Page 41 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Saga

The apartment felt empty. It was meant to be empty; she’d only lived there on her own, but that morning it felt lonely.

It was not her grandmother’s house; it had never been a place she lived, merely a building she’d owned, yet there was an undeniable absence when Saga stepped inside.

She had Riddle tucked carefully in one arm and precariously gripped a number of his accoutrements in the other.

Her aim had been to settle him into a new living arrangement.

It was something to do, something useful, but as she stepped over the threshold, her purpose waned.

Saoirse had helped her make this a home.

She’d used her eye for detail to direct Saga in placing the furniture and finding the perfect spot for the altars—even walked her through cooking a meal in her kitchen to locate where it made sense to put plates and utensils.

Her grandmother had left her mark here, like she did with everything else, and now that she was gone, all she’d touched seemed aware it would never be touched again.

Riddle nuzzled into her neck, a reassuring purr vibrating through his entire body. It would be okay. It was hard now, but it would be okay.

Saga kissed the top of his head and crouched enough to let him down.

With an excited trill, he immediately went about exploring.

It was the first step. The second would be finding places for the rest of the bundle in her arms—his cat bed, the litter box, and a few toys. He had more possessions, of course, but Saga wasn’t going to make multiple trips across the street. Not so soon. It had been hard enough once.

Tending to a cat, fey or not, was the distraction she needed.

It was easier to remember he needed to be fed.

She couldn’t remember that water needed to be in the kettle before she boiled it, or that a number of the items in her fridge were edible despite her inability to perceive them, but filling Riddle’s bowl was important and achievable.

She found places for everything and emptied a can of wet food into a small bowl, and then she was out of chores.

Two percussive raps resonated through the apartment, and Saga froze. She turned to Riddle for answers, but the cat, regardless of his supernatural nature, was far more interested in making a nest for himself on the overstuffed armchair.

Perhaps she’d imagined it.

The two raps came again.

Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. The poem crossed Saga’s mind briefly when logic locked hard onto the concept she hadn’t been able to in her dissociative state. Chamber door. Someone was knocking at the door. “Coming!”

Gods forbid her mother be on the other side after she’d forced her visitor to knock twice, Saga would never hear the end of it. “It is ill-mannered to keep guests waiting, Saga, don’t you know that? Didn’t I teach you better?”

Throwing back the door, Saga startled. Thankfully, it wasn’t Audrey Hudson awaiting her, but Avery. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Avery faltered.

Awkward silence fell between them. Avery looked beyond her as if making sure they were alone, then returned her attention to Saga. “How are you?”

Saga shrugged. It was the most honest answer she had.

“I noticed you didn’t come home last night.”

“I needed to be close to family.” It wasn’t personal. At least she didn’t think it was personal.

“Right.” Avery rocked on her heels. “May I come in?”

Could she? Was that wise? Even after everything, Saga found herself wanting to let her in. There was a stutter to her movement before she stepped aside, opening the door further to allow Avery passage.

“You have a lovely home.” Avery commented, then focused on Riddle. “Will he be staying with you from now on, then?”

Saga shrugged once more. “Leigh and Reza have a baby, so…”

“You remember he is no ordinary cat. If you do not wish him to stay, you may send him back to the Twilight.”

Riddle growled at Avery, punctuating that he was not an ordinary cat and could in fact understand her suggestion.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Saga answered quickly. “That is… I don’t want him to. He’s family.” Remembering he could understand her, she addressed Riddle directly. “You’re family.”

The cat-sìth chirped pleasantly and blinked slowly at Saga as if repeating the sentiment back to her.

“Will you be taking him on as your familiar then?” asked Avery.

“I don’t know.” Saga didn’t even know what that meant. Esteri had said it was some kind of contract, and unless it was something one could write out like a roommate agreement, she hadn’t the slightest idea how to make one, let alone what it entailed.

“You don’t have to decide now.” It was meant as a reassurance, but it put a pause on the conversation in a way that allowed the awkward silence to fall again.

At least it felt awkward for Saga. Avery seemed to enjoy the silence in a way that suggested she’d never felt the nagging pressure to fill it.

Saga, on the other hand, could feel her mind racing through options of what to say or do.

She should offer her tea. Or ask her to sit.

There were a myriad of hospitable things she should be doing.

Things she’d normally do. Things that rose up from her throat but smacked against the back of her teeth before they could be spoken.

Eventually, Avery spoke for her. “How is your aunt?”

“I don’t know.” She’d repeated the phrase so much, this time it made her laugh. A breathless little laugh half-strangled with self-loathing, but a laugh just the same. It released some of the tension she’d been holding in her chest. “Leigh’s a lot like my grandmother: really hard to read.”

“When are you having the funeral?”

At last, something she did know. “Next week.” And the thought of the occasion made something else bubble up inside her. Something that tasted bitter and soaked in dread. “My mother is coming down from Oxford for it.”

Avery raised a silver eyebrow. “Is that bad?”

“It’s not great.” The words spilled out of Saga.

“You two don’t get along.”

“We get along fine… In the sense that I manage to survive her company.” Saga took a few paces from the door, twisting her hands together.

“That sounds awful. I’m not trying to be awful.

” Saga now found herself on the other side of the spectrum, wishing she could stop talking.

“But it’s a funeral, and people will be looking for comfort, not an itemized list of everything my grandmother owned. ”

“Your mother is greedy?”

Saga shook her head. “Barrister. She believes funerals should focus on settling assets and the lives left behind rather than wasted on sentimentality over an unoccupied corpse.”

Avery winced.

“Her words,” Saga clarified, as her pacing became much smaller, confined to just two steps in one direction before she shifted on her heel and walked two steps in the other.

“Pleasant woman,” deadpanned Avery.

“All the warmth of Antarctica, neatly packaged into one human! It would be impressive if I wasn’t too occupied with trying to minimize anything she might criticize.

I’m told I take after my dad. Often. By her.

It’s never a compliment.” Saga immediately stopped pacing and took in Avery as if she was truly seeing her for the first time since inviting her inside. “Did you need something?”

“I’m afraid I do. But I wanted to check on you first—see how you were doing.”

“What is it?” The words came too quickly, too desperate for something to occupy her so she wouldn’t have to sit with her grief.

“I need a favor for the case.”

Saga’s eyes narrowed. She’d known the woman barely three days, yet she could tell this behavior was out of character. When Avery usually asked a question it was direct and specific; this was vague and leading. “What kind of favor?”

“I need an appointment…” Avery sighed and added. “With Iona.”

The anxiety in Saga’s chest turned to lead and dropped heavily into her stomach. “Your ex?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Avery admitted. “From the Latin, ‘out of’ or ‘from within’—these do not help me decipher its meaning. But I can assure you, she’s not my anything.”

“Esteri made it very clear you two have some kind of history.”

“That we do have,” Avery groused.

“Romantic?” Saga wasn’t sure why it mattered, nor was she prepared to investigate the insistence within her that it did.

“I do not believe Iona is capable of that particular inclination.”

“Sexual, then?”

A pink flush across Avery’s pale face was all the answer Saga needed.

“Right.” Saga moved toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you, Avery.” She wasn’t about to offer tea, but damn it, she needed some.

“Why not?”

“Because it feels weird,” Saga threw back. “What would I even say?”

“You wouldn’t have to say anything.” Avery followed after her. “I’d be with you. I’d start my questioning before you had to do anything.”

Saga caught sight of the Brigid statue and felt ashamed for refusing to help. “Why can’t you just go without me?” She turned away from both Brigid and Avery to switch on the electric kettle and assuage the rising guilt.

“Because she won’t see me. You heard Essi, I haven’t been wronged.”

“No, if anything, it sounds like you did the wronging.” Saga wished she hadn’t opened her big, dumb mouth as her words hung in the silence that followed.

“You’re upset about the other day,” Avery concluded softly.

“No,” said Saga, turning back around. Her heart ached at the sight of the other woman, and she sighed. “Yes. Maybe.” Her face scrunched in frustration. “I don’t know.” Goddess, how she hated how much she said those words. “But what I really don’t know is if I can trust you.”

“Yes,” Avery answered, but Saga merely folded her arms. “Would it help if I told you why I did it?”

It would. It would explain why Leigh and Reza weren’t concerned. It would be nice to know she didn’t have to be concerned. “You said it was self-defense.”