"Yeah, Clarence, I know that."

"Not me, Ry. I never burned n.o.body." The eyes lit up happily.

"Just you. But that was an accident. You got scars?"

"Yeah, I got scars."

"Me too." Clarence giggled, pleased that they shared something.

"Wanna see?"

"Maybe later. I remember when we got burned, Clarence."

"Sure. Sure you do. Like a dragon's kiss, right?"

Like being in the bowels of h.e.l.l, Ry thought. "The landlord paid you to light the dragon that time, remember?"

"I remember. n.o.body lived there. It was just an old building. I like old, empty buildings. The fire just eats along, sniffs up the walls, hides in the ceiling. It talks to you. You've heard it talk, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I've heard it. Who paid you this time, Clarence?"

Playfully Clarence put the tips of his fingers together, making a bridge. "I never said anybody paid me. I never said I did anything.

You could've brought the gas, Ry. You're mad at me for burning you." Suddenly his smile was crafty. "You had nightmares in the burn ward. I heard about them. Nightmares about the dragon. And now you don't slay the dragon anymore."

The throb behind his eyes had Ry reaching for another cigarette.

Clarence was fascinated by the nightmares, had probed time and again during the interview for details. Even if he'd wanted to, Ry couldn't have given many. It was all a blur of fire and smoke, blessedly misted with time.

"I had nightmares for a while. I got over it. I got over being mad at you, too, Clarence. We were both just doing our job, right?''

Ry caught the glint in Clarence's eyes when the match was lit.

Experimentally, Ry held the small flame between them. "It's powerful, isn't it?" he murmured. "Just a little flame. But you and me, we know what it can do-to wood, paper. Flesh. It's powerful.

And when you feed it, it gets stronger and stronger."

He touched the match to the tip of his cigarette. Still watching Clarence, Ry licked his forefinger and snuffed out the flame.

"Douse it with water, cut off its air, andpoof." He tossed the broken match into the overburdened ashtray. "We both like to control it, right?"

"Yeah." Clarence licked his lips, hoping Ry would light another match.

"You get paid for starting them. I get paid for putting them out.

Who paid you, Clarence?"

"They're going to send me up anyway."

"Yeah. So what have you got to lose?''

"Nothing." Sly again, Clarence looked up at Ry through thin, pale lashes. "I'm not saying I started any fire. But if we was to supposemaybe I did, I couldn't say who asked me to."

"Why not?"

"Because if we was to suppose I did, I never saw who asked me to."

"Did you talk to him?"

Clarence began to play with his fingers again, his face so cheerful Ry had to grit his teeth to keep himself from reaching out and squeezing the pudgy neck. "Maybe I talked to somebody. Maybe I didn't. But maybe if I did, the voice on the phone was all screwed up, like a machine."

"Man or woman?"

"Like a machine," Clarence repeated, gesturing toward Ry's tape recorder. "Maybe it could have been either. Maybe they just sent me money to a post-office box before, and after."

"How'd they find you?"

Clarence moved his right shoulder, then his left. "Maybe I didn't ask. People find me when they want me." His grin lit his face.

"Somebody always wants me."

"Why that warehouse?"

"I didn't say nothing about a warehouse," Clarence said, pokering up.

"Why that warehouse?" Ry repeated. "Maybe."

Pleased that Ry was playing the game, Clarence scooted forward in his chair. "Maybe for the insurance. Maybe because somebody didn't like who owned the place. Maybe for fun. There's lots of reasons for fire."

Ry pressed him. "And the store. The same person owned the store."

"There were pretty things in the store. Pretty girl things."

Forgetting himself, Clarence smiled in reminiscence. "It smelled pretty, too. Even prettier after I poured the gas."

"Who told you to pour the gas, Clarence?"

"I didn't say I did."

"You just did."

Clarence pouted like a child. "Did not. I said maybe."

The tape would prove different, but Ry kept his probing steady.

"You liked the girl things in the store."

Clarence's eyes twinkled. "What store?"

Biting back an oath, Ry leaned back. "Maybe I should call my friend back and let him talk to you."

"What friend?"

"From last night. You remember last night."

All color drained from Clarence's face. "He was a ghost. He wasn't really there."

"Sure he was there. You saw him. You felt him."

"A ghost." Clarence began to gnaw on his fingernails. "I didn't like him."