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“Yes, I’m rather famished. And you make such excellent omelets.”

“Okay,” I said, whipping off the bedspread and padding barefoot toward the kitchen. I had to go to the bathroom, but I was putting that off until I had the Morrigan settled. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened the last time.

Some watchdog you are, I told Oberon, who was sitting meekly by the refrigerator.

What? I’ve never seen her in such a good mood. I gave him an affectionate scratch under the chin and got out the makings for coffee.

I don’t think that’s it, buddy. I think she’s happy because she feels she’s beaten Brighid somehow.

You must proceed on the expectation of good manners, both yours and hers. That is the essence of hospitality.

The Morrigan walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. “Good morning, Oberon,” she said with a smile.

So go over there and wag your tail. She won’t hurt you, I promise.

Oberon got to his feet, kept his head low, and wagged his tail slowly, half expecting to die.

“Oh, you’re actually coming to see me? I’m honored,” the Morrigan said. Oberon’s tail wagged a bit faster. “This is quite a feather in my cap, to be acknowledged by the great Druid’s hound,” she added. Oberon bumped his snout under her arm, flopping her hand expertly onto the back of his neck. She immediately began to pet him with a series of massaging squeezes, chuckling softly as she did so.

Oberon said, his tail wagging enthusiastically now.

Breakfast was pleasant. The Morrigan asked for advice on what to do next with the amulet, and I advised her to wear it as a talisman for now and cast spells with it off and on to discover what difference there was. She had to discover a way to cast spells without any interference whatsoever from the iron. In the meantime, she should introduce herself to an iron elemental and give it a few faeries, asking nothing in return. Repeat as necessary until the elemental asked if it could do anything for her. “That might take years,” I warned. “It took me three years to get to that point, and I’m a friendly guy. Never betray a moment’s impatience.”

“Where did you get the faeries to feed it?”

“Aenghus Óg kept sending them after me.”

“Ha!” the Morrigan barked. “So in a way he was helping you all along to build the defense that enabled you to stand up to him.”

When the Morrigan left, I finally relieved my grateful bladder, then discovered I was only mildly late to get on the road with Granuaile. My cell was still on top of my shop’s roof, so I used the phone in the kitchen to call her to come pick me up. After that, I got my wands out of the garage to perform a long-overdue divination.

My wands are twenty sticks with Ogham script carved into one end. Each of the sticks stands for a different letter of the Ogham alphabet, and these in turn are associated with the trees of Ireland, together with a host of prophetic meanings.

I took my wands out to the backyard and cleared my mind. I focused on my friends and their safety, then, without looking, I withdrew five sticks from the bag and threw them gently into the air, letting them fall in front of me. How they fell—and how I interpreted them—would hopefully give me a glimpse of the future.

I saw willow, alder, hawthorn, blackthorn, and yew. The latter chilled me quickly; it prophesied death. Fortunately it did not definitively cross the alder or willow—which I took to mean both male and female friends—yet it threatened both, lying between them, as a stark possibility, a possible outcome. Hawthorn and blackthorn