The half-light of the sky promises thunder, but it does not come. The city hunches under clouds, waiting for a flash and rain that does not fall. Blaise looks out from the twenty-first floor of Crescent Towers at the oppressive clouds. He drops a knife on the balcony, blood slipping off the blade to pool on the all-weather carpet near the corpse of a pigeon.

"Nothing?"

Blaise shakes his head and runs a hand through his short red hair. "Still the heat. A hundred and twelve, today."

Alice sighs. "You'll think of something."

Blaise shakes his head wearily. "I've tried everything I can think of. It just gets worse when I fail."

"You can do it. You're the weatherman."

"And, I'm afraid to say, today will be another scorcher. At least as hot as yesterday, if not more. This cold front --" Blaise waves his hand over the bluescreen, and on the monitor his hand moves over the map. "-- just refuses to move in over the city. Forty miles west, it's nice and cool, but here we're just going to have to stay hot." Blaise mops his forehead. "Now here's Doctor Feya to tell you what not to do in this heat. Doctor?" Blaise waits for the signal, then mops his brow and steps down from the sound stage, long legs carrying him over a low camera. It is a relief to get out from under the lights, which are always hot. Today, being under them is like being broiled alive.

"Blaise!" Norm Hebret, the news manager of Channel Seven, rushes towards him like an angry gnome, reflections of studio lights flashing from his nearly hairless head. "You've got to put a little more into it. God, you looked like a dead fish. You're the weatherman, not a goddamned zombie."

"I can't take this today."

Norm stops and pulls off his thick glasses. "I'm sorry Blaise. It's the damn heat. Even in here, the air conditioners can barely keep up with it. Maybe if we still had freon ones, not these whatever-the-hell-is-in-them --"

"Norm, please. I have to go prepare the evening forecast."

"Okay, okay, sorry, sorry. I'll have them send you some ice water."

Blaise waves away the offer and heads down the hall. Inside his small office, he locks the door and puts on the recorded tapes of meteorological information. Two monitors turn on as well, one showing a composite satellite picture, one showing the National Weather Service's best guess as to the same picture tomorrow. Blaise rolls up his sleeves, and kneels down to pull something heavy from under the desk.

It is a box, an animal carrier. When Blaise opens the door, a white and black rabbit pokes its nose out, whuffling nervously at the air. Blaise ignores it as he unrolls a map of the city on the desk. Then he places the rabbit on top of it, stroking the animal softly.

He opens the shallow middle drawer of the desk, and removes a knife from it, a heavy chef's knife with a slightly curved edge. Taking a deep breath, he grips the rabbit more firmly and draws the blade across its neck. The rabbit kicks frantically in its moment of death, but cannot free itself from Blaise's grip. Blood gushes out, and Blaise shapes the pool with his finger, drawing the cold front on the map where it lies forty miles out from the city. He spatters spots of blood over the rest of the map, like the fat clouds which hang outside the window. The dead rabbit is pushed into a plastic bag.

"Okay." Blaise talks to himself in a quiet tone. "Now." He reaches out with both hands, places them on the line of blood, and pushes. With the gloss coating on the map, it should be easy for Blaise to move the blood, but he strains, muscles standing out on his arms. "Come on, come on, you bastard, move!" He braces his feet against the floor and shoves, but it as though his hands are against a brick wall.

"Hello?" Someone knocks on the door, and Blaise jumps. He swears to himself, and quickly rolls up the map and shoves the cat carrier and plastic bag under the desk. The knife goes back in the drawer, and Blaise wraps his hands in a towel, with which he begins to mop his brow.

"Come in."

Alice walks through the door. Her small nose wrinkles as she enters and closes the door behind her. "I should have known you would be doing something. Sorry for interrupting."

Blaise takes the towel off his hands and begins drying them so that they aren't dripping with blood. "It's okay. This just isn't working anyway."

Alice sighs. "I don't understand why you try so hard. Most meteorologists just predict the weather."

"Yeah, I learned how to do that." He turns to her. "But anyone can do that. This..."

Alice peers into the bag. "Another rabbit?"

Blaise nods. "Born at the full moon, too. I thought that might count for something." He unrolls the map and begins wiping it clean. The line of blood stubbornly resists the towel, but the spattered clouds have already come off when he hid the map.

"I think that's only plants, gathered at the full moon, you know?"

"No, not really. I'm just making this up as I go." There is a pause, and Blaise turns off the weather reports. Alice toys with her long dark hair.

"It was so hot, walking here. People are almost dying on the streets, it's so humid. Everything is closed."

"Well, it looks like the weather is going to be the same tomorrow."

"Well, the apartment is still pretty cool. You know, eighty. I just came from there."

"Not school?"

"Closed. Air conditioners died."

"I didn't think they ever gave med students days off."

"They're not giving us time off. But the professors, that's different."

"I always took a lot of time off, while I was in school."

"You were just playing at being a student. It was always too easy for you, just a game. Everything is."

Blaise just grins. "Except dealing with you."

She abruptly picks up the carrier. "Let's go home."

Lying across the bed in the apartment, Alice yells to Blaise, who is in the bathroom with his head in the sink.

"You know what I'm thinking about?"

"What?"

"I said, do you know what I'm thinking about?"

Blaise comes out, shaking water from his hair like sweat. "I couldn't hear you."

"I was just thinking, you know, about how we met."

"What about it?"

"You've forgotten, haven't you?"

"No." Blaise considers. "We met at that kitchen shop on the avenue. And I was buying a knife."

"So I asked you what you wanted it for." Alice smiles, and hugs her legs to herself. "Because you looked cute, so serious."

"I remember I was in a mood, that day, and I said, 'to sacrifice a cat, so it will stop raining.'"

Alice giggles. "Of course, I thought that was a terribly clever thing to say. A great joke."

"So you asked me out, right there in the store. And I said that tomorrow we could go to the park, for lunch, and you thought it might be raining, but I said --"

"-- you said no it won't, I know, I'm the weatherman. And you were so cool when you said it, too."

"Come here."

"No, you come here." Alice wrestles Blaise onto the bed, and pins him there, even though she is rather short to his lanky height. "What are you thinking?" she asks, staring into his gray eyes with her brown ones.

"I always did wonder why you didn't run away when you found out I really did kill the cat."

Alice rolls off him. "To tell you the truth, I didn't really believe you did. I always thought it was just a running joke. And then you proved to me that you weren't kidding."

"That was a cold week."

"You killed a pigeon, and burnt its blood, with the map and the herbs and the weather radio and stuff, and it got warmer. I was so impressed I forgot to be grossed out."

"Saved me a lot on the heating bill. That apartment had a lot of drafts."

"And I realized how nice the weather had been, for the months I had been going out with you."

"I didn't want you to miss a date."

"You could have told me that then. It was so hard to tell whether you were serious about me."

"I didn't want to scare you. It's like game hunting."

She pouts a little. "You still never say anything."

"Well, let me demonstrate."

By the morning, the vent is blowing warm air, and they turn it off. Blaise looks out the window. Not even clouds today, but just as humid. With the straight sun, it will get hotter, maybe up to a hundred and twenty. Yesterday, the paper says, five old people collapsed, one died. A little baby died in a parked car. Crescent Towers stands almost dead in the center of the city, and from here he imagines he can see the clouds waiting on every horizon.

Alice calls in to the school, but there is only a recorded message to tell her that it is closed. So she lies in bed, naked, reading a thick book on pathology. Blaise dresses for the studio. He makes a few calls before he goes.

"Hello? Is this Downtown Ice? Yes, I'd like twenty pounds of -- What do you mean you have none? I need -- Look, this is Blaise Evenson, the weatherman, Channel Seven? Yes. I need it for the news show. Can you? Thanks." He hangs up, dials again. "Perfect Pets? I'm looking for a parrot. A macaw, the blue kind? You have one? Great."

Alice stirs a little. "Trying something else?"

Blaise nods. "Yes."

"Why a parrot?"

"Something I haven't tried."

"Blue?"

"Looks cold. And ice, too. I don't really know."

"A parrot is a tropical bird, though. You know what I'm saying?"

"I'm just guessing at correspondences. It's all I've got to go on -- there's no one I can ask. Just me."

Alice considers for a moment as Blaise begins to knot his tie. "Why don't you just stop? I mean, the weather will pass, won't it?"

"I had to try. And now that I've failed once, and again... You remember last winter, when I tried to stop the snowstorm?"

"You tried to stop that? I thought you made it snow more."

"That was because I screwed up. And then it got worse." He moves his hands through the air, like drifting flakes. "It was going to be a foot of snow. Not four feet of snow over two days." He has the knot in his tie wrong, and has to start again.

Alice watches him. "It's just the weather. Y'know, people aren't supposed to be able to do something about it. It's not your fault."

"Even if people die of the heat, when I could maybe do something about it?"

Alice sighs. "It's not like it wouldn't be worse if you weren't here."

Blaise shakes his head. "It's only money."

"The parrot won't feel that way."

"Well." Blaise has mistied his tie again, and pulls it apart roughly. "It doesn't work without the blood. And it doesn't last without the death."

"If it has to be that way. I use animals at school, even if I don't like it."

"Well, what's a parrot, compared to a baby? You use animals to save human lives. If I'm trying to save human lives, aren't I like a doctor?" It is not a question the way Blaise says it.

"I guess it's your choice."

"Yeah. And I've made it."

At the studio, Blaise looks at the satellite photos. The cold front is moving away from the city now. The National Weather Service says that it will move away for at least another day, maybe two. The sky is clean of clouds, and the temperature has crossed the one hundred twenty degree mark. He hits the monitor in disgust, and then sucks on his knuckles. On his desk, the macaw squawks quietly in its covered cage, perhaps inspired by the heat to dream of its ancestral jungles. Two quick raps announce that Norm is at the door.

Blaise moves the cage to the closet, next to the ice, and opens the door. Norm has a pitcher of ice water and two glasses.

"Hi. Better news today, please?" Norm fills the glasses.

"No, worse." Blaise picks up a glass, drinks. "It's going to stay hot for at least another couple of days."

"Shit."

They are silent for a moment, gulping like carp. Blaise speaks. "Norm, if someone could change the weather, do you think they ought to?"

"Y'mean, like the government, with satellites, or something?"

"Whoever."

"Yeah, they should. Did you see our lead? And old couple died last night in their sleep. Doctors say the heat. And a little kid, left in a car yesterday. We're talking broiled brat, major sob story."

"So if the government could change the weather, then that would be their fault?"

"Probably. What brought this on, anyway?" Norm pours another glass.

Blaise rolls his glass in his hands. "I don't know. I read a book about the government controlling the weather. I was thinking about it."

"Oh." Norm drains his glass in a long series of swallows.

"Well, I have to look over the readings. Maybe there's some slant I can put on things that will make people feel better."

"Okay, yeah. I'll stop heating up your office."

"You always are full of hot air."

"You take setup lines really well, you know that? Good trait for a TV man, I guess." Blaise cheerfully gives Norm the finger before turning back to his desk.

He waits a minute after Norm closes the door before retrieving the cage. The parrot makes soft chucking noises to itself at the sudden movement, but stays calm underneath the cover. Lugging the bag of ice onto the desk gives Blaise goose bumps on his arms. He spreads out the big map again, and slitting the bag with his knife he discovers that he has to use the knife like a pick to get the ice out.

In a few minutes he has a mound of ice on the map. He uncovers the cage, and the macaw turns its yellow eye on him.

"You're saving lives." He tells it. "Really." He opens the cage and begins to coax the parrot out. It seizes his finger in its beak, and bites down hard. Blaise has to wrench his hand from its bill, and droplets of his blood spatter the ice and the map.

"You're more of a handful than a rabbit, aren't you, you bastard." Blaise tucks the macaw under right arm, clamping its powerful wings to its body. His right hand just barely around its beak, he has to lean over in an awkward position to get the bird over the mound of ice. When he is finally in the right position, the sharp edge of the knife is more than adequate to part feathers and flesh. Red blood mixes with crystal ice. It looks, Blaise thinks, something like a snowcone.

"So, despite the fact that the front has moved away from the city, it is possible that we will see a break in temperature tomorrow due to localized weather effects." He smiles at the camera.

"That will be a welcome break, if we get it. Thanks for the good news, Blaise. And now for sports..."

Blaise walks off the stage.

"Colder tomorrow?" Norm trots over to Blaise. "Really? None of the other stations have predicted anything like that."

"Looking at all of the information, I have a feeling like that."

"Really." Norm smiles. "You've got the greatest weather nose I've ever seen. It's like you were born to be a weatherman."

"I'll remember to mention that when we discuss my contract."

"Hey, no fighting dirty." Norm puts a hand on Blaise's shoulder. "But seriously, if that ever is a problem, I'll see what I can do. We don't want you going to some other station. You're always right about the weather, and it's a major draw for our news."

Blaise moves the hand off his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Aside from the bald jerk who manages the news, channel seven is a great place."

Norm bares his teeth in a mock snarl that becomes a grin. "You too, Blaise."

"Well, see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, unless I run you over in the street before then." Norm grins and waves.

The subway is closed. A man stationed outside wearily explains to Blaise that with the heat, it has become impossible to keep the tunnels cool enough to prevent heatstroke in the trains. A cicada cries out in the park across the street, high and piercing, and is followed by another, and another. The air smells of asphalt and tar, and the street is sticky underfoot. Blaise flags down a taxi, blessedly air conditioned.

"Where to?"

"Crescent Towers."

"Righto." The cabby pulls around in traffic.

Blaise breathes deeply. "Your cab is nice and cool."

"Yeah." The cabby grins. "I had a guy this morning pay to ride around!"

Blaise leans back in the seat. "Why don't you take the long way there, come to think of it."

"Sure thing."

The streets are almost empty. At a red light, the cabby twists around to look at Blaise.

"You're the weatherman? On channel seven?"

Blaise nods.

The cabby faces forward as the light changes, but continues to talk. "What's it going to be like tomorrow? More of this heat?"

"Actually, I'm hoping for a bit of a break."

"How'd you figure that?"

"A little bird told me."

"Ha! Yeah, right." The cabby laughs.

Blaise chuckles, and they drive on through the city.

"Alice?"

An answer comes back faintly. "I'm in the bath tub!"

The bathroom door is open, and Blaise leans against the frame. "That looks cool."

"It isn't really now. But better than being out there." Alice splashes a little. "Did you get anywhere with your bird?"

"I think so." Blaise grins. "I really think I did."

"Really? Awesome." She stands, and he takes her hand to steady her as she shakes water off her leg. "What happened to your hand?" she asks.

"The damn parrot bit it."

Alice laughs. "But it worked, didn't it?"

"I hope so." He sucks on his finger for a moment. "But what if it didn't?"

"Don't get all tangled up about it, you know? Come have some soup."

"Soup?"

Dinner is gazpacho. They have to eat Wonder bread with it, though, because none of the bakeries in town have been open for days. "Somehow, this just isn't the same as it was when we had it in Spain," says Alice.

"It wasn't as hot there, for one thing."

"And it was a dry heat."

The dishes get rinsed in tepid water, then stay in the sink. They watch the evening news, mostly because Alice likes seeing Blaise on television. He recorded the late report before doing the evening news, instead of having to go back in the heat.

"You look so serious."

"It's easier to look serious when you're uncomfortable than it is to look jovial."

"You don't want to be one of those comedy weathermen?"

"Nope."

Alice gets up and turns off the television. "I'm going to go lie in bed."

"Not sleep?"

"It's too hot for that."

At dawn, Blaise is awakened by Alice's hair on his face as she leans over him.

"Blaise."

"Huh?"

"Notice anything?"

He squints into the dim light. "No." Then he takes a sudden, gasping breath. "I really did it," he whispers.

Alice pounces on him, giggling. "It's sixty!"

He disentangles himself, rolls off of the bed, and gets to his feet, then staggers out to the balcony. The air is cool on his skin; after so long, it feels like winter, and he shivers.

"Here. I guess you'd better go to work in a hurry." Alice has already put together some clothes for him.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

"I'll nuke some coffee for you to take."

"Coffee?" Blaise considers. "I guess it's cool enough for that." He smiles and beings to pull on the clothes. Afterwards, he flings a tie loosely around his neck, picks up the coffee, kisses Alice, and calls a cab.

"I'm going to go to school today, so I might not be home when you get back," calls Alice as the elevator doors close.

A quick taxi ride later, he's in his office at Channel Seven, looking over the data from outlying weather stations. He frowns, and instructs the computer to overlay temperature data on the local map.

Five blue circles fading to red at the edges, bloom on the map. As he runs time back, the circles grow. Running the same changes forward, they shrink to nothing by mid-afternoon.

"Why five spots?"

"Spots?"

Blaise starts violently at the sudden speech. Norm looks at him apologetically.

"Sorry to scare you. Your door was open."

"It's okay."

"So... spots?"

"Five spots of cold air. Look." Blaise turns the monitor. "They're heating up, though. Should be gone by three."

"That's bad. I mean, it's better than it would be if it stayed hot, but..."

"No, it's worse."

"What?"

"It's going to get hotter today, after those cold spots burn away." They both stare at the screen running its temperature animation.

"It almost looks like someone took cold air and sorta spattered it onto the map."

"What?"

"Like God took five icicles and dropped them through the clouds, or something."

"Norm, with statements like that, I know why you aren't the guy who stands up and talks about weather in front of the camera."

"It does look like paint drops, or something."

Blaise looks at the monitor again. "I guess so." He turns back to Norm. "I have to think of a nice way to talk about this before the weather comes on in twenty minutes."

"And you have to get prepped for the camera. You look like a dog sat on your head."

"I'm just trying to look like my boss."

Norm rolls his eyes and leaves the office, leaving Blaise sitting at the desk, staring at the five circles.

By the afternoon, the heat is back, and more than back. The air conditioning system at the station is only barely functioning, so that even inside the building it is over a hundred degrees. The anchors have taken off their pants, and still look as though they are roasting. Workers spritz themselves from spray bottles, only adding to the humidity of the air. The evening news is going to look a little less professional than usual.

Blaise is in his office, reading meteorological reports from the last twenty years, leafing through a book on meteorological modeling, and sweating. There is a double knock at the door. Blaise sweeps the book into a drawer before yelling, "Come in!"

"Blaise." It is Norm, looking as though he has spent the last hour in a sweat lodge. "I've got something that should go in the weather section of the news."

"Other than hot, hot, and damn hot?"

"Yeah. St. Vincent's hospital, downtown -- you know the one that's got the big black south facing wall for heat in winter?"

Blaise nods, fearing whatever will be said next.

"It suffered a catastrophic failure of its air system when the heat went up again. Something about stress and turning it back on or something."

"What are they doing?"

"They're evacuating the hospital before it gets too hot. It's like a madhouse there." Norm pauses. "Some of them aren't going to make it." There is a longer pause and Blaise looks at the floor. "We'll cover it, but I just thought you should say something about it in the weather."

"Uh."

"Blaise? You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll say something about it. Whatever."

"Okay. You should report to makeup a little early, they're really having to improvise. Most of it is getting all runny." Norm departs.

Blaise slumps back in his chair, and it slides back from the desk until the carpet catches in its wheels. He pulls open the middle drawer, takes out the knife. It is a chef's knife, its edge slightly curved, with a heavy, forged blade instead of a light stamped one. He draws it across the ball of his middle finger, and it is sharp enough to hurt only a little. Blood moves slowly down to his palm. He squeezes his hand into a fist, and blood drips.

Then he shakes his head, and pulls himself out of his chair, leaving a red hand print on the latest meteorological map. He wraps his hand in a spare shirt from the closet, and slumps back into his chair.

Blaise finishes the weather and records a short segment for the late news, then catches a taxi. He steps out of the car, and turns to close the door. But instead he gets back inside.

"Hey, I thought this was where you were going?"

"I have to go back. It's gotten colder."

"You sure? I'm going to have to charge you for both ways."

"Yes."

The cab driver rolls down the window as he speeds back through the city, enjoying the cool breeze. "You're right. It is getting cooler. Go figure. Crazy weather, eh?"

"Crazy weather," agrees Blaise as he practically leaps from the taxi. He is met in the lobby by Norm.

"Blaise! Wow, you're psychic or something. I just called and told Alice to send you back." They step into the elevator. "We'll have makeup work on you in your office while you look over the stuff."

They exit the elevator and Blaise turns left towards his office, Norm right to get the makeup guys. Everywhere in the building, doors and windows are propped open to catch the sudden air. Blaise throws open the door of the office and turns on the monitors. The pictures that come up are unmistakable. On one monitor in blue is the same print that is pressed into the maps on the desk in blood. Another shows clouds forming in the suddenly cool air, and for a moment it looks as though a hand is opening over the city. Blaise falls back into his chair.

He is still in his chair a few minutes later when Norm arrives at the front of a wedge of makeup and wardrobe people. "Blaise! Shouldn't you be working on --" Norm suddenly sees the monitors. "Uh, Blaise, now is not the time to be developing cute graphics."

A woman grabs Blaise's chin and begins to run a comb through his hair. He shakes her off and leans forward to turn off the monitors.

"So what's the forecast?"

"I don't know. This is just too weird. But I can talk about what's happening now."

Norm frowns. "You can't say anything about tomorrow?"

"Well." He pauses. "It's going out on a limb, but I feel like it will stay cool through tonight and tomorrow morning, but it will warm up again quickly. It might be worse even."

Norm has a half-smile. "That's not great news, but I always like to hear you going with a feeling. You're always right when you follow your instincts. That's what makes you such a great weatherman."

"Sure, Norm."

"I'll get out of the way and let you think about what you're going to say while the crew works on you." He turns to a man holding a powder puff. "We want to get something together by the hour mark to go between the shows."

Blaise closes his eyes as makeup is applied around them. "Norm?"

"Yeah?"

"If any of the weather guys for other stations call for me, can you tell them that..."

Norm makes an impatient snorting noise.

"Tell them that the temperature map must be a hacker in the weather computers."

"That's not you playing around?"

Blaise frowns, annoying a man who is trying to work on his cheek. "No," he says, "I have been. But I'm not playing around any more."

The thunderstorms have played themselves out by morning, and the cool air that they brought is rapidly warming. Alice makes waffles and brings them to Blaise in bed, causing him to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Don't get used to it," she says.

"Well, thank you anyway." He digs into the food.

"You know, you fell asleep so quickly last night you didn't tell me what happened yesterday. You had an expression I recognized when you did the weather last night. One of your poker faces."

"I think I know how to fix the weather."

"I thought you had."

"No. It's going to get even warmer today, I'm sure of it"

Alice chews on her finger. "How?"

"Blood."

"That's what you've been doing."

She has to wait while he crunches a waffle. "But not my blood."

"That's crazy."

"It's true." He holds up his hand. "The parrot got my blood on the map, and the next day it cools down a little."

"A coincidence."

Blaise shakes his head. "Not after last night. The hand -- my hand -- on the satellite photos --"

"What?"

"I cut my hand --"

"Let me see." She grabs his left hand, holds it. "You did this yourself, didn't you?"

Blaise shakes his head. "Not on purpose. I mean, I didn't really think about it." Alice frowns, and Blaise hurries to fill the silence. "I pressed my hand to the map when it was covered with blood -- my blood -- and before I got home there was a hand print of cold air over the city."

"I saw the weather map when you did the news. No hand print."

"I doctored it. Didn't want to show my fingerprints in clouds to the whole city."

"What does this mean?"

"It means it will take my blood this time."

Alice gapes. "No."

He looks down at the table. "Yes. Earlier, when it got cool for a little while, that wasn't the parrot, it was me. When it bit me."

"You're serious."

He nods.

"Does it have to be your blood? Maybe you can use anyone's blood. Like the rabbits, it didn't have to be one particular rabbit."

"Maybe."

"You don't think so."

"I don't think it would be strong enough." She is about to speak, but he continues hastily. "Lately, I haven't been having to do as much preparation, it's just been coming to me, like it's, like it's in me."

"That is crazy. I can't believe you're saying that."

Blaise holds up his hand. "In my blood. I've been playing around with this so long..."

"You're not going to get into that, are you? It's a little late to talk about dealing with things man was not meant to know, and all that shit."

Blaise looks up at her. "Yes." She glares at him. "Maybe I should just stop. But I need to fix what I've done."

"What are you saying?"

"You know how it works, you've seen it. The blood, and the sacrifice."

Alice walks to the balcony, lashing her hair back and forth. "I'm not going to let you off yourself just to make people more comfortable."

"What about the people who are dying, Alice?"

"No."

"You're supposed to be a doctor, how can you feel that way?"

"I'm not a doctor yet, and I can."

"But --"

"And a doctor doesn't kill one patient to save another. Don't be stupid."

Blaise stares at his orange juice. "I have to go in to work."

"I called Norm and told him you would be in late, you were so exhausted."

Blaise says nothing, and the silence stretches. Looking out the window, he can see distortions in the air as the sun pours its heat upon the ground.

"It's my messing with the weather that caused this."

"Don't be stupid. You can't change the weather."

"Who's saying stupid things now."

"You know what I mean."

"No."

Alice glares at him. "I mean, don't give me all of this messing with forces man was not meant to mess with shit. It's just something you did. It's not your fault."

"Isn't it my fault if I don't do something about it, since I can?"

"No."

Blaise gets up from the bed. "Okay." He looks away as he speaks. "But I think I will go to work."

"Fine. At least that will keep you out of trouble."

Blaise dresses in silence. But on the way out the door, he surprises Alice, suddenly catching her and kissing her hard on the lips.

"What was that for?"

"I love you."

By the time Blaise gets out of the subway, the walk to the lobby is torture, sun beating on his forehead like a branding iron. The cool morning air has already gotten over a hundred degrees, and a haze lies over everything, as though it is being baked out of the earth. Channel Seven's air conditioning is dead, and the building is already too hot for comfort.

In his office, he turns on all of the monitors and begins sketching the fronts and the temperatures with transparency markers on the glossy-coated map. Then he places a dot on the map, right in the center of the circle of pressures and temperatures he has drawn. The dot lies on Crescent Towers. Blaise leans back in his chair and stares at it. A tap-tap on the door, and he says, "Enter."

"Blaise." Norm is mopping his forehead, but his handkerchief is already so damp that it isn't doing any good.

"Norm. Where's makeup?"

"There isn't any. It's too hot. We've sent most people home, just enough left to bring out the news. It'll look like shit, but we'll put something out." Blaise nods. "I don't suppose you'll have good news about the weather?"

"Well." Blaise looks at the map, and at his hand. He pulls on the band-aid for a moment. "Well, I don't know."

Norm goggles at him. "You don't know? Aren't you the weatherman? Stop kidding around, you can tell me even if it's bad."

Blaise raises his head and stares into Norm's face. "I'm not kidding around anymore." He continues to stare. "I'm not." He stands suddenly, and walks to look at the monitors.

"What? What's the weather going to be?"

Blaise turns to face Norm again. "I think I can say with some confidence that we'll see a drop back to cooler temperatures by this afternoon. Then we'll just have normal weather after that."

Norm's face lights up. "That's wonderful! Thanks, Blaise. Thank God. Wait until I tell the crew, they'll be ecstatic." Norm starts out the door.

"It's good working with you, Norm."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Good weather reports, now, those will get you somewhere." Norm gives a wave as he leaves.

A few minutes after Norm is gone, Blaise departs the office.

"Alice?" Blaise waits and hears nothing. He slips the chain across the door, and walks to the bathroom. There, he turns on the cold water tap in the tub, and continues into the bedroom. Pulling a suitcase from the closet shelf, he takes out a knife identical to the one in his office at work. He places it on the edge of the tub.

From the freezer, he takes all of the ice trays and empties them into the bath. He scrapes off as much frost from the freezer walls as he can with a spoon and throws that in too. Then he strips and steps into the tub. The shock of moving from hot air to cold water makes him shiver and puts goose bumps all over his body.

He takes the knife in his right hand, lays it on his left arm parallel with the bone. Taking a deep breath, he slices along the upwards along the vein as far as he can follow it. It hurts more than he had expected, and he drops the knife into the tub. Blood pours out into the water.

When his eyes can focus again, Blaise swirls the water looking for the knife, and finally grips it with his right hand. He transfers it to the other hand, and then has to draw his right arm down the blade, which he can only barely grip. Again he drops the knife, but doesn't bother to retrieve it from the bottom of the tub. He concentrates on the blood. It looks like clouds in the water, the movement like winds in the air. He squints, trying to keep them in focus.

Suddenly he can see the city beneath the clouds of blood. He raises his hands and begins to push them through the water. It feels like he is moving them through syrup, then through molasses, then it begins to feel as though he is pushing against a wall. His muscles spasm, and more blood pours down his arms. Where the fresh blood hits the water, Blaise is able to push farther.

Soon he can barely see, and he is shivering in the cold water. His muscles jump and twitch, the wounds in his arms are more painful than he could have imagined. He pushes again, and suddenly there is no resistance, he can shape the clouds as he wishes.

Outside, a cold rain begins to fall all over the city. Walking across campus, Alice looks up and begins to cry, tears mixing with rain on her cheeks.