Page 15 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery

Two centuries of sleep without rest had lingering consequences, insomnia being the most notable. Was it a kind of stress response, or an aftereffect of breaking the curse before it had run its course? Whatever the reason, Avery had been awake all night.

Every attempt she’d made to sleep had ended in anxiety so sweeping that she’d bolt up to escape the oncoming panic.

It was unsound to believe that sleep would immediately entice an endless onslaught of nightmares.

She combated the notion that centuries would fly by if she lost consciousness with empirical evidence to the contrary—her own experience prior to the curse.

She read any book and article available in her personal collection that touched on sleep to abate the fear that in slipping into dreaming, she would surrender the ability to open her eyes.

Still, the paranoia persisted. It was enough to drive one mad.

Logic, in all other things, had been an old friend and ally.

Here, it remained absent, and in turn, so did slumber.

The more it evaded her, the more her focus on chasing it intensified. She was staring at the ingredient list of an alchemical mixture for drowsiness when she heard the dull rustling of her neighbor downstairs.

Avery checked her pocket watch. It was 4:00 a.m. This meant Saga was rising nearly a full hour later than the night prior. She made a mental note of it.

Was this an irregularity in Saga’s schedule or merely the custom of this particular day?

She gazed out her window through the sheets of rain to the street below. The day before, a rather large lorry had arrived in front of Hudson’s at this time. Undoubtedly, deliveries for the bakery. The lorry was absent this morning.

She laid down on the floor, pressing her ear to the resonant old wood, trying to make out what might be going on below her.

While the activities themselves were too muffled to discern, Avery could tell Saga was casual in her rhythm. Waking up an hour later was intentional.

Her stomach grumbled and Avery straightened her arms and pushed up quickly, certain the low sound would reverberate into the flat below and alert Saga to her eavesdropping.

She remained awkwardly in a plank position, tensely waiting for a change or pause in the downstairs’ occupant’s pace.

Her stomach had been grumbling for several hours, but until she received the council’s stipend, she had no means to satiate her hunger until the café opened in two hours.

It wouldn’t do. She’d have to find other means of getting sustenance—or, more likely, a means of getting currency. She could take on smaller cases—even Mundane cases—to supplement her needs. She’d done it before, what would stop her from doing it now?

Gideon.

The council.

Possibly Lahiri.

She felt a strange rumble beneath her, and then, though muffled through the floorboards, the unmistakable sound of rushing water.

Avery’s face crumpled in confusion. She waited until she was confident this new development was not the result of being discovered and lowered herself to listen once more.

Not just rushing—falling. A waterfall. A waterfall downstairs?

Curiosity conquered exhaustion, and any desire for sleep fled.

As the rainfall was utilized to store energy, could the water itself be rerouted to improve bathing?

She leapt to her feet, filled with a new vigor.

She had neglected to give the room with the washing basin and tub much of a glance prior—it contained only things the council had provided and thus had been too tainted to give attention until absolutely necessary.

Now, however, it was a place to be discovered. She peered at the lever situated above what appeared to be a tap. On either side in red and blue respectively were the letters H and C.

Avery’s fingers twitched in delight before she dared turn the lever all the way to the H.

Yet, nothing happened.

Lightly tugging on the lever suggested it might be on a ball-joint hinge and capable of lifting as well, and she did so cautiously.

A trickle of water began to fall from the tap.

She lifted further, and the flow increased until it was streaming like a small but mighty river, swirling down a grate in the basin and out of sight.

Avery let out a truly delighted gasp. She extended a finger to lightly tap the stream and squinted suspiciously. “Hot” was a far too generous word to describe the temperature. Mild, perhaps…

But then she noticed the temperature was shifting. It was growing warmer to the touch. And warmer. Quite pleasant, really—

“Faex,” Avery hissed and pulled back her finger, lightly sucking on the faint burn the now steaming water had given her.

She grinned from ear to ear. “Amazing.” However, this basin couldn’t have been what was making the noise she heard.

It was too focused, too contained, and even as rushing as it was—was not enough water to create the same sound.

She turned to the tub and found a slightly different sort of tap and two levers but with the same basic mechanism.

She was able to turn the hot water on there as well.

Water gushed into the tub from the tap, but while loud, it hit a far different resonance than what she’d heard below.

She examined the second lever and followed the copper pipe upward to the corresponding spout. Excitedly, Avery turned the lever.

The tap ceased, there was a low rumble from the pipes, and water began spraying out of the overhead spout instead.

Avery laughed out loud. “Fates’ kindness, William Feetham,20 look at the marvel you inspired.

” She rolled up a sleeve and let the droplets dance along her palm.

Where did the water come from and where did it go?

Was it still somehow recycled? How were they creating the water pressure without a pump?

The room began to steam like one of Esteri’s saunas, and the effect was rather calming. The rushing water like a lullaby.

Someone yelped from downstairs.21

Avery startled and immediately turned off both faucets, listening carefully. She dropped to the floor, straining to hear any sort of disturbance. The cold tile proved to make this difficult and so she carefully crept back out to the main room.

There was silence—Avery noticed the water sounds had also stopped downstairs. Was Saga okay?

The sounds below resumed their rhythm, and perhaps it was Avery’s imagination, but they were quicker now.

She could hear the distant sound of clanging pots and pans.

Her stomach grumbled again. Was her neighbor making herself a pot of that glorious tea?

Would it be rude to knock and ask for some? That perfect, rich, soothing cup…

She blinked, and the bright afternoon sun flooded her vision.

Without warning, sleep had come, gone, and left her unscathed.

The half-fey groaned and rolled onto her back, rubbing the sore ear that had spent hours pressed into the hardwood.

Her body complained with every movement, but she had managed to rest.

***

“We have to stop meeting like this.” The voice was warm, playful, endearing.

Avery raised her head with great effort from the counter where she’d allowed herself to collapse as she had the day before.

As if she were repeating yesterday, her gaze met russet eyes and a gentle smile.

Her thoughts stumbled. What was her name?

She rummaged through the files in her mental library.

Upturned eyes, thick lashes, full lips. Damn it, what was her name?

The musculature of her shoulders and accentuated clavicle, the warm undertones of her brown skin, hair pinker than cherry blossoms—“Saga,” Avery rasped in recognition as her cognizance caught up with the moment.

Saga Hudson | Witch (Fey-Blooded?), Age: Unknown

5’0”, Approximately 125–130 pounds. Warm brown skin, amber eyes, pink hair.

Layered clothing, varying textures, rich vibrant colors.

Fitted well and intentional, fashionable but not opulent.

Appreciation for jewelry—many rings and necklaces.

Wears a pendant that seems to honor the Goddess Brigid. Painted nails.

· Part of the Hudson family; aunt owns Hudson’s.

· Waitress; makes perfect cup of tea.

Saga’s head cocked to the side. She had a sympathetic gaze—the sort of expression Avery would normally resent from anyone, especially a stranger, but somehow from Saga it felt…comforting. “Are you all right?”

Avery attempted to sit up straight, adjusting her clothing as casually as she could manage.

She owned very few things, and while what she did have was aged or even threadbare, they had at one time been fine things, and even now she took pride in both her clothing and her appearance.

“Do I not look all right?” It was a dare to English politeness rather than a genuine inquiry.

It was a game of cowardice and conduct that Avery typically won.

It forced her opponents to either back down or commit a social faux pas and often, in the past, ended conversations she didn’t want to have.

“You look…” Saga tried to answer diplomatically but shook her head, opting for candor instead. “No. You look positively knackered. I woke you again, didn’t I?”