With graceful aplomb, Delaney lifted her staff and touched the tip to the door. Red liquid gushed out and drizzled down to the carpet as Delaney slowly dragged her staff along the wall. Only now did Sloan realize it was blood, the bubbles and the liquid and all of it was blood. Like the blood on her hands and face and coat.

Delaney entered the bathroom and traced over the mirror and along the shower. She returned to the main room and climbed over the bed, allowing the blood to flow down the pillows and onto the blankets. She opened the closet and pushed aside a plaid-shirted man who hung from a noose as she maneuvered along the walls. She crossed the one black window and returned along the original wall, connecting her line at the door.

She stepped aside, admired her handiwork, and returned to her plainclothes. The staff disappeared, as did the blood. Only a faint mark remained on the walls. The miasma in the room dispersed and oxygen flowed again.

The dead man in the closet swayed with the breeze. His rope creaked.

Delaney clapped her hands. "There! All sealed. No wraith can enter as long as the seal remains. Which it will do unless I can't supply the magic to sustain it. But that won't be a problem for a room this small."

(Chapter 3)