Page 29 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Riddle made no indication he understood, simply watched. His gaze had an unnerving warning quality to it—as if one wrong move would send him on the attack.

Avery walked into the kitchen, finding the abandoned tea and kettle, seeing the cat move out of the corner of her eye.

She turned around fully to see it now sitting in the living room, continuing to stare her down.

“What is wrong with you? I am trying to provide assistance by investigating what happened here. You don’t need to protect anyone from…

” Her voice trailed off as a thought dawned on her.

Witch’s home. Black cat.

Avery sank to a crouch to get a better look at the creature, noting the unnervingly intelligent eyes and the way his ears were just a tad proportionally larger than they should be.

She ducked her head to catch sight of the white starlike mark at his throat, mostly hidden by his collar.

Cat-sìth.29 She should have known. “You’re not a pet, are you? ”

Riddle blinked at her, but it was not the slow affectionate blink of a feline to a trusted human, but rather akin to an eye roll.

“There’s no cause for rude behavior.”

The cat-sìth sniffed, indicating he had plenty cause to be rude, and stalked forward.

He was small for his kind, but even at this size, Avery could see the powerful lean muscle beneath the fur ripple with every step.

He moved past her into the kitchen, sat by a strange cabinet, and gave her another expectant look.

Hint taken, Avery moved to the cabinet to open it and look inside.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she imagined something out of place, something strange, some kind of clue.

What she found instead were dishes. Dishes neatly placed in a double-tiered rack.

A few plates, teacups—most matched the plain white set on the table, two of them were painted bone china—and three small port glasses.

Avery took out one of the port glasses and examined it carefully.

No trace of wine inside, but the glass was smudged by fingertips. “What do you expect me to find here?”

Riddle growled and moved to paw at the cabinet beside it.

Unamused, Avery opened it as well, revealing a bin with a lid. She squinted skeptically at the cat-sìth, who gave an irritated “mhrnaow.” With a sigh, she lifted the lid and was greeted by the sight of rubbish. “You want me to dig through filth,” she concluded.

Another annoyed “mhrnaow.”

“Sublime.” Avery removed her coat and rolled up her sleeves. “But if I do not find anything, I am locking you in a closet.”

She was answered with a rasp that sounded suspiciously like an epithet.

The garbage smelled earthy, a bit like grass or unripe tomatoes.

She picked through it carefully, navigating around discarded tea leaves and wet napkins.

She had dug around for nearly five minutes, her right arm submerged to the elbow, before she gave up, putting the bin back into the cabinet with frustration. Nothing.

Riddle hissed.

“What?” Avery demanded. “What do you want me to see? There is nothing here. Whatever you thought was there has clearly been emptied.”

The cat’s ears flattened, though whether it was annoyed by this revelation or that he did not have the ability to converse back wasn’t clear.

She moved to the sink. Its design differed slightly from that in her apartment, but the concept was relatively similar. She carefully turned the knob on the right and rinsed off her arm.

As she shook her arm dry, she looked back to the witch’s familiar, then the still-open dish rack cabinet.

Was he trying to draw her attention to a particular dish?

That there had been company? These were things to ask Saga.

Perhaps something the old woman consumed had caused the heart attack.

There were plants that if consumed could incite one, English yew being the first to come to mind.

She considered the plates. The seeds could be baked easily into some kind of red fruit pie.

Curious. The arils of the English yew were edible, but surrounded a seed that contained the highest concentration of poison. It made them a dangerous snack, and it was possible that if a baked good had been made from yew arils by an inexperienced forager it could have had a deadly consequence.

She reached for the bin once more and sniffed cautiously.

If any remnant of the yew arils remained in the bin, the piercingly sweet scent was overpowered by the grassy tea leaf odor.

Still, it might be worth investigating further.

She put the lid back on the bin and set it on the table.

“I’ll be more thorough with this later.”

Riddle grumbled like he didn’t believe her.

Possible poisoning was not an avenue to be ignored, yet it did not explain the presence of magic. She needed more data.

Avery appraised the now cold tea. It was likely that this was where the woman had collapsed, but even with the buzzing in the air, it did not seem like the original source of the magic, merely where it went off, which presented an intriguing notion: a time-delayed spell.

The air was even stronger upstairs, thick as smoke and frigid.

Something truly nasty had been unleashed on the occupant of this home.

Something aimed and brutal. It felt like it had ripped through the protections of the home from the inside out, leaving the former comforts eviscerated and useless.

Finding the source was akin to following a blood trail, which led her to the primary bedroom.

Divination had its obstacles. But divining the use of magic while the footprint was still so palpable was akin to dusting glass for fingerprints.

A bay leaf produced, a moment to focus the spell and channel the energy, and with one snap the fire ignited between her fingers.

Sparks off the flame took the shape of ansuz, kenaz, and raidho.

30 As before, the smoke twisted up from the burning leaf toward the ceiling, where it pooled and twisted above her like a storm cloud.

It drew the haze in the air up toward it, along with every hint of darkness in the room, and as it gathered everything together, Avery noted it was easier to breathe.

The smoke dropped into shadow as it had before, but this time with far clearer outlines.

The circle was the same, the shape of where the candles had been was the same; the ritual held in this space was undeniably identical to the one they’d seen remnants of in the first victim’s house.

They could only have happened a few days apart.

She could see the figure on the bed and identify her.

An older woman lying flat on her back, asleep.

The features were not a perfect copy, still constructed from umbra, but unlike before they were more shape than shadow.

The most glaring difference was the pale hollowed-out crater in place of the heart.

These deaths were related.

Avery cursed.

Riddle growled.

She didn’t understand it, but there wasn’t time to puzzle over it now. Unfortunately now was the time for damage control. She wasn’t winded when she opened the door to the outside, but there was a breathless quality to her voice. “Do you have any way of contacting Detective Lahiri?”

Saga jumped at her reappearance. “I-I can call him?”

“Good,” Avery said decisively. “Do that. It’s imperative no one but one of our own looks at the body.”

The woman blinked at her. Hard. “Why?”

“Our case and your grandmother’s death are connected.”

“How?”

Avery hesitated. There was no delicate way to answer that question and so she didn’t try to soften it. “Your grandmother’s heart was taken.”

“W-what?” Saga managed to push to her feet without tripping over the blanket that she still clung to. “No…that… Her heart? Why?”

“Please, Saga,” said Avery. “We haven’t much time.”

“I-I’ll call,” Saga fumbled for the phone in her pocket.

28 Nisse (?ne?s?): A small gnome-like creature cataloged in Scandinavian folklore that lives in the in-between spaces of your home.

A nisse acts as a guardian from evil spirits and can even aid in household chores.

They will borrow items they believe are not being used (your other sock), or protect items the host has deemed very important.

If you have ever placed something specifically so you will remember where it is, only to be unable to find it later, this is likely due to a nisse helping keep it safe for you.

These beings respect the law of hospitality above all else, so should you manage to see one, you will note they take on a similar aesthetic of their host family, believing things like dyed hair or even wearing glasses is partaking in the culture housing them.

Also known as tomte or tonttu, it is best to call them by their chosen names, which they will cheerfully tell you if you’re polite enough to ask and offer a biscuit.

29 Resembling the Kellas cat of the Scottish Highlands, many myths revolve around the Cat-sìth/Cat-sì: from fey who steal the souls of those about to be buried, to witches able to transform nine times before being cursed to spend the rest of their life as a cat.

If you are ever fortunate enough to commune with one, however, and bring up either of these folktales, you will have the honor of being called an idiot by one of the Otherworld’s cuddliest natives.

30 (“AHN-Sooz”): Rune of communication and the spoken word.

(KEN-ahz): The “Torch,” controlled energy lighting the way. Creation and transformation.

(Rah-EED-ho): Momentum, journey, the conscious decision to achieve, the rhythm when your momentum is in harmony with your purpose.