He'd started by setting empty houses on fire, like a lot of pyromaniacs. He stared at the glass and not at me while he talked. Nice lady.' He started to turn the ice-filled glass round and round in his large hands. 'I met Ophelia Ryan once before she died. He nodded and drained the rest of his tea in one long swallow. We had a lot of psychics come in and talk to us, demonstrate their abilities, but pyrokinetics is such a rare ability, I don't think the prof could find one.' A lot of the firebugs go up that way, as if when they're old they lose control of it. 'Burned to death in her bed, spontaneous combustion. 'The old black-and-white ones?' he asked. 'A pyrokinetic, someone who can call fire psychically.' 'Do you know what the term firebug means?' 'What happened to your arm?' McKinnon asked finally. Dolph didn't use the word 'friend' lightly, so I knew they were close. They'd played football in college together, and been friends ever since. McKinnon had been recommended to me by Sergeant Rudolph Storr, cop and friend. I was shopping for midriff tops to show off my back scars. Everyone else was bringing sweaters to work. He'd turned the air conditioner up a little colder every day.

I hadn't worn a long-sleeved blouse since he made the request. He said that some clients had expressed reservations about my ah. There were one or two other scars hidden under my blouse, but the arm really is the worst.īert, my boss, had requested that I wear my suit jacket or long-sleeved blouses in the office. There was a cross-shaped burn mark, a little crooked now because of the ragged claw marks that a shapeshifted witch had given me.

I'd have to lift weights for the rest of my life or the scars would stiffen and I'd lose mobility in the arm, or so my physical therapist had said. A mound of white scar tissue sat at the bend of my arm. My right arm had been sliced open twice by a knife.

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