Page 7 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Those were the magic words. Saga could almost hear the click on the other end of the line as Hassan hurriedly went to call any other possible client he may have inadvertently wronged.

“Something the matter, sweetie?”

Saga swallowed. “Did you rent out apartment B, by chance?”

There was the faintest shift in Leigh’s demeanor, but she began to busy herself with cooing over River. “Yes.” Her next question was cautious. “Did you meet them?”

Her answer gave closure, but no comfort. Saga had never seen her aunt try to skirt a subject before. Why wouldn’t she tell her? “No. They came in very early this morning. Two or three a.m. It’s fine. Startled me, is all.” It wasn’t fine, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

Leigh’s face crumpled in remorse. “I’m sorry, Saga, I should have told you sooner. It wasn’t clear when exactly they’d be taking the space, so it slipped my mind.”

“No, it’s okay, really!” She’d made Leigh apologize and so she found herself overexplaining to ease her aunt’s conscience. “I just didn’t realize you’d cleared it out. I was worried we were being robbed or something spooky was happening.”

Leigh chuckled and adjusted River in her arms. “No, not being robbed. Though that does remind me, I need to make sure our accounting is in order before I get my hands dirty today. Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Shai with me, and Mikhail should be in before we have to start worrying about the lunch crowd.”

Leigh’s mouth pursed thoughtfully in a way that made Saga wonder if her question might not have been about the café at all. She hugged the little koala child on her hip closer to herself before giving a decisive nod and moving down the hallway toward the office.

Saga lingered, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that there was something more going on than was being spoken aloud. It left her feeling disconnected as she wandered back into the café. Something wasn’t right.

From across the café, she could hear the faint chime of the six or seven notes that created the titular lyric of “I Enjoy Being a Girl.” Before Shai could reach into her apron pocket to turn off the alarm, Saga called out to her.

“Hey, go ahead and take your thirty, I can bus the rest of the tables.”

The young girl smiled in appreciation. “Can I mark out a scone? Forgot to bring a snack.”

“Go for it.”

Hudson’s was never empty, but it did have lulls, and with it came a kind of energy shift akin to a long exhalation. The moment to breathe between rushes. A few bakery regulars, some scattered students, which made the newcomer sitting at the bar an easy-to-spot anomaly.

First, because they were not sitting so much as slumping onto the bar, and second, they had pulled their coat over their head.

The telltale signs of a hangover.

Saga rounded back behind the counter, a tub of dirty dishes resting against her hip, and as she did she caught a glimpse of white hair falling from beneath the cover of fabric.

She barely stepped into the kitchen to set down the tub before pivoting back to investigate the poor soul melting into her counter.

She approached tentatively, not wanting to startle them or further aggravate the migraine that had likely been their undoing.

She waited, giving them time to notice her presence.

No reaction.

She placed her hands on the counter and lowered herself, speaking as softly as the din of the café would allow. “Fancy a cuppa, soldier?”

The slump groaned and the coat slid back into place as they struggled to raise their head.

Saga’s breath caught. She’d never imagined what moonlight would look like if it could take form, but she was certain she beheld it now.

Eyes crafted from quicksilver peered blearily at her through a curtain of loose tousled silver-white curls that fell over her face.

An angular face; chiseled; a strong bone structure with an aquiline nose and surprisingly delicate features.

Her Cupid’s bow was pronounced, her lower lip a tad fuller than the top, and together they naturally set in a slight downturn—a natural sort of pout.

Petallike, they parted, and in motion, Saga found them even more beautiful.

That was when she realized the stranger was speaking.

Saga choked a little on her own breath. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“A strong cup of tea with milk and sugar, please.” Her voice was deeper than Saga had expected, husky from either disuse that morning or overuse the previous night.

“Yeah—yep! Right away.” Saga moved to the kettle, grateful for the excuse to turn away. Two hundred degrees for black tea. She could feel the woman’s eyes following her as she set the temperature.

“Do you know if the original family still owns the building?”

Saga paused, taken aback by the oddity of the question. “Hudson’s? Yeah. My grandmother used to own it, but she passed it to my aunt when she retired a few years ago. Why do you ask?”

The woman was scrutinizing Saga in a discomfiting manner. “It used to be an apothecary.”

The accusatory tone of the statement forced a laugh out of Saga. “Well with the rise of modern medicine and creation of government health agencies, that really wasn’t a sustainable business, but we’ve found our own way around it, I think.”

It wasn’t clear if the lunar apparition was amused or quizzical. Possibly both.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Saga placed a cup and saucer on the counter between them. “What’s ailing you? Your head or your stomach?”

“Neither,” she answered. “New lodgings. I’m afraid I’m not used to sleeping.

” She glanced around the café before adding somewhat awkwardly, “In the heart of a city, I mean.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “It appears whoever occupies the apartment below mine keeps terrifyingly unnatural hours. Bustling about doing hells knows what, kept waking me.”

Saga’s heart dropped in realization. She’d given this woman reason to hate her before they’d even met. “Ah.” She turned to find the right tea canister: Wake the Dead. “So, you would be the new tenant in Apartment B then.”

Moonlight sat up a little straighter.

“I’m afraid that was me this morning. I have no real basis for what sounds carry—no one has occupied the upstairs apartment since…” Saga shrugged helplessly. “I think maybe before I was born? I’m so terribly sorry, I had no idea you could hear me.”

Chastised and sheepish, the woman began to backpedal. “Please, do not apologize. It may not be your fault at all, I am merely…” She seemed to choose her words very carefully. “Until as of late, I have been sleeping far more deeply. I will adjust.”

Saga moved the tea canister beside the teacup to allow the scent to waft to the other woman.

“A blend of Assam and Ceylon, giving a powerful but well-balanced brew, intermixed with cinnamon for strength, ginger to increase your energy, cloves for emotional balance, and star anise for awareness.” Setting out the teapot, she began to carefully fill the infuser basket with the leaves.

“So you might say, even though we now advertise as a café and confectionary, we’re still an apothecary in our own right.

” She was answered with contemplative silence before the woman held up her hands as if surrendering.

“Forgive me, I wasn’t sure how Mundane9 this establishment had become.”

Saga laughed at the absurdity of the statement and gestured to herself for added emphasis. “Do I look mundane to you?”

Charmed, the moonlight smiled. “I’m Avery.”

Her face warmed. “Saga.”

Avery’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” This was not an uncommon reaction.

“Yeah, well, my mother always swore to anyone that would listen that she’d never have kids, but then here I am, so…

” She picked up the kettle, careful not to spill or splash the hot water as she poured it over the tea leaves.

“I think naming me Saga was her way of explaining it’s ‘a very long story.’”

Avery’s smile widened, lips parting to exhale what might have been a chuckle. “You’re funny.”

The warmth in Saga’s cheeks spread to her chest, and an irritatingly bubbly thrill percolated in her abdomen.

Impossibly handsome women were not allowed to compliment her.

It made her dizzy and drunk, and she choked on a giggle.

“You’re in need of sugar and cream.” She retreated to her work, the routine a welcome balm to rising anxiety.

But the sugar bowl and cream pitcher were retrieved far too easily, and almost as quickly as she had left it, she had to reenter the danger zone.

“Will it damage the remedy if I add these?” It was a light tease. She was teasing her. Impossibly handsome women were not allowed to tease her either. It wasn’t at all a fair fight.

“Actually,” Saga explained, clinging to her knowledge of hearth magic like a life raft in a storm, “cream is used to draw prosperity, and sugar…” Her mind tumbled over its uses in love charms. She couldn’t say any of that, not to her.

So she shrugged—perhaps a little too violently.

“Sugar just sweetens everything.” It was still truthful, so she didn’t feel guilty.

But it did give her an idea. She retreated to the display counter and retrieved one of the cheerful pink cake donuts dotted with bright rainbow sprinkles.

She plated the confection and presented it to Avery. “Here, on me.”

Avery peered curiously at Saga, then the pastry. “What is this?”

“Think of it as a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift.”

Avery was delighted but no less confused. “Thank you, but… What is it?”

“Oh! It’s a vanilla cake donut with raspberry cream cheese frosting. It’s really good, I promise. I mean, it’s fried dough and sugar, but it’s not sickly sweet or anything. We make them in-house.”

Avery was warming up to it, especially as she inhaled the scent, but she paused one last time. “And the colorful…” She circled a finger over the sprinkles. “Beads?”

“They’re just sprinkles.”

Avery blinked. “Sprinkles…of what?”

“You know, sprinkles. They’re…”

No recognition dawned on the silver woman’s face.

Saga’s mouth parted in surprise. “Have you never had sprinkles before?”

Avery averted her eyes.

The timer went off. Tea was ready.

“Well, no worries, we do not sprinkle-shame here at Hudson’s,” Saga assured, carefully removing the timer from the teapot, and then the steeping basket.

“It’s basically just sugar. They don’t really have a flavor, they can come in all different shapes and colors, and they just…

” She took a moment to rethink her explanation and began again.

“Sprinkles’ sole purpose is to make you smile.

They’re just joy. You don’t need them to make a great dessert, but they always make everything a little better. ”

Avery took in this information as if Saga was passing on a great doctrine. She peered at the donut inquisitively, and when she met Saga’s eyes again, her own glistened. She smiled briefly, an expression that appeared almost uncomfortable for her to achieve. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re very welcome.” Saga felt like she’d walked into something unexpected.

Something delicate. She gave Avery space to enjoy her breakfast in peace, ducking into the back room to start on the dishes she’d taken in before the order.

Out of sight, she pressed her palms to her burning cheeks.

Had her complexion been a mere few shades lighter, the flush would have given her away.

Her hands slid from her face to her neck and then fumbled for the golden pendant about her neck.

A gift from her grandmother when she was very young, the carved medallion depicted a four-legged Brigid’s cross, from which flames curled outward like the sun’s rays.

It was her constant companion. Her way of keeping her goddess close.

And the method in which she directed her very furious prayer: “This better not be your idea of helping.”

7 It should be noted Audrey Hudson did not believe in ghosts, or she might have had to amend this statement, as the dead do sup, and no graveyard is stranger to a potluck dinner.

8 The spell for Heartache Tea may be found on page 425.

9 The word “mundane” (lowercase M) derives from the Old French “mondain” meaning “of this world, terrestrial” and first became common usage among mortals in the mid-fifteenth century.

For this reason, the fey adopted the term as Mundane (uppercase M) as proper noun to refer to non-magical mortals, particularly those ignorant of the existence of fey and the worlds beyond the veil.

It was not until roughly 1850 that the meaning of the word extended to “dull or uninteresting.”

Unfortunately for Avery Hemlock, she was imprisoned with a sleeping curse at the end of 1837, and since there is no audible difference between capital or lowercase letters, a misunderstanding was inevitable.