“Okay …” He was silent, and the ticking clock seemed to grow loud. Still reading, he said, “Now you have to stand on your scrying mirror and push your aura down into your reflection.” His brown eyes pinched in worry as they met mine. “You can do that?”

“In theory. That’s why I was so picky about the circle. Until I get my aura back, I’ll be vulnerable to all sorts of things.” He nodded, his gaze distant in thought. “Will you watch and tell me if it works? I can’t see my own aura.”

“Sure. It isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

I shook my head as I took up the scrying mirror and set it on the floor. Looking down at its black surface, I was reminded of why I had worked so hard to avoid ley line magic. Its perfect blackness seemed to soak up the light, but at the same time was still shiny. I couldn’t see myself in it, and it pegged my creepy meter.

“Barefoot,” Nick added, and I kicked off my slippers. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the mirror. It was as cold as it was black, and I stifled a shiver, feeling I might fall through it as if it were a pothole.

“Euwie,” I said, making a face at the pulling sensation from under my feet.

Nick stared, standing up and looking over the counter at my feet. “It’s working,” he said, his face suddenly pale.

Swallowing, I took my hands and ran them down my head as if pushing off water. An ache set my head to throb.

“Oh, yeah,” Nick said, sounding sick. “That pulls it off much faster.”

“It feels awful,” I muttered as I continued to push my aura down to my feet. I knew it was going by the soft ache its absence left behind. There was a taste of metal on my tongue, and I glanced at the black surface, my mouth dropping as I saw my reflection in it for the first time. My red hair hung about my face, looking just as I would have expected, but my features were lost behind a smear of amber. “Is my aura brown?” I asked.

“It’s bright gold,” Nick answered as he dragged his stool around to my side of the counter. “Mostly. I think you got it all. Can we … move on?”

Hearing the unease in his voice, I met his eyes. “Please.”

“Good.” He sat and pulled the book onto his lap. Head bowed, he read the next passage. “Okay, put the scrying mirror into the transfer medium, being careful not to let your fingers touch the media or your aura will reattach and you’ll have to start over.”

I refused to look in the mirror, worried that I’d see myself trapped in it. Shoulders tense, I scuffed my slippers back on. My feet ached and my head throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine. If I didn’t finish this quickly, I was going to be stuck in a dark room with a washcloth all day tomorrow. Taking up the mirror, I gingerly slipped it into the media. The specks of wild geranium flashed to nothing, dissolved by my aura. It was eerie, even by my standards, and I couldn’t help an “ooooh” of appreciation. “What’s next?” I asked, wanting to be done with it so I could take my aura back.