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"Because he will," Snake said, and for a flicker his age showed as something heavy and not fond of being carried. "Every art is a catalogue of mistakes the dead have already made." He met John's gaze. "Your 'gravity pull' —the trick you learned the last few days— has an aroma. Mana does. You have already noticed side effects."
John thought of the way certain eyes had turned without permission, the way heat had behaved near skin. He kept his face even. "Yes."
Snake nodded. "There is a dampener. It is called a hush ring. You do not wear it unless you must. It will drink any perfume your pull releases and exhale only in January." He took from a drawer a narrow band of black metal that did not shine and did not wish to. "Try it."
John slipped it onto his middle finger. The new hum muted by a hair; the world stepped back to a more reasonable distance. Fizz sniffed theatrically. "He smells like homework now."
