Playing with Fire by Tamara Morgan

was on—and for the first time, she knew who was on hers.
    “Well, since that’s all settled, let’s get this thing going. And just so you know, I’m willing to consider this a partnership in every possible way. You help me. I help you. We don’t have to be enemies.”
    Too late. They already were.
    …
    Her task was fairly straightforward.
    She’d imagined some sort of elaborate heist or a robbery that took half the population hostage, but it seemed Patrick had an entirely different set of ambitions in mind.
    “I want you to create a riot,” he’d said. “Through downtown, running all the people away from Main Street.”
    “I don’t understand. Can’t your little elves do that?” she’d asked, testing her arms painfully. Every muscle in her upper body felt stretched to twice its original length, but she would bear it. Two of the thugs had lifted Ian and put him in one of the cars. There was an awful lot of blood; a gash along his temple seemed to be its primary source. Her pain was nothing compared to his.
    “They can, but that’s not the point. I want you to do it.”
    At first, Fiona thought there was some sort of catch she was missing. She was supposed to start at the top of Main Street, setting fires in buildings, trash cans, cars—anything that would pull people out of their offices and homes. And she was supposed to keep going, pushing them down the street until every building was emptied.
    It seemed petty, rioting like this, but then Patrick had never been known for his open-mindedness. She figured she could pull off the semblance of a riot fairly easily and with a low body count, thanks to a pretty good working knowledge of how fires started and grew. Keep the flames contained, visible but not spreadable. She could do that.
    But as they were on their way to the site, Fiona in the back seat of one of Patrick’s dark luxury cars and with two layers of durable leather fireplace gloves duct-taped over her hands, she asked, “And then we’re done? I do this for you, you give me Ian, and I never have to see you again?”
    “Absolutely. I’m a man of my word. Your little boyfriend will be waiting at the end. Assuming you perform your task, you two can ride off into the sunset together.”
    She didn’t like that answer, and even more misgivings took over. There was no way in seven levels of hell, with two to grow on, that Patrick was a man of his word. She knew it. And he knew she knew it.
    “Where will you be?” she asked, not trying to hide her suspicion. “While I’m doing all your dirty work, I mean.”
    He’d waved a hand. “Around. I promise not to get in your way, if that’s what you mean.”
    It wasn’t what she’d meant, and she still didn’t know quite what to make of the entire situation, but now that she stood in place, she wasn’t sure what else to do. She wasn’t some sort of criminal mastermind. All she knew was that Ian was in danger, and it was up to her to save him.
    The top of Main Street didn’t have much beyond an old railroad depot and a large collection of transients, none of whom seemed to care that she was treading on their turf. Most of this part of Ashland was built at the turn of the century, when railroads crisscrossed through the state. The buildings were brick and old and full of charm, a couple even on the National Register of Historic Places.
    Burning them down was probably a federal offense. But then again, so was running through the streets, setting fire to trash cans and inciting a riot.
    She knew, because of Patrick’s thinly veiled threats, that two of his men were behind her, waiting out of sight with a pair of handguns pointed at her back They were the same chickenshit men from before, but there were also a few more posted along the way. And more importantly, one of them had been left to watch over Ian.
    The sound of a gunshot rang through the air, the signal for her to start down the street. It wasn’t hard to work up the energy for her first