Page 74 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Something vibrated through the fabric of her coat. The sensation was still foreign, so she fumbled a moment, running her hands over her scarf and the coat’s inner lining before she thought to retrieve her phone from her pocket. Her list of contacts was admittedly small, but she was still surprised to see an unknown number illuminating the screen.

“Hello?”

“I heard you passed out in the palace hallway.” Gideon. How the dickens had Gideon gotten ahold of her—

Avery sighed, remembering who had given her the phone in the first place. The person she despised so intensely they were only second to Gideon. The person who knew how much it would infuriate her if they gave that number to Gideon. The very person who had likely informed Gideon of yesterday. “How is Fiore?” It was technically a question, but Avery’s tone conveyed a curse.

“Doing their job,” dismissed Gideon. “Are you all right?” It was also technically a question, but only a fool would have heard it as concern.

Avery knew what her brother was really asking was more along the lines of what the hell had she been doing lying on the palace floor. “Utterly brilliant, just catching up on those centuries of sleep without rest you gave me.”

A moment of silence. He was debating with himself. “They told me it was related to a geas.”

How? Avery could feel her footfall grow more forceful as her temper flared. How had she told? What had she told? Who had she told? It had been important. She had wanted to tell them, and if she had wanted to tell anyone anything, then it must have been Saga. Avery let her head fall back with a groan as realization dawned on her.

Saga, who was a doctor. Saga, who knew what happened to Avery was magical and had somehow been triggered by Avery speaking those words in answer to that question. Saga, who would have, assuming it had been Fiore who found them, relayed relevant information to the more knowledgeable party.

Avery cursed under her breath. She couldn’t fault her friend, but she was not pleased with this development.

“I am going to assume, given your visit to the vault and your tight-lipped nature during your trial—”

“Would we call that a trial?” Avery interjected.

“—that this is about the sword. I will not tempt fate by asking further about it now, but I do think it is time you and I talk.”

“I think it is time you walk off a bridge,” muttered Avery.

“Avery—”

“I am going into a tunnel.” She hung up. It felt childish, but she had heard the phrase used several times as a means to quickly hang up, so it was clearly effective. Even if it wasn’t going to be true for another five minutes. Surely, fate could forgive the lie. After all, to entertain a conversation with her brother the politician about a murder she had already been punished for while suffering through the agony of a magical hangover was far too cruel for a single morning.

She did, however, save Gideon’s number under the name “Stupid Face” to prevent herself from making the mistake of answering ever again.

When at last she was on the tube, she nursed the headache by methodically tending to pressure points. She massaged her temples with slow circular motions, allowing her eyes to fall into a soft focus and the train to rock her gently.

As she made her way from one platform to another to switch lines, “Stupid Face” attempted to call her again. She put the phone back in her pocket and let it ring. On the second train, she gently pressed her fingers into the inner corners of her brows.

She knew her headache was not tension related, but increasing the blood flow at least had the illusion of helping so that by the time she had returned to Apartment B, her own murderous urges had subsided and she was ready to start considering their suspects.

She had barely closed the door, thrown off her coat, and flopped onto her bed when she heard a knock.

“Avery?” It was Saga. “Are you home?”

Avery could say no. Well, no, she couldn’t say no, but she could say nothing and give the impression that the answer was no. Saga was wonderful, but this pillow was oh so lovely. So much better than a stone bench in a mausoleum.

“I brought you some food.”

The door was open. Avery didn’t remember opening the door, let alone standing to do so, but suddenly there she was.

And there Saga was, looking like a dream on the other side of the threshold, holding a wooden tray of divine-smelling food. Her hair was wavier than usual, some strands having taken a proper curl. “I called Esteri this morning and she told me you’d wandered off.”

“Ah, yes, well… I had to…see someone.” It occurred to her, through her friend’s kind expression, that something about her own appearance might make this story less believable.

Saga’s suspicion was not subtle. “Also, you left your necklace at Hygge…”

Avery’s hand slapped to her chest just below her collarbone before awkwardly feeling around for the chain she normally wore. It was indeed gone, which meant she had not only somehow walked to Highgate Cemetery without a glamour, but back again. Certainly something she would avoid mentioning to her brother, assuming Fiore hadn’t done so already. “I thought you were working this morning.”

“Avery, it’s almost five p.m.”