She shook herself, muttering, “Sorry.” More briskly, she strode over to the bookcases that functioned equally as walls in the studio apartment, and picked up a small, round container, smaller than the palm of her hand. She held it out to him. “I need to find out what this is. Someone’s been putting it on my windowsills at night, and I don’t recognise it.”
Isaac took the container, frowning when it seemed to feel almost hot. He opened it before cursing and dropping it, accidentally spilling the mountain ash everywhere. Some of it got on him and he scrambled away from it, covering his face where some had got in his eye. He howled in pain and cringed, ducking away from it.
“Isaac?” Summer said, shocked. “Isaac, what is it?” The powder seemed to be burning him, like some kind of skin allergy. She hurried to the kitchen area, wetting a cloth and bringing it back to him. His limbs were everywhere, it seemed, and she found it difficult to help him. “Be still,” she finally hissed, “and let me fix this.”