Page 23 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery

Fucked. Absolutely, unmistakably fucked, that’s what she was. Once Gideon found out? Fates, they’d revoke her parole. He might personally recast the sleeping curse to punish her for being so stupid, or even—No. It simply wasn’t possible. Avery wasn’t that stupid. Was she?

No. There had been so many signs—things Saga herself had said—Avery had practically asked her outright if she was Mundane and the other woman had laughed at the notion. She had talked of magical properties of herbs—witchcraft!

Then there was the evidence of Reza Lahiri, Saga’s uncle, having mentioned being married to a mortal—they had a changeling daughter.

But Lahiri had also confirmed his wife was a witch.

A Hudson witch—and consequently that meant Saga herself was from the Hudson line.

Her eyes narrowed on the woman, suspicious. “Are you pulling my leg right now?”

Saga had the gall to look indignant. “No, if anything I should be asking you that.” No, not the gall. The right. She was sincere. This was sincerity. Her arms folded. “Is this some kind of prank?”

Avery could say yes. She could lie and save her own neck.

It would, of course, possibly elicit a reasonable rage from Saga, which could result in harming the case and alerting the suspect.

That was all, of course, assuming that Saga would even believe such a flimsy explanation for what had just happened.

Though people did tend to reach for the most comfortable answer, regardless how poorly it held up to scrutiny.

Saga waited in that silence. Her eyes were glassy. Angry. No. Hurt. She felt betrayed, that much was clear, but thus far Avery hadn’t actually done anything to betray her.

Unless she lied now.

That didn’t sit well with her. Perhaps because it also meant severing any connection she might have started to build with a valuable ally, or perhaps simply because lying would have been what the council would want her to do.

On principle, Avery was loath to do anything the council would want her to do.

“It is not a prank,” Avery admitted. “I don’t suppose we could talk about this at a later date?”

“No,” Saga insisted. “I don’t suppose we can.”

Avery flinched. She listened to the stillness, trying to hear whether Rachel was moving in the next room.

Nothing. She spoke more quietly this time, hoping that in dropping her voice, Saga would match her.

“I understand you are upset, but this is officially now an active crime scene, so there isn’t really time. ”

“Make time, wizard,” Saga growled.

“I’m not a wizard.”

“Fantastic!” came the sarcastic whisper. “We’ve established something you’re not. I’ve got two now.” Saga illustrated by holding up her fist, then one finger at a time as she listed. “Human and wizard.”

It was clear that the two-fingered gesture Saga flicked at her had a ruder implication than just illustrating a number, but Avery forgave it.

If this was Saga’s first encounter with this kind of magic, she would be going through a rather rapid cycle of intense emotions.

The only course of action was to simply let her process.

“So what are you?”

“I am…” Avery straightened to her full height, a towering willow of mist and silver. Any answer she gave would inevitably lead to more questions—so many questions—questions that if their roles were reversed, she herself would also be asking. But there was no time for such things. “Complicated.”

She was stalling, and Saga saw right through it. “I used to read studies on neural pathways for fun. I’m sure I’ll muddle through.”

“Fey,” Avery said bluntly. “That’s what I am—the broad strokes of it anyway. A changeling to be exact—one foot in your world, one foot in the next, but fey nonetheless.”

“Fuck off,” Saga blurted.

Avery raised her finger to her lips. “We still have a suspect outside,” she warned.

“Excuse me,” Saga hissed. “But some pretty suspect things are happening inside. Am I supposed to just accept that? Or pretend like I didn’t notice? That this is normal for me?”

Avery contemplated Saga, then the penumbra of the ritual.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure what to tell the woman.

The last time she’d revealed the other side to anyone…

Well, apparently mysticism had been far more rampant and easier to accept the last time.

“I promise, I didn’t mean to deceive you.

If I’d have known, I would have…” There were many ways she could have finished that sentence, and so Avery simply didn’t finish it at all.

“Well, at the very least, I would have been a little more gentle in this reveal…” Seeing no real change in Saga’s expression, her frustration snapped. “I thought you were one of us!”

“Why would you think that?”

“We talked about magic!”

“Not like this, we didn’t! I thought you meant like the religion-based, pagan thing, you know—meditation, crystals, incense, spells as a form of prayer—that kind of thing!”

Avery felt like she’d been slapped in the face.

Of all the misunderstandings in the modern age, “magic” had not been one she expected to be confused on.

Her mouth opened and closed like a cod fish before she waved an accusing hand at Saga.

“Look at your hair!” She was feeling more and more petulant about her self-deception.

“If that’s not flaunting fey genetics, I don’t know what is. ”

“You do realize it doesn’t grow like this, right?”

The taller woman deflated. “I do now.”

“I dye it. This is hair dye.”

“And the eyebrows?”

“Them too.”

“Really?” For a brief moment Avery felt compelled to inquire about the process of dyeing one’s hair.

When had it been invented? Could it be any color?

How was it applied? How long did the dye last, what were the social norms around the practice—she caught her curiosity before it ran too far from her.

At least verbally. There were more important things at hand.

“It is very well done.” Her fingers tapped against her thigh self-consciously. “What about your family?”

Now it was Saga’s turn to be at a bit of a loss. “My family?”

“Your uncle works directly for the Winter Council.”

“He’s a policeman,” Saga stated, her consonants heavy with denial.

“For our side.”

Saga shook her head, taking a step back. “There are sides?”

Fates. “No!” Avery backpedaled quickly, realized this was too close to a lie and amended it. “Well, yes, truthfully. Somewhat. It is…complicated.”

“You like that word a lot, don’t you?” Anger simmered in Saga like a pot about to boil over.

“This can’t be the first encounter you’ve had like this…” Avery tried again calmly, attempting to de-escalate. “Think back. Was there anything strange from your past or childhood that you could never quite explain? Your aunt and your grandmother—they practice, right?”

“Not like this.”

“Your ancestors were the Hudsons, one of the longest unbroken lines of powerful witches in England. The café! It used to be an apothecary—a real cure-for-whatever-ails-you sort of apothecary—you said not much had changed when I told you.”

“Yeah, because food has a healing power all its own,” Saga snapped. “Not because I know how to conjure lightning with a bloody spice leaf!”

“How was I to know your family kept this from you?” Avery shot back.

A tense beat of silence. Saga stared at Avery as the full implications of the situation sank in. “They what?”

A voice from down the hall: Rachel. “Is everything all right in there?”

“Fine!” Avery called. The reality of the crime scene solidified around them, and Avery found herself cursing quietly that she could let herself be so distracted by something as petty and childish as…

Saga looked crestfallen.

“I am sorry.” The words were simple but honest, her heart still pounding. She took a deep breath, digging into a well of patience. “Truly, I am sorry. This must come as quite a nasty shock to you, but some rather powerful magic was cast in this room—”

“Can’t you just…” Saga made a gesture mimicking the snap, the leaf, the smoke, and then everything falling down. “On her too and be done with this?”

“If that option was on the table, I wouldn’t have found myself in this predicament.” Avery growled, gesturing angrily between the two of them.

“Don’t get mad at me, I didn’t lie to you.”

“Neither did I.” At first Avery worried it might have been the wrong thing to say again; a reminder that it had been Saga’s own family who had deceived her.

Their problem could be boiled down to simple miscommunication—a comedy of errors worthy of the stage—but what awaited her at home was another matter entirely.

Saga sighed, and with the exhalation, all of the fight left her. She shoved her hands in her pockets, then pulled out the notebook once more. “What do you need?”

Avery took a deep breath of her own. She grounded herself in the moment and task at hand by moving around the bed so that Saga was out of her line of sight. “Look for anything that might be used as be tools of your trade. Candles, incense, an altar…”

“You think the victim was a witch?”

“There’s what looks to be a summoning circle. That doesn’t get there by Mundane means.”

Saga took a note of this before looking around the shelves. “Should we be wearing gloves or something?”

“Are you not?” Avery had slipped on a pair of black doeskin gloves herself.

“No?”

“Then I suggest you be wary about touching anything.” Avery knelt by the nightstand and began to sift through its contents.

Saga opened the closet with her jacket acting as a barrier between her fingers. “I think I found where all of Valentina’s stuff might be.” She gestured to the carefully labeled cardboard boxes.

“I’d wager that’s Rachel’s handwriting, not Valentina’s.”

“Should we open them?”

“We should get someone from Inspector Lahiri’s team to retrieve them. We’re far too few as we are, and I can’t imagine carrying all of those boxes between just the two of us.”

“Can’t we just open them now?”