Disclaimer: Birds of Prey, its characters, and concepts are the property of Warner Brothers, Tollin-Robbins Productions & DC Comics.
Fire
Chapter One
"Another fire, eh?" said Huntress as she scanned the charred and burned-out hulk of a building that was once Edgely's Furniture store.
"This is the third in two weeks," replied Oracle over the comm. "We may be dealing with a serial arsonist." Oracle paused. "These fires are unlike any I've ever seen."
"How so?"
"No use of accelerants … no matches, paper, gasoline, alcohol, et cetera. Nothing electrical. It's like it came out of nowhere." Oracle paused. "What's more, they've all occurred between the hours of five and eight p.m."
"Couldn't they have used one of those little propane torch thingies?"
"I doubt it," Oracle replied. "If that were the case, the epicenter would have been a lot smaller … it would've started small and expanded. According to Delphi, an entire wall just suddenly burst into flames. What's more, someone entering a store carrying a propane torch would've attracted attention."
"Which one was this, now?"
Oracle paused. "This last one … Edgely's Furniture."
"OK, lemme see if I've got this straight," said Huntress. "Entire walls suddenly going up in flames. No gasoline, matches, or fuel of any sort. No electrical."
"Correct."
Hellllooo, "X-Files", Huntress thought. "Think we oughta call in Mulder and Scully on this one?"
In what had to be a first, Oracle burst out laughing at the other end of the comm. "Seriously," she said as she quickly regained her composure. "I think we may be looking for a metahuman here … a pyrokinetic. I don't know how else to explain these fires."
"Excuse me. Are you … Barbara Gordon?"
Barbara looked up from the papers on her desk and turned towards the voice. A tall lanky man with blue eyes, close cropped curly red hair, and round wire-framed eyeglasses stood in the doorway of the empty classroom. He was wearing blue jeans, a red plaid flannel shirt, and brown brogans.
"I'm Barbara Gordon," she said to the stranger in the doorway. "May I help you?"
"I'm Henry Lazenby," said the stranger in the doorway.
"Oh, yes … the new Freshman English teacher," said Barbara. "You just started this term, if I'm not mistaken."
Henry gave a shy smile. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor," he said. "I'm writing a novel … and I'm told you're the literary type."
"What kind of novel?"
"It's a character study … of a serial arsonist," said Henry hesitantly.
"I see," said Barbara. Takes all kinds, I guess, she thought.
"I was wondering if you could come over to my place and review a couple of chapters. It could really use a … fresh perspective."
"Sure," said Barbara. "What day would be good for you?"
"Saturday night at seven?"
"I'll see you then."
