Casey found himself smiling at the affection.  He wanted nothing so much as to fold her in his arms, and tell her everything was going to be fine.  His pride hurt more than the sealed wound in his arm, painful as that remained.  He hadn't been able to protect her when it mattered.  If things had run even slightly differently, he might have gone seeking revenge alone instead of refuge with his wife.  He nodded wordless thanks to the woman's directions, and he set off to the ritual room to bolster the tracking spell.<br/><br/>It didn't take him long to find the Circle in the ritual room, a much better laid-out pentagram than the rough chalk-and-blood thing he'd thrown together slapdash at the scene of the crime.  He took his time setting up the circle appropriately.  White candles at each point of the star, a ring of salt poured 'round the circle, and when he was sure the ritual circle was prepared, and the magic of the circle hummed to life with a silent energy, he laid the focus-crystal keyed the Rachling assassin.<br/><br/>He considered for a moment, as he heard the sound of the shower let out, keying the spell to himself.  Linking with it.  It would give him insight certainly, but using his own blood for magic was a dangerous habit to be in.  Leaving blood, hair, or clippings around was a good way to land yourself a curse in the wizarding world.  But as safe and contained as the ritual was, there was little enough danger in using the blood.  He plucked a knife from his suit pocket, and pricked his finger, a drop of ruby blood welling at his fingertip.  He pressed his hand against the air above the circle, and for a moment it splayed against an invisible barrier.  The moment passed, and his hand jerked through, allowing the bloody finger to pass, and descend to the crystal at the center.<br/><br/>He withdrew his hand, as Evelyn let herself into the room.  He felt a pull to the east.  The bond was stronger.  As long as he lived, and Matthias did, they'd have a track on the thing.  "I keyed the spell to myself.  I can feel the pull, but it's weak this far away.  If you know how to turn that into a scry, or something stronger, it'd be useful."  He suggested.<br/><br/>A moment later, her question caught him off guard.  He was still in his funerary garb.  A black suit, sans tie, rumpled from a gunfight and stained with blood all down one arm.  He looked rough, but ready.  Ready to fight.  Ready to flee.  Ready to leap into action.  "I...  I know, Evie.  I love you too."  He flashed her a tight smile.  "I'll make sure the perimeter's secure tonight before bed.  Warding and the lot.  There's not much in the way of a threshold here, but I can shore it up well enough for the short term."  There was something else to him.  A tension.  An unspoken frustration.