The Blacksmith nods, then takes up a pinch of the soot she'd gathered. Leaning over, she begins sprinkling it gently over the hand Waverly has on the skull. "I ask the Earth to give up this ash," she says. Recites, really, her voice careful and gentle as though she were in prayer.

When a small pile of ash has collected on Waverly's hand, the Blacksmith bends closer. "I ask the air – "

She cups her hands around the space where Waverly's hand and the skull sit, then blows gently, scattering the ash off Waverly's skin with a slight tickling sensation. " – to silence its name." The Blacksmith turns, cupping her fingers into a bowl of water, and drizzles it over both hand and skull. "I ask the water to cleanse this girl."

Waverly breathes, keeping her hand steady, making faces but not moving an inch.