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and her sisters would handle the traditional festivities, and that I should just arrive at five thirty to open gifts (yes! I really didn’t want to ruin my manicure by digging in the garden), and an apology from Gramps explaining that he had a business dinner he couldn’t postpone and asking if he could take me out for breakfast in the morning.
    That reminded me.
    I shuffled through my coat pocket, pulled out the gift Cinnamon had brought for me, and set it on the counter.
    Thor knocked on the front door, so I let him in, fed him some dinner, and grabbed a bottle of water for myself that I chugged until it was gone. I took a few minutes to check e-mails and googled “Web of Weird,” but still came up empty-handed.
    Next on the list was cleansing the sword before tonight’s spell.
    There are several methods to consecrate and purify a magical tool, and most of them involve utilizing the fourelements: earth, air, water, and fire. A smudge stick works well, but I can’t stand the smell of burning sage. Some witches prefer a simple open flame to wave a wand or athame through, or they might bury their tools in the earth for nine days, then dig them up beneath the next new moon. Moonbeams will also cleanse a tool, especially gentle gemstones such as quartz, but that method works best if the item can be laid outside in an open field for the entire cycle of the full moon. Direct sunlight is another cleanser. I never used it personally, because I once set a crystal ball in a bright windowsill at the Geraghty Girls’ Guesthouse, and Fiona’s cat climbed up next to it and accidentally set his tail on fire.
    It was not a pretty sight. Or smell.
    My preferred method was the most powerful cleansing force in the universe—water. I kicked off my boots and socks, grabbed the sword and a few other items I would need, and padded into the bathroom. I plugged the tub, filled it with scalding water, poured in a handful of Atlantic sea salt from West Cork, added a few drops each of cypress and frankincense oil, then immersed the sword in the anointed pool.
    Eyes shut tight, I imagined my body ensconced in bright white light and said:
    “To the warrior goddess, fiercest of all;
    see my vision, hear my call.
    Charge this sword with your sacred power;
    Badb be with me in the needful hour.”
    I repeated the chant three times, passing my hands over the steaming water in a flowing figure-eight pattern—the shape of the infinity knot. When I stopped speaking, the tub bubbled.
    I opened one eye and saw that the water surrounding the blade was bursting with tiny explosions, as if a bath fizzy had been dropped under the faucet.
    Which meant the consecration was working.
    Smiling, I raised my palms to the sky to feel the energy flow from the water, through the sword, and into me. After several moments of breathing in the oxygen and herbs, I rang a bell to thank the goddess for her presence and stepped into the hallway to grab a fresh towel from the linen closet.
    When I saw what was on the shelf, I screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

Chapter 6

    Thor trotted over to my side. He cocked his huge head like I was a new species he hadn’t yet encountered and wasn’t sure what to do with.
    The dog sat down as I lifted the blue and gold–wrapped gift from the linen-closet shelf—far from the counter where I had left it—and reached for a white, fluffy towel. I pocketed the present and sidestepped into the bathroom to lay the towel on the floor. The water was still steaming, so I turned on the cold faucet to cool it off a bit. Then I extracted the sword and wrapped it in the terrycloth. The tub gurgled as I knelt to unplug the drain.
    The bell was still sitting on the bathroom sink when I stood up. It rang once, all by itself.
    That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone.
    Here’s the thing about bells: They serve many magical purposes. They are used in cleansing rituals, to punctuate enchantments, and to open or close a sacred space. The soft ringing