“You said that about Oxford.”
The words were simple but pried at an old wound in Saga, and Riddle continued to yowl. He was getting louder too.
Saoirse flinched, wishing she’d chosen her words better. Though she continued, her tone was gentler. “You were convinced following in your father’s steps was going to help you feel whole, and where did that lead? Then the way you talked about marriage, or baking—Mo chailín, mo leanbh,26 you cannot approach magic with this same mercurial interest. It will tear you apart. Riddle, Cad tá ortsa, oraibhse?27 Calm down.”
Riddle had moved to Saoirse now, but he had not ceased his yowling, his tail bushy as it swished back and forth rapidly, agitated.
“I’m notmercurial,” Saga said, but she’d lost the power behind her voice. Perhaps her grandmother was right. “I’m just trying to figure myself out.”
“And until you do, this world is not for you. Magic is chaos incarnate. If you do not have order within yourself, it will consume and destroy you.”
“But therehasbeen something missing in my life.”
Saoirse reached a hand out to take Saga’s. “Listen to me: You do not find yourself with magic. You become yourself, and the magic finds you.” She patted her hand in a gentle but dismissive manner. “We will talk no more of this.” She glared down at the anxious cat. “Riddle! Please, stop this.” She winced, and her right hand moved to press against her left pectoral.
Saga’s eyes darted from this gesture to the cat, then back again. “Mamó? What’s going on?”
“It’s just the heartburn, petal. It’s making me a little dizzy.”
“That’s not a heartburn symptom…” Realization dawned, andsomething in her shifted. Suddenly she felt like she was back assisting in the ER as a calm washed over her. “Lie down on the floor?”
“What?”
“Please, Mamó. Don’t ask questions.” Saga stood and reached for the woman to support her weight as she helped her onto the ground.
“What is this? What are you doing?”
“I think you’re having a heart attack.” She reached into her pocket for her mobile and dialed 999.
“I’m not having a heart attack, I feel fine… I just…”
“Emergency Services, which do you require? Fire—”
“I need an ambulance.”
“Putting you through.”
Saga could hear the call connecting, and then another voice.“Where are you calling from?”
“228 Baker Street. Marylebone district, Westminster London. Patient is breathing and awake. Eighty-five years of age, displaying heart attack symptoms. Persistent chest pain, shortness of breath, sweating.”
“This is too much of a fuss,” whispered Saoirse.
“Are you with her now?”
“Yes. Same address. I’ve had her lie down.”
“Very good, ma’am. Please remain calm. Is this number good to reach you?”
“Yes.”
“We’re sending someone along.”
The call ended, and Saga moved immediately into the bathroom, fetching aspirin, then a glass of water. “This is going to be a little unpleasant, but I need you to chew this.”
Saoirse sluggishly shook her head, and her words were starting to slur together. “I’m fine, Saga, really. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Saga kneeled beside her and offered the pill. “It’s not for the pain, it’s to help reduce heart damage. It will keep your blood from clotting.”
