Prologue

      Flames were like pets. Hungry, devoted little pets that would do pretty much whatever you wanted them to do, as long as you treated them right. You had to show them, of course. Sort of steer them in the right direction. You had to give them plenty to eat, too. Like a dog that would do a trick in exchange for a tasty treat, tongues of fire would go just where you wanted them to with the help of strategically placed snacks. They were insatiable, the little demons. They would devour everything and everyone in their path, growing bigger and bigger with every morsel, until they became giant ravenous dragons. Until they ate everything available. And then they died, their life over, their purpose served. Their master satisfied.

      The master, in this case, had spent two decades learning about the care and feeding of fire. It was easy to give birth to it. So many ways, so many clever, creative, concealed ways to do it. It had become a challenge to invent new methods over the years. Genius wasn’t too big a word to describe her.

      This particular baby was about to be born from the basement up. It was a simple method, but a very effective one. A little hacksaw action on the natural gas pipeline, just inside the basement. A tiny transformer box with two bare wires touching, so it would spark as soon as the wireless signal was sent.

      The timing, of course, was crucial. Turning that switch too soon, before the gas had time to build to the right concentration, would result in nothing. Or worse, a survivable fire. She couldn’t wait too long, either, or her targets might smell the gas and have the