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Having a familiar to guide her through those steps would be invaluable.

Saoirse’s—no, Audrey’s notes had called for cakes and wine for the ritual. That was common when working with spirits or even gods. A witch and spirit breaking bread together invoked the law of hospitality that protected both guest and host. A violation of this act of goodwill would give the offended party dominion over the offender. It was what even the fey called old magic, and it had been the only thing that had saved her life a month ago.

It would have been easy to simply buy the cakes, but Saga chose to bake them.

Spiced honey cake38 could be done quickly enough, and the process helped her feel connected to the work. A sort of primer. Something that might help marry the magic she knew to the magic she was attempting.

Honey was for abundance and prosperity; it was heralded as food for the gods, a natural bridge between the divine and Mundane. Bees were also specifically sacred to Brigid, and so it was not only a powerful spell component but a perfect offering as an acolyte of the goddess. For this reason Saga made a point to always have homemade spiced honey on hand.

Additionally, it was delicious and made her entire apartment smell like clove, cinnamon, and cardamom any time she made it.

Candles were set out in a circle on the floor according to Audrey’s diagrams: four colored candles corresponding to their elements placed by a compass and three white candles set between each to connect them to each other. She placed her cauldron and all other necessary materials inside the ring so she would have everything she needed—the warnings were very clear about not breaking the circle. One in particular read “DO NOT leave the circle until you’ve closed it” and “DO NOT” had been underlined thirteen times. So. Clearly that should be avoided.

It was the only part of this ritual she was feeling confident about. Which meant Riddle would be doing some heavy lifting during the rest of it. The trouble with magic was that it left little room for uncertainty, and the trouble with Saga was that she left room for little else.

“If you do not have order within yourself, it will consume and destroy you,” Saga reminded herself. It was one of the last things Saoirse had told her about magic. At the time it seemed overdramatic. Now standing outside the ring of candles, on the precipice of that danger, with a spell her mother had drafted, she hesitated.

She could not hesitate. Not with self-defense, and not with magic. She needed to be decisive. Nervousness, anxiety, these were natural, but she needed to be decisive. The knowledge would come with repetition as it had with schooling. And the confidence? That too would come in time. She hoped. “I think I’m ready.”

Riddle cocked his head to the side patiently.

Decisive. “I am ready,” clarified Saga.

Pleased with this adjustment, the cat nodded, and they stepped into the circle, sitting opposite each other with the cauldron between them.

Just like rituals at sabbats:39 Call the quarters, invoke the elements, draw the circle. She knew this. She didn’t need to be nervous.

Saga lit a small white taper with a match and used it to light the green candle in the circle around them. “I call to the Winter Court of the North, guardians of Earth, to strengthen this circle.” Then moving clockwise to the yellow candle, “I call to the Spring Court of the East, stewards of air, to grant this circle wisdom.” Continuing, she reached out to the South and asked the fires of the Summer Court to protect the circle, and finally she beseeched the Autumn Court in the West for their waters to cleanse the circle.

She’d spoken the words so many times, yet now those courts had new meaning. Now she knew they had territories on Earth and not just beyond the veil. Perhaps that was why she felt a prickling on her skin as she lit the gold and black candles on either side of the cauldron. “I call to the Court of Light and Shadow that turns the wheel of time and beseech you to bless and witness this circle.”

The twelve white candles situated in sets of threes around them lit themselves. First, the tea light to the right of the green pillar, then the one beside it, and so forth, like dominoes falling, the wicks caught flame of their own accord, whipping around her to close them in a complete circle of candlelight.

“The circle is cast.” Saga barely managed the words, eyes wide with wonder. Until that moment, it had been just like every other ritual she’d performed growing up. Had she imagined it? Had there been a breeze that had somehow made the flame jump from one wick to another? Her eyes found Riddle’s, and the cat trilled at her reassuringly.

She could do this. She was a Hudson witch. She was the most recent witch in a long line of witches. She was part of that legacy, and even if that legacy looked a little different than she used to believe, she knew she was not alone.

She took a large pinch of dried mugwort and sprinkled it on the charcoal disk in the cauldron. Mugwort to connect directly to the spirit world.

The immediate smell was earthy and herbaceous, but it quickly shifted to a more acrid aroma. It reminded Saga of cheap cannabis, but she tried to not make a face as the herb burned away.

Riddle looked equally displeased by the scent and shifted his shoulders in the best cat equivalent of “grin and bear it” Saga had ever seen.

“Do you enter this circle with love and trust?” Saga read the script from her mother’s notes.

The cat trilled and nodded his head in emphatic confirmation.

Saga could not help but smile. “Me too, sweet boy.” She separated two plates and cut a slice of honey cake in half to share and poured them each a small cup of wine. She’d soaked the lavender in the wine while the cake was baking. Lavender for devotion, and the promises they were about to make to each other. “We honor the old laws of bread and wine, shared between host and guest. I shall do no knowing harm to you, and you shall do none to me.” She extended a hand through the smoke of the mugwort, and he placed his paw gently in her palm. “With this pact our souls are knit. We shall be each other’s stewards and wards, equally responsible for the other. So shall our bond be until broken. May the realms witness our work, and these oaths we’ve spoken.”

The outside door opened and closed.

Saga’s head whipped to look toward the sound, every muscle in her body tense. Avery was home.

Hard-soled shoes made a muffled sound against the rug that lined the old hallway. She could hear Avery walking, a little slower than usual, until she reached the stairs.

On Avery’s first night in the old apartments, she had taken a great deal of time and care to ensure she knew exactly where to step on each stair to avoid making a noise. The ascent was always silent.

Tonight, Saga heard every one of them creak. Something was wrong.