seatbelt spell

I went over to the downed man and touched my fingers lightly to his brow. There was no telltale energy signature of a practitioner. “Nope.”
“Who, then?”
I shook my head. “This is delicate, difficult magic. There might not be three people on the entire White Council who could pull it off. So . . . it’s most likely a focus artifact of some kind.”
“A what?”
“An item that has a routine built into it,” I said. “You pour energy in one end, and you get results on the other.”
Murphy scrunched up her nose. “Like those wolf belts the FBI had?”
“Yeah, just like that.” I blinked and snapped my fingers. “Just like that!” I hurried out of the little complex and up the ladder. I went to the tunnel car and took the old leather seat belt out of it. I turned it over and found the back inscribed with nearly invisible sigils and signs. Now that I was looking for it, I could feel the tingle of energy moving within it. “Hah,” I said. “Got it.”


Side Jobs, Love Hurts, Page 330-331