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She licked her lips, testing the surrounding air, relishing it when Current caressed and pulled against her. Idonea nearly made a sound.
Lysander turned towards the cluttered worktable. Copper cogs, broken clockwork, thin coils of wire, and glass vials lay scattered across it. A few pieces clattered to the floor as he sifted through them with renewed energy.
“I think I can make a device to track a daemon’s energy,” he said, glancing up at her.
Her forehead creased. “Would that be possible?”
“With your help, yes.” He stepped around the table. “If you’d be willing?”
She looked away. Her fingers toyed unconsciously with the ring on her hand, the one he’d given her in this very basement.
But helping him create an Order device? Helping Templars?
“Is it wise?” Her throat was tight with conflict.
“It could save lives,” he said. “Yours included.”
Her breath faltered. He wasn’t wrong. Witch or no, daemons could still slip the Nexis, and ordinary humans had no real defence against them.
She closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, “what do I have to do?”
His shoulders relaxed marginally. “Now, I observe.”
“Then, I’ll need things,” Idonea said. “I’m no Resonant. So, we’ll do a ritual.”
Lysander gave a slow nod. “Name it.”
She hesitated, wondering if this was a trap. “I’ll need a black candle, a mirror, and bone dust. They should be in my supplies.”
“Okay,” he said, “stay put. I won’t be long.”
Idonea sat on the floor to wait, enjoying the free access to the Current.
True to his word, Lysander returned and spilled the contents out in the space before her. He then set up a device nearby.
“Now what?” he asked.
Idonea drew a slow breath. “Now,” she said, “don’t interrupt me. And don’t touch anything.”
He nodded once.
Idonea uncorked the vial of fine white bone dust. She pinched a handful and lowered it, letting it cascade between her fingers as she traced a perfect circle around her knees.
Once the circle was complete, she unwrapped the mirror and set it gently in the centre. Its surface reflected nothing.
She pricked the pad of her fingertip with her dagger, its needle point parting her skin with surgical ease. A bead of crimson welled up. She let it fall into the ash in her palm.
The mixture sizzled faintly, Current pulling towards it.
Idonea dipped two fingers into the paste and pressed it to her sternum. The touch burned cold.
She smeared the remainder across her lips, metallic and bitter.
Idonea set the candle before the mirror. Her hands moved without hesitation as she sparked it alight. Shadows crawled up the walls.
The Current responded immediately, coiling around her spine.
She reached for the bone dust again, but this time she dampened it with a smear of her blood. With surgical precision, she traced the sigil upon the stone, just outside the circle: Vinea’s sigil.
