When Gil smiled, John quickly looked away, but lost his train of thought in the rhythm of his chanting. He closed his eyes and tried to reclaim the ribbon of power he’d been building, but Gil spoke and he lost it again. John sighed and thought of how much easier this would be if he had just one hit of the coke. He’d be done by now.
“What? No. I don’t need help.” John said it with a snap of impatience. The crow, which had made itself comfortable in the window, cawed at him and John shot it a look. The crow spirit was not visible to Gilderoi at the moment, but he was John’s almost constant companion.
He shut his eyes again and let out a slow breath. On the upbeat of the pulse he tapped into, John began the chant again. This time with more determined that he could do it. With the painting done, John picked up a small and smooth black stone and held it in his cupped hand. The chanting intensified. John picked up a bowl and poured fresh water from the stream that fed the lake over the stone before closing his fingers around it.
There was a warm glow from the painted circles, then from the stone, shining through his fingers. John hesitated for half a beat and it went out. John stopped chanting and looked at it, slowly uncurling his fingers. Water dripped from his knuckles as the healer studied the dark rock. With a frustrated growl that turned into a weary groan, John dropped it to the floor and sat back. He rubbed his arms, smearing the paint.
“See what I mean? I can’t even make a charm. A simple stupid heating stone.”