Chapter 7

After we finished discussing the logistics, I left Q to his work. I headed upstairs, and rolled around restlessly in bed until I finally managed to drift off.

When I awoke later that afternoon, things hadn't magically resolved themselves.

I caught the report about the latest fire on the early evening news. It turned out that both warehouses were in use, and millions of dollars of property damage was being claimed. There was mention of the odd hue of the flames, but nothing that would illicit suspicion from the masses.

The official line the fire department took was that an arsonist was using an accelerant that gave the fires their unnatural coloring. That clashed with the initial reports that no accelerant had been found, but the reporters didn't pick up on it. Or maybe they thought the investigators had found some new evidence.

I noticed that they showed the sketch of the suspect, but didn't show the surveillance footage of him with the torch. No doubt they were worried that seeing him carrying it around like that would make people start asking questions they didn't want answered.

I checked in with Robbins, who gave me the news that the CPD had assigned their end of the case to their Special Investigations division. That rankled me, as it meant much of the case was now out of my hands. But if the rumors about that department were true, they'd be the best possible response to a magical situation. Probably better than me.

After having an early dinner, I headed back down into the basement. Not to Q's place in the subbasement, but my own little lab I'd set up.

The place wasn't much, but it functioned as my own in-house forensics lab. Any complicated tests would require sending the samples off for analysis. But as I was less concerned with solving a crime so much as duplicating it, I had everything I needed.

"Okay buddy," I said to Sal. "Let's make purple fire." My junior lab assistant trilled in anticipation, and barked out a small purple flame of his own.

The easiest part was making the fire turn purple, of course. All that took was some potassium chloride. With the right percentages and mixture, anyone could get that done. No, the problem wasn't just the color; it was sustaining the color. An accelerant with potassium chloride would burn out fairly quickly. Once it was gone, the remaining fire that grew from the building's innards would return to more normal hues. Combining strontium and copper to blend red and blue hues into a purple flame would work, but carrying quantities that could account for the fires already witnessed would be difficult.

As another experiment fizzled out, the grate in the floor popped open, and Q appeared from below.

"Any word?" I asked, my eyes still trained on the dying embers in the dish on the counter.

"I was able to confirm that this Gard woman purchased the box," he said as he approached. I saw that today's outfit consisted of board shorts and a Blackhawks t-shirt. Clearly he had no intent of going outside, which was an abysmally cold night.

"Is Marcone willing to part with it?" I asked, hoping that I wouldn't have to try and steal from the most ruthless criminal the city had ever seen. And that's saying something, considering Chicago's history.

"My contacts say that she didn't purchase it for Marcone," he replied, standing across the table from me. The amethyst hues of the dwindling flames did strange things to his ruby and wine colored eyes.

"So she got it for herself?" I wondered. "Could she know what it was?"

"Her ilk are not of the same line as the Lampads, but it would not surprise me if she knew of them." Q shrugged, and started making his way to the stairs leading up. "I will partake in your leftovers. Was that Lou's I smelled?"

"Yeah," I said, frowning at the now spent flames.

"Good," he replied as he made his way up. "Uno's is too greasy and runny for me."

"Right," I replied to his retreating form. I looked to Sal, who sat hunched on his tail. He was always excited to play with fire, and was eagerly awaiting the next effort. But unfortunately I disappointed him. "That's the answer."

The little guy cocked his head curiously. I just smiled at him and started putting things away.

Friday saw me heading around Chicagoland, buying up the supplies I'd need. It wasn't easy, since I had to make sure to buy low quantities in cash from places that didn't have surveillance cameras.

Thankfully, it was cold out, so no-one questioned my use of gloves. They probably just assumed I was trying to keep warm, rather than attempting to avoid leaving fingerprints on both the items I bought and the stores I frequented.

I returned home with the supplies, and completed a test run in the basement. It was only a small quantity, but it was enough to assure me that the mixture would allow for a sustained purple flame. Not as long as the magical fire had lasted, but long enough to ease the minds of those looking for non-mystical answers to their questions.

The hardest part was acquiring a van. Even with the most efficient use of materials, it'd still require more than a person could conveniently carry around town. I decided that would have to wait until later.

It was Friday afternoon when I returned home to find a note waiting for me. I headed down to the subbasement and knocked on Q's lab door. A few moments later, another door further down the tunnel opened, and the goblin stuck his head out.

"You're not working?" I asked as I turned and headed toward the space he considered his home. He was careful to keep a definitive line between living space and work space.

"Long week," he replied. He didn't invite me in, which he never did. So I stood in the dim hallway as he retrieved a note.

"A meeting has been set up with the Gard woman," Q said. He passed the note to me, which contained a time and a name. "Do not offer this woman anything. Not even your name."

"Where are we meeting?" I asked, noticing that there wasn't an address on the paper.

"At the pub," he replied. He frown and wagged a bony finger at me, the nearly translucent white and green skin stretched gauntly over it. "Offer her nothing."

"Alright," I said defensively. I wasn't a complete nube when it came to the magical community. "What is she, a Fae?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm almost certain she's a Chooser."

"Okay," I said knowingly, rather than admitting that I didn't know what a Chooser was. That'd be practically admitting I was a complete nube when it came to the magical community. "She knows what this meeting is about?"

Q nodded. "From what I understand, she is sympathetic to your cause."

"Do you think she'll help?" I asked hopefully.

Q just shrugged, and closed the door. I sighed, and headed back upstairs, wondering just what a Chooser was, and what it would mean if I screwed up.

The meeting wasn't for another couple of hours, so I got busy with preparing the mixtures.

Grease was the perfect thing for what I needed. It would act as the primary fuel source, and would burn slow enough to sustain the purple flames for a longer time. It would also help explain why the fire hoses had taken so long to put the flames out; grease fires were notorious for growing worse when doused with water.

Sodium-free salt would provide the potassium chloride I needed for a violet flame. The alcohol in hand sanitizer provided a nice blue that, when combined with the red hued strontium nitrate in road flares, made a passable purple. Finding the right ratios was difficult, but in the end I was satisfied with the results. Most of the mixture went into red gas tanks I'd bought at a hardware store, while some went into large backpack style sprayers.

The rest went toward preparing fire-starter logs. I applied some directly to the logs, leaving the mixture to soak into them overnight. For others, I coated them in melted wax. Once the wax started to cool, I sprinkled in a dry mix of the assorted chemicals. Even after some of the other accelerants had burned out, the slower burning wax starters would only be getting started.

I wasn't finished by the time I had to leave for the meet, but I had made good progress. After making sure everything was secured safely, and Q knew not to mess with any of it, I headed out.

McAnally's is a pub downtown that caters to the magical community. While I'd first been exposed to magic in my hometown of Lake Providence years earlier, I hadn't really learned much until I moved to Chicago. I'd spent years on the fringes of the small society of practitioners, and knew a few personally.

I didn't mess with the Wizard, of course. I'd never even met the guy properly, but he'd caused enough trouble in my life without being directly involved. I figured the best thing I could do would be to keep away from him. That wasn't easy all the time, considering how much he visited Mac's. But when I went to meet Ms. Gard, he was nowhere to be seen.

The pub is a little odd compared to modern tastes. The place is recessed, and you have to head down a flight of steps to enter. Once inside, you were surrounded by an esoteric design that apparently did what it could to diminish lingering magical energies. As I didn't have a lick of talent, I couldn't say one way or the other. But others assured me it worked.

The small space had thirteen columns, each carved in reliefs of old world legends. There were thirteen tables spaced about the place, along with stools along the bar. Fans swung lazily overhead, seeming to be more useful at keeping the air moving than giving any cold comfort in the depths of a Chicago winter.

I went to the bar, where I found the bar owner busy working behind the counter.

"Hey Mac," I said as I sat down. He glanced at me, and nodded politely. I'm not sure if he recognized me or not. "Think I could get a dark?"

A few moments later the man had delivered a freshly cracked bottle, as warm in my hand as beer shouldn't be. But as the chill outside was biting, and my motorcycle offered little in the way of warmth, I was grateful for the warm heavenly liquid.

I paid him for the drink, and decided to wait and see if the woman I was meeting planned on eating or not. While I waited, I looked over some of the other patrons. As it was a Friday night around dinner time, there was a smattering of people present. No-one I recognized, so I remained at the bar.

Just as my watch struck the appointed time, the front door opened, and a woman made her way into the pub. My eyes widened when I saw her, as she wasn't what I was expecting.

Standing over six feet, she was taller than me. She had a lean body if her pantsuit revealed anything, but she carried herself with a confidence and poise that made me shiver. Her long blond hair hung loosely across her back, and her intense blue eyes fixated on me as she looked around the room.

I'd say she was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. Sure, her features were lean and sharp and attractive, but her beauty was more like that of a sword glinting in sunlight. She looked like a well honed weapon, the smoother parts of her figure more like the graceful curves of a battle-axe rather than a pin-up doll.

As she approached the bar, I noted the box held under one arm. It was ornate, similar to what Q had been working on a few days earlier. But unlike his work, which was beautiful if somber, the box she carried felt like it carried some sort of menace.

Since I didn't usually pick up on vibes like that, I figured it must be putting off some really bad juju.

"It has worked for a long time to keep its contents from its rightful owner," the woman said as she stopped beside me. Her voice sound like steel rasping out of a leather sheath.

"Uh, right," I said as I stood, and held out a hand. I belatedly realized she was holding the box with her right, so she wasn't free to shake. But she smoothly shifted it around and took my hand in hers. Her fingers were strong and calloused.

"Mr. Hayes, I presume?" she asked, a golden eyebrow quirking up.

"That's me," I confirmed. Q had warned me about giving my name to people like this. Not everyone could use it against you, but enough could that it made a bit of caution more than appropriate. I returned the favor. "And you'd be Ms. Gard?"

"Correct," she said as she placed the box on the bar counter before sitting on a stool.

The bartender sidled over, and I saw his face frowning at the thing that was intruding on his space. "Hmgh," he mumbled, as if letting the box know he was displeased with it.

Without her ordering, Mac placed a bottle in front of the woman. She took it and tilted it toward him, toasting her appreciation. He nodded, and wandered away to someone else that needed his attention.

"So," I said, glancing at the box. "Do you know what this box contained?"

The woman glanced at me, her blue eyes weighing me. "I believe so."

"Well, if I'm right, the object is in someone's hands," I explained. "Someone that's in over their head."

"I had surmised as much," she admitted.

"I'm going to try and do something about that." At my words, she arched her eyebrow again. I couldn't be sure that it was amusement glinting in her eye, but it sure felt like it.

"And how are you going to do that?" she asked, her voice wry.

"Well, I was hoping to borrow your nifty little box there," I said, gesturing to said item. The dark wood, with its ornate and twisted carvings, seemed to push my eyes away. I was more than willing to abide by the compulsion.

"I see," she said, offering little insight into her opinion.

"I think it would be best for everyone involved if the torch were off the streets," I explained. "I'm not sure who one of your bosses is, but the other probably doesn't like chaos in his city."

"That is true," she said, offering a slight inclination of her head. "He does not like disruption to his plans, and the fires are beginning to be just that." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me from the side. "But he is not invested enough to act directly. And my other… employer, shall we say, does not meddle lightly in matters such as this."

"You mean magical issues?" I asked.

"No," she said. "He is very interested in such things. But when it involves matters of individuals such as these, he moves with great caution."

"So neither is willing to help?" I asked, surprised and a little disappointed. "When lives might be at risk?"

"Lives are always at risk," she replied. And as she did, her eyes glinted something fierce, something primal, and I swallowed unconsciously.

"What about the box? Are you willing to lend it to me?"

"Would you return it with its contents in place?" she asked, curious.

"If I had to," I admitted. "I can't use the thing, and I don't know how to get a hold of the original owner."

"Hmm," the woman pondered. After a long pause, she added cautiously, "I may be able to help with that."

"You mean you can get it back to the handmaiden?" I asked.

"No," Gard said quickly. "But I will permit you to use the box to contain the item, and will facilitate a meeting between you and the owner, if I can."

I gave a heavy sigh, glad that things were falling into place. "Thank you," I told her.

She inclined her head. "In return, you will be in my debt."

"Um," I said stupidly, suddenly nervous. I knew better than to get too involved with people like her. "What sort of debt?"

"As you are asking for my help for a good deed, I will reserve the right to do the same," she said somewhat reassuringly, as if sensing my hesitance. "Nothing which you would not be willing to do of your own free will."

"Okay," I said slowly.

"But once the item has been returned, you will return the box to me," she added, her tone uncompromising.

"Sounds good," I confirmed. "I don't like the vibe it's giving off."

My words seemed to surprise her, but after a moment she pushed the box along the bar top until it was in front of me.

"I don't suppose you'd like to come help me retrieve it?" I asked, taking a sip of my beer.

"Oh, I might enjoy that," she said, the glint returning to her eyes. "But I am bound to the interests of my employers in this matter, and cannot overstep."

"Gotcha," I said, expecting as much.

Q had mentioned that there were delicate balances in the relationships between the different supernatural groups. Such restrictions made places like Mac's pub necessary. As Accorded Neutral Ground, people and things that might not normally get along could meet peacefully. But out in the real world, both seen and unseen, the struggles between authorities were carefully maintained.

It seemed I would be on my own. But I was already fortunate enough that she was willing to work with me. I was about to offer to buy the woman dinner in gratitude when my phone chimed.

"Excuse me," I said, embarrassed. Glancing at the phone number, I saw that it was Penny from the investigators office. "I have to take this."

"Of course," Ms. Gard replied, inclining her head.

I slipped off the barstool and made my way toward a quiet corner of the pub. "Hey, Pen. What's up?"

"Woody, are you home?" she asked quickly, a nervousness in her voice triggering alarm bells in my head.

"No, I'm out. Why?" I asked, my voice hushed but anxious.

"Robbins just heard that S.I. obtained a warrant to search your place," she said quickly. "Apparently Crewe has been pulling what strings she has, and the investigators are reviewing your involvement."

"I thought I was in the clear?" I asked hotly. The police had released me the day before with assurances that no charges would be brought. All the attention was shifting toward the perp in the video.

"Crew has convinced people that you're working together," Penny said. "That you staged the video to clear your name. And since the lantern thing the guy was carrying couldn't cause all that damage on its own, she's saying you guys prepped the buildings beforehand."

"That's absurd," I said. "I was busy investigating all da—" I continued, until something she'd said nearly stopped my heart. "Wait. Did you say they had a warrant? For my place?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Robbins got wind from the people over at the Special Investigations group. Some of them are on their way to your place right now."

"Oh shit," I said, too loudly it seemed. A couple patrons looked my way, but I had no time to worry about them.

"Woody, what is it?" Penny asked.

"I've gotta go," I told her. She started saying something else, but I'd hung up before she could finish.

I scrambled back to the bar, where Gard sat waiting with the box. "Sorry, but I've got to run," I explained hastily. "There are things… well, I've gotta go."

The woman nodded as I hastily tossed some cash on the bar for her drink. I hesitated as I reached for the box, but a second nod indicated I could take it.

As my hands closed on the thing, a cold chill rippled up and down my spine. I shivered, but managed to heft the thing up onto one of my shoulders. It was heavier than it looked, and I wondered at the woman's easy strength that had carried it under one arm.

I ran for the door, making sure to steer clear of the fans. Then I was out the door and running to the parking lot, where I strapped the box over the rear wheel of my WLA. As soon as the helmet was on my head, I was off, speeding toward home.

Home, where the police were preparing to search for evidence that I was involved in starting the fires.

Home, where I had a stockpile of violet and lavender accelerant and fuels for just such a purpose.