Page 99 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“Why didn’t either of you tell me?” It was hard not to feel betrayed. Saga’s own throat felt tight now.

“Reza didn’t know,” Leigh croaked.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” Leigh insisted. “Believe me, Saga, I wanted to tell you everything—especially after what happened to your grandmother—but… I made a promise.”

“To who?” But there was something in the way Leigh had said “promise” that made the pit in her stomach grow.

Leigh sobbed, turning her face into Reza to muffle the sound, still aware that a few floors up, River was sleeping.

“Please, Leigh, I have to know,” Saga begged in a whisper. “Why was this kept from me? Did Mum put you up to this?” She tried to avoid an accusation of lying. It would only make matters worse now and she didn’t want to cast blame, she just wanted to understand. “I get why the magic was kept a secret, but why this? What changed?”

Leigh’s breathing became ragged and she gripped Reza’s shoulder. Her body convulsed, and she flinched like she was attempting to keep down bile. At last she managed to gasp, “I can’t talk about it, Saga.”

This was familiar. This was too familiar. “Can’t talk about it because it’s too difficult emotionally or you literally cannot talk about it?”

Leigh’s form convulsed like one might retch, but it somehow seemed reversed—that something was pushing air or words back down her throat rather than something trying to rise up it.

Saga had seen Avery fight with every fiber of her being to say two words and even that had left her disoriented for over a day. “You made a geas with someone, didn’t you?”

Leigh’s eyes moved from the photograph of the woman with the fiery red hair and broad smile to the book in Saga’s hands.

Pieces fell into place, and though Saga could see them clearly, she struggled to make sense of them with her reality. “This isn’t Mamó’s grimoire, is it?” She didn’t dare speak above a whisper.

Leigh shook her head wordlessly.

The question, which seemed so obvious now, was one she dreaded asking. “You told me a witch in your coven was sundered…” Her throat felt like it was closing. She took a shaky breath. “Was that witch my mother?”

Leigh could neither nod nor shake her head—the geas likely prevented her from answering so directly. Her eyes were red and her cheeks tearstained as she reached a trembling hand toward the book. She looked at either side before finding the very back, where she stretched the binding enough to run her fingers along where the remnants of ripped pages remained close to the spine. The last visible page, though it had no instructions, merely a list of some ritual materials, contained a furiously scrawled title: Summoning the Dagda. “Do you know who this is?” she asked weakly.

It was a strange question. Her grandmother had been devoted to Brigid specifically, but the family had been raised knowing all the Tuatha Dé Danann.37 “The Dagda, Brigid’s father, a king among gods, his magic was said to reign over the life cycle of the world—the seasons, I think.”

Leigh smiled grimly. “And time itself.”

“What does this—”

“You asked me if anyone tried to contact your father when he died,” Leigh explained. She squeezed the grimoire like one might comfortingly tighten their grip on a hand before she released it to Saga.

Saga stared down at the page, allowing this to sink in. Her parents were married. Her mother was a witch. Her father died. Her mother tried to alter time to save him. The thoughts cycled through her mind but didn’t quite stick. The one thought that did register without issue, she whispered: “So you all lied to me. Again.”

“No,” Leigh pleaded. “No, there were things we couldn’t say, there were things we let you believe on your own, but we did our best to never actually lie to you.”

Saga’s anger simmered dangerously just beneath the surface. “I asked you. I asked you directly about Mum and magic, and—”

“And I never said she hadn’t dealt with it. All I did was remind you the kind of person your mother is today,” Leigh defended.

“You knew how I would take that!” The accusation was loud enough that it caused River to stir, her whimpering coming through the baby monitor.

“I’ll get her,” Reza offered quietly, taking the baby monitor. He hesitated, looking back at the two women helplessly before climbing the stairs to aid the one person he could.

When Saga spoke again, she managed a quieter and more measured tone. “Don’t pretend like that isn’t manipulating me, like it’s any less of a deception than saying it flat-out. That’s the kind of thing you pull in fairy tales, tricking fey queens or dragons. It’s not—” A sob choked her and she pushed past it, determined to say her piece. “It’s not what you tell your niece, whose only wish as a kid was to feel like she was part of a family.”

“You are part of the family.” Leigh stepped to embrace her.

“No.” Saga stopped her, holding her palm out between them. “You have no idea what it’s like growing up thinking you’re just someone’s problem. Thinking you were foisted off on your grandmother so your own mum didn’t have to deal with you.” She accusingly held up the photo of her parents when her mum was pregnant, her fingers trembling. “I wasn’t the result of one bad decision. I wasn’t a mistake, or an accident—I was wanted. Do you know what it would have meant to me to know that?” The tears were flowing down her face, but the anger only mounted in intensity the more Leigh tried to be gentle with her. “Do you?”

“We never meant to hurt you, Saga.”