Summer knelt in front of the low altar, pausing for a second to fish the ends of her hair out of the way. Normally she didn’t work skyclad, but Lammas was particularly important to her, so she put in a little extra effort. Then again, she didn’t celebrate this part with anyone else, normally.

Four candles sat in a perfect diamond, oriented to each cardinal direction. Disdaining a lighter, she touched each one and called it to light, then folded her hands in her lap. Maybe other pagans did things differently, but fire magic was part of her, and this was how she chose to be grateful for her gifts — by using them.

Staring into the flames, she fell into meditation. She shaped the thought of her patron god — dark hair, green eyes, a sly smile: Loki.