"You probably want to learn the usual temperatures of fires that burn on various substances. You don't have to know it in degrees or anything, which is good because this comes from a world that doesn't use degrees I recognize and I sure don't know if they match yours, but if you've been near something burning it'll be easier to refer to it."

"I've been around wood fires, but not, like, thermite," says Juliet.

"If you want to have a thorough knowledge of the behaviour of all kinds of accelerants and explosives, talk to Tony," suggests Sherlock. "When he is less busy."

"It won't be necessary to start with anyway, holding the temperature constant at wood-fire levels will be good for initial practice," Shell Bell says.

"Okay," says Juliet. "Should we just start now, then? Find a beach in this time zone for me to throw fire at?"

"I think so," says Shell Bell, and she teleports all three of them to the largest unobserved beach on the west coast of the United States.

Sherlock claps his hands.

"Ooh. Pretty."

"How distracted?" he inquires brightly.

"...Well, eventually, in-melee-with-enough-demons-that-busting-out-the-fire-wand-is-a-better-idea-than-hand-to-hand distracted," she says. The fire doesn't die when he talks this time. She starts coaxing it taller until she's got a ten-foot column of the stuff.

"In that case, I foresee you setting things on fire while making out with me."

Shell Bell laughs and laughs. "But then it'll be hard to look what she's doing. Try the back of her neck or something."

"I'm not sure I want you making quite as many suggestions as you're making," Juliet says mildly to Shell Bell, swaying her column of fire back and forth with unnecessary motions of the wand to remind her what she's doing.

"Regardless, I suggest not getting into the habit of moving the wand if you ever want to be able to use it without letting everybody know that you're using it," Shell Bell says, unapologetic.

Sherlock just snorts.

Juliet flips the wand around in her hand so she's still clutching the handle, but the wand is pointed backwards along her arm, and she stares down the column of fire. She splits it, not all the way down - she wants it contiguous - but she forms it into the bright warm equivalent of swaying blades of grass, adding one at a time until she's managing ten at once and loses all of them.

"You're doing really good. If you want tendrils like that, try to find a way to think of the shape in a higher-level abstract pattern," says Shell Bell, "move a few of them in parallel if you can, or lean them all counterclockwise at once, or whatever."

Sherlock listens with interest.

Practice continues, and Juliet improves considerably, although when she hands the wand back to Shell Bell and asks for a demo, she's blown away by the fire-octopus Shell Bell has dancing through the air, all different colors informed by the heat of the flame.

"You can get this good," says Shell Bell. "It'll just take practice. And you don't need it for lightshows, anyway," she adds as her octopus swims in a lazy bright circle. "Just for fighting. I could cook swimming minnows reliably after just a couple of months practicing half an hour a day on average. And it's not like it's boring, is it?"

"Not boring," agrees Juliet. "If I swipe the wand from you now does the fire go uncontrolled or just out?"

"If I drop the wand, it goes uncontrolled. I'm not sure what happens if I hand it off. Try taking it, the octopus is over the ocean now, no real danger."

Juliet takes the wand out of Shell Bell's hand. The octopus stays, although she doesn't try to move its tentacles or retain the colors, just focuses on the shape and place and woodfire-warmth and that it should not consume fuel.