Huge thanks to those who reviewed and followed this story! If you do like it, please do leave a review! Reading feedback really helps me stay motivated!

An equally huge shoutout to my darling dear xVampirexElegancex for proofreading the chapter!

1: All Mediums must heed the call of their spirit whenever they are summoned. Failure to do so in a timely manner will result in inconvenient and/or painful repercussions.

Cairo at noon in the middle of July. The Sahara desert during the drought. The surface of the god damn sun. The only thing Malik could think of were places that were undoubtedly significantly cooler than the kitchen felt, and all were places he would rather be at the moment. At least in the desert he'd be away from the smell of cooking meat and the chatter of annoying customers as he slowly boiled to death in his own skin.

Malik groaned as he wiped his brow with his forearm, grimacing at how much sweat came away and slicked his skin. He was burning alive from the inside out, set ablaze by supernatural forces beyond his consent and control. Logically, he knew it would make no difference where he was; the heat wouldn't subside even if he was at the bottom of a frozen lake or buried in the artic landscape. It radiated from inside him, consuming him, punishing him for ignoring his summons for so long. Fantasizing about being elsewhere was only a small comfort that he knew would never actually help.

Malik had never wanted to be a medium in the first place. He grew up learning about it from the time he was able to communicate and be understood, and his entire life up to his tenth birthday had been geared towards him accepting his role as one. Listening to his father talk about all the rules there were, and the consequences for not following them, and the history behind it all… Maybe if there were no consequences, he would enjoy the duty like his father had and his sister still did. He had never been accepting of punishment for his bad behavior as a kid, and still wasn't as an adult. Especially since he wasn't really doing anything wrong. He wasn't ignoring his summons out of spite! Okay, maybe he was just a little bit, but he was also working. He just couldn't up and leave because he was having a paranormal reaction to not performing his medium duties in a timely manner.

Gritting his teeth as heat prickled over his body he dished up the burgers, stabbing the tickets and slamming his hand on the order bell much harder than was necessary. He placed the baskets at the window for his server to pick up and tried to focus on the next few tickets, but his brain felt as fried as the fries he'd burnt half an hour ago.

Malik rubbed his forehead, cursing under his breath as everything began going fuzzy. This was the longest he'd ever ignored a summons before. He just didn't want to have to deal with any ghosts today. He didn't want to deal with ghosts ever. They were always a pain in the ass. Whining about how unfair it was to die so soon, angry at Malik for no reason other than he was the only person they could take their frustration out on. Crying and yelling and more crying. Not to mention most spirits only stuck around because they had messages to pass on to their loved ones, which meant he had to talk to people. The amount of times he'd been cussed out and assaulted because he dared to tell the ghost's family he had a message for them was unbelievable and made Malik hate the job all the more.

As he tried and failed to read the abbreviations on the tickets the face of his server appeared at the window, her short brown hair tied up with a pink ribbon and her blue eyes concerned as she paused and studied Malik's sweaty, zoned out face.

"Whoa, Ishtar. You doing okay back there?" Mazaki asked, loading her arms with the baskets. It took Malik a moment to realize he was being spoken to, and he nodded shakily in response.

"Yeah, just hot as hell back here."

She pursed her lips as if she knew Malik was lying but didn't want to call him out on it, then said she'd turn up the air conditioning and disappeared into the dining room. Malik barely noticed, still trying to figure out the tickets. It wasn't like these were written any messier than Mazaki's other tickets; the heat was just getting to him more than he thought it would. It seemed to have overcooked his brain.

HW? What the hell did HW stand for?

Oh. Hot wings.

Finally making sense of the tickets he began throwing the specified food on the grill and in the fryer. He wiped his face on his sleeve, grumbling to himself as he watched the meat sizzle, not sure if it was the smell of it or the heatwave coursing through his body that was giving him a headache now.

It had been a few weeks since his last assignment, and he'd gotten used to not having to deal with any ghosts or the repercussions of not responding to his summons. Three short, blissful, ghost-free weeks of relaxation and self-care, and he'd loved every second of it. As short lived as it was, he was going to miss it. He already did.

Malik knew he should have faked sick and left for home as soon as he felt the tell-tale warm tingle on his neck, but part of him felt guilty about ducking out of work so often that year and wanted to stay for his shift. The other part of him was just avoiding whatever ghost needed his help this time. But the tingle all too soon turned into an itch; annoying, sure, but manageable. Then the itch turned into a burn, and Malik knew he was in trouble. The burning turned into a blaze, and he regretted staying, if only because he suffered now. He'd never ignored a summons for so long, and it felt like he was being consumed in invisible flames. But it was too late to leave now. Even if he could fake sick well enough to go home, he couldn't leave in the middle of the lunch rush. His ghost would just have to suck it up and wait for him to get off work.

Sadly, the spirits of the dead were not known for their patience.

Three more hours. If he could just make it three more hours he'd be free to clock out at the end of his shift. He'd already lasted four hours. He could do this.

If Malik thought the heat was bad after four hours, five made it completely insufferable. His mouth was dry even as his body dripped with sweat. He felt like someone was holding a match to every single inch of his skin. He was dizzy and had to lean against the prep station while he cooked to keep from falling over. He could tell Mazaki was worried but promised he was okay every time she questioned him. She didn't look convinced, but with the rush of customers still flooding in she had no choice but to accept his word for now. She told him to wash his face and drink some water as she left the kitchen. He did both, but it didn't help, and he imagined the water turning to steam as it reached his stomach.

At five hours, Malik was sure he'd burst into actual flames any second. He stood over the hand sink, cupping cold water in his hands and splashing it on his face, but it did nothing except wash away the sweat. He cursed his summons and the spirit he'd been assigned; he cursed his cursed life as a medium and the Pharaoh for ever passing on "the gift" of The Sight in the first place; and he cursed his ancestors for passing it on to his family and above all, he cursed himself for not faking sick when he had the chance. At this point he would happily put up with a simpering spirit, if only for the heat to be extinguished…

Returning to the grill after washing his hands, he went about flipping the burgers two at a time. They sizzled and popped in pools of grease and the special sauce blend he used to season them, and Malik had to brace himself again as the dizziness returned tenfold. He wouldn't admit it, but with the smell of meat in his nostrils he almost did get sick right then and there.

The heat continued to distract him as he cooked; his movements were quick and jerky, and he barely paid attention to what he was doing as he tried to ride out the pain and dizziness. When he went to drop the baskets it was with far more force than needed, and he was rewarded with hot oil splashing the back of his hand. "Shit!" He yanked his hand away with a hiss of pain, more out of habit than anything else. The usual bite of the fryer oil felt like cold water against his burning skin, but he knew he'd still suffer from a sizeable burn. With another, more colorful curse under his breath he stuck his hand under cold water, knowing blisters were already forming but hoping they wouldn't anyway.

Mazaki must have heard him, as she appeared in the kitchen soon after looking worried. Seeing Malik with his hand under the tap was enough to fill her in on what happened.

"Oh shit. You okay?" she asked, retrieving the first aid kit from the junk drawer.

"I'm fine. Just got some oil on me," he muttered, staring at his hand. The burn didn't really hurt compared to the rest of him, but he knew better than to take it out of the water yet.

"Really? You never burn yourself." She came up beside him, rummaging through the little box for bandages and aloe cream. "What's going on with you today? Are you sick?"

"Nothing is going on with me," he snapped, not looking up at her.

Mazaki raised an eyebrow. "You're burning yourself and you look like you just ran a marathon, but nothing's going on? Seriously, no one sweats that much from being in a kitchen."

"I do."

"You never have before."

"Mazaki," he growled a warning at her, but she was undeterred by whatever threat he'd left unspoken. With a reassuring smile he eased his hand out of the cold water and gently patted the area dry. When he winced she apologized, and despite his annoyance and her touch aggravating his burning skin even more he let her dress the burn with the cream and bandages.

She spoke only when she was finished. "I'm calling Honda," she said sternly, looking up at him with eyes that just dared him to argue. Malik snorted and yanked his hand away, moving around her to check up on his orders. Mazaki just followed him. "I'm serious, Ishtar. You can't work when you're sick. You're either going to hurt yourself again or barf all over someone's food."

"Mazaki, I'm fine," Malik snarled through clenched teeth. He was still dizzy and he was getting a little nauseous, but if he did barf he was confident in his ability to get to a bathroom or trash can before anything came up. "I only have one hour left before my shift ends and he has to come anyway. I'll leave then."

Mazaki looked like she wanted to argue, and probably would have if Malik hadn't begun plating the food. She watched him do so, uncomfortably intently, until all the fries and burgers were in their respective baskets. Malik, caught up on the orders, watched her now. She was looking at the tickets, then at the baskets, and back to the tickets. Having no idea what she was doing he reached over and gave the order bell a little ring. "C'mon, order up." He tried to make his voice sound like so she'd know he was trying to be funny, but it came out hoarse. His throat felt like he'd swallowed a spoon full of chili paste, and he cleared it while Mazaki laughed. "What?"

Mazaki just smirked and pointed to three of the five baskets he'd prepared. "This one was supposed to be a cheeseburger," she began, and Malik's stomach dropped when he realized he'd gotten the orders wrong. "This one had curly fries, and this one was supposed to be a Domino burger." Her smirk fell and she put a hand on her hip, placing the other against Malik's sweaty forehead. Malik had to force himself not to flinch away at the touch. She tsk'ed and shook her head. "You really are sick. If you don't leave now I'm calling Ms. Ando, and you know that mother hen will make you leave, even if she has to drag you home and put you to bed herself."

Malik studied her for a moment, still wanting to argue with her but no longer having the strength or will to. He knew it was for the best, both for him and the business now that he was so far gone he was messing up the food, and he knew she was right about their boss, too. He moved away from Mazaki's hand and sighed. "Fine, whatever. If it will get you off my ass."

Mazaki smiled at him. "It will. You go call Honda and I'll explain the situation to the customers." They left the kitchen at the same time, Mazaki going to the dining room and Malik to the employee lounge just off the dish room. As he untied his apron he dialed his coworker and asked him to come in and cover the last hour of his shift. Honda was there in record time and, once he was sure Honda could take care of everything Malik had left undone, he grabbed his bag and his street shoes and left the restaurant.

He hated to think of how angry his spirit would be that they'd been kept waiting for so long once he finally got home, but he couldn't put it off anymore. He was hot, he was sweaty, he had a headache and he was probably going to throw up if he waited too much longer. With that in mind he mounted his motorcycle, cursing every spirit in the world as he made his way home.

AN: if you really want to know exactly what Malik's side effects are like, hold your hand about 4 inches above boiling water. Now imagine that all over your body, paired with symptoms of heatstroke.

Note: Do not actually hold your hand over boiling water. You can get steam burns.