The smell of paint and aerosol fills the air, and Niko isn’t aware of much else besides it. The quiet hiss as he draws a black circle upon the ground, an unspoken irritation that practice hasn’t made perfect yet. No matter how many times he’s worked this spell, the most effective brand of protection so far. Somewhere behind them are the same signs carved into trees, drawn in sharpie on the outside of hotel room doors. Burned into the felt of a Putt Putt course, because they’d had enough lighter fluid to manage it.
This time might be the first time it carries with it some unease that no one else will be quite so happy to see it here, that if he knows there are witches traveling in this group, it doesn’t mean everyone’s a fan. It’s still what he has to offer.
He takes a step back, eyes the circle with a more critical eye than he directs at just about everything else. This part matters, accuracy matters, he’ll be dumping power into it and tying the dead to this circle. The lazier he is about it, the more unstable the spell, and if he isn’t a perfectionist about anything else in his life, Castor helped drill the necessity for it into his head the second he brought him into the coven. Lazy witches were useless ones, and he must never, ever be useless.
The sound of footsteps draws his gaze over his shoulder, a quick smile flashed at the woman before his gaze drops back to the circle. “Hey boo.”
