Page 65 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Surely, she had misheard.

“Excuse me? Have I ever been what?”

Avery frowned at her confusion and she shifted in her seat, leaning on the table between them. “The way you smell. The coffee and the honey and the spices… I think you would make such a good bread. You should be bread.” Eyelids heavy, her hands reached out toward Saga but contorted oddly in the air as if she were molding clay. “But then you wouldn’t have a nose. And you have such a good nose.”

Disoriented, yes. A little odd, absolutely. But this was not what Saga had been picturing when Fiore warned about a “toddler on tequila.” University had given her fill of that experience. This was much calmer…even sweet. “Thank you.”

“Sounds like the slurring is subsiding,” Esteri observed with a cheerful singsong. She set down a small cauldron with a charcoal briquette and some dried lavender beside it. “Burn this as needed, it will help her think a little straighter.”

“It will help her?”

Esteri snorted. “No, it is more for your benefit. Lavender will only treat a symptom. Temporary clarity. The intoxication must run its course, just like drink.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get her home like this.”

“She can sleep here,” Esteri offered. “It would not be the first time.” She set a warm mug of mulled wine on the table. “On the house. Whatever you need. And just let me know when you are heading home yourself.”

“Thank you.” Saga looked over her shoulder. “Um, your partner—”

“Already left. Such a party pooper.”

“Boooo,” jeered Avery.

The tulikettu looked at Avery and shook her head with a smile. She pinched some of the dried lavender and sprinkled it on top of the charcoal, sending a pleasant floral smoke into the air around them. “I am glad she has more friends again, Saga.” Esteri squeezed the other woman’s shoulder as she made her way back to the counter.

Avery smiled after her, folded her arms on the table, and rested her chin in them. “She is nice.”

“She is,” agreed Saga. She eyed her companion carefully for any changes in her behavior. How much clarity could the lavender provide? “Do you remember what happened?”

“When?”

“Before we got here. The bit about the sword?”

“Mmm. Yes.” Avery thought about it a moment more, then nodded to confirm that yes, she did in fact remember. “But I cannot tell you who gave it to me. I made a promise.” She illustrated this by miming a key to lock up her mouth.

Well. Clearly she didn’t remember that part. “That’s okay. Can you tell me anything else?”

“I worry he is not actually dead.”

That was unexpected. Saga wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that other than the obvious. “The Erlking?”

“Mm.”

“But you killed him.”

“I did.”

“You served time for killing him—you’re still serving time for killing him.”

Avery nodded. “This is also true.”

“Then why do you think he might be still alive?”

“I did not say that,” corrected Avery. She leaned a little toward the lavender and inhaled. She must have found it pleasant, because it brought a smile to her face. Then she frowned, possibly because she lost her train of thought and it took her several seconds to find it again. “What I said was, I was worried he is not actually dead, because gods do not like staying dead—which you’ll agree is not quite the same as being still alive.”

Saga was not confident she would agree with that. “Were you scared back then that you wouldn’t be able to kill him?”

“No one thought I would be able to kill him,” Avery said quietly. “I don’t think anyone had ever successfully killed a god before. Exiled, imprisoned, but killed? They’ve always come back…”