The Three Rules of the Marks

One. Looking is free, but it is loud, and the wrong people can feel it. Speak the hand-marks and a flower of pale circles opens on the wall, each circle an hour, a time you can look into through any pair of glasses Bram charges with his own body. Two. Traveling spends a name off the skin, and a name eaten is a name gone. Three. Taking over a body is the line you do not cross. Everything else in the world hangs off those three.