Page 16 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Do not look up. If you value your sanity, whatever you do, do not look up.

Saga had already experienced the iele’s hypnotic magic once before, and she’d nearly drowned in it. “I didn’t think it was a good idea.” Which was not entirely honest. There had been several moments over the past month where calling on Iona and her talent for revenge had seemed like a deeply satisfying idea, if not a good one. Like when she’d seen Hugh’s engagement announcement.

Don’t think of that. Not now. Not when Iona could practically smell that desire for vengeance on her. Saga did everything she could to think of anything else, but even still, the world was falling away. There was only the two of them standing in an abyss and that painful desire to reach out to take Iona’s hand. Was this how addicts felt? The irresistible pull to what you knew was self-destructive, but amid the warm delirium, you didn’t care?

“I’ve been waiting,” Iona prompted, pouted, drawing out each syllable in a longing whisper.

Saga’s chest ached to act and soothe that disappointment. It was a trick, that was all. Iele were like sirens, able to speak to that deepest desire in you if it tempted you to revenge. Even knowing it was bound to leave her hollowed out and empty after, Saga wanted to give in. She deserved to give in. To finally be seen by someone, heard—to not have to do everything herself and finally have someone else take care of her for once. And didn’t she long for that caress of moonlight?

Tentatively, she finally met the other woman’s eyes. Dark. Unnervingly dark. Why had she expected anything else? It was enough to startle her back into the present moment and remind her where she was. Carnaby Street. With friends. But the moment she remembered, she could feel Iona’s magic pluck at the edges of her perception once more, beckoning it to soften. Saga dug her nails into her palm, the sharp sensation rooting her to the now. Stay here. Stay present. “Did you…follow me here?”

Iona laughed, a melodic sound. She tucked a strand of hair behind Saga’s ear with the intimacy of a lover. “No, darling. I’m here for business. You are just an unexpected pleasure.”

Saga swallowed and dug her nails in deeper. It didn’t matter if she bled as long as she didn’t lose herself now.

“You still have my card?”

“I do.” The admission held the weight of a wedding vow.

Iona leaned in farther without actually closing the distance completely. The words were spoken so quietly, but they resonated over Saga’s lips and along her skin, goose bumps rising again in their wake. “I promise I’ll make you ecstatic you never had the chance to speak those words to Hugh.” She brushed the tip of her nose against Saga’s and stepped away, vanishing into the crowd.

Saga didn’t move. She barely dared to breathe. The sense of isolation began to dissipate, but it was replaced with a wash of loneliness. Everything seemed colder, harsher, darker. She ached to follow after Iona, but thankfully she’d lost sight of her.

“Saga?” Peregrine’s voice drew her back to the present. “What was that?”

“An entire novel’s worth of erotica somehow squeezed into a five-second conversation, that’s what that was,” Magdalena said, awed.

“Bloody hell, Saga, you’ve been holding out on us.” Darcy excitedly waved her hand, urging Saga to speak. “Who’s the stunner?”

Saga rubbed her temples, hoping she could massage this feeling away like a tension headache. “It’s not what you think.”

“Well, hang on, let me at least describe what I think,” joked Magdalena.

“It’s a business thing,” Saga insisted.

Darcy scoffed, not buying this excuse for a second. “Did you switch professions again without telling us?”

“Actually…” Saga hesitated. She had in fact nearly switched professions. She’d successfully helped bring a murderer to justice…for that magical society she still couldn’t bloody talk about. Ugh!

“You have to sleep with her,” said Peregrine seriously. “For me, at least. I will never see a woman like that in person again.”

“You work in television,” Darcy accused.

“I work for the news. You’ve seen what anchors look like,” Peregrine muttered.

“She doesn’t want to sleep with me.” Saga was massaging both temples now, refusing to meet any of their eyes. Her face felt hot.

“Trust me, Saga, she was looking at you like a meal to be devoured.” Darcy fanned herself theatrically.

From everything Saga had heard about how iele took their payment, Darcy wasn’t far off. “Yes, well, as it turns out that has more than one meaning.”

“That would be one hell of a revenge fuck, I’ll tell you that,” said Magdalena.

“Hugh Davenport could never!” Darcy cackled and the other two cheered.

A mix of embarrassment and smiles, Saga was ultimately saved by the hostess poking her head out and calling, “Chua, party of four?”

Inside the restaurant, dark-stained wood sprawled from wall to wall, with each table separated by plush rugs in various jewel tones. The main dining room catered to parties of four or smaller. It was not the sort of restaurant to push tables together. If you had a larger party, there was a banquet room that could be rented and sectioned off from the rest. By the sound of it, a birthday party occupied that banquet room now. Several tongue-in-cheek parodies of famous paintings hung on the wall, including a copy of Girl with a Pearl Earring in which the subject was holding a sign that read IF IT AIN’T BAROQUE, DON’T FIX IT.