“I calibrated it to suction to objects imbued with magic.” A piece falls off the top and she pushes it back on. “Your cuffs, for example. The onyx!”

I’d asked her to help me brainstorm some way to collect the onyx quickly. Carving it from their wrists won’t be easy or quick, but once we get it out, we need to hightail it to the grave site. Bri’d mentioned she had an idea that just might work.

I pluck the suction gadget from my wrists and it’s like pulling off a starfish.

“Bri, this is good.”

She holds a matching silver ball with a handle on the end. “And I made two. One for Julius. Just need to add the handle to this one.” She smiles hopefully and I squeeze her shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s someone I need to speak to.”

But she doesn’t even respond, back to her hyper focus.

If the Chancellor’s coming, he’s going to come at night, I’d bet. To take us unawares. Little does he know, we’ll be ready. I climb up and out of the lair, careful to peek first before coming out aboveground, Zora’s words floating through my memory. The lead is in piles just past the barbed wire, beside the dumpster where we found Doile’s blood. I touch the stone and a chill moves through me, like my fingers have been dipped in ice water. The cold creeps through my bones and my magic quivers as if it can sense the restraint the lead brings. I snatch my finger away and the cold feeling dissolves, magic pooling, warming my fingertip. This won’t be easy.

I flip through a spell book for a stretching spell. The pages crinkle with each turn. How do I work with something so poisonous I can’t touch it? I grab a gray lump from the cart, biting back the discomfort coiling in my chest, and set it on the ground.

“Iwi yaka,” I say, aiming at it. It wiggles, then stills. I step closer and the world threatens to spin. I squat, catching myself with a hand on the pavement. My fingers trace the text in the book and I sound out the words again, straightening my back when I say it. “Iwee yakaz!”

The lead glows, rising in the air. It convulses, stretching, folding over on itself as it widens like dough being kneaded. A chill sweeps toward me and I walk quite a ways back, far enough away from its power to subdue me. It contorts into a thin sheet, about the size of a poster, then eases to the ground.

“Iwee yakaz,” I say again. It pulses but doesn’t move. That’s as big as it’s going to get.