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and holds it safe and still.

She waits until she’s needed,

then speaks it, as she will.

In the oldest stories, witch and owl are one,

two forms, a single soul.

What seems a parting is a pairing.

Each makes the other whole.

FROM THE LITTLE GLASS OWL’S BOOK OF LUCKY CHARMS AND AUSPICIOUS OMENS, COMPILED BY ELECTRA GLASS

THIRTY-THREE

A RELEASING RITUAL

On the morning of her thirty-third birthday, Tempest met Priya in the entry of the Mudpuddle.

She could see why Maida had hired her on the spot. Priya had done window displays for Owl’s and Tempest for years, and her talent was all over this room. The round table in the foyer was piled with books on Samhain lore, their spines facing out in a perfect fan. Witch hats of every size marched along the mantel between clusters of dried flowers and fat pillar candles. The fireplace had been transformed into a grotto of jack-o’-lanterns, their carved faces throwing warm light across the hearthrug, and garlands of dried orange slices and rosehips wound down the barley twist columns on either side. Potion bottles in amber and cobalt glass were arranged on every available surface. It smelled of cloves and beeswax and woodsmoke.

“The entrance to the Archives is at the end of the hallway.” Priya pointed toward the hall. “Did you want to stop in the cafe for anything before we head down?”

Tempest shook her head. She could feel the electric hum of the books all around her, the tomes stored in the Archives below creating a bass current that vibrated the floorboards. It was comforting and unsettling in equal measure. Was this what her life would be like now? Was this what it felt like to be a fully-fledged book witch?

She ran a finger over the smooth metal locket at her throat.

“Best to rip off the bandage,” she said, mostly to herself.

“We shall see!” Fortune’s voice was a whisper. She pressed close to Tempest’s ear and repeated it, then said nothing more. Through her thick sweater Tempest could feel the talons tightening on her shoulder. Fortune’s head looked swollen. Her gray feathers had gone bright and strange, glowing a luminous silvery white in the shadowed hallway.

“It’s going to be fine,” Priya said. “The others are already here.”

She guided Tempest down into the basement Archives, which were not at all what Tempest had imagined. The space was open and airy, with clerestory windows letting in thin autumn light and an enormous tank along one wall where colorful fish moved between ancient bottles. There were display cabinets and work surfaces, the kind meant for examining rare texts or small magical objects with care.

Maida was already there, sprinkling salt in a slow methodical circuit of the room. She glanced up when they entered, offered a warm smile, and returned to her work. She moved through her preparations efficiently, but it also seemed like her mind was elsewhere.

“The Archives have a much higher level of warding than anywhere else in Primrose Court,” she said. “This is my great aunt Minerva Lathrop. She ran the Mudpuddle for decades before me.” She gestured to a diminutive woman in her Samhain festival best who was setting a small basket on the counter.

“I’m a cheesemonger now.” Minerva patted the basket. “Much more savory!”

“And that is Lucretia Lathrop,” Maida continued, nodding toward the woman arranging brooms with practiced efficiency. “She runs the apothecary. And that’s Hildegarde Fish, over there in the beautiful sweater.”

At the far table, Hildegarde was spreading an oilcloth and lifting bottles and a plate from a picnic basket. The plate smelled of herring, and Fortune swiveled toward it with sudden attention.

“What’s all that for?” Tempest asked.

“Those are just snacks,” Priya said, catching Tempest’s expression.

Minerva pressed a small basket into Tempest’s hands. “Lemon drizzle biscuits and lavender tea, and a pot of soft farmer’s cheese with apricots for after. Releasing rituals do tend to leave one peckish.”

“And that’s Sara,” Priya added, nodding to a woman in a cardigan sitting quietly beside one of the worktables. “She owns the flower shop next to Dan’s Tavern.”

Sara looked up. “Oh, how do you know Dan?” Sara asked, studying Tempest with new interest.

“We’ve butted heads a few times on the trivia circuit,” Tempest admitted.