Page 44 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

“Your mother abandoned you,” said Iona as she continued to read Saga’s scales.

She closed the distance between them, and her fingers curled around Saga’s shoulders.

“But that’s not where you feel wronged, is it?

You were a smart child—you quickly saw that decision was for the best. It hurt you.

Deeply. You want her approval more than anything else in the world, you are desperate for it, but you do not feel wronged by her. ”

“L-like Avery said,” Saga tried to explain. “My grandmother was murdered.”

“If you could look at these photos,” Avery began, but she sounded so far away. Muffled. As if Saga had stuck her head underwater.

Iona directly addressed Saga once more. “The law of hospitality once broken has a way of setting the scales aright on its own, you don’t need my help with that.”

“I want to find her killer,” Saga insisted, but her voice sounded sluggish in her own ears.

Iona leaned down as if to kiss her. “And you do not feel wronged by them. You miss her, you mourn her loss, but you feel disconnected from her death. They wronged her, not you, and so that is not what tips your scales, so…”

Saga’s mouth felt dry.

“Oh.” The iele’s expertly painted red mouth formed a perfect “O” before the corners pulled back into a Cheshire cat grin.

“I see.” Her right hand slid from Saga’s shoulder to gently cup her chin.

“Handsome, sure of himself, foolish. All men are, my dear, you needn’t blame yourself for this one…

” She glided a thumb over the swell of Saga’s lower lip. “But you do.”

Saga thought she heard Avery’s voice, but it was a murmur lost to time.

“You wonder what you might have done to prevent what happened that day.”

The office melted away. Suddenly they were standing at the front of the church.

Saga was aware of the guests filling every pew and the groom standing just behind Iona.

They were shapes, shadows. She did not need to focus on the details to know every one.

A wave of heartache crashed around her, but it felt numbed by Iona’s touch, as if a barrier prevented the moment from truly touching her.

She was desired. She was important. She was so much more than the moment unfolding around her.

“And yet, you know his crimes. He chased you. He pursued you. He wore you down—you weren’t even initially interested, you were focusing on your studies, you had no longing for companionship.

” Her lips were so close to Saga’s she could nearly feel them move against her own.

“He weaseled his way into your life. He promised you the world, and when you were finally convinced he might be worth the risk—when you were truly vulnerable…”

Out of her periphery, Saga saw the chapel doors bang open.

“He left.”

The words echoed and Saga was aware of the shape of the groom shifting. He turned to see who had entered the chapel through the open doors.

“In front of everyone,” Iona continued her narration, and while Saga was keenly aware of the humiliation and anger that swirled around them, she could not feel it.

“In front of God, he left you. He let her interrupt the ceremony, give her pathetic little speech about love and loyalty—vows he had been poised to make to you—and then he ran away with her.”

The figure of the groom departed with the new form. Only now as they retreated, they began to take more specific shape. Hugh and Lana. Saga remembered sending her the invitation. “An old friend,” he’d said. “She probably won’t even come.”

“He…” The words caught in Saga’s throat.

“He humiliated you,” Iona finished for her. “I can feel the wound he’s left in you, Saga.” She stroked Saga’s hair. “Let me help you. Let me heal you. Let your anger burn—”

With a hiss, suddenly Iona staggered back, eye contact breaking and the office blinking back into reality around them. But with that broken contact, the barrier Iona had created to keep Saga separated from her own emotions also shattered.

Saga crumpled to the floor. She was back in the office, but her body shook, overwhelmed with animalistic sobs.

She gripped at her heart with one hand and dug her fingers into the rug with the other.

She couldn’t see through the tears; the world was only a splatter of color.

It was hard to breathe. Her pain felt fresh, like she had traveled back three months and was feeling it all again for the first time.

A hand splayed on her back, but it lacked the drug-like numbing quality Iona had wrapped her in.

Someone kneeled beside her. Someone who smelled like citrus and candle smoke. Avery.

“All will be well, I swear it.” It was spoken softly, yet somehow she still heard Avery over her own sobs. Then the monotone directive took over once more. “Miss Trygg would very much like you to look over these photographs.”

“You always were bad for business,” the Romanian beauty scoffed.

“Old habits die hard,” said Avery humorlessly. She did not move from her place crouched beside Saga, but there was the sound of a file folder being flapped insistently in Iona’s direction.

The white stilettos took a few steps toward them again, and Saga heard Iona’s manicured nails scrape over paper as she snatched the file from Avery’s hand. When had she stepped away from them? Had Avery physically removed her from Saga?

Saga didn’t move even as her sobs began to quiet. They continued to roll like convulsions through her body. She didn’t fight it. It was better to let this feeling run its course. An emotional purge. Violent and unpleasant, but necessary.

After a few moments, Iona sighed. She sounded bored. “What am I looking at, Hemlock?” The way Iona spoke Avery’s name made it sound like a slur.

“Victims,” Avery said, still all business. “Anyone look familiar?”

“No.” Now Iona flapped the folder back to Avery, impatient and annoyed. “Should they?”

“Not your handiwork?”

“Why do you think I would have anything to do with this?” Disgust dripped off every syllable.

“The tattoo on the younger victim’s left breast,” said Avery. “Rache ist sü?.”

Iona scoffed. “Is that all?” Her voice had lost its hypnotic melody; it was staccato, piercing, hiss. “Not everyone who pays homage to revenge is a client, let alone an acolyte. You of all people should know that.”

“Organs were stolen viciously from still-living vessels. Vindictive sympathetic magic was employed.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean an iele carried it out.” A beat. “Have you considered what they might be using the organs for?”

Avery’s hand slid from its place on Saga’s back as she returned to standing. She stepped between Iona and Saga. “Power rituals. Perhaps opening a door to the other side. There’s a myriad of possible purposes.”

“Including divining information.” Saga could see the white stilettos shift their stance from between Avery’s ankles.

“You’re suggesting haruspicy?”43

“The mind is the seat of higher consciousness. The third eye. The heart is believed to hold memory and wisdom. There are a multitude of rituals one might use to scrape information from these remnants—and they would need it to be living tissue. Perhaps your killer was looking for some kind of information both of your victims shared, not revenge,” said Iona.

Saga pushed herself up enough to sit back on her heels, and the world swam around her. “Like information on Eira Goff.” She felt drained and nauseated.

The two women had squared off while Saga had been incapacitated, but hearing her voice now, they took a step back from each other, Avery returning to Saga’s side.

“Eira was a shrewd businesswoman and brilliant chemist.” Saga took a deep breath, and, with an offered hand from Avery, she shakily made her way to her feet.

“She made billions in pharmaceutical patents, among other things. A lot of that information might have died with her… But perhaps her nurse or closest friend might have had some of it.”

Iona’s eyes flashed. They were cold now. Hungry. “Delicious and clever. I admit, Hemlock, I am almost jealous of your good fortune.” She gave a mockingly apologetic smile to Saga. “Though I learned years ago humans are far too emotionally unstable for my employ.”

Avery shifted her position, standing between Saga and Iona once more. “You swear to me that none of this was done with your magic or knowledge?”

“I am an agent of retribution, Hemlock. You’re looking for desperation.”

Avery gave a curt nod to Iona. “Thank you for your time.” She offered her arm to Saga and led the way toward the door.

They’d taken a few steps when Iona’s velvet melody stopped them. “Saga,” the iele purred, proffering a business card between two perfectly manicured fingers. “Call me when you’re ready to accept the justice you deserve.”

“We’re leaving, Iona,” Avery growled.

Saga took the card without looking up. It was a long-practiced defense. If you take the card or the pamphlet, the hard sell stops. It didn’t mean you had to call or buy anything. It was your ticket out. “Let’s go.”

Once out the front doors, Saga broke away from Avery’s support. The fresh air stung against her cheeks, and she wiped at the tear stains, hands imprecise in their frustration.

“Are you well?”

“No!” Even Saga was surprised by the power of the word as it erupted out of her. “What the fuck was that, Avery?”

“I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Saga choked on the words, her anger rising.

“I should have removed her sooner, I misjudged how deep under you were.” There was a simple sincerity to this admission.

“You did not deserve to have those moments dragged out of you, especially not with an audience present. If you want to continue this investigation together, I promise that moving forward I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety, both physical and mental.” No excuses. No guilt.

Saga believed her and so her anger fizzled, escaping as a strange, frustrated sigh that tightened her throat and threatened tears were not far behind. “How were you so unaffected? Weren’t you the one who called her ‘The Addler’?”

“I no longer have anything she can feed on.” As this didn’t paint a clearer picture, begrudgingly Avery elaborated.

“There were those who helped me destroy the Erlking, and there were those who merely helped me find the motivation.” Avery smiled bitterly, sucking air in through her teeth with a shuddered breath. “I have no current desire for revenge.”

Saga looked back at Reprise, and Avery’s reluctance to talk about her relationship began to make more sense.

She wanted to ask more, but knowing how vulnerable she’d felt even after Iona’s magic had been interrupted, she thought better of it.

When Avery was ready, she would tell her. “We have to make a plan for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” There was hope in Avery’s voice.

“Eira’s funeral just became our only lead.”

42 Iele is the Romanian name for this particular kind of fey, whose natural form is very similar to beautiful human women.

It isn’t common to find iele living without a community of other iele; they are not solitary creatures.

Many things have been written over the years about them, and many may be true, but what can be certain is this: (1) The iele are able to see the scales of justice within each individual.

(2) A contract with an iele will bring you justice, but the iele will feed on the vengeance you take.

(3) An iele has the power to seduce you into a contract, much like a siren or succubus.

43 The practice of divination through the study of the viscera, especially the liver of a sacrificed creature.