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Evelyn shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

Aster shook her head, curls bouncing. “No, you said—”

“You’re an impossible person to be mad at, which makes it easier. He, on the other hand . . .” Evelyn gazed out her window, wondering where he’d gone.

“You care for him,” Aster said.

“That’s precisely the problem.” Evelyn hugged her arms around her waist. “I can’t care for him.”

“But you said he’s your fated,” Tovi reminded Evelyn. “You know that’s a huge deal. Prophecy aside, witches and werewolves can’t be fated. Or mates. But you are? Somehow?”

Evelyn’s soul twisted. “That doesn’t matter.” It felt wrong to say he wasn’t her fated. She knew it like she knew breathing.

Aster rounded the counter. “How can you say that? Fateds are rare. Precious. It’s a calling for your soul, self, and magic.”

“I’m well aware,” Evelyn said, her tone biting. She sighed, seeing hurt flash across Aster’s russet eyes. “My flame is gone, Aster. It leaves me from time to time.” She shook her head, feeling so tired of all of this.

Tovi took a tentative step toward her. “And you think he won’t care for you because of that?”

“What? No. If vampyrs learn that I’m not what the prophecy entailed, there would be war. I put Kade at risk, too. How could I possibly be any sort of partner to him when I have no control over my magic, like some witchling still in training?”

“Your magic isn’t the problem.”

Evelyn and Tovi turned to face Aster. She’d crossed her arms over her magenta turtleneck, eyes narrowed into angry slits.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Evelyn asked.

Aster shook her head. “You have no faith, no belief. Did you forget that you’re the one who destroyed the Crown of the Gray Wood? Evelyn, that crown was created with the darkest of magic. No witchling in training could defeat it.”

“That . . .” Evelyn shook her head. “That’s different.”

Aster appeared ready to pounce, and Evelyn took a step back. “How? Last time I checked, your flame didn’t decide to solve the murders. It didn’t figure out the connection to the witches’ creed. Damn dandelions, I even heard you barely used your magic at all to save Tessa from the Far Darrig. The problem is that you think you’re nothing without your magic, but in fact your magic would be nothing without you.”

Evelyn balked. Aster’s words tried to sink in, but all her life, she’d been told she was nothing without her flame.

“Aster . . . has anyone ever told you that you’re frightening when mad?” Tovi asked, jade eyes wide.

Evelyn held her palms up. “Aster—”

A bang on the door interrupted them.

“Miss Ferriwether, it’s Commissioner Doyle.”

They all shared a concerned look. His arrival usually meant bad news. Evelyn answered the door, and Commissioner Doyle entered with a sad expression. Evelyn noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t appear to be getting much sleep. Worry wafted off him in waves.

“Don’t tell us there’s been another murder,” Aster whispered.

“Aye, I’m sad to tell you there is,” Commissioner Doyle said.

He explained about Sheila O’Brien. She’d gone for a ride on her family’s horse, something she liked to do in the evening light over the hills of Callum. After she didn’t come home, her family and friends found her body still atop her horse’s back, sitting upright, hands on the reins, but without her head.

“She wasn’t drained of blood,” Commissioner Doyle said. “No blue skin or bite marks either, but the missing head fits.”

Aster slumped into a chair at Evelyn’s kitchen table, while Evelyn leaned against her counter, arms crossed. Tovi joined her, planting a hand on her shoulder.

Another murder, another young woman, and another missing body part.

Minds open.