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36Greek: Come to us.

Chapter 25 Saga

Confronting her relatives about a family secret as a way to deflect statements about her own irresponsible life choices seemed like a brilliant plan when Saga had first thought of it. In truth, the reason it had seemed like a brilliant plan was because she had given it that first thought and not a second more of consideration.

However, now on her walk through Regent’s Park, all she could do was consider it. That’s the difficulty with travel. When your body is crossing distances, the mind can’t help but attempt to mirror it. To get from 221A Baker Street to Leigh’s charming home on Chalcot Road, Saga had a choice between a thirty-four-minute walk or a thirty-three-minute bus ride, and even in inclement weather, she tended to choose the first.

Her umbrella shielding her from the rain above and her boots keeping her dry from puddles below, she was perfectly content and cozy in her cerulean peacoat. The abundance of stimuli outside her bubble further disconnected her from her surroundings rather than grounded her in them.

While she could not imagine the reasons her parents’ marriage had been kept a secret, exposing it was not likely to prompt a pleasant conversation. After all, she had been avoiding her mother’s calls for a week now in order to not have this exact discussion. Yet she’d deluded herself into thinking having it with Leigh and Reza would result in some sort of triumph.

Her pace slowed as she turned off the inner circle road onto the paved footpath. She’d tucked a few photos and one of the letters into the grimoire, which she’d safely stowed in her purse. She’d told herself it was because it was more pragmatic than tucking the entire box under her arm. But now, as reality loomed less than a mile away, she wondered if the real logic behind this decision might have been so she would have a way of backing out. It’s hard to not talk about something when you’ve brought proof of that something in a large and conspicuous shoebox.

Saga frowned. If Avery was managing to gird herself to speak with not only the half brother she hated, but a member of the very council that had ruthlessly imprisoned her, surely Saga could manage a simple conversation with her aunt and uncle. What was the worst they would do?

And even then, didn’t she have a right to know? They were her parents. How did the bubbly, bright-haired woman depicted in those pictures go from that to… Saga reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She’d avoided listening to the voicemail at the crime scene and afterward, had forgotten about it until this moment.

It was ten seconds long.

Bringing the phone to her ear, a deep sigh joined the chorus of the rain around her. “Stop acting like a child and return my calls.” That was it. A deep sigh and a single sentence. Yet despite its brevity, her heart ached.

“See,” she said to herself. “It can’t be worse than that.” That was true. Simply because as much as she loved Reza and Leigh, she would never feel the same need to seek their approval as she did from Audrey. It was there, of course, as much as she hated to admit it—that desire for validation was frustratingly present with any person Saga had respect for.

But she didn’t need it like the little girl inside her needed approval from her mother. It all made her so anxious.

This was why she had spent her morning sprawled out on her floor, studying her grandmother’s grimoire.

Legend told that Brigid was born at sunrise.

Perhaps for this reason, Saga often found more magic in the quiet hours before the world awoke than after they’d gone to sleep. She had made another batch of the cider to warm her bones against the storm outside and to encourage bravery in her own heart. She’d even whispered an incantation into the pot, stirring clockwise to draw in her intent. “No panic felt, no tears shed, courage true replaces dread.”

She had the fleeting thought at the time that, while she had her grandmother’s spells, she had only just begun using them, and it was possible she was going through the motions but not actually managing to weave the magic into them. Still, the drink had been delicious, and it had been a calming way to spend the morning.

Riddle had sat beside her as she paged through the protection spells, helpfully batting at pages, which Saga had taken to mean, “This is a good beginner spell, make a note for later.”

She’d wanted to take him with her, but given the rain and that they were still mostly on a yes-or-no-questions-only basis, he seemed more content to remain on the overstuffed armchair in Saga’s reading nook.

Passing the Princess of Wales, a gastropub practically glowing from the inside out, as she turned onto Chalcot Road, Saga paused with a new idea. On more than one occasion, when Leigh was too tired to make dinner, they’d met at the Princess. It wasn’t Hygge, but like most of London’s pubs, it had a warm and comfortable atmosphere, and more importantly, it had a full bar. If the dose of magical liquid courage hadn’t done its job, surely a shot or two from the pub would do.

It was the sort of thought your better senses have no intention of acting upon, but the temptation has you linger for a minute or two longer than you should. The rain hummed against the canopy above her, vibrating down the umbrella’s handle. Absently, her other hand reached to fiddle with the charms on her bracelet. Brigid the warrior, the poet, the smith, the healer, the dawn, and the life…

All will be well.

It was not so much a thought as a sense. If dread was a creeping, grasping thing, this was its counterpart. It was more than comfort. It was more than relief. It was a wash of sunlight. It was a knowledge, not a notion. She would get through this. It would be okay.

Saga turned down Chalcot Road and made her way to the familiar brightly colored homes that stood out even more against a dark granite sky. She knocked on the door and shook out the umbrella to leave on the stoop before Reza answered.

“You made it!” the man chimed, far more cheerful than he’d been the prior Friday. “So much for ‘sun’ day, eh? We were worried you were going to be carried away like Winnie-the-Pooh. You didn’t walk, did you?”

Saga preferred this side of Reza. It was silly, but it gave her a glimpse of what having an older brother—or even a father—might have been like. “Would have been more of a hassle to take the bus,” she answered.

“I thought they run every twelve minutes.” Reza took her coat and hung it on the rack by the door.

“Each one crowded with sopping wet people going much farther.” Saga instinctively raked her fingers through her fringe to separate any strands that clung together in the damp air.

“Fair point. Still, if it’s coming down like this, I’d be happy to give you a ride home after dinner. Especially, since these shouldn’t get wet.” He bent down to pick up a UCL tote bag to show her. “I trust you know what to do with them.”

Saga didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been potential evidence. “Yearbooks!”