When the window shatters, Presley spins on his heel. "Savage, move!" He shoots a jinx out the window at the screaming birds, but there's too many. Presley raises the burner wand again—and nothing happens, not even a spark. He swears, the sound lost in the cacophony, but before he can do anything else, the birds just disappear on their own.
Presley tosses aside his useless wand in disgust. "Were we ever given a choice about being cool about this?" He idly flips the tarot card in his fingers—or tries to, rather. "Ah, fuck!" Presley looks at the blood on his finger, and sighs.
MEMORY: Writing Notes
Presley tosses aside his useless wand in disgust. "Were we ever given a choice about being cool about this?" He idly flips the tarot card in his fingers—or tries to, rather. "Ah, fuck!" Presley looks at the blood on his finger, and sighs.