close to the vocal cords; it picks up the vibrations from the skin, which means workings can be done quietly and discreetly; it doesn’t broadcast one’s intent with an ostentatious whistle, as other siphons do. And the range of what is possible with a throat siphon is, obviously, expanded. All the basic workings are effortless—opening doors, lighting candles, moving objects—and I finally performed some complex ones without being in a classroom. I set a timer on a working that kept my pencil spinning, with the help of an oscilloscope, in the privacy of my apartment.
That’s one of the downsides: the necessity of the oscilloscope. Throat siphons are more sensitive to minor deviations in pitch, so you have to be precise, and unless you have perfect pitch, you’re going to need extra equipment. If you want to set an indefinite clock, you’ll still need to find an assembly to support your efforts, but the force of your workings should mean the assemblies can be smaller and take less energy. If you’re doing a sequential working, you don’t have to break between pitch changes, as you would with a wrist siphon, but you have to be decisive about your shifts or you’ll end up with unexpected outcomes. As with any new siphon, the government’s going to be keeping a close eye on new users, so don’t try to raise your own undead army just yet. (That’s a joke, guys. One Resurrectionist is plenty, don’t you think?) But this tech could very well change magic forever.
Abraxas’s throat siphon 1.0 will be available on Friday, February 3.
20
SLOANE FELL ASLEEP almost immediately after the incident in the Hall of Summons, and when she woke up, it was the following morning.
Matt and Cyrielle had helped her back to her room. She had counted their footsteps and tried not to think of the destruction she had left behind. All the siphons and oscilloscopes, scattered wide. Cold air rushing into the bared oculus. Glass strewn across the floor in blue, green, and red. Nero’s cape, blown free of its clasps, flapping on the floor. Cyrielle’s braided updo ripped from its pins.
They had sat her down on the mattress, and when Matt left to get her a glass of water, she looked up at Cyrielle and said, “What does it mean, that I did that?”
“I don’t know,” Cyrielle replied. “But no one was hurt. You’ll try again another time, and we’ll take . . . precautions.”
“There won’t be another time,” Sloane said, and she fell asleep without taking her feet off the floor.
She didn’t know what time it was now. She woke like someone who had been blackout drunk the night before, putting herself together in pieces. She sat up. Swiped her fingers under her eyes. Combed them through her hair. Straightened her clothes. Matt had set a glass of water on her low white bedside table and she drank it in a single gulp, searching the room for her shoes. Someone had taken them off for her and put them next to the door.
Sloane put them on, pulled the laces tight, and checked the hallway for any sign of the others. Their doors were closed, their lights off. They were still asleep. No one would notice if she stepped out for a while.
Aelia didn’t want them to leave the building, so naturally, that was exactly what Sloane had decided to do.
Sloane knew Nero had some way of checking up on them, but she didn’t know what it was. She couldn’t summon the elevator regardless, so she decided to take her chances again with the stairwell. If stealth couldn’t be her ally, then she would have to opt for speed. Sloane reached the end of the hallway, where she could see the stairwell door, and ran. She pushed through the door and took the stairs three at a time, then four, as she got her bearings.
She hadn’t gone for a run in a while, so the pounding of her heart and the ache of her limbs were a welcome distraction from everything that had happened. She was eager for cold, fresh air and the feeling of pavement under her boot soles. When she reached the ground floor, she noted the emergency exit, but the ALARM WILL SOUND sign put her off trying it. She went through another door to the lobby instead.
She had passed through it a few times with the others. It was a wide-open space that felt, with all its ornate decoration (Baroque, Sloane thought) and its