"Put that down!"

A four year old Warren looked up, mystified, from the match he was about to strike. He'd seen his parents do it hundreds of times. Why was his mom so worried now? But he obediently lowered the match and then looked up at his mother questioningly.

"What's wrong?" He'd asked innocently, his four year old eyes widening with curiosity.

"We never, ever play with matches Warren. We don't play with fire at all." His mother had warned, sweeping up her child in her arms and taking him into the kitchen for lunch. "It can be very dangerous."

Terrified by the thought that he might have been playing with something dangerous (he envisioned the match growing teeth and biting him), Warren Peace didn't go near matches again until he was 8 (Cub Scout Camp) and understood what they were.

He'd had a strange affinity for flame, able to start fires with the dampest of wood, coax a spark out of the dullest, oldest matches, and roast s'mores to perfection. He'd grinned and toyed with this new plaything, never dreaming that it could be used for more than amusement. Dangerous? It was hardly dangerous. It was a tool, a toy, a tamable thing that could be used to do all sorts of tasks.

But dangerous?

Now he stood in the Sky High Cafeteria, flinging fire at that stupid do-gooder Will Stronghold.

Fire could be dangerous, he now knew. Dangerous to those who got in his way.


A/N: Whoo-hoo, it's an update. Now there's a shock, I know. That is because I am a bad, bad author, who should be slapped on the wrist numerous times. I'll get right on that. :P

Anyway, hope you liked it. Let me know!