“Well then, I’m ready for a pint. Want one?”
“Hmm. A glass of wine might be nice. And don’t fool with the pork roast I have in the oven.”
“Pork roast?”
“Leave it be, and what’s in with it. I’ve got a timing spell on the lot as I didn’t know how long this would take. Bring the bottle, why don’t you, and a glass for Iona. She can have it when she’s done.”
Iona rushed in, flushed with victory, brandishing the wand. “Got it.”
“Nicely done. Set it down there, and find the next.”
“Okay. You’re labeling. I was going to help you.”
“There’ll be plenty more. The athame.”
“Right.” On a deep breath, Iona began again.
Connor had his pint and played a little tug-the-rope with the dog while Branna finished the first round of candles. Iona traveled back and forth, bringing in the listed items.
“Jesus, this spear.” Iona hefted it, miming a warrior as she strode back in. “Took me as long to find as everything else so far combined.”
Not quite, Branna thought, but long enough.
“I could see it, and the tree you had it leaning against outside, but I couldn’t tell which tree. So I did a secondary spell for that after I’d wandered around out there for a while.”
“A good choice. We’ll work a bit more so you’ll narrow it as we go.”
Iona gave a nod to the items she’d spread on a counter. “They’re all so cool. Anyway, just two more.”
The shield eluded her so long she nearly switched to the cauldron, but Branna had instructed each in turn, so she cleared her mind—a challenge, as it was so damn full—then refreshed the spell.
She found the shield—and oh my God, a work of art it was, hanging in the earthy, herby-smelling greenhouse.
“She’s done well,” Connor commented, rubbing the dog with his foot as the game had played out. “Under difficult circumstances.”
“She has, and they are. She’ll be better yet, as the circumstances will worsen.”
“Always a happy note in you, Branna.”
“Always a realistic one.” With the candles she’d finished boxed for transport to her shop, she began to set the ones she’d culled out on shelves.
“Found it.” Iona hauled in the cauldron. “In the little attic over your room, Branna—that I didn’t even know was there.”
“It’s not used for much. And so you’ve found all.”
“Each in its turn.” Iona set the cauldron by the rest. “Every one of them is beautiful, and unique.”
“So they are. Tools they may be, but I don’t see why a tool shouldn’t be beautiful as well as practical and useful. So they’re yours.”
“Sorry, what?” Because her mind was full again, Iona simply stared at Branna.
“They’re yours now.” Branna poured her a glass of wine, passed it to her. “Connor and I chose them for you, from what has been given to us, or what we collected, or what we found elsewhere since you came to us.”
“But—” Overwhelmed, she couldn’t come up with the words that so often rolled out of her mind and straight off her tongue.
“Every witch needs her own tools,” Branna continued. “And these are the most important of them. You’ll find and choose others for yourself along the way.”
“Fire comes easiest to you.” Connor rose to join them. “So the symbols are yours. And on the athame, the trinity knot for the three in you, and the three of us.”