With both the Cloak and the Mask, the curator jumped into the final spot of the Pentagram. Immediately everyone could feel a thrum of force as the circle began to close. Dancing blue flames spread from the bodies lying at the other four points around the circle and over the cross lines.
A fierce wind suddenly blew across the top of the building, bringing with it a rumble of thunder. Luckily, it seemed to be further away. Another lightning strike to the roof was not something anyone wanted.
Raising her masked face to the sky, the curator began chanting in a strange tongue. Based on the artifacts she was wearing, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say it sounded distinctly Central American.
Drawing to a high point in her chant, she yelled “Popocatepetl! Popocatepetl ko’oten! Popocatepetl!” With a brilliant flash of light–albeit less brilliant than the earlier lightning strike–the circle snapped shut.