Page 4 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

There were countless things one might do with a human brain. Those options increased when the brain was healthy, and they became even more interesting when the brain was chosen specifically because of whose it had been. “One of ours?”

Gideon shook his head. “Mundane.”

“You said they didn’t know about the missing brain until the intern’s autopsy—what was the coroner’s initial conclusion when she was pronounced dead? Aneurysm? Heart failure?”

“Car accident.”

Avery shifted her focus from the photograph, her mind flooding with new questions, new alleyways, new possibilities. “And the driver?”

“She was the only one in the car.”

Avery blinked, hard. “You’re suggesting she was driving without a brain?”

“You have been out of London far too long. Stay a while, it might not seem so far-fetched.”

Avery scowled the way she always did when trying to dissuade a laugh. “How was she driving?”

The joke, however trite he may have found making it, had given Avery away.

She did not banter back, she did not accept the offered deflection, she remained honed on the puzzle he had laid out before her.

“She was found alone in the driver’s seat of her car, presumably in the same state as at the time of her autopsy.

How and why she got there is your department, I would be loath to speculate. ”

It was working. He could see her mind spinning with the possibilities. The uses of a brain in various spells alone included divination, protection, evocation—conjuration—and that was just the list of legal uses.

Her fingers drummed, and he could practically feel her heartbeat quickening. The rain, she may have forgotten; the feeling of the earth beneath her feet, the taste of food, those she may have forgotten, but this… This, he knew, was seared into her soul: the adrenaline of the unknown.

Avery reexamined the photograph, and muscle memory prompted her to pat her pockets. “I need a magnifying…” That was when she noticed the car had stopped. She peered out the window more closely and grew very still. “Where are we?”

Gideon didn’t dare risk smiling. “Your new home, should you agree to our terms.”

The streetlamps were new, and nearly every building surrounding it had been renovated past the point of recognition, but the large wooden building on the corner would be unmistakable to her.

True, some things had been updated over the years, but the bones were much the same: the Georgian-style facade with great big paneled windows.

Her eyes searched the familiar storefront and spotted the unaltered sign that simply read: Hudson’s.

Avery was hushed, reverent. “Are we on Baker Street?”

Gideon pointed to the corner building. “The owner rents out the old living quarters as apartments from time to time. She’s one of us. You’ll be safe here.”

Avery frowned. “You mean I’ll be watched here.”

“Safety and supervision traditionally go hand in hand.” The idea was clearly repulsive: a former sanctuary recast for parole and defiled by council control.

This was perhaps one of his larger gambles. She would initially find it insulting, but perhaps, if he had played his cards right, she would still feel impossibly drawn to one of the last remnants of the world she once knew.

After a long silence, she found her voice again. “I want to see it.” It was a firm demand.

Gideon opened the car door. “I thought you might.”

The street was silent, the last of the nearby pubs having closed an hour prior. They easily crossed the street to a cerulean blue door with a mail slot off to the side of the business. Gold numbers down the center indicated the building number: 221.

Gideon offered the key, and Avery snatched it a little too eagerly. She hesitated only after it was already through the lock. “I’m not saying yes,” she warned curtly.

“I know.”

They stepped inside, Gideon having to duck ever so slightly as he passed through the threshold. To their immediate right was another blue door, emblazoned with the letter C.

Avery’s hand rested on the doorknob but Gideon shook his head and pointed up the staircase. “Apartment B.”

Avery reluctantly stepped back, giving Gideon a suspicious glance before taking to the stairs.

The first step creaked.

Curiously, Avery moved her foot along it, easing weight on and off it.

Over time the timber had shrunk, and now the tread had either warped or merely unstuck as a result.

Thorough testing revealed the loose step only emitted the squeak when pressure was applied to just right of center.

One could hug the far right of the stair and ascend silently.

The second step made no sound at all, but the third audibly complained if someone stepped anywhere but the exact center of the tread.

Fascinated, Avery repeated this process with every level of the stairs, testing each in various places until she found where she would need to step in order to climb silently.

This took several minutes, but Gideon merely patiently watched the exercise.

At the top, she timidly fiddled with the keys once more, then opened the door to 221 B.

It squeaked.

Avery sighed, defeated.

“It can be oiled,” Gideon offered.

Avery sniffed at him before pushing the door back into darkness.

Gideon snapped his fingers and candles lit within, revealing familiar sights.

The walls were lined with books—some so old they were falling apart at the spine. It smelled like paper, ink, and bay leaf. The hardwood floors had been covered in rugs, some threadbare with a route paced into them and scattered droplets of candle wax.

“Do you approve?” Gideon asked expectantly.

Avery marveled. She recognized every object. Even the curtains. She ran the fabric between her thumb and forefingers. “You brought my things.” There was something tight in her throat, something close to appreciation.

“What was left of them,” Gideon remarked delicately, noting that many of the items were worse for wear even without the centuries between them. “We thought it might better help you acclimate if you had as many familiar things around you as possible.”

Avery ran her hand across a dresser, finding a framed illustration of familiar faces. The Irregulars, they had called themselves. All human save for Avery. Two hundred years had passed, and they would all be gone now—struck down by humanity’s mortal flaw. Her face contorted.

“You were quite the group.” Gideon attempted a genial tone, but it did not suit him. “I regret to say they weren’t much able to keep up without you. The whole operation must have fallen apart—we didn’t see them after you went under.”

Avery’s jaw set. “I want to see the body.”

He’d overstepped. The best thing to do now was to give her back her space and avoid touching anything. “Tomorrow.” Gideon took a step out of the threshold and back into the hallway. “Tonight you will enjoy your first restful sleep. Meet me outside of Hudson’s at ten o’clock.”

“Ten thirty.”

The corner of his mouth tugged at the barest hint of a smile. “As you wish.”

“Gideon.” Her knuckles whitened around the frame. “I did not say ‘yes.’”

“Did you not?” He allowed the smile to cross his lips entirely before he turned to descend the stairs.

1 Despite its name, a glamour does not require the illusion to be glamorous by any means.

It is considered the magic equivalent of a phony pair of glasses and fake beard.

Much in the way one too many drinks may persuade you your bar companion is attractive, a glamour will have you convinced a fey is human, or that curiously magical shop is an accounting firm.

2 Kallikantzaros: A creature appearing in Southeastern European and Anatolian folklore.

Like most fey described in human texts as “malevolent,” they are not particularly fond of their unflattering depictions in literature and art.

Kallikantzaros do not in fact crawl out of the ground during the winter solstice to trouble mortals—they also do not spend their time sawing at the world tree when not aboveground.

They live quite simple lives, and while it is rather uncouth to generalize about an entire people, most would agree that despite their animalistic qualities, it’s rare to find one among them that would self-describe as “outdoorsy.”

3 A hagstone (which are also known as holey stones, adder stones, and witch stones, but alas hag is the name that regrettably stuck the most) are stones washed on our shores with a naturally occurring hole through them.

Commonly comprised of flint, which is known for its grounding properties in the magical world, it is most often found on the beaches of the British Isles and can be utilized to see through glamours.

It is not entirely clear where this natural earth magic derives from, but it is widely agreed the name “hagstone” was assigned by the first Mundane to survive a magical catfish scenario.

4 Wecken (German): “Wake up.”

It should be noted that while intention over language is key in working with magic, even the Archfey have found German to be particularly commanding, especially when breaking a curse, or even waking the dead. It has been noted that nine out of ten necromancers prefer German.

5 The term “car” has in fact been in the English vocabulary since roughly the 1400s and would refer to a wheeled vehicle such as a cart or chariot.

This has nothing to do with the story or your understanding of it, but it was deemed important to mention as the author found this tidbit of information “incredibly cool.”

6 Gaeilge: “Go fuck yourself, and the donkey you rode in on.”

Like actual curses, this phrase is also effective regardless of which language you speak it in.