Page 76 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

He twiddled his thumbs for a minute. “About that… I wasn’t entirely truthful with you at the funeral,” he confided.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like the others did—like I was just some meaningless fling who wasn’t privy to the real matters of her life.

” He cleared his throat and tried to sit up a little straighter.

“It is true that I didn’t really want to be there for meetings about the estate and plans before her death—but she didn’t give me a choice either. She’d send me out of the house.”

“She’d send you out of the entire house when her lawyer stopped by?”

“Not just me,” he added. “Her nurse, or any other house staff too.”

That was very odd. “Do you think they were having an affair?”

“God no. Nothing like that—plus there was zero chemistry between them. If anything, I was starting to wonder if something illegal might be going on. Offshore bank accounts or… I don’t know. Maybe he was blackmailing the family about something?”

Avery’s mind was reeling. “Was there ever a time when someone did stay with her when he came? A friend, or family member?”

“Sometimes if Elis was there, he’d stay. And sometimes Saoirse would come over specifically for those appointments.”

“Saoirse would come over?”

“Honestly, it was the way Saoirse acted that made me dismiss any suspicions, because she was always happy to see him. Like they were old friends or something—she even had a special name for him.”

Avery’s brow furrowed. Saoirse…knew him? This didn’t align with what Bowen had told Saga at the funeral. “What do you mean she had a special name for him?”

“Well, you know, she had one for Eira too—anamchara, I think it was. Eira told me it meant soul friend.”

A sinking feeling began to creep into Avery’s stomach. “She called Eira’s lawyer this too?”

“No, his was different. I only heard it once or twice. It started with an O, I think—I never asked Eira what it meant, it wasn’t my place. I usually was supposed to be out of the house by then anyway.”

Avery remembered this part of an investigation well: the thrill of that last puzzle piece falling into place. Yet the adrenaline that began to elevate her heart rate was not excitement, but dread. “Was it Osian?”

“Yeah, that was it! What’s it mean?”

It meant it was very likely Saga had just unknowingly gone to see a murderer by herself. Her heartbeat quickening, Avery ignored his question to ask one of her own. “How did he seem at the will reading?”

“We didn’t have a reading,” said Benjamin. “We were all sent copies through certified mail with instructions on the next steps as the original went through probate.”

“When did they arrive?”

“Yesterday morning?”

Then how did pages of it get stuffed inside Alistair Campbell’s body late Sunday night?

“Faex.” Avery dug into her pocket and fumbled for her phone, pulling it out.

Frustrated, she made her way through the menu the way Saga had shown her and found the woman’s number, bringing it up to her ear. She felt breathless and afraid.

It rang.

“Do you know where Mr. Bowen’s office is? I know it’s in Holborn somewhere.”

It rang again.

“Uh, I can look it up?” Benjamin offered.

“Quickly. Please?”

The third ring was cut short.

“Hi, this is Saga—”

“Saga, thank fate—”

“I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

It beeped.

“Saga.” Her mouth felt too dry. “It’s Bowen. I can explain later, but you need to get out of there immediately.” She hung up. “Faex!” She resisted the urge to throw the phone in frustration.

“Looks like his office is by Lincoln’s Inn,” said Benjamin, looking up from his phone.

“Do you have a car?”

“Yes?”

“I need a favor.”

Avery’s face must have betrayed every fear that was rushing through her at that moment, because now it was Benjamin who spoke in a reassuring tone. “Absolutely, let’s go.”

Avery swallowed and stared at the phone clutched between her fingers. “Please don’t be dead.”

***

Thirty minutes. Thirty agonizing minutes stuck in a metal box wedged between other metal boxes. Avery kept calling—it was going immediately to voicemail now. Her heart was racing. Every time she heard Saga’s recorded voice, that sense of dread deepened.

What had happened? How long had Bowen known they were onto him? Had the photographs been a trap all along?

Her limbs were trembling. Before Avery had worried that Saga might simply choose not consult on cases—the pang of a possibly voluntary absence had been intolerable—but this?

One ring.

“Hi, this is Saga—”

Hang up. Try again.

“Hi, this is Saga—”

A string of curses flooded out of Avery’s mouth and she leaned forward, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“It’s going to be okay,” Benjamin tried to reassure her. His voice was uncertain, but he was attempting to cling to calm.

Avery drummed her fingers on the dashboard impatiently. It might not. The possibility of it not being okay increased with every unanswered phone call. But she didn’t dare say it. Words had too much power for her to feel safe saying it aloud.

She redialed.

“Hi, this is Saga—”

She took a deep breath and tried to peer over the cars slowly inching forward in front of them. “How far are we, do you think?”

Benjamin checked the screen on his dashboard. “Half a mile or so.”

Avery glared at the unmoving cars in front of them, then at the screen. “But it has said twenty minutes for the past ten.”

Benjamin shrugged a little helplessly. “I’m sorry, it’s rush hour—maybe there’s an accident up ahead.”

“I’ve got to run,” Avery undid her seat belt. “I’m sorry, I can’t wait.”

“Of course,” Benjamin urged. “W-what should I do?”

Avery looked at the map on the dashboard and compared it to what she could see stretching out in front of them, moving it with her fingers the way Saga had shown her to read the streets she’d need to take or the avenues she might be able to cut through on foot that a car would not be able to.

“Call the police. Ask for Detective Inspector Reza Lahiri. Tell him where I’m going, that Saga is in danger, and that I will need backup.

” She opened the door and stepped out. “Do not under any circumstances follow me into the building if you manage to get there, understand?”

Benjamin nodded, nervous. “Good luck.”

Avery wove through the cars at a standstill heading northeast on Strand.

Her lungs burned. She was going to get there in time.

She was going to arrive and find Saga perfectly fine.

She’d probably turned her phone off because she didn’t want to be rude.

She was kind that way, she was polite. They were likely obliviously looking over the photographs, and, upon accusation, Bowen would confess and surrender himself quietly.

It was a foolish thought, she knew that as she pushed herself to run faster through the streets. A desperately hopeful foolish thought.

But at that moment, Avery was a desperately hopeful fool.

She moved through both cars and the crowd, weaving in and out. She barely noticed how her lungs were struggling to keep pace, gasping for oxygen. “All will be well,” she hissed under her breath. “Fates be damned, you will be unharmed and all will be well.”

Up Kingsway, right onto Sardinia, and a dead sprint across Lincoln’s Inn Fields. She could feel the sweat bead around her temples and between her shoulder blades. Her adrenaline carried her through the grass and at last she stumbled onto Stone Buildings Street.

Disoriented, she swallowed, looking around. She caught sight of building numbers at last.

Number 7, Number 6—no!

She turned around and craned her neck. She could only see the number 9. Something was wrong. Had she gone to the wrong location? A new fear gripped her and she pressed her palms against her chest, attempting to calm her heart rate as the world sharpened into view. “Saga…”

Closer down to the bend of the U-shaped structure, the numbers grew smaller.

Had she passed it? She took a few steps back to examine Building 7, then turned around and noticed that what she had perceived as building 9 was in fact two buildings.

While 9 Stone Buildings faced inward, its front door visible from the street, Number 8 was narrow and faced the large stone walkway that led out to the roadway outside the gate.

With renewed energy and determination, Avery rushed to the door—which was locked. Of course, it was locked.

Her vision blurry with anger, Avery focused on the keyhole, her hand shaking.

She had been attempting to draw out the shadows to form lockpicks as she had before, but her nerves outweighed and overpowered her concentration, and the shadow energy that built up inside the small mechanism churned and became volatile, creating a small explosion within.

Smoke leaked from where the keyhole had been, and the door itself shifted ajar.

Avery threw it open fully, slipping inside the dark lobby.

Were they still here?

She reached into her coat pocket and retrieved a bay leaf.

Her fingers shaking, she held it out in front of her where it caught flame instantly.

In the dancing fire, she could see Saga’s face—thick bangs, prominent cheekbones, and an angular jawline.

Her lips were full with a defined Cupid’s bow and set pleasantly below her nose, which was shorter, with a wider but concave bridge.

She could picture her so clearly, from the warm brown of her skin down to the shades of copper and gold in the irises of her upturned eyes.

The last of the leaf fizzled into smoke, twisting and flashing sparks and runes before an unseen wind carried it across the lobby—but instead of drawing it outside, it seeped through the cracks of the door to the stairwell.

Avery followed it, her breath caught in her throat.