Page 66 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

The man was putting costly announcements in the most widely read and distributed newspaper in all of England.

He could have put it anywhere—as far as she knew, Hugh and Lana both still lived in Oxford.

What was wrong with the local community paper?

The Oxford Mail loved stories like that—it would have upped their circulation.

But the Times. Not just the Times, the Sunday Times, literally the one paper delivered to nearly every household whether you were a stockbroker in London or a wind farmer in St. David’s.

It was Wednesday now. Saga’s teeth ground and she walked to the pile of mail she’d been neglecting near the door. She pawed through it, finding the Sunday Times easily. The front page contained the announcement of Eira’s death: Philanthropist and Medical Pioneer Mourned.

Saga’s anger fizzled as her mind returned to the real issue at hand and she sat at the kitchen table so she could flatten out the pages, the card in her hand forgotten.

It was impressive Mr. Bowen had kept the official announcement so delayed from the papers, but it warranted an above-the-fold story.

A quick scan and the piece revealed it was more a recounting of her life.

She opened to the continued page to find a photo of the Goff family at the ribbon cutting of Caladrius.

Eira seemed around Saga’s age—late twenties and proudly standing between her mother and father: her thick eyelashes made her eyes even brighter.

Saga paused and studied Eira’s parents, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

Osian Goff, Eira’s father and patriarch of the family line, was smartly dressed in a fine dark suit.

His thick beard was finely trimmed, but once again he appeared to be wearing eyeliner.

She peered at the photograph, the ink of the newspaper making it difficult to make out proper details.

It was perhaps less obvious because, unlike his daughter, the man did not accentuate his eyes with mascara.

Still, Saga was certain they were darkened by a second, less prominent row of eyelashes.

Lymphedema-distichiasis, passed down through the father’s line.

Something nagged at her as she stared at his face.

Her eyes scanned over the article. Mari and Osian were mentioned briefly, primarily that while Mari’s ongoing battle with cancer took a toll on the family, it had served as inspiration for Eira in her pursuit to better the medical world.

Saga mulled on this. Could fey develop cancer?

And if so, if there was magic in their bloodline, why had they not turned to magic to help Mari?

Surely if one could use healing magic to seamlessly transplant an artificial organ, there had to be something preferable to chemotherapy.

She noted the remainder of the article about Eira’s life was continued on a later page.

She turned through the newspaper to find the rest of the story and instead came face-to-face with a large engagement photo printed on the front of the announcements section.

Two familiar faces gazed back at her, laughing, and it was hard to not think they were laughing at her. Tangled each other’s embrace, the couple’s entwined fingers nearest the camera held out an offensively large diamond ring on display. The caption merely read: Hugh Davenport and Lana Pickney.

It was practically a billboard, dominating three-fourths of the page.

This wasn’t an announcement, it was an article.

In great detail it outlined their meeting, their romance, and the near “disaster” that would have kept them apart forever.

She frowned and reread that part. What disaster?

Hugh had been… Cold spread through her as it dawned on her that she was the disaster the article was referring to.

She felt sick and she could read no more.

Her eyes flooded with tears and the text blurred.

She could feel her heart breaking all over again.

There was a strange whimpering, and she looked around to find Riddle, who was now at her feet and purring, rubbing against her legs.

She reached down to pick him up only to realize the strange whimpering was coming from her own throat and not the cat at all.

She buried her face in his fur, her body shaking.

How dare he? How dare he do this? Badgering her day after day in school for a date, asking her to marry him, insisting on the place and time, only to…

Iona’s card seemed to emanate heat from where it was still clutched between her fingertips, burning as it beckoned Saga’s attention.

She stared at it curiously and Iona’s voice echoed through her consciousness.

Call me when you’re ready to accept the justice you deserve.

Saga gritted her teeth.

There was a knock at the door.

Saga paused, gun-shy after her last uninvited guest. Had her mother returned?

Perhaps she could pretend she wasn’t home this time, but she knew that wouldn’t do.

She set down Riddle gently on the seat beside her and quickly wiped at her eyes.

She stood, gathering what composure she could as she smoothed down the front of her shirt.

She’d suffered enough that day, she didn’t need to add to the ice-cold comfort of her mother’s continued disappointment.

But when she opened the door, it was Avery.

She was excited, her pale cheeks flushed and a notebook in her hand.

“They were able to clean up most of the papers,” she told Saga, practically buzzing.

“Reza will drop off copies after they get a warrant, but very importantly, Doctor Campbell was left a rather hefty sum of money for his medical research. But here’s where it gets even more interesting.

I found something about Carys, Eira’s only cousin.

” She raised the notebook, reading to quote what she’d jotted down.

“In the will, for Carys, it said: To you I can only hope I can bequeath my humility, for it’s my only possession of value you truly deserve. ”

A chuff of disbelief passed Saga’s lips. She’d have whistled if she were capable of it. “Oh. Wow. So Carys got nothing?”

“Brutally and humiliatingly, and if she is our missing partner then—You’ve been crying.” Avery frowned, her attention focusing on Saga’s face for the first time.

“No,” said Saga.

“Yes, you have,” Avery insisted. She leaned down closer to get a better look.

“The skin around your eyes is slightly puffy, the rims are more red than pink, the veins are acutely more vibrant and active, and I can see the remnant of streaks on your cheeks.” She frowned.

“Why are you lying to me? What happened?”

Saga’s throat felt tight again and she forced yet another tight fake smile. All she could manage was a whispered, “Hugh.”

Confused, Avery took a step back. “Me?” She’d misheard.

Saga quickly shook her head and cleared her throat. “No, not you, Hugh.” She wiped at her face again self-consciously. “My mother was just here, and that’s always emotionally taxing, but she also brought news of my ex-fiancé, Hugh.”

Realization dawned on Avery’s face, but she said nothing.

“Him, I suspect you’ve known about since…” She looked to the hand still holding Iona’s card and she laughed, holding it up.

A kind of panicked tension rippled through Avery that Saga had never seen before. Her voice was low, grave. “Saga, tell me you didn’t call her.”

“No! No, I was just…” She pocketed the card, feeling stupid and childish. “It fell out of my purse when I was getting something else, and then I got distracted with…”

“Do you…need to talk to someone?”

Saga tried to laugh it off unsuccessfully. “No, no, I’m good. Great, even. Fantastic.”

“You’re lying,” said Avery gently.

“Completely.”

Avery paused and pocketed her notebook. “May I come in?”

Wordlessly, Saga stepped aside, which was invitation enough. “We should talk about the case.”

“We will.” The half-fey closed the door behind them and led Saga to the comfortable armchair. “Sit. Do you have tea?”

Saga nodded numbly. “I was boiling water before my mother arrived. It should still be hot, the kettle keeps.”

Avery nodded and stepped into the kitchenette. “The tea?” she called behind her.

“There’s a cupboard to the right of the sink.”

“Strong?”

“Wake the Dead.”

“Sugar? Cream?”

“There’s a small bottle in the fridge, sugar jar near the kettle.”

It took perhaps five minutes for the tea to steep, but Avery had gathered everything onto a tea tray and brought it out to set it on the low table in the reading nook. “I hope it is up to your standards, I am afraid you have set the bar very high when it comes to brewing.”

Saga quickly removed the medical journals and books, stacking them to the side of the armchair and out of the way. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“Now,” Avery started, pouring them both a cup. “What’s happened with Hugh?”

Saga took her tea gratefully and pointed Avery to the newspaper lying open on the kitchen table. It was easier than forcing herself to explain everything.

Avery raised a quizzical white eyebrow and moved to retrieve it, her eyes scanning first over the picture, its caption, and then the body of the article. “Interesting. He’s betrothed yet again. Is that not quite soon?” She slowly walked back to the nook as she read.

Saga answered by downing the rest of her tea and pouring herself another cup.

“This article’s account of events differs greatly from Iona’s description.”

Saga exhaled through her nose forcefully but made no verbal comment.

Avery peered over the top of the newspaper at Saga with something akin to suspicion. “Iona cannot derive revenge from a perceived slight, the scales she satisfies are more or less objective.”

“What’s your point?” Saga asked.

“This is libel,” growled Avery.

“It didn’t name me specifically.” Saga heaped more sugar into her tea.

“Any idiot could make an inference,” Avery growled.