Page 75 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“Ah.” Damn English weather, it was impossible to tell if it was morning or afternoon with a gray sky. Avery stood awkwardly in the doorway and her stomach grumbled.

“I thought you might be hungry,” said Saga. “And I found some interesting things at the library today that we might want to…” She looked distracted as her focus shifted behind Avery to the room within.

“Something wrong?”

Saga shook her head. “I’ve just never seen the inside of your home. It’s lovely.”

There was a question in the air that was surprisingly loud despite Saga never asking it. She was meant to invite the other woman in. It was the polite thing to do, but since Avery had taken up residence, she’d not allowed anyone fully inside, and she felt at a crossroads. This was her space. She had very little in her life that was solely hers, and despite enjoying Saga’s company, part of her felt desperate to protect that.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

No! The knee-jerk thought felt like the petulant voice of a child unwilling to share toys. Avery took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped aside. “Of course.” It was temporary. This space was still hers, and her dominion, and therefore she had a say over who could enter or not.

“Where would you like this?” Saga gently lifted the tray, and Avery gestured to the small table that was covered with and surrounded by her library books.

“Let me clear some space.” Avery moved one of the stacks from the table to the bedroom and caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror. She did not typically see herself as a vain creature, but staring at her ghostly frame with her hair a bird’s nest of curls and her clothing rumpled from sleeping in a cemetery, she was suddenly self-conscious. She ran her fingers through her hair and then attempted to smooth down her shirt. Both efforts were rather fruitless. With a grumble, she pulled an azure brocade dressing gown from the chest at the base of the bed and threw it around herself untied. At least the fine fabric would distract from the wrinkles. When she emerged, Saga had moved the rest of the books out of the way and set down the tray of food.

“I’ve made a pot of tea as well. Would you like some?”

“Please,” Avery requested, taking a seat to examine the plate that had been prepared. She could identify the meat was a cut of fish, though it had been covered in a deep-purple sauce and topped with a slice of lemon and sprig of thyme. This motif was reflected in the asparagus to the side as well. “What did you make?”

“Baked salmon with a blackberry balsamic glaze,35 lemon, and thyme, and butter lemon asparagus.”

Avery’s mouth watered as she identified each scent as Saga described it. “Oh my…”

“My farfar believed salmon was one of the best foods when recovering from a hangover. He is very Norwegian. The glaze, however, should help restore any lingering grogginess.” Again, she smiled. “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

Avery watched her go with interest. If letting someone into her home meant being delivered perfect pots of tea and exquisite-smelling food, she would have to rethink her attitude on the matter. The salmon flaked off onto her fork, steam rising from it as she took her first bite.

The differences between the London she knew and the one she found herself in at present were vast and wide. They included mass public transportation, gathering energy through sunlight, rainfall, and wind, and the abundance of greenery planted in every available space outside, which conveniently eliminated the grime and soot that used to settle on every surface in the city. These were all impressive improvements from the London she’d known, but none so great as the introduction of complex flavors as England turned its empire toward trade rather than conquest.

When Saga returned, nearly half the fish had been devoured already. “How is it?”

“Bury me in this sauce.”

Saga cackled and set down a pot of tea and two cups with something tucked under her arm as she sat down across from Avery. She poured Avery’s first.

Avery watched Saga add both milk and sugar for her. Saga didn’t need to ask; she simply knew how Avery took her tea now. It was a touching familiarity. It felt like home. Saga felt like… Had she told her that?

Saga caught her staring as she handed over the cup. “Something wrong?”

Did one typically just ask if they’d openly been an idiot when in such a predicament? “Did I…” Avery tapped the tines of her fork on the top of the salmon nervously. “I hope my behavior was not too improper with you.”

There was a sadness in Saga’s eyes. “You don’t remember?”

“Flashes.” Avery winced. “I suspect I made a bit of a fool of myself.”

Saga shook her head. “Not at all, you were quite charming. Maybe a little silly at one point.” She paused in taking a sip of her tea. “But I liked it.”

“What did I say to you?”

“You mostly talked about your friends.” So, that was the source of sadness. “They sounded wonderful.”

Avery drowned the tight feeling in her throat with a deep swallow of tea. “They were.” Her brow furrowed. There had been music. Singing. Her face relaxed. “We sang for them.”

“You do remember.” Saga smiled.

“I do…” That must have stuck with her, even after Saga left. Why else would she, brain addled as it was, have wandered all the way to Highgate?