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Took out the plumb bob, which every good psychic investigator has (and the bad ones too for that matter). Let it swing from my thumb as I moved on tiptoe from room to room, giving a little sway at each doorway to catch an ebb or trace of residual current. I traced bursts of energy and pieced together a map, or more correctly the route that Cassie had been dragged. The plumb bob spun wildly along this path.

The plumb bob doesn’t give visual, it’s just like following a wall that you can’t see but your elbows feel.

The line went dead at the garage bench. Electric grinder, paint pots screws and nails in jars fastened by the lids to the bottom of shelving. The largest concentration of metals in the vicinity works as a physical trapdoor from one dimension, to another.

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