Page 103 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“That was the feeling I got from Patricia Aldridge every time I talked to her about getting her magic back. The kind of desperate that feels like…” Roxanne turned to illustrate clawlike fingers sinking into the air. “Like nails digging in. You’d think someone had taken away her baby the way she went on.” She unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. “She wasn’t sundered, wasn’t locked up, but to her, being bound was like it was worse. Still being able to sense and feel all that magic but not being able to access it, I guess.”

“I appreciate the insight,” said Avery.

“I don’t know how helpful it’ll be,” Roxanne admitted as she made her way to her desk. “I probably only saw a very specific shade of her. I mean, to get an appeal, I imagine you gotta be persistent, and… I suppose it’s not fair of me to say all that just because she made my life harder.”

And this girl thought she didn’t have it in her to be a Mercy. “I value your opinion.”

Roxanne smiled shyly and opened one of the drawers, picking through the file tabs. She produced two. One was relatively thin and ordinary, the other was a court report. The girl hugged them to her chest a moment. “May I give my opinion on something else, then?”

Avery’s brow furrowed. “You may.”

“Your partner—the one I met the other day?” Roxanne reluctantly released the folders to hold them reverently out to her. “She should see this.”

“It was my intention to share it with her once I had figured out what there was to share,” Avery said, reaching to take the files, but Roxanne clamped a hand over hers.

“No,” the girl said firmly. “If you care about her at all, you will tell her you have this.”

Avery looked down at the report that rested on the top of the pile and met Roxanne’s eyes. “You saw it?”

“It’s an assistant’s job to review all files that come through the office,” the young girl asserted defensively. “Whether it’s a request or part of a case, I have to take notes on it.” Realizing she wasn’t being accused of anything unethical, she relaxed. “But I think it should be her decision if you see it too.”

“I thought these were public record.”

“Does she know that?”

Avery’s chest ached.

“Does she even know you’re looking into this?” Roxanne’s hands recoiled hesitantly, like she was resisting the urge to snatch the report out of Avery’s hands once more. “If it were me,” she added quietly, “I’d want to know.”

Avery had never been a creature of vice. Her most damning foible was perhaps her particular tastes—especially her taste in tea. Yet, if curiosity could be labeled as a sin, with its own ring in Dante’s hell, Avery would have been condemned to it five days from her birth. Had she been presented with Christianity’s apple or Pandora’s box, she would have investigated every time without fail.

But there was a pain in Roxanne’s eyes that left the kind of cold discomfort that sank into her bones. She didn’t want to imagine if Saga could look at her that way. She took a deep breath and tucked both files under her arm. “All right,” she agreed. “I will not look at them without her permission.”

Roxanne’s form relaxed, but her sadness lingered. “You’re a good friend. Those are hard to come by.”

Chapter 27 Saga

The walk back to Baker Street could only be described as a trudge. She’d remembered the important things—her coat, the yearbooks, her purse—but forgotten her umbrella. Thankfully, the purse would shield its contents against the rain, and her arms wrapped around herself to hold the books safely beneath the wool of her coat. The self-soothing effect this had was an unexpected bonus. The cold was biting, but her extremities were too numb to shiver.

It would be good to see Riddle. Even if she was only able to ask yes or no questions, the familiar at least had done his best to inform her where her own family had failed. True, he was not bound by a geas, but why had they made such a vow to begin with? Was it the plan that one day Riddle would lead her to those boxes? But then, why had he been so hesitant to do so? Did they never intend for her to know? Would this have just been like the magic, never spoken of unless she brought it up first?

Riddle deserved better than living like a clever house cat. He was meant for a more complex life than a pet, and if she could give him that life, she was going to.

Stumbling inside, she stomped on the doormat and ran a hand along the sleeves of her coat. It wasn’t until she untucked the tote from beneath and set it on the floor that she noticed she had startled the poor boy.

Two too-wide gold eyes stared back at her from the plush armchair in the corner, midnight fur puffed up like he’d received an electric shock.

Saga smiled sheepishly and closed the door behind her far more gently. “It didn’t go great.”

Riddle trilled, concerned.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” said Saga. She dug into her purse to pull out the grimoire again. “You didn’t want Leigh to see this because it’s Mum’s, and you were worried she’d take it away, weren’t you?”

An affirmative meow.

That settled that. “Do you think you could walk me through the bonding ritual?”

Saga had been raised on magic—or at least, she had thought she had. She hadn’t believed in it any less than she did now, but since her discovery of the magical world last month, her perspective had shifted. There had always been prayers to Brigid, baking was done with intention, and herbal remedies enlisted whenever applicable. But the work was different when what had been a hypothetical, one-sided conversation with a supernatural being turned into something more akin to leaving a voicemail. The work was different when you realized something beyond belief might be at work when you gave a friend a cup of tea for heartbreak—shifting belief to practical application was another, and intimidating, matter entirely.