Page 38 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“No?”

“Am I supposed to help you carry all these?” Esteri assessed the fifty volumes.

“It would be a difficult task to accomplish on my own.”

“If you’ve checked out too many,” Susan mused, “I would be happy to check a few back in until next time.”

Avery looked back to Esteri desperately. “Please, Essi,” she whispered. “We can’t let her win.”

“And you called me ridiculous,” Esteri pointed out. She frowned at the five piles of ten books each. “Why did you get fifty?”

“I was told the limit was fifty.” Avery shot a suspicious glance at Susan. “Is it not?”

“Remarkably, Avery, that question was not meant to suggest you did not have enough.” Esteri smiled at the librarian. “I am going to purchase a few totes from the library store. I apologize for the inconvenience; I will be but a moment.”

“Take your time,” Susan smiled. “Ms. Hemlock may stand by these, and I’ll have the excess reshelved.”

Avery waited for Esteri to be out of earshot before speaking up once more. “It’s Detective Hemlock, actually.”

“Oh?” The librarian’s voice was strained as she’d clearly been hoping their conversation had come to an end. “What exactly do you detect?”

“Murder.” She was posturing now.

“Really? Do you detect one about to happen now?” asked Susan.

Avery scowled and reveled in a plan to return the books in precisely twenty-two days.

21Tulikettu, or the fire fox, though capable of shape-shifting, naturally look like an arctic fox with a tail made of aurora fire. It is said that this very fire brushing against the sky is what lit the northern lights, and a tulikettu will be the last creature to argue against that rumor.

One of the few Archfey able to travel across the veil without the assistance of a portal, it is common for this “I can go where I please” mindset to seep into other avenues. Though it would be inaccurate to describe an entire people as “waggish,” no fey records have ever documented a tulikettu holding any sort of position bound by a strict set of rules.

22Finnish colloquialism: A phrase to describe an incredibly grumpy person. Literally, “You are like a bear shot in the ass!”

Chapter 9 Saga

The number three had a way of getting in your head.

Apophenia, her professors had called it. The tendency to perceive meaningful connections where there may be none. The human brain craved understanding. When something happened three times, it usually shifted from coincidence to a pattern and became an anchor in an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable world.

In medicine, if her patient mentioned a strange but innocuous occurrence with their body three times, it stopped being an anomaly and required investigation. In magic, to see something in threes was considered an omen. Past, present, future; maiden, mother, crone.

So, when she had the “I’m just not ready to go through Grandma’s things” conversation with her mother, one of her best friends, and then her aunt, all in two days… It seemed like Brigid might have been nudging her.

After she’d said her goodbyes to Leigh, she could feel the statue on the altar gazing at her. The Brigid that rested in the main room was simplistic, her face featureless, and yet the unspoken question it asked her was as loud as if it had been able to speak: “Will you ever be truly ready?”

No.

She hadn’t been ready to watch her grandmother die. She hadn’t been ready to bury her. She was never going to be ready to pack up her home. It felt like the final goodbye. She would no longer be able to pretend that her grandmother was still just across the street. That she was simply out of the house when she ran over. That the notes she would occasionally leave on the refrigerator were actually being seen by anyone…

In less than a month, it would be Samhain. What would she say about the town house then when Saoirse inevitably asked?

Thus the witch and her familiar-to-be found themselves across the street, staring at the door they both used to call home.

The cat meowed curiously. Well?

“I’m doing it,” Saga grumbled as she proceeded to not do anything but fidget. She could do this. It was just a door. A door to a house. A house full of stuff. That was all it was. Stuff. She unlocked it and pushed it open.

Riddle immediately trilled, triumphantly trotting inside with his tail in a perfect question mark, happy to be back. She could understand. The town house was certainly more spacious than her small one-bedroom.