Title: Torch Light

Author: Griffyn612

Rating: PG-13

Canon: Book

Spoilers: Spoilers through Dead Beat, with mild reference to subject matter from Cold Days.

Warnings: Contains mild violence and language

Setting: A fan story of the Dresdenverse. Most characters are new, with a few known characters interspersed.

Disclaimer: The Dresden Files is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.

Summary: A wizard can only be in so many places at once. When a threat arises in Chicago, and the resident Wizard for Hire is unavailable, it falls to another to stop the city from becoming a pile of ashes.

Chapter 1

The building was on fire, and I knew who was at fault.

Well, not really. I couldn't be absolutely sure. But as I watched the blaze from the sidewalk across the street, I had my suspicions.

A section of the warehouse's roof collapsed as the support beams finally gave out, resulting in a surge of flames reaching high into the night sky. The heat from the inferno swelled, causing myself and the other bystanders to take a few steps back. I cupped a hand around my thick framed glasses, shielding my eyes from the blaze as smoke and cinders drifted my way.

I could feel my pulse quicken as I watched the flames. It was a familiar feeling, and yet at the same time foreign. As if the fire were calling out to me, inviting me to join—

"Woody."

The voice startled me, and drew my attention away from the blazing building. The speaker approached with a glower, her face matching her tone with a mixture of frustration and resignation, and perhaps a dollop of suspicion.

"Captain Crewe, what a pleasant surprise," I replied with forced cheer and a matching smile.

Captain Jennifer Crewe of the Chicago Fire Department came to a halt beside me as my gaze returned to the conflagration. One of her companies was working to contain the blaze, and torrents of water shot out across the night sky to envelop both the burning building and those neighboring it.

As I watched the fires rage, I stole glances at the stern faced woman. It appeared she'd been dragged out of bed by the watch commander. She was in uniform, but only barely. Her shirt wasn't tucked in properly, and her graying hair was making a decent attempt at a jailbreak from beneath her hat; both of which might be expected of anyone at such a late hour, but which looked doubly odd on the exceedingly tidy woman.

As the firehouse Captain, she would have been off duty hours earlier, heading home along with the first shift. That she was on scene in the dead of night hinted that there was something different about this particular call.

Of course, the fact that the flames were purple suggested that as well.

She caught me looking over her disheveled appearance, and I suddenly found her cold blue eyes turned to me. "What brings you here, Mr. Hayes?" Her tone carried a hint of accusation, in the same way a tanker carries a splash of oil.

"I was on my way home when I saw the fire. Decided to stop and check it out." I didn't bother putting any extra effort into convincing her; it wouldn't do any good.

"Convenient, isn't it? Me finding you at yet another suspicious fire." When she turned back to the blaze, I could see the violet light play across her doubtful scowl.

"Well, when I saw the fire from the El, I figured I'd eventually get a call. Why miss an opportunity to see it first hand before investigating?"

She snorted in a very unladylike way. "Or you stuck around to watch your handiwork, like every other arsonist."

My jaw clenched at the familiar accusation. I'd never gotten along with Captain Crewe, which is why I usually tried avoiding her district if at all possible. Despite my record, she continued to drag up ancient history whenever possible. But she was rarely so bald-faced as to label me an arsonist. Not when such accusations had been exceedingly costly in the past.

"Look, are you going to want me on this or not?" I growled in a civil tone. My interest in the fire had plummeted with her arrival, and at that point I decided investigating it wasn't worth dealing with her.

Her response was so long coming, I almost left without her reply. But eventually, she muttered a simple, "We'll see," and walked away.

As she joined her lieutenant, I turned to take one last look at the oddly tinted fire. I meant to step away, but somehow found myself entranced by the dancing flames. A window, somehow remaining intact longer than the others, finally burst as the heat overtook it. Fiery tongues of lilac and plum quickly spilled out, licking at the brick and mortar over the window frame.

I squinted at the building as suspicion began to chew at my gut. There was something more than the color alone that was drawing my attention and quickening my pulse. Something that called out to me and the other pedestrians that had filled the sidewalk across from the blaze. Something… unnatural.

I lifted a hand to my glasses, my middle finger pressing up on the bridge of the wooden frames as I muttered under my breath. "Pantië," I whispered softly, the word barely audible to my own ears.

The bystander to one side must have heard something odd. He shot me an inquisitive glance, as if trying to figure out what language I was speaking. Slim chance of that, unless he was one of the more fanatical Tolkien fans out there. After a long moment, he returned his gaze to the fire that had transfixed us all, my mumbling forgotten.

As the word escaped my lips, a tingle rippled across the finger touching my glasses. The light of the inferno shifted and wavered in my vision as the glass lenses revealed the truth of the flames.

They still appeared hungry and fierce as they chewed at the warehouse on the south-side of Chicago. To the firefighters and other gawkers present, there was nothing special about the raging inferno save the color of the flames. Perhaps a few would wonder why they couldn't tear their eyes away for very long. No doubt the odd hue would be blamed for captivating them, which would later be explained by the presence of some chemical burning within the building.

But from where I stood behind the police line, I could see the truth. The perceived hunger I attributed to the fire wasn't just poetic license; it was real, as if the flames craved that which would sustain them. Their seemingly haphazard spread was not fueled by accelerant, but by intent.

The flames were alive.

The smell of smoke and the familiar feeling of heat on my face finally made me give in to the sudden craving that struck like lightning. I drew out a small snakewood box the size of a pack cigarettes. Snapping the lid open, I singled out a cig and popped it between my lips. I placed the box back in my leather jacket, and then held my ring to the tip of the smoke and whispered, "Dosta."

At the word, the darker band of metal inset into the ring's edge began to glow a warm cerise. I touched the cigarette to it and inhaled, allowing the end to catch. Once it was lit, I shook my hand, as if extinguishing a match. The glow faded as the spell set into the ring ran its course.

A few moments later, an impatient trilling noise from another inner pocket accompanied a sudden and impatient vibration.

Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a second small snakewood box the same size of the first. I slipped the box into the outer breast pocket of my motorcycle jacket, where the top jutted out. The hinged lid of the box pushed itself open just a crack, and a pleased trill emanated from inside.

We watched for a while longer, until something finally gave out. The brilliant hues of amethyst and lavender lighting the streets finally dulled behind the mists of evaporating water. The angry force behind the conflagration relented in its struggle, and the purple fires petered out into the more mundane yellows and oranges of natural flame. In no time at all, the last of the fiery tongues disappeared into the smoky and sodden recesses of the building.

As the fire faded, so too did the majority of the warmth that had been washing over me. The air grew colder, and I figured it was time to get home. I pushed my glasses up on my face and whispered softly a second time, and the world became less vibrant as my vision returned to that of the mundane world. The snakewood box lid snapped closed about the same time, and I slipped it back into the warm confines of my coat.

I waited a moment, allowing the crowd around me to disperse. My fellow witnesses to the incredible all seemed to come back to their senses at once. They'd felt something as they watched those flames, something they couldn't explain now that the fires were gone. They shuffled off into the night, already shaking their heads, as if dispelling any thoughts of magic and wonder.

I shook my own head for a moment, wondering how others could so easily ignore the miracles all around them, easy to recognize for those with a care to see the truth. But there'd been a time I'd been like them. Unaware of the hidden world that surrounded us. Heedless of the extraordinary things that lurked in the night, nor the marvels that paraded by even in the light of day.

I shook my head, in disbelief of their disbelief, before making my way back to the train station, leaving the responders to their duty.

Despite Crewe's reluctance, I knew I'd be investigating the case. There were only so many people you could call in Chicago when unnatural fires raged within the city limits. And assuming they didn't call the guy that might have started the fire to begin with, they'd be left with calling me. No matter how much Crewe might hate it.

With the thought of her discomfort warming my heart, I made my way home. Tomorrow would be a busy day.