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 isto make yousmile. 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 ofhelping.”
7It 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.
8The spell for Heartache Tea may be found on page 425.
9The 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.
Chapter 3
Avery
Avery didn’t use the word “perfect.”
A good cup of tea was a criminally rare luxury. Despite its place as a cornerstone of British cuisine, its preparation was often tainted by neglect. Before finding their way into someone’s home, leaves had to be carefully gathered and allowed to dry until they could be rolled without tearing the leaf. This determined the shape but also the tea’s flavor and aroma. They had to be kept in cool but humid rooms for nearly half a day before being dried fully to pause the oxidation. Errors in this process could end a good cup before it even started.
Then there were the dangers in brewing: poor-quality water, water at the wrong temperature that either scalds the leaves or is too tepid to bring out the full robust flavor, leaves steeped for too little time, or the most common: leaves that had been left to brew too long, leaving a bitter liquid not even a field of sugarcane could salvage.
This, however, might have been a perfect cup of tea.
It was smooth, exquisite, and rather than milk and sugar covering up any imperfections, they complemented the warmth of the cinnamon, clove, and ginger. Her fingers wrapped around the cup, and she allowed her face to hover over the steam, taking in the scent like one meditating over a hot spring.
No one, until they had proven themselves up to the task, was going to make her tea, exceptthatwoman. Saga. Certainly nottheSaga, but a Saga. A Hudson witch if there ever was one, judging by her knowledge ofherbal charms, and clearly of fey blood by her own admission10—though with every sip of tea came the sobering mental clarity that she hadn’t been able to get a terribly good look. Her hair and eyebrows had been pink, she remembered that.
Like the donut.
Avery glanced down at the confection and felt her mouth involuntarily tug again at a smile. She was still exhausted, in pain, and fully out of her depth in an unfamiliar London, but the kindness and hospitality she had been shown tinged the morning with hope.
Avery had nearly drained the entire contents of the teapot before noticing the clock on the wall.
