Page 62 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)
Avery carefully reached down and drew a wand of rowan from her boot.
Clumsily hidden wards did not mean clumsily made—those were two different skills.
Using a wand reduced the likelihood of losing a hand if those wards were fierce enough.
Rowan had been utilized for years for its protection properties, even carried around to ward off witchcraft.
As a tool for dispelling magic, it was invaluable.
She drew the wand along the doorway and saw through the hagstone a glimmer of fabric-like energy ripple as if in a breeze.
She gently pressed the wand tip against it to test the resistance, and the fabric tightened into a more solid wall, illuminating the doorway entirely.
She let up on the pressure and in turn, the ward returned to its more fabric-like state.
Force would not be the key here.
She examined the edges, gently prodding the wand along the seams of the doorway, scouring for any fault in the fabric: a snag, a tear, or a stray thread.
She found it in the bottom right corner—perhaps the doctor had been rushed, or the spell had simply begun to wear down now that he had passed on, but she found the hint of a fraying edge.
Avery focused the wand tip on the frayed thread with a scientist’s precision.
She took a deep breath and moved the wand in small circles, the glowing thread wrapping around it as she did.
She continued to pull on the thread, slowly and steadily unraveling the fabric of the ward.
It was a careful process, where expediency would possibly snap the delicate fiber and trip any safety measures put in place.
The thread danced back and forth across the doorway, a tapestry weaving in reverse, shortening the fabric centimeter by centimeter.
This was going to take a lot of patience and a lot of time.
When at last the unraveling reached the top, she realized her position still kneeling on the floor was creating unnecessary tension. Cautiously, she attempted to stand, but as she propped up her foot, she tilted a little too far to the side—and the thread snapped.
Damnation.
She stood quickly in time to see an enormous glowing spider crawl out from under the remaining fabric. It latched on to the fraying thread and immediately began to weave repairs.
Avery quickly flicked the wand at it. “Away!”
But the moment the wand made contact, the spider split, exploding into a hundred smaller spiders, all of whom set to even more rapid work of repairing the fabric of the ward.
Avery cursed under her breath and shoved the rowan wand beneath the edge of the fabric before pushing it upward.
The tiny illuminated spiders quickly began to weave around it.
Magic words, much like language itself, only held power because one gave them power. She was frustrated, both with herself and that even in death Alistair Campbell had managed to further obstruct the pursuit of justice. “VEX!”
The wand drew in the shadows from the hallway, and the tip erupted with moths made of shadow that quickly ate away the fabric in a circular motion outward from where the wand had been trapped in the ward.
The umbra constructs ravenously consumed the magical fabric.
A few of the spiders attempted to catch the moths, but while their smaller size had benefited them as a team, on their own they were too small and outnumbered to put up a proper fight.
As the weave vanished, spiders fell to the floor and disappeared like cooling sparks falling off a fire.
Avery took a deep breath and peered closely at the threshold. No traps, no more wards, no magic. She reached forward and easily opened the now unprotected door, holding the wand defensively close to her chest.
This room, unlike any other, felt like Alistair Campbell.
It had the faint scent of tobacco and rosemary.
Rich oak, unpainted and well oiled, made up the floorboards, and the walls had been lined with a fine jacquard paper.
The office had no windows, but an enchanted painting opposite the desk mimicked one, autumnal trees moving in a gentle wind as if she were looking out at an orchard.
Avery first put the rowan switch through the doorway and nothing happened. Feeling a little safer and emboldened, she leaned in to peer with the hagstone. Everything was as it appeared, nothing concealed by a glamour, and so she stepped fully into the room.
Unlike the library she’d seen before, the wall of books behind the desk was stuffed with volumes all with visible wear and tear.
They weren’t just read, they were studied; scoured.
She pulled a few from the shelves to find them dog-eared, bookmarked, and full of tiny slanted handwriting.
They ranged from recent medical volumes to much older tomes in a variety of languages on various magical subjects: prestidigitation, transmutation, and necromancy.
Each book contained notes and page markings.
Opening the desk drawers, she found a notebook.
It was not the luxury of a journal—a daily documentation of his comings and goings would have been too much to hope for—but the book did seem to contain an abundance of research regarding fetches and resurrection.
It would be incredibly incriminating evidence against him were the man not already dead.
Had his killer not been able to find this room, or did they already have the information contained within it?
Alistair Campbell had pages upon pages of notes. It was clear his research went far back—likely well before Eira Goff had passed. So had stealing the organs for resurrection always been the plan? Or merely a perfect opportunity to put his research into practice?
Avery frowned and looked through the rest of the drawers, which contained nothing of consequence.
Perhaps the answer to that question would become clearer after they could determine who Campbell’s partner was…
Or perhaps their difference of opinion on bringing back Eira was why the doctor was lying downstairs.
What she could confirm at that moment was that the missing organs were nowhere to be found, nor was there any evidence that anything beyond note-taking occurred in this office.
She gathered the relevant books from the wall along with the notebook and made her way back downstairs carefully, her arms so full she wobbled a few times.
Saga and Lahiri were waiting for her in the foyer.
“Did you find anything?” Avery asked, announcing her entrance.
“Here, let me help you,” Lahiri offered, coming to her aid quickly to relieve her of half her biblio-burden.
Saga, on the other hand, did not move. She still looked shaken, but she’d removed her gloves and discarded them somewhere.
“All major organs are missing from the abdominal cavity and chest, but it’s like you suspected.
The cuts were…” She swallowed and shook her head.
“They lacked surgical precision—probably done with another kitchen knife. If medical knowledge was key in performing the removal rituals, it’s pretty clear the doctor was the one originally performing them.
Even if this new killer wanted him to suffer, if they had healing magic, they would have likely utilized some of it to make the removal cleaner.
By the look of the haphazard damage sustained, it’s unlikely the organs pulled will even be usable.
Of course they may have just been taken as a red herring. ”
“And the paper?”
“The incoming team will clean it up so we can be sure,” said Lahiri. “But from what we can tell they look like pages from Eira Goff’s will.”
Avery’s eyebrows raised. This was an unexpected development. What was the point? Another product of rage? Sending a message? Or perhaps a deliberate and calculated act to throw suspicion on a family member? “Does that mean we’ll know the exact contents of that will?”
“Finding the pages inside the body of a murder victim is more than enough for a warrant to get a clean copy of the document.” Lahiri glanced back at Saga before lowering his voice.
“I have to wait for the team to finish up here and make sure we’re in the clear for Mundane eyes.
Would you mind making sure Saga gets home safely? ”
“You want us to leave?”
“I think it would be best,” the man said quietly. Then, with emphasis. “For her.”
Avery’s attention flicked to the other woman. Had she miscalculated? Until now Saga had been such a perfect asset, but now… “Understood.” She called out to her. “Could you help carry these? We’re taking the tube back.”
It was like watching a sleepwalker the way she pulled herself off the wall to take the books Detective Lahiri held.
“I’ll call later to check on you.”
Dissociated and mute, Saga nodded, then followed Avery out the front door. It took her a moment to realize Avery was waiting on her to take the lead as she had no idea where to find the station.
The pair made their way wordlessly through Mayfair to the Bond Street Underground Station. It was but one stop on the Jubilee to Baker Street, and once they emerged into a familiar area, Avery walked more in stride with Saga than behind her.
It was a short trip all in all and an even shorter walk from the station back to 221, but Avery had taken every opportunity to study her companion without making her scrutiny obvious.
She was in a state of shock, that much was clear. But still present, still functioning. She did not appear to be a danger to herself or anyone else.
Avery debated if she should say anything. It seemed inappropriate to bring up yet somehow leaving it unmentioned nagged as an even more egregious offense. She was troubling over this dilemma as they crossed over the threshold into the hallway of the rear apartments when Saga finally spoke.
“How do you do it?”
The sound of her voice after a journey of silence was startling. “How do I do…what?”