Letesia had been running the ritual for three nights in a row.
Her fingers trembled with exhaustion, but rest wasn't an option.
The search demanded focus—exquisite, surgical precision. A single mistake, and the current would snap. And when the current died, so did she.
The cards lay before her in a crooked fan—black, weathered things, soft around the edges as if they'd been breathing. The air in the trailer pulsed with the heaviness of the coming storm. The lamp above her flickered, protesting the uneven flow of electricity.
Letesia muttered a few words in that ancient, viscous tongue, and her eyes seemed to sink into the paper. The air thickened, holding its breath.
Then she exhaled sharply and hissed, "Damn it… of course you carry charms. More than one, I bet."
