Chapter Eight
Otsoa pulled the table away from the wall and took down the picture of Ventor the Breaker standing over a broken, fallen tree. I flipped it face down on the table. Then he spent several minutes examining the wall through the lens on his wand, muttering to himself and making notes.
“Actually, I could use your assistance with this one,” he said, not looking away from the wall.
“I told you, I don’t know anything about spellcasting,” I said.
“Right, but you’re an artist. Think you could draw a door?” He held out one of the bottles from his kit. It was filled with dark ink.
“Depends. Does it have to be very realistic? I’m not that great with drawing.”
“I’m sure you’ll do better than me. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life.” He unfolded his kit on to the table and st
