"Focusing my will..." He looked at his hand. His will. His energy. If it was just an extension of his blood then-- it couldn't be that difficult. If it was just him-- then it had to listen.

He stepped back and focused on the book, lying on the table. It was just him. His voice, his words, his power. Granted to him maybe, but it was still his.

He murmured the words, letting them flow from his tongue and moved his hands in the sequence, precise and without flamboyance but a certain raw energy tracing through his limbs. The book rose easily into the air, closed even, he could feel the drain of it, minimal that it was. Another gesture and the book spun before landing gently and easily on the still floating chair and he dropped his hands to his sides.

"Well, then..."