Page 37 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Saga

The house in Primrose Hill was one of many in a row that lined Chalcot Road.

It was happily situated across from Chalcot Square and a stone’s throw from Regent’s Park itself.

Much like a good deal of Camden Town, it seemed more out of a film than reality—though the genres were contrasting to say the least. Where the rest of the borough was lively and buzzing, known for its vibrant music and markets, Primrose Hill remained far more subdued and echoed a bygone era in its architecture and the pace at which its residents lived their lives.

The London housing market had been kind over the past years, but it had been mentioned on more than one occasion, had the residence not belonged to the Lahiri family, Reza and Leigh never would have been able to afford such a location, even despite its comparatively modest size.

Saga now wondered, knowing what she did, how long it had been in the Lahiri family. She was sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, focusing intently on the knitting project that lay in her lap.

Avery had mentioned that Reza worked for something called the “Winter Council.” Did that mean he was also a witch? Or was he something else entirely?

Knitting needles moved golden yellow yarn through a simple slip-stitch pattern.

She liked yellow—at least the warm shades she often found in the flowers around the park.

She meditated on the magical properties often associated with the color as she moved through each stitch.

Prosperity, learning, mental clarity, understanding, gaining knowledge, creativity, harmony…

All would be useful during an investigation.

Leigh wandered into the sitting room, circling around the couch and back again.

“Are you all right?”

Leigh blinked from her trance. “River’s down.” She wrung her hands. With her baby asleep, she was now without occupation, which left her in the dangerous position of being at the mercy of her own thoughts. “Did you get enough to eat? I can go get us some dessert or…”

“You should sit,” said Saga, setting the barely begun project and the two skeins of yarn beside her. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, love, I’m fine, I’m fine…” She wasn’t fine.

She was pacing slowly around the parlor.

First to the fireplace, then to the window.

“I’m just…” She made a circular gesture with her wrist, trying to formulate the proper words before letting her hand drop to her side and abandoning the sentence altogether.

“There’s so much to prepare for your grandmother’s…

” She didn’t finish that sentence either.

“So many people don’t know, we’ll need to call them; they shouldn’t read about it in the paper.

What a horrible way to find out someone you loved died.

” She anxiously rapped her fingertips against her collarbone.

“I’ll need to call Audrey.” Then all fidgeting ceased into terrified stillness.

“Oh Brigid aid me, I need to call Audrey.” She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, rallying.

“No, that’s okay. That will be good in the end.

She’ll take care of logistics, she’s good at that, she’ll…

” Something broke within her. Leigh crumpled into herself, her hands rising to cover her face. “Fuck.”

Saga slid from the chair to hug her aunt. “I can call her.”

This simple offer was enough to rouse Leigh out of her tears. “Oh! Oh no, love, you’ve been through so much already—the last thing you need is a conversation with your mother.”

“If it would make any of this easier on you, I don’t mind.” It was an honest offer, albeit a self-sacrificing one.

“A call to my sister isn’t going to make my life harder, Saga,” Leigh assured, delicately wiping just under her eyes for any smeared makeup.

“I’m just not sure how I’m going to explain why our mother’s body is in police custody and undergoing an autopsy when the official cause of death is a heart attack.

” She took a deep, clarifying breath. “Maybe I should wait. Reza said they would release her in a day or so.”

Saga chewed on her newly found realization. “So… Mum doesn’t know.”

Leigh’s gaze involuntarily hesitated before meeting Saga’s. “Your mother doesn’t believe.”

It was a clear distinction, but not one Saga understood. “Is that why I didn’t know?”

“It’s one reason.”

“What were the others?” And how many others were there?

“Your grandmother wanted to protect you.” It was a bland answer, a quickly parroted and often rehearsed one. It gave no clarity and no closure, but it sparked an anger that had been bubbling inside Saga.

“Did it protect me?” Saga spat the words as she thought them. “If I didn’t have some idea that there’s something supernatural out there, would it have kept me safer when she died? Or would it have sent me into a bigger panic?”

“Would it have prepared you if you did know?” Leigh countered. “Would it have changed anything? I’ve been studying under your grandmother since I could walk, and I don’t think I could have stopped it.”

Saga didn’t know what to say.

“I understand you feel betrayed. I understand it feels unfair, but do not suggest we put you in harm’s way by keeping this from you.

It was not a decision made easily—your grandmother loved you.

” Leigh flinched and corrected herself. “Loves you.” The wear of the day more apparent on her, she allowed herself to sink into the love seat.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.”

Saga took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I’m sorry… You probably never expected to have this conversation with me, let alone because Mamó…” Her voice trailed off, and she wondered if she should stop talking altogether.

An uncomfortable but ponderous silence fell between them, Leigh allowing her muscles to relax into the cushions, Saga unsure if she should sit back down in the armchair.

“It’s fine,” Leigh said finally, and Saga inhaled like she’d been holding her breath. “We can talk about it. Besides, it will be good practice for me when River comes of age.”

Comes of age…of what? “When will that be?”

“Probably around fifteen or so, depending when puberty hits and all that.”

Saga couldn’t help but feel a twinge of injustice. “So River gets to know as a teenager, but I’m almost twice that age and the only reason I know is because my new neighbor didn’t understand how hair dye works?”

Leigh’s face clouded over in confusion, but she attempted to answer what she could. “River is half-jinn, and will need to be taught how to properly utilize her talents—and possibly how to shape-shift depending on how that manifests. Changeling genetics are…unpredictable.”

Jinn. The word stuck in Saga’s mind like toffee in her teeth. She clicked her tongue and took an unsteady step back. She didn’t even know enough about the mythos around jinn to begin to wonder what was true and what wasn’t. She took another step back. “So… That would mean Reza is a full jinn?”

Leigh nodded.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Saga puffed her cheeks. “The only basis of knowledge for intelligent beings that I have is humanity, so… If Reza isn’t human, what does that mean?”

Leigh took a moment to ponder this. “Comparatively? He’s an immortal shape-shifting being with the power to manipulate fire at will.”

“Seriously?” Saga sat back down into the armchair. “Manipulate how?”

Leigh shrugged. “He hasn’t really used it much around me other than to light a few candles here and there—and a campfire once.

I love that man, but he has no head for identifying good kindling, especially during the rainy season.

” When all Saga did was stare at her in response, she shrugged again.

“It’s not really something that defines him, duckie, it’s more like…

being double-jointed. Your flexibility is impressive, but not everyone becomes a contortionist.” She smiled a little to herself.

“Though I did tell him it was a shame he didn’t join the fire brigade—but he loves being a detective. Like a kid with puzzles, that man.”

“What about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Avery said our family was one of the longest unbroken lines of witches in England… Are we human?”

“Yes.”

“But we’re witches?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s different from the witches I thought we were?”

Leigh’s face crumpled in thought. “Not really.”

“Meaning?”

Leigh took her time to work out exactly how to explain it, and when she spoke it was slow and deliberate.

“Our magic requires intention and focus, but when properly channeled the results are often immediate and tangible. Sometimes untrained witches touch on it without realizing it. It is not better or worse than the magic you already practice, but it is stronger and consequently more dangerous.”

“So it’s the same, just…more?”

“If magic was a spice you used in cooking, what you were raised in is sort of like only using salt and pepper. Simple. Effective. Hard to mess up.36 Our family and people like us have access to the entire spice cabinet. Flavors you’d never even dreamed of.”

“Can anyone be a witch?”

“Magic is just a tool,” Leigh confirmed, which drew a smile to Saga’s lips. “Witches are conduits for the flow of magic, but for people like your uncle Reza—the magic lives in their blood.”

“I don’t understand,” Saga admitted.

“If someone was never taught how to fully tap into their potential and channel that energy, it’s unlikely they’d ever be a danger to themselves.”

“Unlikely?”

“Things happen, and maybe someone accidentally summons something from the other side without proper training,” said Leigh. “I don’t rule out possibilities, and I don’t care for blanket statements, they’re never accurate—including that one.”

Saga picked up her knitting project to set it in her lap, not to start it again but to self-soothe by tangling her fingers along the cashmere yarn. “Did Mamó think I might hurt myself?”