In a dystopian future England, clairvoyants are hunted down. Told with a language rich in invented colloquialisms, this is a helter-skelter steampunk adventure where the heroine is in the league of Katniss Everdeen.
A curio cabinet stood against the wall, made of dark rosewood. When I opened the glass-fronted doors my sixth sense twinged. A collection of instruments sat inside. Some I recognised from the black market. Some were numa. Most were just bric-a-brac: a planchette, some chalk, a spirit slate - useless bits of seance equipment, the sort of things amaurotics hysterically associated with clairvoyance. Others, like the crystal ball, could be used to scry by seers. I wasn't a soothsayer; none of the objects were useful to me. Like Graffias, I didn't need objects to touch the aether.
What I needed was life support. Until I could find some oxygen apparatus, I'd have to be careful how often I detached my spirit.