishing it were me up there with him. We’ve been flirting, and I like it. I like how easy it is to joke with Xander, and part of me thought he might be just what I needed: a boy who could smile despite all the hurt in his past, a boy who could kill vampires and come home and laugh with his family.