My own weapons were just as ready, if less easily observable than Earp's. I'd marked a quick circle in chalk on the floor, ready to be imbued with energy as a bulwark against hostile magic. The sword at my side was tingling with power I'd invested in it over the course of the evening, ready to slice apart the threads binding enemy spells together, and I head ready a shield in my mind to prevent attacks on my thoughts and emotions.
And, of course, I had a hand on my revolver. Magic is well and good, but bullets are often swifter.