Page 44 of Saving Her Dragon

Ginnie didn't immediately announce a grand theory of sympathetic Magic, or anything drastic at all. Instead, she slid a fresh plate of pastries onto the island and started asking annoying questions.

"Sydney," she said, her tone deceptively casual as she wiped down the counter. "The blue ribbon Garrett took from the vanity– how long had you owned it?"

Blinking, Sydney looked up from her coffee mug, obviously caught off guard by the shift in topic. "I don't know. Years, I guess. Since before I left to study with Shavon."

"Did anyone else ever use it? Wear it? Borrow it?"

"No," Sydney said, her brow furrowing. "Just me. It’s just an old silk ribbon that has sentimental value."

Ginnie nodded slowly, then turned her sharp gaze to her Mate, the Head Elder sitting at the end of the table. "Carrick. The golden tie tack. How often did you actually wear it?"

The renowned Guardsman paused, his fork hovering halfway to his plate. Leveling a suspicious, narrow-eyed glare her way, he grunted, "Why?"

Ginnie offered him a sweet, entirely unbothered smile. "Humor me."

With an exasperated sigh, he set down his fork and thought for a second. Then he said, "At least once a month for the Council meetings. Any official ceremonial functions for the Golden Fire Clan, the Council, or any of our Allies. I’ve had it for years."

"And Emma made it specifically for you?" Ginnie pushed.

"Yes."

"From Alastair's naturally shed scale?"

"Yes," Carrick growled, his patience clearly thinning. "Ginnie, what the hell are you getting at?"

Ginnie went entirely still, the dish towel resting loosely in her hands. The invisible puzzle pieces in her head suddenly dropped into alignment, creating a picture she didn't particularly want to see.

Sitting straight up, his gaze locking on hers, the military intensity on Garrett’s face said he’d picked up on her sudden stillness. "What?" he breathed.

"I don't know yet," Ginnie said honestly, her voice dropping its casual edge.

"You know something," Garrett pressed, leaning forward over the granite island.

"I know enough to know I don't know enough," Ginnie countered, refusing to scare everyone in the room with half a theory. Turning back to Carrick, her expression was entirely serious. "I need to see the tie tack. Bring it here."

Carrick evaluated her for a long second. She saw the moment he recognized the absolute authority of her necromancy and stood up. Leaving the kitchen without a word, he returned two minutes later. He’d retrieved the tie tack from the safe in his private office and set the small golden mount with its deep red dragon scale carefully on the table in front of Ginnie.

She didn't perform a flamboyant spell. She didn't call on the room's ambient Magic. She simply reached out, lifted the small piece of jewelry, and held it firmly between her fingers before closing her eyes.

The moment her skin made contact with the polished red scale, the Magical resonance hit her palm. She could feel the heavy, tectonic print of Carrick’s energy, and beneath it, the deep, Ancient, roaring echo of King Alastair’s soul. The scale still carried the unmistakable energetic imprint of the Dragon from whom it had come.

Opening her eyes, Ginnie looked across the table at her Mate. "Emma was right."

"About what?" Carrick asked.

"It's personal," Ginnie whispered. Setting the tie tack back down on the granite counter, she looked around the circle of tense faces. "Certain Magical traditions operate entirely through the Law of Correspondence. An object can become so strongly associated with a specific individual that, energetically, the object and the person become practically indistinguishable."

Sydney leaned in, her voice tight. "How?"

"Created specifically for them," Ginnie listed, her mind cataloging the Lore. "Prolonged physical possession. Biological material, like a naturally shed Dragon scale. Magical residue. Strong emotional attachment. A Dragon scale is a thousand times stronger than ordinary jewelry because it literally came from the living body of the Winged Warrior himself. It carries his unique spiritual frequency."

Garrett stared at the glittering red scale, his jaw tight. "What can someone do with objects like that?"

Ginnie knew she had to be very, very careful. There were dozens of possibilities stretching across the Magical spectrum, and she didn't want to send the room into a panic. They didn't need to think that a personal object automatically equaled a voodoo doll designed to inflict physical agony.

"An object isn't an automatic weapon simply because it's connected to someone, Garrett," Ginnie explained, her voice steady and grounding. "In many traditions, it’s used for simple Tracking. Identification. Communication. Locating a specific person across vast distances. Strengthening a defensive protection spell aimed at a particular person. The connection itself isn't inherently evil."

Pausing, her eyes dropped back to the golden mount, the cold weight of her Necromantic knowledge settling heavily into her chest. "But in the right hands," Ginnie murmured, "a connection can become a road."