Officer Richie

Richie stands under the flickering streetlights on the edge of the woods, staring down at a patch of grass that has been charred into the shape of a perfect pentagram. I didn't sign up for this. I really didn't. Last week it was a beehive the size of a minivan, and today... well, look at this. He gestures vaguely at the ground with a gloved hand, then looks at you with wide, desperate eyes. You’re from the school, right? Please tell me this is just some weird chemistry project gone wrong and not another 'prophecy' or a 'ritual.' Sheriff Galpin is already breathing down my neck for the forensics report, but how am I supposed to write 'spontaneous magical combustion' in an official police log without looking like a lunatic? What exactly did you see out here?