Page 38 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

“No, not necessarily. It’s just…with Audrey being how she is and the Winter Council being how they are about the Mundane—and how witches tread between.

She wanted to wait. Then time just kept going, and you grew farther away.

You met Hugh, and you stopped practicing.

You became a rather different person—and it seemed more and more the right thing to not tell you.

” Leigh smiled gently. “I know these past three months haven’t been easy on you, but it’s the first time I feel like I’ve seen you since before you left for Oxford. ”

It hurt, but Saga knew she couldn’t deny it.

She’d seen that change in herself—far later than she would have liked, but she’d seen it.

Staring at her own reflection in the bridal suite, tears streaming down her face, and unable to recognize the bride looking back at her.

“But, now that I know… Does that change things? Am I allowed to learn more? Or did Mamó forbid me from that world entirely?”

“She never forbade anything, Saga, she just didn’t want to lose you like we lost Audrey.”

Saga considered the cold and calculating demeanor of her mother.

The mere idea of the supernatural would make her lip curl—she was the sort of person to look down on you if you responded to a sneeze with “God bless you.” That Audrey and Leigh Hudson were sisters yet so diametrically opposed in nature was like some sort of cosmic joke.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she assured.

“Yes, I let the judgment of my peers and a cute boy shake my belief, and I lost myself for a bit, but I’ve been practicing witchcraft since before I could remember.

If anything, learning that magic has an entirely new facet that I never knew about strengthens my belief.

I mean, I’ve only seen a little so far, but Avery did this sort of divination spell with a bay leaf and it was amazing!

” She fumbled for her phone to bring up the photos she had taken.

“We could see these shadowy outlines of the spell that had been cast in the room days prior and—” She caught Leigh’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

Leigh’s focus was not on the upheld device, but rather on Saga. There was a sadness and worry nestled there, but instead of addressing it, Leigh reached out to take the phone. She scrolled carefully through the photos. “Someone clearly cast a circle around the bed—but why?”

“Avery thinks someone might have used it to summon something, maybe?”

Leigh’s lips pursed. “She took you to a crime scene?”

Ah, so that was the source of the trepidation she’d seen—spending time with Avery and the case. “Well, she thought I was already in the know and she needed a second pair of eyes, and my medical training was an added bonus.”

Leigh considered her. A gentle smile that didn’t fully reach her eyes, which were on the brink of tears. “There’s a spark in you,” she observed.

“How do you mean?”

“Something I haven’t seen in you for ages.” She tapped the phone screen. “You like this. You like the investigation. You’re like your uncle with his puzzles.”

Saga felt a little guilty as she took the phone back.

Was she so obvious? She thought about lying, trying to cover up her excitement.

After all, did she have any right to feel that way?

Instead, what came out was, “I confess, I do.” She untangled her fingers from the skein of marigold yarn in her lap.

“I know it’s only been two days, but something feels different in me. ”

“It looks different too,” Leigh assured. “You’ve got a glow.”

“It feels like I’m doing something right,” Saga continued, her heart beating a little faster. “It’s exciting, Leigh, it’s like what Dad would always talk about…gruglede.”37 She laughed sheepishly. “I don’t know, maybe that’s dumb.”

Leigh reached out a hand, giving Saga’s a gentle squeeze. “Brigid doesn’t think it’s dumb.”

Saga smiled involuntarily before remembering her grandmother. “Gods, what a mess this all is.”

“Does Hemlock have any theories on how the deaths might be connected?” It was a thinly veiled attempt on Leigh’s part to distract from the grief, but Saga didn’t mind. There was nothing either of them could do about Saoirse right now, and feeling productive didn’t sting the way mourning did.

“A few ideas—nothing concrete yet. I was trying to ask about Eira before all this happened, actually.”

“Eira Goff?” Leigh’s eyebrows raised. “Is her death related to all this?”

“Well, we don’t know. But the first victim was Eira’s live-in nurse, and Mamó was Eira’s best friend.

That has to mean something, doesn’t it? Not to mention, the magic I felt in this room”—Saga held up her phone again—“felt identical to what I felt at the town house.” She took a deep breath.

“Right now the only link between them is Eira.”

“Do you think Eira may also have been a victim? That maybe her heart attack wasn’t a heart attack?”

“Until the very last moment, what happened to Mamó appeared to be a heart attack. All the same symptoms until the darkness flooded out. Hard to think that’s just a coincidence.”

Leigh shivered.

“Did Eira have any enemies?” Saga asked.

“She was breaking new ground in pharmaceutical treatments, helping revolutionize the medical world—that always comes with rivalries, but no one who would cause her physical harm, and certainly no one capable of causing supernatural harm.”

“Who, though?”

Leigh tried to remember, but it was clear this knowledge was out of her field of interest. “I’m sorry, duckie, I don’t know their names. Never really paid enough attention to her business competition—and neither did she, truth be told. I think that’s how she was so successful in the end.”

Of course if it had been that simple and straightforward, it was unlikely that Avery would have needed any help at all—let alone from Saga. “So no one that might have had it out for both her and Mamó?”

“They might have been practically sisters, but they ran in very different circles otherwise.”

Saga tapped the knitting needles together thoughtfully. “What about anything odd Eira might have got into while I was away? Or something I might have not heard since she wasn’t well enough to take visitors when I moved back?”

Leigh pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine there is anything she wouldn’t have told you when you visited on the holidays…” Her voice trailed off. “Do you know about Benjamin?”

The knitting needles paused in their dance. “Who is Benjamin?” She echoed her aunt’s inflection and emphasis.

“A young artist Eira sponsored. She didn’t talk about him much to me, of course, but was very impressed with his work. A painter, I think? Or perhaps multiple mediums. I think your grandmother went to a show once with Eira.”

Saga’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. There was nothing particularly odd or out of place about that. It was no secret Eira Goff had a great eye for art, though, by her own admission, no talent to create it. “Why the tone?”

Leigh hemmed. “It feels like gossip, and I can’t vouch for any truth in it. There was a rumor that he may have been more to her than that.”

“Like… They were dating?”

“The tabloids described it as a ‘torrid affair,’ but your grandmother never spoke a word of it to me, so again, I would take that with a grain of salt. Though I do know Elis could not stand the boy.”

“Boy?” Saga shifted uncomfortably. “How young are we talking here?”

“Oh, don’t make that face—early twenties.”

Saga’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s quite an age gap. Do you think he was after her money?”

Leigh waved her hands. “As I said, it was garbage in the tabloids. I only saw it because the corner shop has them on full display at checkout.”

“But you did say Elis couldn’t stand him.”

“Elis Goff has been a philandering showboat with no occupation or hobby other than baffling doctors with the resilience of his liver since his wife passed years ago. It was a horrible accident, and I wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone, but he hasn’t exactly endeared himself to anyone with his coping methods.

His mother actively housing and funding someone else clearly made him nervous that more of his inheritance would be donated away.

Goddess forfend he should have to find gainful employment. ”

Saga felt herself wince at the unexpected harshness of her aunt’s judgment. “I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like this.”

Leigh shrugged. “I speak as I find, and I’m afraid I cannot afford him any more lenience than that these days. His mother gave him everything, and all he gave her was something else to clean up.”

Saga sighed, smoothed out the scarf fragment, and continued the slip-stitch pattern. Prosperity. Harmony. Mental clarity. “I guess Avery was right about the funeral, then.”

Leigh arched an eyebrow. “Right about what exactly?”

“We don’t have any solid suspects until we figure out the connection between the two victims—since they both knew Eira, the funeral is a good place to start looking for one.”

“We?”

“I told Avery I could bring her with me to the funeral.”

“Bring her as what?”

“Posing as my date, I guess.”

“And you’d be posing as someone who brings a date to a funeral?”

“We don’t want to draw suspicion,” said Saga.

Leigh’s mouth quirked to the side skeptically. “So you’re going to bring a stranger to a family function? If you’re looking to blend in, love, I don’t know if Elis is the Goff I’d choose to emulate.”

“It wouldn’t be like a date-date,” Saga said, exasperated. “She’d be pretending to be the partner I brought for emotional support.”

“You mean the thing you actually need right now?”

The honesty stung, and Saga had to take a moment to breathe to keep it from bringing a tightness to her throat. “What I need is to find out who did this.”

The front door opened. Reza was back.

“We’re in here, love,” called Leigh, just loud enough for her voice to carry to the entry hall. It was a practiced volume that made it clear she was all too aware of how easily one could wake a toddler.

Reza removed his coat and shoes before he trudged in, resting his elbows on the back of the love seat as she craned her head back to look up at him. “Hello, Mishti.”38 He bent down, and their foreheads kissed.

“Welcome home, my darling.” She reached up and stroked his hair. “Did they find anything?”

Reza took a deep breath and reluctantly stood upright again before he answered. “As we feared. Her heart was missing.”

“Oh gods,” breathed Leigh.

“Herbs?” Saga prompted.

“All relating to heart health,” confirmed Reza.

“So it’s true then, the deaths are linked?” asked Leigh.

“It unfortunately looks that way.”

“Saga mentioned a theory that Eira’s death might have something to do with your case as well.”

Reza’s gaze shifted from his wife to Saga, clearly uncomfortable that they’d been discussing his work at home—and without him present. “It’s a lead Hemlock is pursuing.” He then added, “Because she’s a seasoned investigator.”

“I’ve helped,” said Saga.

“I’ve heard.” By Reza’s tone, this report had not been taken well.

Leigh thankfully piped up with a change of subject. “Have you eaten?”

“Just some gods-awful protein bar from a vending machine.”

Leigh stood to face him. “The slow cooker is still warming the beef stew for you. It will warm your bones.”

Reza sighed, a comforted and content sound, wrapping the woman in his arms once more. “Divine creature.” He thanked her with a kiss. “River asleep?”

“Mm.”

There was a pause between the couple at that confirmation, a realization of the rare opportunity before them: time to be just a couple, rather than mired in parental priorities.

Entwined in one another, they moved toward the kitchen, but Reza paused at the door, addressing Saga.

“You’re old enough to make your own decisions, but I’d be careful around Avery.

She means well, I don’t doubt that, but her methods can be reckless, and she was sentenced to five hundred years of restless sleep for a reason. ”

“Why did you agree to house her, then?”

The couple exchanged a look. “I thought it might help if someone like us took on the responsibility,” Reza answered. “You don’t know this yet, Saga, but people like Leigh and your grandmother—like Avery, even—have been fighting for centuries to be seen as citizens in the eyes of the council.”

“Perhaps our cooperation might be the first step toward humans and changelings gaining acceptance in the community,” said Leigh. “Who knows, one day there may not be a reason to hide at all.”

“She told me she committed treason,” said Saga.

Leigh glanced nervously between her husband and her niece once more. “She told you?”

“Avery has been incredibly transparent with me from the beginning.” It was a simple statement, but even without intending to pass guilt, Saga knew the implication was that others had obviously not been so forthcoming.

Perhaps that was why the look the couple shared in that moment seemed trepidatious, and when Leigh spoke, there was a weight to her tone. “Then I suppose you also know why she did it, and why we felt we would not be in danger from her if we opened our doors.”

Saga didn’t know either of these things, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Leigh.

“I will do my best to answer questions you have moving forward, and once everything settles with your grandmother’s funeral, if you really want to go down that path, I will teach you what I know about magic.”

Saga’s hands paused in their work, and she nearly dropped the knitting back into her lap. “Really?”

“If that is what you want, and if you have given the matter serious thought,” came Leigh’s conditions. “Rest assured, there will be a hefty conversation about consequences before any lesson occurs. It is not something you can simply give up if the whim strikes you.”

Saga felt a tightness in her chest. Did her family really see her as so flighty? “I understand.”

Leigh wasn’t quite done. “Furthermore, this information will not go elsewhere, and you will take extra special care that our new friend doesn’t mistake any other Mundane for fey.”

Saga crossed her heart. “I promise.”

Leigh gave a decisive nod and gestured for Reza to move into the kitchen ahead of her. “That scarf is coming along lovely, by the way.”

36 Yet many, including the English, will attest that 90 percent of British cooking rather depends on messing up the use of salt and pepper.

37 Gruglede (Groo-lee-ah-duh, Norse): A happy dread. A feeling of happy excitement tinged with anxiety.

38 Mishti (Bengali): “Sweet,” also a term of endearment.