Page 32 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Her aunt’s eyes focused sharply, darting to Saga, then to Riddle and back again. She sucked her teeth and poured herself another cup of tea. When at last she spoke, it was in a careful and deliberate tone, like she was tiptoeing around something. “There are many sentences given by a magistrate if one of these laws is broken by a human witch, but there are two that are most common: a binding or a sundering.”

“As in binding someone’s magic so they can’t cast?”

Leigh nodded slowly. “When a witch is bound, they are no longer able to channel the magic around them. They are rendered Mundane. They can feel the life energy around them, but they cannot connect with it. They cannot manipulate it.” Her mouth contorted before she found her next words. “If a witch is sundered, they are severed completely from Faerie.”

“I’m not sure I understa—”

“It’s the difference between tying someone’s hands and cutting them off.” Leigh spat the words. “A fey can be bound and still go on, but if a fey was sundered, it would kill them, because they are pure magic. But since humans can survive it, they see no cruelty in it. Fey fear death above all else, Saga. They were never meant to die, and so an entire world designed to end confounds and terrifies them. What the courts of Faerie fail to understand is that to sunder a human does not stop their heart, but they do not live.” She sat back in her chair, the fire extinguishing in her. “It’s a numb existence, and I would not wish it on my worst enemy.”

Saga couldn’t even imagine Leigh having an enemy. Against her better judgment, her curiosity persisted. “Have you ever seen it happen? A sundering?”

Leigh’s eyes unfocused again as she took a sip of her tea. “Before I met Reza, I was part of a small coven, and one of them…” She shook off the memory. “Anyway, I haven’t done much spellwork since.”

What could they have possibly done? Leigh had met Reza at university—had she found her coven there as well? Saga thought better of prodding for specifics. If Leigh wanted to tell her—well, she very clearly did not want to tell her, by the way her mouth had clamped down and her arms and legs had crossed. It wasn’t worth pushing. “How old were you?”

“Young.” Leigh laughed bitterly and shook her head. “I think it broke your grandmother’s heart when I didn’t ever pick it up again. She wanted at least one of her children to carry on the Hudson legacy, but, honestly, Saga, after that day I lost the stomach for it. I guess it’s good you found us out.”

Saga frowned, stirring her tea. “So Mum didn’t ever take to it? Not even for a little bit?”

“You’ve met your mother.”

In her entire lifetime, Saga had never known her mother to so much as wish on a star or blow out birthday candles. Spellwork? Tarot? Saga laughed at the absurdity. Oil and water had a better chance of mixing than Audrey Hudson and the occult. “I can’t imagine her casting anything but a glare.”

Leigh smiled sympathetically. “Have you spoken to her lately?”

“I found her in Mamó’s town house yesterday, sorting through things to give away, to sell, or to toss.”

“No.”

“I stopped her,” Saga reassured, her mind drifting to the grimoire and Riddle’s warning. “But I imagine she’ll call soon enough about it.”

“Is she pressuring you?”

“No more than she does about every other aspect of my life.” Saga shrugged. She wasn’t sure why she felt the urge to fight for her mother’s approval when her mother wasn’t even in the room to give it. “She just thinks I should have already cleaned it out and I… I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe once Riddle and I are sorted, he can help me go through it all.”

Leigh reached into the tote bag she had brought with her. “Well, it seems appropriate you start with this.” She handed Saga a book.

It was bound with burgundy leather, and the gilded designs caught the light with every turn, but when she opened it, the untreated paper that made up its pages was completely blank. It looked like a newer version of the very book she’d found in Saoirse’s house. She looked curiously at Leigh.

“Every witch needs a grimoire.”

19These kind but often mischievous house spirits are roughly five to six inches tall and bring blessings to the household. If you’ve ever entered a house and immediately felt safe, you can be sure a happy nisse resides there. However, objects have been known to go missing from time to time if a nisse is displeased with the home’s residents. Typically this is the result of clutter getting out of hand, or if you spent all day baking a splendid pie and did not spare them a spoonful.

An apology and a sweet treat will mend the rift easily, and the impossible-to-find object will inevitably turn up on your coffee table as if you had not already checked it ten times.

20In approximately the second century, a druid by the name of Tertia Haig, third of her line but first in potions, poultices, and poisons, was renowned even outside her village for her healing power.

Regrettably, while her potions were incredibly potent and saved many lives, Tertia Haig was not a cook and may have not had properly functioning taste buds, if the flavor was anything to go by. Thus the adage was born and continued to persevere even long after Tertia.

Chapter 8 Avery

There had been a handful of cases since solving the murders that led to Osian Goff’s arrest. Nothing quite as interesting as that one, however. Avery might have even dared to call them petty crimes.

Now that she finally had a real case—a real challenge—things would be better. She just had to wait a day. That was why, she firmly told herself, she kept glancing at her phone. That was why, she insisted to no one in particular, she could count down to the minute the last time she’d felt that fire of excitement. That was why, and she would swear it under oath, she had called Esteri.