After my shower and a change from sweats to casual but more respectable attire, I had dialed the Saint Louis city police headquarters and asked for Ben Storm’s extension. He had picked up on the third ring with his usual gruff and succinct, “Homicide. Storm.”

“So everything is still on for this morning?” I said into the telephone handset.

“Hell yes,” my friend’s voice issued jovially from the earpiece. “Coppers don’t get to stay home when it snows. Shit, you think the bad guys take the day off?”

Since my recent involvement in solving one of the most violent killing sprees in Saint Louis’ history, my friend had become readily accepting of the fact that I was a practicing Witch-and the uncanny abilities that I developed because of it. Taking it even a step further, he was now a staunch purveyor of educating his fellow officers about Wicca and The Craft. In a very short period of time, he had come to realize the importance of dispelling the myths about the religion of modern day Witches. His persistence, along with my success in aiding a serious investigation, had allowed him to convince the department to establish a program of lectures. The series of seminars was designed for the purpose of instructing everyone within the ranks-from chief to beat cop-about alternative religions and the fact that being a Witch did not mean that one was a “child-eating, broom-riding, sacrificial murderer.” Ben’s fierce determination about this had gotten me through the door. Now, it was my job to stand up in front of them and do the convincing. Today was to be the first formal lecture to a group.

“Well, you never know,” I answered with a laugh. “Seems like half the city shuts down if someone sees a flurry. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.”