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The wards he'd placed on Alex's apartment don't need reinforcing quite yet, but tonight's a full moon, and as Sandow and record after record in the archive at Il Bastone had impressed upon him, magic is always stronger when tied to something meaningful. A date, or a place, or a person. All three, if you can swing it. If they were going to do it, it may as well be tonight.
He'd texted Alex about something else earlier in the day and gotten a terse two words--Can't. Work.--in reply, and while he knows that means she'll be out late slinging drinks and wiping down the counter at whatever bar she's working at, Darlington still resolves to stop by the Bramford anyway. To do it himself, because he knows what he's doing, with or without her assistance...and because Alex deserves to feel safe in the place she calls home.
In a way, it's for the best she's not there. It'll be more effective if he does everything at the apex of the full moon, which isn't until practically the middle of the night; most likely, he'll be there and gone before she's even finished last call. She doesn't even have to know.
Around midnight, Darlington lets himself in with the key she'd given him that first morning, new, stronger magnets and a fresh tub of grave dirt in his bag. He starts by checking everything over, waiting for the start of the apex and fixing a few small things--smudged sigils, a faint crack in the boundary he'd laid on the bathroom window, of all places--in the meantime. When the moon is at its fullest, he begins, going ward by ward and room by room, adding piles of dirt where needed and drawing new, cleaner signs of protection where it feels like his previous ones have grown too thin.
The work itself requires all his focus, especially once he's neared the end of his circuit through the apartment. It's easy for him to miss the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.
He'd texted Alex about something else earlier in the day and gotten a terse two words--Can't. Work.--in reply, and while he knows that means she'll be out late slinging drinks and wiping down the counter at whatever bar she's working at, Darlington still resolves to stop by the Bramford anyway. To do it himself, because he knows what he's doing, with or without her assistance...and because Alex deserves to feel safe in the place she calls home.
In a way, it's for the best she's not there. It'll be more effective if he does everything at the apex of the full moon, which isn't until practically the middle of the night; most likely, he'll be there and gone before she's even finished last call. She doesn't even have to know.
Around midnight, Darlington lets himself in with the key she'd given him that first morning, new, stronger magnets and a fresh tub of grave dirt in his bag. He starts by checking everything over, waiting for the start of the apex and fixing a few small things--smudged sigils, a faint crack in the boundary he'd laid on the bathroom window, of all places--in the meantime. When the moon is at its fullest, he begins, going ward by ward and room by room, adding piles of dirt where needed and drawing new, cleaner signs of protection where it feels like his previous ones have grown too thin.
The work itself requires all his focus, especially once he's neared the end of his circuit through the apartment. It's easy for him to miss the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.
