Upper Fens I Can't See It

[Serafina Duarte]

outfit

It was a quiet afternoon with hardly a customer. Spiritum resonated with the sounds of a babbling brook from a Bluetooth speaker and sat heavy with incense. Serafina sat behind Spiritum’s front counter and didn’t know when—or if—Mathus would visit, so she had to be prepared. What little information she uncovered about the monster from Chinese New Year colored her research.

She referenced her scant library of machine-readable manuscripts and grimoires and had little concrete to go on. Maybe one day the necromancer who promised her everything would open her eyes to the world, and then she could read those books in her collection that played hell with the lens. Today was not that day. Serafina ran through this as much as she could, but she still felt underprepared.

[Mathus Dascălu]

Outfit

It took Mathus time to warm up to visiting a spiritualist. Chakras and their respective blockages were neither medical science as he knew it nor in line with his religion. The werewolf knew better than to mess with gods and demons beyond his ken. That said, he also knew he'd run afoul of something, and somehow Serafina could tell. So he was curious, even if he wasn't in immediate pain.

As he pushed through Spiritum's front door, the werewolf drew in half a breath and stopped breathing through his nose. The aroma of incense wasn't unpleasant, but it was overwhelming. He took a look around and felt his mouth quirk with amusement. The shop was somewhat quaint. Perhaps that was a bit belittling, but the witch had set the place up to look like a kitschy psychic shop. And yet she was the real deal! Perhaps she was hiding in plain sight. Mathus thought it was charming despite himself.

And conveniently, said witch was staffing the shop this afternoon, looking comfortable. Was she all alone, he wondered, concerned about how she managed without being able to see. Still, approaching the front counter, he called a greeting, “Bună ziua, Ms. Duarte!” Like when he'd approached her Halloween festival stall, he looked at her array of crystals and other trinkets, idly knocking his knuckles on the glass countertop.

Romanian - Bună ziua - "Good day!"

[Serafina Duarte]

The door chime tinkled an ascending tone and Serafina turned her head towards the newcomer, blank eyes staring forward. If familiar, she recognized their walking or a distinct scent they preferred. It was usually the little things that clung with the association. However, the vast majority of those that passed through Spiritum’s door were a surprise to the young shop keep. Today’s customer was a customer like any other and Serafina prepared to accommodate.

That was, however, until the newcomer spoke. Serafina drew a sharp breath as she placed the voice, surprised to hear it after so long. “Mathus. Welcome to Spiritum.” She said quietly and smiled. “Are you well?”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Mathus smiled when she did; even if she couldn't see it, it was in the werewolf's voice.

“I am well,” he said, carefully inhaling to see if the aroma of incense was less powerful here. No dice, it was more intense for a sensitive nose, but being a life-long werewolf, Mathus was used to dealing with this kind of atmosphere. “And yourself? You look cozy today.”

[Serafina Duarte]

“Thank you,” Serafina said with a smile; she felt cozy today. Insulated against the chill outside, Spiritum was warm and deliciously fragrant. She could ignore the cold for a while. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

“It was a difficult decision,” the werewolf admitted with a laugh, unselfconscious about sharing his doubt. “Much of what drew me here is knowing you are the real deal. That chakra business...” he fluttered a hand near his forehead, unseen, but sighing to show his uncertainty. “Beyond me.”

[Serafina Duarte]

Serafina smiled to hear Mathus call her the real deal. The validation was nice, if unexpected, but then she went out of her way to seem mundane. “Chakras… it’s all just energy. Think of it like that if it helps.” She said and slipped off the stool.

“The front door; please lock it and switch the sign to closed. Then join me in the back.” Serafina headed towards a beaded veil-strewn doorway behind the counter. In this space that was her own, she stepped confidently and with a purposeful stride, the path memorized. The fingers of her right hand brushed the wall she walked against, then turned to face the door. Her other hand came out to part the curtain, and she slipped inside with a cascading chorus of beads.

Beyond was a storeroom stacked with racks and cabinetry. Boxes and various wares lined the shelves. There was little light other than the fluorescent tubes in the drop ceiling. Everything was in its place and the tile floor was clear, other than a brass ring two feet in diameter inlaid in the floor. Serafina waited at a table strewn with books pressed against one wall. Some were opened to esoteric passages and profane diagrams.

[Mathus Dascălu]

To Mathus, it sounded suspect, but if it was just energy with a fancy name, well... Who was he to argue? There was a shift in the interaction as Seras slipped off the chair. She took charge of the moment, and Mathus nodded, moving off to close the front of the shop as the blind girl bid.

Then, he padded after her into the back, looking around curiously. His breathing was quiet, but he was sniffing at everything as subtly as possible, taking in the scents of metal, stone, herbs, and incense. A witch's workshop, complete with a permanent circle inlaid into the floor.

The werewolf peered down at it, taking himself on a small tour around the back room like a curious dog, peeking at the books arrayed across the table. “Are you working on a project here?”

[Serafina Duarte]

She had to assume his question and what he may have been looking at. “Yes.” She said with faint amusement curving her lips. “I’m always working on something. There are many mysteries. And today’s mystery is you.”

Her smile grew, and she placed a hand on the table, resting on one of the open tomes. The book looked old, velum pages yellowed and crinkled at the edges. The dense paragraphs were in a latinized script, maybe Dutch or German, and the font was uniform enough to come for an early printing press. Serafina jumped right in.

“This is the only account I could find of the last time the boxes were opened. It was originally penned by Captain Honig of the trade ship, the Gefluister, out of Amsterdam. It’s an anthology of tales from the Orient—he collected them on his travels, translated, and wrote them down. This is a copy of the original and I was lucky enough to find it.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Seras couldn't see it, but when she declared the mystery was him, Mathus was quite charmed and grinned at her, laying a hand on his breast. Then, remembering her handicap, he laughed softly, even if he was here because something was potentially wrong with him.

Moving aside to give the young ritualist a polite amount of space at her desk, the werewolf gazed over her shoulder as she indicated a book written in another language. The vellum pages smelled powerfully of age and history, and he avidly took in the character of the words: a printing press, an old account detailing the monster they'd faced last year.

“It doesn't look like modern German,” the werewolf muttered, tilting his head back and forth as he considered the words. “Is our beast in the account there?”

[Serafina Duarte]

“It’s Dutch.” She understood the languages to be similar enough. “And yes, I believe so. In Captain Honig’s account, there are nine boxes like the one I found. I only knew of one other before acquiring this volume. Each box is a prison for a demon.” Serafina cleared her throat. “These boxes are opened on a New Year, and there seems to be some significance to the stars and alignment of the planets. The legend is light on why. I don’t think Captain Honig thought it important beyond setting the scene, but it feels like a sacrifice to me.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Quiet as he absorbed this, Mathus compared it to the scant evidence he had: there was the beast they fought on the beach, and Max had fought something as well. With his ear to the ground in the supernatural community, he'd heard of other encounters. He'd heard that the Exchange had torn up the baseball stadium in their battle and righted it overnight with their arcanists.

He hadn't heard of nine specifically, but he hadn't heard of more than that either. So the obvious conclusion was that Seras' research was sound, and these were the same beasts described in Honig's report. With a breath, he absently pressed a hand over his aching rib.

“It matches what we experienced,” he said. “Especially with the box- Do you still have it?” He looked up to the girl, hopeful, although he wasn't certain for what. At least having something in hand might yield more clues.

[Serafina Duarte]

It took Serafina a moment to answer and she swallowed reflexively. “No. The box was stolen a few weeks after.” She said quietly, embarrassed after everything they went through to bind the demon back in the box. It was the last thing Serafina wanted to admit, and it was probably the last thing Mathus wanted to hear.

“I’ve been searching for it—but no luck yet.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Mathus' ears were sensitive enough to pick up the telltale sounds of Seras' nervousness. He glanced over, spotting her throat bobbing as she swallowed. She had his full attention now, the man was sure he was about to receive some bad news.

A missing box with a seaborne demon trapped inside it was extraordinarily bad news. Looking back to the book, Mathus was quiet and then he drew in a long, thoughtful breath. He exhaled and it was equally as long, the man unable to think of any immediate solution to this matter.

He spoke only so he didn't leave the blind woman next to him hanging. “That is... bad news. Yet...” the Romanian paused, uncertain before concluding. “If the creature broke out again, I think we might've heard about it, no?”

Perhaps that was something of a silver lining unless the box was taken elsewhere and unleashed upon an unsuspecting populace. He dreaded to think what the truth was.

[Serafina Duarte]

“True…” Serafina conceded. She had heard nothing about another attack on the news or through the grapevine. Good news, indeed, but it still left her with a dreadful pit in her stomach.

“But I worry about who stole it. I may be paranoid, but I can’t help but think this is what they were after. And if they knew what the box contained, and haven’t released the demon yet, I can only see two options. One, the they I refer to planted the boxes in the first place and have taken back what was theirs. Or two—” She swallowed again. “The thieves have other plans for the box and its contents.”

The third option, the simpler and perhaps more plausible: the robbery was just bad luck and the antique was taken because it was worth money.

[Mathus Dascălu]

Mathus didn't know the details of the robbery enough to truly say, but Seras' discomfort was clear. Wishing to offer some reassurance, the werewolf reached out and tentatively rested a hand on the blind girl's shoulder, mindful of whether or not she'd rather he not get too close.

“Whatever it is, try not to borrow worry,” he said softly, “For now, it's out of your hands, unfortunate as that is.”

[Serafina Duarte]

Serafina responded to the gentle hand on her shoulder by first twitching, not having seen the companionable gesture coming, then settling into the contact. She offered a worried smile even when Mathus said not to worry. He was right, of course, it was out of her hands for now.

“Right.” She took a big breath and exhaled. She could have thanked Mathus for putting them back on course. If left to her own devices, Serafina would have all but forgotten the reason for his visit. “I would like to examine the wound, if I may.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

When Seras twitched, Mathus nearly withdrew his hand with a soft apology, but it was only for a split second. When she seemed to settle, so did he, his hand resting carefully on her shoulder. He was conscious that they seemed to be alone and didn’t want to make the witch uncomfortable with his presence. For one, he was a Godly gentleman, and for two, she was a witch and even a werewolf knew better than to cross witches.

The moment passed when she sighed, and seemed to reorient herself. Mathus followed suit, and turned to face her, only to be brought up short by her request. Not because it was unexpected but because he didn’t know how she meant to do it. After an awkward pause of looking around the workshop and momentarily imagining himself strapped to a table while she did some terrifying magic, the wolf wondered, “Where do you want me?”

[Serafina Duarte]

“Here’s fine. Umm—” She paused, thinking through the logistics. “—there’s a massage table between the second and third shelves, leaning against the back wall. It is folded up.” Or it had been there the last she checked; Billy sometimes moved things. “If you could bring it out for me, and set it up.” Serafina asked. She could have done it, but it would have taken far longer. And besides, people seemed to go out of their way to help her with things like that.

[Mathus Dascălu]

“Right,” he said looking around the workshop. He took a moment to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves before stepping to.

Locating the hefty massage table, he picked it up without any effort and carried it to a clear portion of the floor, avoiding the circle. After scanning the directions, he started setting it up, the metal springs at the hinges twanging like loose guitar strings.

Once it was set out and steady—he made sure by rocking it a few times—Mathus looked back to Seras, announcing, “Here we go, all set up.”

[Serafina Duarte]

“Thank you.” Serafina deduced this by the lack of further sound, but appreciated the heads up all the same. “Lay down and make yourself comfortable.” She said, her tone becoming more professional.

Serafina crossed the store room in a few measured strides and opened an armoire of black lacquered wood and gold inlay. The piece looked an antique and the gold inlay held a patina near the handles. She opened the doors to a jangle of trinkets. Inside were all manner of fetishes and esoteric ingredients; a true witch’s larder.

Serafina struck a match. “I will need to place my hands upon you. Is that okay?” She asked, and a moment later light grey smoke trailed upward, teased towards an HVAC vent. The sweet and woody scent of Palo santo filled the air with mint and citrus.

[Mathus Dascălu]

“Right,” Mathus muttered to himself. Without another word, he pulled himself up onto the massage table and carefully laid back on his back. Folding his hands over his stomach, the wolf instinctively kept a close eye on Seras from his vulnerable position.

He made a low noise, edging on negative as she said she would have to touch him. The wolf's mind was on propriety and her good name as a young lady. Still, he understood the necessity of unraveling this chakra business. He wasn't healing for a reason.

“Yes, it's fine,” he watched her open the cabinet and the old wood smell wafted over him, quickly followed by the strike of fire and wood from the match. Then the room filled with a different soothing fragrance. “Do you... need help?” he wondered gently a moment later.

[Serafina Duarte]

“No, thank you.” She said with her back still to him. “I will tell you if I need anything. Don’t worry.” Serafina added this last part with a smile. He was doing everything she needed of him. Lay back and relax.

Serafina turned and walked with confidence to where she heard Mathus set up the table moments before, one hand at her side palm out. When that hand made contact with the edge of the table, she stopped. Serafina found the padded corner with her fingers, then sidestepped. This put her about the middle. Both hands now rested on the table’s edge.

“Relax.” Serafina breathed. Angling her head downward, she smiled, paying attention to the energy haloing Mathus like a planet’s magnetic field. It connected his chakra, flowing through them and about. Serafina moved a hand through these fields as if she played the theremin.

Narrowing in on the obstruction, the gentlest of fingers came to rest on his shirt about the wound. “Here. Do you feel that?”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Mathus watched Seras from the corner of his eye, tracking her hands moving over him. When she touched the sore spot, he breathed in, his chest expanding under her fingers. “There's an ache,” he confirmed, his mild astonishment clear in his voice.

If he hadn't been wise to her magic, he might've thought she memorized the location after guessing it back at the festival. But the girl was blind, and she hadn't touched him until now.

[Serafina Duarte]

“An ache? Good.” Her fingers settled around the spot, containing the ache. Her head bowed with curls about her face, and she worked her fingertips, kneading the flesh. She moved up his chest and down it. This had the feel of exploration about it, and she rose onto tippytoes to put her weight behind her touch, her mouth forming a thin line.

Serafina rocked back and let out an exasperated laugh that sounded slightly giddy. “It’s in deep. I can feel it. I don’t think—” She trailed off, expression pensive. Raging seas, towering waves, and thunderous skies raged in her mind’s eye. “Oh this must be painful.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Mouthing the word 'good' to himself, Mathus shifted his hands out of the way as Seras moved her hands over his ribs. Dropping them to his sides on the massage table, he lay there, tense and still watching her carefully. Doctors made terrible patients.

Then, she seemed to be reacting to something, rocking back and laughing. Being in the dark made him a little grouchy until the magics inside him seemed to interact. It shivered up his spine, and his mind rushed with the sound of waves, alien memories of huge things moving in the dark depths.

“There it is,” he agreed again, gasping. “What is it?”

[Serafina Duarte]

She withdrew her hands and rested them on the table’s edge.

“If I was to guess?” Serafina furrowed her brow as she stared through Mathus, unseeing to anything beyond the spirit world. “It reminds me of the thing from that night. My guess is some part of it is lodged in you. I can try to remove it, with your permission.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

The werewolf tucked his chin, a close analog to a dog's ears going flat. Of course, Seras didn't see the man's mixture of disbelief and discomfort, but it was in the sound of his low vocalization. A hmm sound that was ill-at-ease with thought. A piece of that monster from the sea was trapped inside him? A shard, lodged in his ribs. The reminder of the thing's smell and murderous ferocity made the intrusion sickening.

That said, Seras was, to his mind, suggesting surgery. That is, if it was something material and not a spiritual ailment. He could understand magic for the spiritual aspect: magic, prayer, things of the mind.

The fact that the ache wouldn't heal suggested a corporeal threat, though. Slipping his hand under the spot where Seras' small hands cupped over the wound. He didn't jostle her hands aside, but he pressed his finger pads under the area. “What would that entail?” he asked cautiously. “Magic... surgery?”

[Serafina Duarte]

Serafina’s grin broadened at Mathus’ choice of words. “Magic surgery is a good way to describe it, yes.” His unease was a mediating hand on her shoulder, keeping her at arm’s length. Serafina pursed her lips, furrowed her brow, and considered the alternative.

“I suppose you could try traditional surgery. I’m sure a surgeon could remove the foreign object from your body, but consider the damage that can’t be stitched up with needle and thread.” She paused a breath. “The method I propose would address both.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

“I couldn't,” he murmured, letting his neck relax and dropping his head back on the pillow. “Go to another surgeon, I mean. I heal too quickly. You might be my only option.”

So at least he didn't need to worry about physical damage. Seras made a good point about immaterial damage though. What did it mean to have part of a monster stuck inside him for months on end?

[Serafina Duarte]

“Ah, right. I hadn’t considered that.” Serafina admitted distantly with a smile crooked like he caught her in a lie. How would the animal part of him play into her calculation? Magic surgery on a werewolf was a first for her and she was eager beneath her amiable nature. And as he said; she was his only option. “Let us begin. And if you are interested in the theory, I can walk you through each step of the procedure as we go. Or not, as you wish.” Some did not want to know how the sausage was made.

[Mathus Dascălu]

She hadn't considered that. Mathus' throat bobbed as he thought this over. He could see that the idea was intriguing to her and the werewolf wasn't sure how to feel about that. At least, not until she said they ought to begin.

“Now?” he asked with a sudden frisson of apprehension. He wasn't afraid of magic--like any born shifter, some part of him thought himself nigh invincible--but he hadn't expected it to happen so immediately.

“Yes- I mean,” he sat up, one leg shifting to hang over the edge of the table. Running a hand through his hair, he huffed incredulously, his Romanian accent garbling things for a moment. He took a breath. “Yes, absolutely. Run me through everything. Beforehand, if you please, madame.”

He absolutely, one-hundred percent, needed to know what this girl was about to put him through.

[Serafina Duarte]

Mathus convinced himself without her needing to say anymore. This was not the first time she heard hesitance in his voice. If Mathus had any other option, he would have taken it. She was his last and desperate hope, the one you promised yourself you’d never take. Magic wasn’t for everyone, even those emersed in it.

Serafina gathered her thoughts with a measured breath. “First we begin with a circle. This one is brass.” She dragged the tip of her shoe across the floor and felt the slight level change as the ceramic became a circle and then ceramic again. The woman tapped her foot. “I had it forged at the Agnone bell works in Italy. They are masters of their craft.

Our starting point is the circle. It both contains the spell’s energy and focuses it. And the spell will be a combination addressing the physical and the metaphysical, removing the foreign object and cleansing the wound. I will make an offering, then seal the circle. Simple as that.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Seras, clearly unfazed by his anxiety, named the first part and the circle's pedigree. It was difficult not to be impressed, and, mouth open, words stuck in his throat, Mathus watched her toe over the brass ring while she went into the nitty-gritty details of the spell.

She would cleanse him, physically and metaphysically. Would she remove the foreign object from his body with magic alone? What was that going to do to him?

“Simple as that,” the werewolf croaked. Still half-sitting up, he reached over and gently touched Seras' shoulder. “I trust the circle,” the man said with a huff of laughter. He tipped his head down and looked intently at the blind girl's face, willing her to understand his trepidation. “And I could trust you, certainly, but Seras- have you ever done magic on a werewolf before?”

[Serafina Duarte]

She inclined her head at his question, interpreting his hesitance as something other than curiosity or that just the reasoning of a man out of options. The subtle cues of body language were beyond her consideration. She did not have a good bedside manner in this, and she sought to reassure him with her artisan circle and theory, as if facts alone could convince him.

Serafina would lie, but only as a last resort, and she hesitated to do so now. When she spoke next, her voice was quiet, and only a little defensive. “No. You are my first. If this makes you uncomfortable… I understand.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

“It does,” the Romanian confirmed baldly. He could see her defensive posture but it meant little to Mathus—although he was sympathetic, he rarely saw the need to spare anyone’s feelings. “But you should be more uncomfortable. You should be sure. I am in the shape of a man, yes, but that could change with a shock or pain, or even just with alien magic, you see?”

His voice was calm, but firm. He rested his other hand on her slight shoulder, searching her blank face for understanding.

[Serafina Duarte]

“I see.” She said she understood, but she didn’t. It was as simple as that. When Mathus went on and said she should be more concerned, Serafina’s chin wrinkled and her mouth turned down. Lines furrowed in her brow.

Both hands on her shoulders like this made her feel like a child, her father patiently explaining a truth she hadn’t grasped. It was in her benefit to listen, but children would be children. How could she help if Mathus wouldn’t let her? Serafina huffed a small and defeated breath.

This didn’t sound like him. But then, she barely knew him, really. They shared a moment with a monster from a box. He’d been a wolf then too. Nothing bad had happened. If anything, she remembered him protecting her from the beast, and sheltering in his fur.

“How do you want to proceed then? Do you even want to?” She asked quietly, and a little hurt.

[Mathus Dascălu]

Seras’ expression made Mathus suspect that she had an overindulgent father. Her response told him that she was listening but hadn’t heard him. The man frowned because she couldn’t see it. She was pouting prettily now and the werewolf pursed his lips, habitually unmoved because he had little sisters. He was wise to their wiles.

Although, he suspected Seras didn’t realize what she was doing. Women were so chaotic. Lips parting, he drew in a breath but dithered for a moment, uncertain how to express his concerns more effectively. He wasn’t trying to hurt Seras, quite the opposite.

With a breath, he started with a simple, light, “Yes. I want to do this.” Then the man paused. “I suspect that I need to do this. I was…” He paused again, making a contemplative noise as he gathered his thoughts. “I was surprised that you wanted to start so soon. Spells, magic of your sort- They make me nervous. And still— You must be sure. I cannot guarantee you are not at risk.” At that, he tried to really appeal to her sensibilities. He was a werewolf.

[Serafina Duarte]

She wanted to brush aside all his concerns with a simple, "I trust you. And she had faith in him, that wasn't up for debate. Mathus had proven himself that night with the nian, and she wouldn’t have been with him alone if she harbored any doubt that he would hurt her. But here he was, contradicting. The furrowed lines in her brow deepened. Maybe if she trusted him so much, she’d heed his warning and tread cautiously.

Serafina didn’t reply for long seconds, but when she did, she was petulant.

“I told you I’ve been thinking about this for a while already. The theory is sound…” She trailed off. Her preparation mattered little right now, only that she understood the danger; and not just understand it, convince him that she understood. Serafina sighed, and when she spoke again, her tone had softened.

“There is always risk. I understand and take responsibility for whatever happens. But, we don’t need to do this today, not if you don’t want to.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

At first, the petulant tone made Mathus frown, something approaching exasperation curdling in his gut. It was fortunate that Seras could not see--he suspected his face would give him away, potentially upset her further.

“Yes, I want to,” he repeated, reassuring with an chuckle. He could see that the young witch sought his complete and unjudgemental approval. There was a part of this that was more for her elucidation than his health. That didn't bother him per se, but it made it all the more important that she understood what she proposed. With her answer, he still wasn't convinced but understood that this was the sort of thing one needed to experience. “Seras... I will trust your expertise. Just... Do you have something you can duck behind if need be?” He smiled, let it show in his voice. He was only half-kidding, but trying to ease the tension.

[Serafina Duarte]

Her smile was sullen and knowing after Mathus asked if she had something to shelter behind if the need arose. His tone gave away his smile, and she knew he was being kind, or trying to be. Serafina waited a moment, gathering her thoughts, thinking how best to describe her condition.

“If I see something going wrong, I’ll look for the closest thing to duck behind.” Her smile softened; it was supposed to be a joke, but how funny was it really? Running for cover was something better suited for the sighted.

His continued insistence made a mark despite her attitude. Billy was out and it was just them. The shop was closed, and if something went wrong… it would be left to her to deal with. Mathus would have her believe there were a great many things that could go wrong with a werewolf. Doubtful this was his intention, but he made her doubt herself. She didn’t feel over her head, not when they started, but doubt began to fester. Was this such a bad idea as Mathus made it out to be?

[Mathus Dascălu]

Her sullen attitude hung like a pall over the whole conversation, but when Seras made her joke, Mathus didn't let it stop him from laughing. It was quiet but hearty, the werewolf seeing it as the witch being a good sport. He let one of her shoulders go, still holding the other in a grasp that could be classified as camaraderie.

“Maybe you will be lucky and I will turn into a seeing-eye dog, eh?” he said, squeezing her shoulder. If she would make blind jokes, he would make dog jokes. It seemed only fair. By his tone, however, it was clear that he was comfortable, ready to get into it if she so chose.

[Serafina Duarte]

Ritual circle prep Cinder 8D6: Complete Success

His comment, meant lightheartedly, made Serafina think of Odie. She laughed, though it was a little forced, and she moved a hand to close upon his. Gently she squeezed his hand, hers warm and velvet-soft from a pampered life. Mathus wanted her to be careful, and she was, and would be. But they had different ideas of safe, or worked in different tolerances. She was a blind girl drawing circles in the fabric of the universe and he was an unfettered amalgam of man and wolf. No wonder they didn’t see eye to eye on the things closest to them.

“Take off your shirt and get comfortable.” She said and tried to keep her tone professional, but she knew how it sounded. Serafina gave his hand a final squeeze, then stepped away, moving as if on auto-pilot. Precise steps returned her to the black armoire with its gold inlay.

Wreathed in scented smoke, Serafina fumbled through her ingredients. Glass clinked alongside the hollow thump of plastic containers, the rattle of dried goods, and the crinkle of paper. She touched everything, and ran her meticulous fingers over the few braille labels. But most of the ingredients seemed unlabeled and she had to identify them through less obvious means.

She returned with a handful of, for lack of a better term, random crap. Again, toeing the circle at her feet, Serafina knelt upon the tile before it. The things she gathered from the cabinet were ceremoniously placed to either side of her.

Her fingers found the edge of the brass circle and she traced the curve, ensuring it was intact and undamaged. “We start with the circle. This is the foundation. It contains the magic and focuses it. It is the curtain wall we work inside.” She intoned; her head bowed to the task.

[Mathus Dascălu]

The instructions to divest himself of his shirt made Mathus' cheeks tinge red and his eyes flicked to the door. He wanted to ask if they should bring in someone else to assist (and chaperone) but decided against it--a part of him did not want to stretch Seras' goodwill and patience. They were both adults, besides.

Likewise, she was already working with her various components and tinctures. He complied, his hands going first to his vest. Putting that aside, he started on the buttons of his dress shirt, while keeping an eye on the ritualist. He watched her fingers dance across labels, touch bottles, and navigate by texture, sound, and braille. It was interesting by itself, but he was a little too tense to fully enjoy it.

Slipping out of his dress shirt and shaking it out, he set it aside and finally pulled off his undershirt. He was a lean man, not as hairy as one might expect for a typical werewolf, but certainly more muscular than his mode of dress might imply. As he dropped the last garment at the foot of the table, Mathus glanced down his body to the aching spot beneath his ribs. His pale skin was unmarred, but he could feel the intrusion now that attention was drawn to it. It made him all the more eager to get rid of it.

However, he didn't lie back right away. Instead, he watched Seras from his perch on the table, kneeling next to the circle and feeling a little thrill of anticipation. He'd never seen magic up close before and although he thought the chakra stuff was a load of crock, he knew Seras was the real deal. “And are those... spell ingredients?” He asked, tilting his head as he tried to make sense of the armful of material.

[Serafina Duarte]

It was Billy’s day off, and there was no one here to assist (or chaperone), but he would have jumped at the chance to help with a spell. He was one of the most enthusiastic mages Serafina had met. His fervor was contagious and she found greater enjoyment in their art because of him.

“Just so.” Serafina said as she ended her inspection of the ring. It felt complete with no nicks or scratches of concern. She raised her head. “These help to focus my intent. And it's part of the price of the spell. Most spells, like the ones you find in books, tell you what to use. It’s like following a cooking recipe.” Serafina smiled. “And you can swap an ingredient or two, suit it to your tastes.”

She leaned to one side and searched the floor. Holding her hand up, she displayed a cloudy white crystal about the size of a finger and terminated in points. “This is quartz. It’s a stone with powerful healing qualities. The incense on the air, that’s palo santo. It’s medicinal.”

Serafina placed the crystal to the side of the brass ring. Next, she fumbled for a vial of clear liquid and held that up for Mathus too. Each time she offered an ingredient for his inspection, it was shown at arm’s length in his general direction. “This is salt water drawn from Balmoral.” That covered touch, smell, and taste.

The seawater vial returned to her side and rolled, coming to a stop next to a liquid chalk marker, bright blue. Serafina went to her other side and picked a stainless-steel tuning fork from the floor beside her. She tapped it against her hand and made it hum. “Resonance. Think of this like ultrasound.”

She returned the sound fork to the floor. “But without the right words all this is just… things.”

[Mathus Dascălu]

Quiet and still, Mathus paid close attention, following the movements of Seras' hands like an attentive dog. He made a thoughtful noise at each one and then drew in a deep breath of the palo santo. It was strong to his sensitive nose, but the scent of the holy wood was more pleasant than an artificial fragrance.

When she finally offered the seawater from Balmoral, he sounded especially intrigued, realizing with a start that she had done extensive research and preparation. Watching it roll to one side, he nodded, unseen, at the tuning fork. Ultrasound made sense.

“Yes, I've seen those used to detect bone fractures.” Licking his lips, he probed onward, “An incantation?”

That was especially interesting to a man who used prayer to focus his magic.

[Serafina Duarte]

“Yes, an incantation.” She said with a rising note of approval. For someone hesitant to engage with magic, he caught on quickly, even if this was the basics. “But I need something of you first. A lock of hair will do.” Foreign blood was too risky to introduce into the equation. Seras groped for the tailor’s scissors at her left and offered the handle to where Mathus spoke.

“So the spell won't remove anything of you.” She waited until he took the scissors.