Page 64 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Mercy Radu, the woman she’d met on their arrival, had a meeting with them earlier, according to her assistant. “So, you’re a judge?”

A chuckle rumbled in their throat. “All sitting council members are.”

“How many council members are there?”

“Five.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“I enjoy work.” Fiore led her into a room just off the side from the lobby.

It was a room of doors, each fitted with a rotating mechanism that resembled a reveal wheel. Each turn of the dial appeared to select a new destination. Saga caught sight of doors currently set to Paris, Reykjavik, Dublin… “What is this room?”

“Department of Transportation. I am afraid it is quite literal.” Fiore stopped at the only door without the wheel mechanism. Instead it had a simple gold plate with Hygge’s logo engraved. They opened it with a flourish. “After you.”

The familiar sounds and smells of Hygge invited Saga in. The branches of the great oak tree at the center of the room stretched out along the ceiling, which had been enchanted to mimic the sky. The café sectioned off into the four seasons, and a quarter of the tree’s branches corresponded to each theme. The door from the Palace of Judication opened into the summer section of the establishment, and Saga had primarily spent her time in the colder seasons. It reminded her of an overgrown garden. The larger tables were sectioned off with small pergolas covered in mandevilla, clematis, and morning glory. The faint music of crickets chirped, and where the autumn section had falling leaves, summer had the illusion of fireflies flitting about from table to table.

“Over by the fireplace, I think,” said Fiore, leading the way around the large oak tree in the center of the great room to wander into the section designated for winter. The seating by the fireplace was already occupied, but an immaculately dressed dragon carrying a half-unconscious woman like a sack of potatoes was apparently even more effective to clear a seat than being pregnant on the tube. Fiore shifted Avery off their shoulder and half tossed her into an armchair.

Avery groaned, clutching her head between her hands. “Home?” The word was whimpered.

Saga dropped to her knees beside the chair. “We’re at Hygge.” Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. Her mother again. That certainly wasn’t a problem she was ready to deal with yet.

“Whozzat?”

“No one,” Saga fibbed, tossing her coat—and the phone with it—into the other chair. “Is this what you’re like when you’re drunk?”

“Heff we nuh been drinkin?”

Saga looked to Fiore. Was this really not cause for concern? If she wasn’t certain this was the result of some sort of magic, she would be rushing Avery to the hospital.

“What’s happened?” Esteri appeared at Fiore’s side. Something about them reminded Saga of flavor combinations that simply shouldn’t work but did. They could not have looked more different. Order and Chaos. The tightly buttoned and the free spirit. “Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine.” Fiore pressed a kiss to Esteri’s forehead. “Hemlock is under the influence of curse-induced intoxication. But some lavender may make things more tolerable for anyone who has to talk to her in the meantime.”

That sounded very bad to Saga. “Curse…?”

Esteri did not seem concerned. “I will get Avery the lavender, and the rest of us wine.”

“Aarre,33 I have to get back to…” Fiore sighed, watching her go.

“What is curse-induced intoxication, and why is no one concerned about it?” Saga demanded. “If I heard that in an ER, that seems like something you’d rush someone to the back for. She’s disoriented, her speech is slurred…”

“She weaseled her way around the confines of a geas.” Fiore helped Saga to her feet and sat her down in the chair opposite Avery. “It’s not a particularly intelligent thing to do, but I will begrudgingly admit it requires a great deal of willpower. These kinds of contracts are designed to protect themselves. I hope the information she gave you was worth it. She’ll be useless for the next twenty-four hours or so. A geas only kills you if you break it, so she’s out of the woods, but she will be infuriating during that time. Like a toddler on tequila.” They checked a very expensive-looking ornate gold pocket-watch.

“You don’t have to stay with us,” Saga said. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of more important things to do than babysit your…um…wife’s friend.”

Fiore smiled, but it seemed more to themselves than anything. “She really does have a type, doesn’t she?”

Saga blinked. “What?”

“It was truly a pleasure, Saga. I hope we speak again soon with less babysitting.”

Saga could only nod and mumble some sort of affirmation, but her mind was tripping over the dragon’s offhand comment as they made their exit. Did she mean Avery had a type or Esteri? There were undeniable similarities between Fiore and Avery. They were both simultaneously handsome and beautiful in that way that seemed entirely unfair to normal people. They both had a clear appreciation for fine clothing, though one had the means where the other did not to procure it more often. In personality, however… By Avery’s own account, Fiore represented nearly everything she despised.

Or had Fiore been talking about similarities between herself and Esteri? Saga’s cheeks felt warm. Was she Avery’s type? That couldn’t be right, Avery had been with Iona. Avery still very clearly had some kind of hang-up about Iona. But if that were true, then Esteri was also—was that why Fiore and Avery despised each other so much?

“Saga, have you ever been bread?” Avery’s voice dreamily inquired.