Page 30 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Saga

Getting ahold of Reza by phone had been relatively simple; the real trouble had been explaining to Avery how to use it. After much fiddling, Saga pressed the speaker to allow Avery to pace back and forth through the living room, while she stood still, holding the device.

It was almost enough to make her forget why they were having the conversation.

Almost.

Saga found herself partially on autopilot as she watched the tall wraithlike woman move across the room and back again. She caught a few words, but it became a dull murmur. Her mind drifted.

How long had it really been? It was a blur.

She could still see her grandmother lying on the floor, gripping at her heart.

Her eyes floated past the space she’d lain on the carpet to the kitchen, taking in the open dishwasher and the bin on the table.

It was jarring seeing it out of place—and perhaps her focus on it is how she heard Avery distinctly tell Reza that a team would need to come pick up the garbage and test it.

Her attention snapped back to the conversation between the two. Tested? Tested for what? Was she in danger?

“Once I’m done here, I can send someone over. Saga, make sure you lock everything up securely.”

Saga nodded in affirmation, then remembered her uncle couldn’t see her. “Will do.”

“Do you need to stay with Leigh and me tonight?”

“No. I’m…” Fine was not the right word. Saga was not fine. She was confused and nauseated and too numb from crying. “Maybe.” It was possible she was okay. It was also possible that the moment she hung up, she might break down again. Speaking vaguely about the future was the safest bet.

“We’ll check in on you later.”

Saga watched the phone revert to the home screen as Reza ended the call. “Why the garbage?” she asked Avery, who had at last stopped pacing.

“Riddle led me to believe there might be something of note in there.”

It was said so simply, so matter-of-fact, it took a moment for the meaning to sink in. “What?”

Misunderstanding, Avery elaborated further on the only thing she’d been vague about. “My guess is possibly some kind of poison, but I don’t want to make any real hypothesis yet.”

Riddle had sat himself beside Saga’s feet, a fuzzy black sentinel who had been watching Avery’s movements like she were a bird flitting from branch to branch.

“My grandmother’s cat told you she was poisoned?”

“Your grandmother’s familiar pointed me to the dishes, and then the garbage.

I extrapolated that your grandmother may have consumed something and then unknowingly disposed of it—something Riddle seems to believe was at least partially responsible for what happened here.

Poison is a reasonable guess, wouldn’t you agree? ”

Saga blinked. Hard.

“Where…did I lose you?” It was not a patronizing question; on the contrary, it almost sounded sheepish. Saga got the notion Avery was often accustomed to riding a speeding train of thought only to realize her companions had not had a chance to board.

“Riddle…”

The cat trilled at her feet as if to answer.

Saga involuntarily smiled at the sound, but it was rapidly replaced by a suspicious frown. “You said Riddle is a what?”

“Your grandmother’s familiar. Any witch or wizard worth their salt has one.

He was hers. Now yours, I suppose, depending on what you both decide.

They’re often types of lesser fey, or spirits that act as a companion and guide through magical training and navigating the Twilight. They’re a kind of protector.”

Saga reluctantly met the golden eyes of the cat at her feet. The same golden eyes every cat named Riddle always had.

He slowly blinked at her.

It was strange how something so obvious could stare you in the face for years and yet not be given a second thought because no matter how plain it was in front of you, the reality was too strange to accept.

There hadn’t been many cats with the same name.

Exactly as she’d imagined as a child, there had always been just one.

One ageless fey creature who’d spent countless nights curled up at the foot of her bed growing up.

But despite his ever-watchful eye and constant companionship, something did not sit well with her.

“Then why didn’t he protect her?” she whispered.

Riddle’s ears tucked back and he wrapped his tail around his feet.

“An excellent question,” Avery answered. “One I intend to find out the answer to. Are you okay to lock up here? I need to call on an old friend. Lahiri thinks she’s still operating out of Covent Garden.”

“You’re leaving?”

“There’s a lot of spell work here that I could really use some clarification about. How Riddle was circumvented, how the wards were burst—what sort of magic can enact transference on a delayed trigger. I know a witch who might have answers.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” Avery shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. Not now. Not after you just went through all this.”

“You’re not asking,” Saga declared. “I’m telling you that I am coming with you.

” She felt a strange sensation of emotional pins and needles.

Anger began to rise and seep through what felt like cracks in the numbness, both painful and invigorating.

“Whoever is doing this took her right in front of me, and I was completely powerless to stop it. If there is anything I can do to find them—to stop them from doing this to someone else, I’m going to do it.

The more I learn about how this magic works, the more useful I will be to you. ”

“There are other ways you can help. Less hands-on things.”

“Why are you wasting time arguing with me about my feelings?” Saga demanded. “I want to go. Let’s go.”

And so they went.

They took a Bakerloo train to Charing Cross with the plan to walk the short rest of the way to Covent Garden Market.

At least, she was pretty sure that was where they were going.

It was possible in the years since Avery had been there, it had either grown or shrunk—but regardless, it was a good place to start looking.

Avery was buried in thought, and Saga’s heart was pounding with so much anxiety neither said much on the journey—especially with the tube so packed it would have made eavesdropping child’s play.

The absolute silence of a packed train car was always fascinating to Saga.

It was the only place she knew other than a library where there existed an unspoken understanding to simply not speak above a low volume, else you be condemned by the rest of the car as incredibly rude.

Eight minutes, four stops, and they were exiting the train into the tile-covered underground.

Saga could hear the distant resonance of one of the early bird buskers strumming what sounded like a guitar.

The sound bounced off the walls and through the halls with an enticing and ethereal quality.

As they approached, the thrum of the guitar was joined by a sweet tenor voice—both from a young man with sandy brown hair and a distressed leather jacket that hadn’t been made for him but had been loved in every lifetime.

It was the sort of everyday magic that could make her momentarily forget her life had crumbled earlier that morning.

“How do the stairs move?” Avery asked on the escalator.

“A motor of some sort, I think? I always assumed it was sort of like clock gears, but I’ll have to look that up.”

“You mean like at a library?” There was an excited tone in Avery’s voice now. “Saga, how have libraries advanced since I’ve been away?”

Saga grinned back at her. “Oh, that will be a field trip all its own, Avery, I promise you.”

As they came to the surface and began to weave through the morning shopping crowds, Saga absently reached for Avery’s hand, which jerked away immediately.

“S-sorry, I…just don’t want to get separated,” explained Saga, feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment. Goddess, did she think she was trying to make a pass at her?

Both Avery’s hands were shoved into her coat pockets now. “I won’t lose you.” Despite what felt previously like rejection, there was something very intimate about how she spoke that sentence.

Was she receiving mixed signals or simply misinterpreting them? Saga stuck her own hands awkwardly in her pockets and kept her head down as she wove through the crowds to cross the street and make their way to the market.

They arrived from Southampton Street, but it wasn’t until they turned into the courtyard designated for street performers outside St. Paul’s Church that Avery spoke up again. “I recognize that.” There was a notable relief in her voice.

“Very good,” said Saga, then turned and pointed to the market building itself. “What about that?”

Avery followed the gesture warily, but her eyes widened in recognition. “I do…” she whispered. “Fates, we passed by this before, didn’t we? I was so distracted by all the modern…”

“Has it changed much?” Saga asked.

“The roof is new—well, new to me. I think I can find my way from here.” Avery considered Saga and, after some kind of internal debate, offered her arm. “Best not to get lost.”

Saga took it gingerly as they made their approach toward the South Hall. The market, as usual for a weekend, was bustling, and it would take very little to be separated as they entered the Piazza.

“It is curious how things can change so much,” Avery mused at the raucous market, “yet remain at heart, utterly the same.”

“I can only imagine. Do you think your friend will have changed?”

The expression that graced Avery’s face was so gentle, so content, it seemed foreign. “Not in any way that matters. Two hundred years is a blink to creatures like Esteri.”

“Tell me about her?”

Avery’s smile faltered, and her posture stiffened. Was she feeling protective of this friend? From her? “She is one of the Archfey from farther up north.”

Saga gulped. Perhaps not. What could she do to an Archfey? “That sounds important.”