"Channels show as cold gaps," she said quietly. "Mana runs warm. Frost won't hold over an active line, so when I ice a limb I get a negative image. It's a party trick. My father taught me when I was nine so I could find my own overload points." Her thumb hovered over my forearm. "You should have four lines through here. Radial, ulnar, and two subsidiaries that feed the palm."
"How many are there."
"Nine."
The frost sat on my skin in a web with nine dark rivers running through it and one of them ran diagonally from the wrist to the outside of the elbow, which I am fairly sure is not where anything in the human body goes.
"Do it again," I said.
She did it again. Same nine.
"Do the other arm."
Eleven.
