Spritely

When she saw the glow of fire, Scarlett stopped, called 9-1-1, and pulled out her camera. The corner of the warehouse was wrapped in flames, not yet huge, perhaps caught early enough to save most of it. Given the rash of arson in the industrial district, Scarlett set about capturing as much of the fire as she could.

The news vans would be trailing the fire trucks. If there was a chance for an exclusive, now was it. She put on her telephoto lens and began scanning the edges of the flames, snapping as she went. Something caught her attention. It was as though bits of flame were breaking off from the base of the fire and skipping across the ground until they found something flammable to land on and ignite.

She pulled her self-locking monopod out of her pocket and extended it with a practiced flick of the wrist. Continuing to snap pictures of the bits of flame that seemed intent on spreading the fire, she screwed the monopod in with her left hand, letting the weight of the camera and lens rest on it.

Scarlett followed the skittering bits of flame, certain that some strange material from the warehouse was causing their action. There was a part of her mind, however, that was just as certain that they were bits of flame moving under their own volition, skipping gleefully from one piece of flammable material to the next. She could’ve sworn that some of them had little legs made of flame.

The increasing sound of sirens announced the arrival of the fire trucks. She moved farther away from the warehouse to stay out of the way of the firefighters. She kept snapping as hoses were extended and connected, and the firefighters began pouring water on the growing fire.

The news vans rolled in, including one that made a point of stopping between Scarlett and the fire. She had plenty of photos, and none of the news cameras would capture the skipping flames like she had. She was about to call the local paper to see if they wanted any of the photos for their breaking news webpage, when her phone rang.

“Scarlett Muñoz.”

“Are you the person that reported the warehouse fire on East Cleven?” the voice on the other end asked.

“That’s me.”

“This is Fire Marshal Alice Dewitt. Are you still at the warehouse?”

“Yeah, I was just about to pack it in and get these photos to Tribune.”

“Don’t leave just yet, and don’t send any photos without my okay. Until I make further determination, they’re evidence. I’m pulling up now.” The Marshal’s siren drowned out the words as she pulled in.

Alice stepped out of her SUV and stood looking at the fire and the news crews. “Where are you?” she asked, still on the phone.

“I’m behind the News 9 van. Next to the grey Camry.”

Alice turned around, nodded, and walked to Scarlett, cutting the call as she did. “Miss Muñoz,” she extended a hand, “Alice Dewitt, Fire Marshal.”

Scarlett shook her hand. “Just call me Scarlett, Marshal, unless you think I did this.”

“Nothing like that, Scarlett. Could you just tell me what you saw when you first got here?”

“When I first got here, the fire was small, just at the corner of the building.” She turned the camera around and began showing the photos. “I switched to the telephoto to get some detail shots and saw these little embers or flames or something skipping across the gravel to set little bits of weeds or wood scraps on fire.”

“Mm-hmm.” Alice seemed to be trying not to react, but Scarlett had seen the momentary flicker of recognition.

She stopped on one of the close-up photos of the dancing flames and zoomed in as much as possible on the camera’s screen to show what looked like legs. “It’s like these little flames or whatever had legs.”

Alice’s expression turned dark. “I need to confiscate your SD card, and I need you to come with me to the police station.”

“What? Why?”

“Those photos can’t go public, and I don’t have a large screen or anywhere private to talk at my office.” Alice’s expression softened. “I would like to get more information from you about how the fire was — behaving. You’re not detained. If you want to just hand over the card, you can go.”

“And if I don’t give it to you?”

“Then I arrest you and turn you over to the police for obstructing a fire investigation.” Alice held out a hand. “I really don’t want to do that.”

“I’ll go with you,” Scarlett said. “If nothing else, I want to see these things on a large enough screen to figure out what I’m looking at.”

The police station gave them the use of a conference room with a big screen, and they were joined by a Lieutenant Detective from the Major Crimes Unit. Alice welcomed him far too warmly for the occasion. “Mark, it’s good to see you back at work!”

“Thanks, Alice.” He looked at Scarlett. “Has she been read in?”

“No, but I think we might need to.” Alice held up the SD card and the detective took it from her. He looked at Scarlett. “Any sort of virus or malware on here that you’re aware of?”

“No. Just a bunch of images in raw format.”

He stepped to the podium, inserted the card and tapped on the keyboard. The screen faded to life. Her images were laid out in a grid, and the point where she changed lenses was obvious. The images taken with the telephoto needed some serious level adjustment.

Scarlett cleared her throat. “You might want to apply—” she began, ending in an annoyed groan as he clicked on the “Auto-Adjust” button. It made the images better, but not as good as she could in thirty seconds of manual adjustment.

Mark clicked on the first of the images of the “dancing” flames. As he clicked, from frame to frame, Scarlett was more certain that there were no embers, just flame, and it seemed to move like it had a purpose.

Alice put a hand on Scarlett’s arm. “I’m sure you understand, you can’t speak about this with anyone.”

“About what?”

Mark sighed. “What do you know about the fey?”

“Like fairytales? That’s it.”

“Fairytales, yes, but also no.” He pointed at one of the little flames. She swore she could make out a face. “Fire sprites.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the recent arson fires,” Alice said. “Fast spreading, jumping from one structure to the next, even with no wind, incredibly difficult to put out. What hasn’t been in the news, though, is that no trace of accelerant has been found at any one of them,”

“These pictures,” Mark said, “prove our theory. Our arsonist is calling the fire sprites to a location and letting them go.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Scarlett said. “It’s fire, not magic.”

Alice walked over to the screen and pointed. “What’s that? A face. And those? Feet.”

“Pareidolia,” Scarlett countered. “We see patterns where there are none.”

Alice sighed and gave Mark a questioning look. When he nodded, she held out her hand and chanted for a few seconds.

The air around her hand began to swirl, turning first into a small cloud, and finally into a golf-ball-sized sphere of water, as one would expect in zero gravity. The sphere then dropped into her hand and formed into a sort of water column. It moved up Alice’s arm in the same way the flames had moved, and Scarlett was certain it had a face when it stopped to stare at her. She felt compelled to it, as if she had to see it. She reached for her camera, except it wasn’t there.

“This is a water sprite. I can summon it to me. Once it’s here, though, it has a mind of its own. If I summoned it near a pool or a lake or a river, it would spawn thousands. Generally harmless, though.

“Fire sprites need fuel to burn, and spawn that way. Our arsonist is doing what I just did, only with a much more dangerous creature.” She uttered a single syllable and the sprite turned into plain water that dripped off her arm.

Scarlett stood slack-jawed for a moment. “Uh, couldn’t you just, make that sound and make the fire sprites go away, too?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Mark said. “Summoned fey can only be released by the summoner, killed or, rarely, decide to leave on its own when it feels it has exacted payment for its summons.”

“But how does a Fire Marshal—”

“We’re both members of the National Paranormal Protection Agency.” Mark produced a business card that had nothing to do with his position as a police lieutenant. “We think you’d be a good fit.”

“Why?”

“I saw how you reacted to the water sprite,” Alice said. “What took you to the warehouse tonight?”

Scarlett thought for a moment. “I was on my way to the docks to take some pictures of the Navy ship that’s about to be decommissioned, but for some reason, I felt like I had to take a left onto Clevin. That feeling has gotten me some good photos in the past.”

“And when Alice summoned the water sprite? What did you feel then?” Mark asked. “I saw you leaning in and reaching for a camera.”

“I just felt, drawn to it, as if I had to see it,” she answered.

Alice looked at Mark. “Finder?”

He nodded. “You’re a finder, Scarlett. The paranormal pulls you to it. We could use someone like you to keep us informed of what’s happening and where.”

“Would I have to stop selling my photos?”

“No. In fact, it’s better that you keep working your regular job. It helps that it’s one that gets you into places the average random schmuck can’t go,” Alice said. “You do have a state press pass, right?”

“I do.”

“The other reason to keep your job,” Mark added, “is that the NPPA is a government position. Good healthcare and other benefits, but terrible pay.”

Scarlett thought about it. She knew that if she declined, she wouldn’t say anything about it to anyone anyway. Who would believe her? But a steady paycheck…she nodded. “I’m in.”

Mark patted her on the shoulder. “Call the number on that card tomorrow morning, and we’ll get you sworn in and get your employment packet set up.”

Alice shook her hand. “It’ll be nice to have you on board. You’re free to go, but remember—”

“Not a word to anyone,” Scarlett said. “Like they would believe me.”

“Mark, who should we bring in on the fire sprite summoner?”

He looked at Scarlett and made a “shoo” motion. She closed the door behind her, and their conversation continued on muffled as she walked out of the station.

She got into her car, loaded a new SD card into her camera and pulled out to the street. Something made her turn away from home, though.