Page 64 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Saga

There were a lot of “better” things Saga could have focused on that night if she’d tried.

Yet the one that had stuck with her had not been her friends back in Oxford, it had not been the regulars and staff at Hudson’s, and it had not been the simple joy of taking a risk with a recipe and having it pan out.

Instead, Saga kept the nightmare of Doctor Campbell’s body from her mind by lingering on the memory of her own hallway from the night before.

It was so prominent in her mind that she had difficulty sleeping for far different reasons than she’d been concerned about. She’d woken early, well-rested, with a smile refusing to abate on her lips.

The strange thing about being called remarkable is it often fuels one to strive to meet that expectation. So she’d used that energy and good feeling to dive into her medical encyclopedias and textbooks.

The story, as it were, was that Eira Goff had died from heart failure due to the complications often found in patients diagnosed with lymphedema-distichiasis.

At the time she and Avery had more or less dismissed this, believing that Eira’s heart had been stolen like her grandmother’s.

Now that Eira’s piece of the puzzle were a matter of a missing body and possible resurrection, what the case was lacking were the details leading up to her death.

Reza had confirmed that no inquest had been made, and unless her body turned up sometime soon, it was clear one wouldn’t be.

So Saga had taken it upon herself that morning to attempt to become as much an expert on lymphedema-distichiasis as humanly possible.

Saga had not worked directly with many lymphedema patients but had worked in positions and pre-fellowship programs that had exposed her to a lot of their supportive care, including imaging, physical therapy, and even a small work-study specializing in reconstructive surgery.

Still, these put her on the periphery of the condition at best.

Lymphedema, she confirmed, was the abnormal buildup of protein-rich fluid as a direct result of a malfunction in the lymphatic system.

She’d primarily witnessed the buildup in the lower legs, but it could happen in any part of the body.

It was typically not diagnosed until it reached the stage when a patient noticed the swelling unless looked for specifically or possibly through an unrelated MRI or ultrasound.

There were a few known causes, including birth defects, but the three most common were cancer cells and radiation or surgery related to cancer.

Saga looked up from the large book sitting in her lap.

Was it possible…? She chewed her lower lip, looking up from the large armchair to the Brigid statue, then Riddle.

Neither would be particularly helpful for her curiosity, but she voiced the question all the same.

“Could Eira have had cancer and no one known?” It was, after all, what had taken Eira’s mother many years prior.

Riddle flicked his tail back and forth. If the Cheshire Cat had a grin, Riddle had a deadpan blink. It accompanied such a fixed stare that it was impossible to dismiss as anything but a deliberate expression.

“No, you’re right,” Saga answered. “Someone would have known. Mamó would have known.” She looked back to the book.

“There are other possibilities, and her age would have increased those chances.” Still, the idea nagged at her.

The level of preparation that had gone into the attacks so far, despite coming so soon after Eira’s death, suggested some level of premeditation.

Avery would be able to answer questions regarding the specific magic used, but it was incredibly unlikely that the triggering action had merely been Eira’s passing.

How far back did Alistair Campbell’s research go? How long had Valentina been taking care of her? Perhaps the charts she’d kept on Eira and her care would illuminate when the stirrings of what it would take to raise her had started.

Finding information on LD was harder in the books she had available. And when she did, her previous theory dissolved.

Lymphedema-distichiasis was a rare genetic multisystem disorder caused by a mutation of the FOXC2 gene,61 inherited from parent to child.

A parent with the disorder had a fifty-fifty chance of passing it on to a child.

The severity of lymphedema varied greatly from person to person—even among direct family members—but the most common symptom was an extra row of eyelashes.

Saga sat up abruptly. “Lashes like Liz Taylor,” she repeated the words in an excited whisper.

She tapped her textbook excitedly and looked up, but could only tell Riddle.

This did not quash her excitement, and she held up the book as if Riddle could read it.

“Mamó literally meant eyelashes like Elizabeth Taylor—I remember reading about this, her famous lashes, she had this.”

Riddle gave a flat “mrow” that sounded suspiciously like a sarcastic “really?”

“Look, I didn’t know what it was called, I just had heard she had a separate row of eyelashes, I never thought to…” Saga frowned. “Stop judging me here, you’re not the one looking into all of this.”

He purred as if chuckling at her.

A hard knock on the door. Decisive. Clipped.

Saga’s eyebrows raised and she checked the clock.

It was 7:20 a.m. She closed the book on her lap and stood, setting it down on the cushion behind her.

There’d been no buzz from the main door, which meant whoever was there had a key to the building.

That same persistent smile from the previous night crept back to her lips and she skipped to the door.

She couldn’t wait to tell Avery what she found.

Giddily, she answered the door, her heart warm with anticipation, and it promptly plummeted to her feet.

Audrey Hudson was a severe-looking woman, and though her height did not grant her many inches above her daughter, she would have made giants feel like children under her gaze.

The natural wave in her dark hair had been slicked down and pulled back into a bun that made the angles of her face even sharper.

She wore little to no makeup, and the only softness to her was the natural dusky rose shade of her lips.

“The photo of your grandparents in Dresden, where is it?”

Saga blinked at the demand, not quite fully grasping the reality of the woman standing outside her door.

She cleared her throat and gave the empty hallway a self-conscious glance.

“Hello, Mother, how are you? Did you just get in?” She spoke in staccato, as if her enunciation would remind Audrey how social calls were not meant to begin with demands.

Audrey pursed her lips, and the color drained slightly from the pressure. “I know we named you after rambling fictions, but I will not be goaded into pointless small talk.”

Ouch.

“The photograph. It sat on the mantel for over forty years in a hand-carved pine frame. It depicted your grandparents, the Goffs, and the Striezelmarkt behind them. It’s missing. Did you take it?”

“No.” Though Saga could remember it. She’d always been distracted by the warmth of the lights in the background.

“We need it for the funeral arrangements, Saga, I don’t have time for your games.”

Ah yes, a game. What could have been more fun than starting an argument with her mother before 8:00 a.m.? The frivolity was only second to trying to take a bone from a feral dog. “Why do you think I took it?” She was suddenly starting to feel the weight of her truncated sleep.

“Leigh certainly didn’t take it, and she is the one insisting we need it. Who else has had access to the house or would want it?”

“Did you check for fingerprints?”

Audrey blinked in a manner that rivaled Riddle. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Saga sighed and answered more seriously. “If the photo was of her and the Goffs, Mamó might have loaned it to the family to use at Eira’s funeral.”

Audrey’s jaw tightened. “Loaned implies it will be returned.”

Saga thought about mentioning that her grandmother was not in the position to retrieve her property but suspected this would result in even more uncomfortable exchanges. “I have a number to arrange to pick up the photos, I just haven’t had time.”

A dismissive tsk passed through Audrey’s teeth. “Between abandoning your future and neglecting the hobby you are pretending is a job, what could possibly be leaving you so bereft of hours?”

It was too damn early for this. “Can I get you tea?”

“You can get me that photograph.”

Saga took a deep breath, measured and slow. “The photographs are with Eira’s estate attorney. Do you want me to call him now? It’s not even eight a.m. He won’t be in the office.”

“Why is it even the simplest of tasks are inhibited by excuses with you?”

Saga’s lips pursed and she forced a fake smile, her teeth grinding together and tightening her jaw.

She could not get angry. Any hint in her expression that she was upset and Audrey would catch it.

Glossy eyes, raising her voice even slightly in volume, and even blinking too much had all been signs to her mother that she was being emotional and could be dismissed.

“Fine.” She left the doorway to retrieve her purse and her cell phone on the nightstand in the bedroom.

She knew Mr. Bowen would not be in his office, she knew he would not answer, but she also knew that calling him in front of her mother was easier than continuing this argument.

The threshold no longer guarded, Audrey stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, caught sight of Riddle, and narrowed.