[Watching the critter rush off, hiding under chairs and dodging legs until it's too far away to follow, Quentin clears his throat. He's still trying to wrap his head around this whole thing - they're dead. All of them. And instead of some approximation of heaven or hell, or even just the bustling waiting room of the overburdened Underworld, they get this. Perpetual darkness and strangers.]

You can't make it portable? Like, uh, maybe if-- what if someone was just carrying the stuff around with them? Would that, maybe, repel something?

[Quentin had no idea, their kind of magic did have potions and herbs and rituals, some more obscure than others, some demanding more than most were willing to pay to get a shaky kind of result. But nothing like this, which looks like a shield, but maybe it isn't?]

Can it keep out those things? The spirits?