Page 77 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)
The smoke led her down to the basement, and she walked cautiously. They were stone, and so they did not creak, but if she was not careful, the soles of her boots would create an echo that would announce her before she even had a chance to assess the situation.
Coming upon a single door, Avery listened at it—hearing nothing, she opened it a crack to peer within.
The lights were on, but just beyond the door, she could only see filing cabinets, blocking her view of anything else. With the door open, she could hear someone inside, walking back and forth, tinkering with something.
Avery opened the door a sliver further, confirming that a wall of cabinets obscured the view of the door entirely. She glanced on either side and, seeing no one, slipped into the room.
Nothing but files, but clearly they had been arranged in a way to conceal the size of the room.
Avery could feel a wave of goose bumps rush over her skin: the familiar prickle of magical energy nearby. She ducked her head down, making sure to stay well behind the cabinets as she moved to peer around the side.
She saw Saga first—strapped down to what appeared to be a medical table.
Careful observation of her form revealed she seemed to be unconscious—but breathing.
Above her head on the table sat a cauldron aflame with small pieces of wood, and dried herbs, slowly burning away and filling the air with the haze of smoke that had been building for quite some time.
Saga was alive, and relief swept over Avery.
Then she saw Bowen, standing over another table holding various jars and tools—and opposite that table was Eira Goff’s missing body.
Whether they were getting too close, or simply because Saga had walked into a trap, clearly he had decided he could no longer wait to perform the ritual.
Relief was fleeting, replaced by a cold fury within her. She gathered shadows to her from the cabinets. She’d never used it as a weapon before—she had never seen cause to try before. Her breath misted as her focus narrowed on the cause that stood before her now.
Bowen moved from the table, something silver catching the light in his hand—a scalpel.
Avery gave him no more time, the shadow flicking out from her hand like a whip. It struck the scalpel, sending it flying and clattering to the ground. “Do not touch her.” The words that growled out of her were so low they barely sounded like her voice.
The man looked up, shocked at first by the sound of another voice. “Who…?” He glanced at Saga on the table and understood exactly who Avery was. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“By the authority of the Winter Council.”
His eyes focused on the shadows that churned around Avery’s hand and his teeth ground together. “Well, this is unexpected indeed. I was under the impression Saoirse had kept her granddaughter out of this world.”
Avery drew all the power she could muster into her voice. “Step away from her. Now.” It was a desperate attempt but worth the chance it might at least cause him to hesitate.
He stared at her. “Are you here to arrest me?” He mocked.
“I’m here to stop you, Osian,” said Avery. “As far as I’m concerned, the method is up for debate.”
A disbelieving chuff escaped him. “You are not the first attack dog they’ve set on us over the years.” He turned abruptly and thrust out his hand, bringing it sharply back toward him in a beckoning gesture. “Dewch.”63
The sound of metal screeching across stone was the only warning Avery got before one of the great file cabinets slammed into her, knocking her down to the cold floor. Very cold. There were remnants of frost between the stones.
She barely rolled out of the way in time for it to fall onto the floor, the sound creating a deafening echo. “There are others on their way!” she called out, pushing herself to her feet.
The sound of slow approaching footsteps. “Then you’ll need to play the gentleman and die quickly so I can get on with it. Dewch.”
Another file cabinet knocked into her, this time falling on top of her, pinning her against the floor.
The world wavered. She felt sick. She could not pass out.
If she lost consciousness now, Saga was as good as dead.
“Please, Osian, don’t do this.” She tried to focus on the shadows, gathering them to her again.
“When my Mari got sick, I went to your council.” Osian Goff spat the word. “I begged them for help. Human medicine was ill-equipped to cure her, but our healers… They could have done something.”
Avery tried to move her arms. If she could gather sufficient umbra, she might be able to push the cabinet up enough to crawl out.
“But do you know what they said to me? They told me we can’t interfere with humanity—told me I had interfered enough—that my mere existence was proof of that.
They told me that one less human knowing about our world—forgive me, their world—was for the greater good.
They drove me to this. If they had helped me then I would never have found Campbell.
He failed Mari, but then again so did I.
I’ll be damned before both of us fail Eira too. ”
“I know how you feel,” Avery gasped as the shadow relieved some of the weight from her.
“You know nothing.”
“My mother was human,” she rasped, shifting enough to get one palm against the floor beneath her shoulder. “I’m a changeling too.”
“And yet you work for the council?” The disgust was apparent in his voice as the footsteps stopped next to her head. “You deserve to die.”
63 Welsh: “Come.”
It is important to remember that most magic is about intention rather than specific incantations, and as such, commanding objects to move may be done through a variety of languages and is in fact not a specifically Welsh talent.