Page 18 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery turned it back to face her and opened it once more to rescan over the coroner report. “Typical car crash bruising without a safety belt—only, it appears, that’s not what killed her. The medical examiner is convinced the bruises were all incurred postmortem.”

“She was dead before the crash?”

Avery nodded and took another bite of the pasty, watching Saga puzzle over this.

“Where was she driving when she crashed? And when exactly?”

Avery paused and flipped through the file to find the initial police report. “Into the gate around Trevor Square. By the noise complaints from the neighbors, they’re confident it was around three a.m. Monday morning.”

This clearly puzzled Saga more.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, my mother always insists on getting tea at Harrods when she’s in town—it’s about spitting distance from there.”

“There’s a teahouse in Knightsbridge?” Avery recalled the infamous “name without a town”22 best avoided due to its unsavory reputation that had begun to change rapidly in her last years before the curse.

Saga gave Avery a look that told her this poor reputation had been so altered, it was not even a distant memory to London’s current citizens. “There’s…a lot in Knightsbridge… What I don’t understand is what she was doing there at three a.m. on a Monday…”

Avery said nothing. Were it her time, she could think of quite a few illegal things that would bring someone to Knightsbridge at that hour, but clearly things had changed. It was better to ask questions and absorb than attempt to make her own conclusions at this point. “Is Monday significant?”

Saga nodded. “I mean, there are bars and clubs that are open late on the weekend, but most of them in that area aren’t even open on Sundays, and if they are, they close well before that, so why she’d be there as if she’d been out all night is…odd.”

“Medical examiner’s report said there was no alcohol in her system, either.”

Avery could see this only intrigued Saga more. The way her eyes ignited with a curiosity that was not discouraged by a dead end—but intrigued. “Toxicity report?”

“They tested for a few standard signs of common poisons or recreational drugs—nothing,” Avery repeated the findings in the report.

Saga squinted at the file, suspicious. “You don’t actually know the answer, right? This isn’t some logic puzzle you use to mess with people?”

“No.”

Satisfied, Saga grew silent, pink eyebrows knitting together in thought. “I think the missing piece is the brain.”

“Obviously.”

“No,” Saga shook her head. “I mean, I think how she died could be answered by her brain.” When this statement failed to get her point across, she elaborated. “What would someone even do with a human brain?”

There was a lot, an uncomfortable lot one could do with a human brain.

Curses, summonings, even food for various carnivorous beasts…

The black market for human organs among the fey had been abundant, difficult to find, and even harder to convict, though Avery knew this was the kind of knowledge privy to only convicts and those determined to catch them.

“What if someone’s trying to re-create Frankenstein’s monster?” Saga asked.

Avery hadn’t even considered that. Avery hadn’t wanted to consider that. “What are the magical properties of those herbs?”

“Oh,” Saga exhaled deeply. “I would have to reference my books, that’s less fresh in my mind.

Turmeric is for healing and vitality, but its golden color is also used for sun magic or prosperity, success.

There’s so many different uses for each, depending on what kind of spell it’s being used in, I’d have to do a lot more cross-referencing.

” She squinted suspiciously. “You do know the Frankenstein’s monster question was mostly a joke, right? ”

“Mostly. Frankenstein’s monster wasn’t brought to life by witchcraft,” Avery answered distractedly.

“I am merely collecting data, trying to understand the possibilities our suspect may have had at their disposal, regardless how improbable they may appear. Once we know all avenues the evidence might fit into, we may begin eliminating theories.”

Saga nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “It’s possible they weren’t taking it for any other purpose, so much as removing the evidence.”

That piqued Avery’s interest, “So you’re not suggesting organ theft, you’re suggesting…murder?”

“It’s a hypothesis,” Saga defended. “I’m just saying if you had a plan to kill someone, and the only evidence that linked you to the murder was in one part of the body—wouldn’t you want to get rid of that part?

” Her eyes drifted from Avery’s once more, losing confidence in the theory as she spoke it.

“Or, I don’t know… Maybe it was something like an aneurysm ruptured while she was driving.

” She shrugged noncommittally and leaned back, frustrated.

“But either way that doesn’t explain why anyone would replace the brain with a bunch of herbs! ”

Avery pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Or why no one noticed the skull had already been opened.” Glamours were surprisingly tricky.

It was one thing when a living creature with magic coursing through its veins disguised itself; after a while, that was as simple as breathing.

But to disguise something disconnected from yourself…

Even those far more experienced in the skill typically had to be within a certain radius to maintain the illusion.

“Unless it’s a matter of adding insult to injury,” Saga continued with a new idea.

“You said she was a nurse, right? Maybe someone wasn’t particularly pleased with their care—or the care of someone they cared about.

Elderly relative maybe? If she was giving these herbal remedies to one of her patients and they failed to work to someone’s satisfaction… ”

“You’re back to murder, then?” It wasn’t the worst theory, but murder meant motive, and if Saga’s theory held any water, it meant revenge was even more plausible.

It wasn’t the idea that Iona could be involved that unsettled Avery, it was the thought that she’d have to interrogate her.

It caused an involuntary shiver down her spine, and she took a final bite of the pasty.

Saga shrugged. “It just seems improbable you’d not just remove a brain but replace it with a bunch of gunk if the death was accidental. Something like this suggests deep psychological disturbance.”

Despite the penny dreadful–like nature of the hypothesis, in that, Saga had a point. Damn it. “Touché.” The resigned admission was muffled around the pasty.

“Were there any other markings by chance? Maybe a weird scar?”

Avery shook her head and produced one photo from the file. It was too close for anything brutal to be seen. All that was visible was the collarbone and just below it, showing a clear picture of the ink beneath the bruising. “Just a tattoo.” She handed the photo to Saga, who squinted at it.

“Rache ist…?”

“Revenge is sweet,” Avery translated helpfully as her companion stumbled over the pronunciation.

“In German? Was the victim German?”

“Curiously, no.” Avery shook her head. “It might be from a story, or a poem she liked, perhaps. I’m looking into it further, but to speak truthfully, it is unlikely it will be relevant to the case.”

Saga’s eyebrows raised after examining the photograph. “Unless you’ve already got a solid alibi for a Rachel, I’d say it’s very relevant.”

“Rachel?”

Saga leaned toward Avery again, placing the photograph between them.

“I worked in a dermatologist’s office for part of my foundation year, and we did tons of laser tattoo removal, so I got pretty familiar with how ink ages.

” Her fingertip lightly traced R-a-c-h. “See the ‘Rach’ of this is a slightly different shade than the rest? And you see this spidering on the other letters, the line work isn’t quite as neat.

Rach is a very common nickname for Rachel, and its placement over the heart suggests more than a platonic relationship with your victim.

Since the cover-up work isn’t nearly as neat, it’s likely not the same artist—which tells me not only did the relationship end, it ended poorly, and your victim was more concerned with hiding it than having it done well.

The brightness of the color shows it was a relatively recent breakup—two to three weeks, I’d guess.

There’s no redness, and it’s not flaking, but there’s a layer of dry skin over it that hasn’t exfoliated off yet, so it looks a little duller.

Considering most motives relate to lust, love, loathing, or loot… I’d wager Rach is your prime suspect.”

Avery stared. It was becoming a bad habit with this woman. She’d been chasing that feeling of connection and yet in its place found something far more valuable.

Saga shifted self-consciously. “What?”

The half-fey stumbled to find the words, her lips parting, then closing again. “I’ve never seen that from this side before,” she breathed. “The logical induction, it’s normally what I…” She laughed at herself. “I’m sorry, I must sound like such a fool, it’s just… That was beautiful to watch.”

Saga’s skin was perhaps too dark to betray a blush, but there was something about the way her body language shifted that suggested it all the same.

She hunched into herself, her fingers interlaced, her thumb stroked along her palm, and she bit her lower lip as if attempting to suppress a growing smile.

“I mean, it’s probably nothing, like you said—”

“No.” It was the first time Avery spoke firmly on the matter. “Don’t do that. It’s a strong lead.” She picked up the photograph. “One I didn’t have a minute ago.” And one that meant infinite trouble if it led to questioning Iona, but somehow that fact felt rather insignificant at present.

“You would have gotten there,” Saga assured quietly.

“I would have eventually,” Avery agreed.

“But I’m here now because of you.” In the past, she’d had little use for partners.

She’d had sources, and allies—the Irregulars, of course—but never someone to work directly beside her.

It was not about thinking she was above it or even about protecting someone from the dangers of investigating.

She’d simply never needed someone else and found her mind worked best in silence.

But this woman was different. Her mind wasn’t merely a flint to strike a torch against, but a blaze all her own.

Perhaps a little prone to the fantastical, but the fantastical was ultimately why Avery was here.

And while she was confident she would acclimate in time, time was not necessarily on her side when it came to solving this case.

But if she had a partner? Someone who could, temporarily if nothing else, fill the gaps? She spoke softly. “What are you doing after this?”

Saga matched her volume. “After…?”

“You said your shift was ending soon.”

“Oh.” Saga’s breath was shallow, uncertain. “No concrete plans, I suppose. Why?”

“I was going to investigate the victim’s home and talk to some of her neighbors. I think it would be invaluable if you’d come with me.”

There was an odd exhale as if Saga had been holding her breath, and then a long pause before the next inhalation as if the process had become suddenly foreign. “Seriously?”

“Did it sound like a joke?”

“Well. Maybe… I don’t really know how you… You really want my help?”

Avery swallowed. She did. She really did.

When she spoke, she kept both her volume and tone low.

“I don’t know how much your uncle told you, but I’ve been out of London for a while, and I’m struggling to acclimate at the pace I think this case demands.

I could use someone with your unique skill set. ”

“My incredible resemblance to a cupcake?”

The deflective levity was noted, but otherwise ignored by Avery.

“Our victim was not only found under unique medical circumstances but was in the medical profession. You have a plethora of inside knowledge but aren’t known to the area.

I could use a second pair of eyes; you’re incredibly perceptive and appear to have an above-average grasp on human behavior.

” She smiled genially. “And despite your strange impulse toward self-deprecating humor, you’re charming.

That’s not only helpful but also makes the more tedious work bearable. ”

Saga’s lips parted to speak, then she hesitated.

“I don’t know,” she said with a disbelieving laugh.

But everything about her posture and tone said she did know.

She was suppressing a smile, her eyes had drifted thoughtfully to the side the way they did when her mind was deep in thought, and she was leaning back playfully on her heels.

Avery leaned forward with a devilish grin. “Come on…” She coaxed. “What’s one more puzzle?”

Saga’s eyes crinkled. “Let me close out.”

20 William Feetham was a stove maker from Ludgate Hill in London, and it was he who patented the first known mechanical shower. In 1767 it utilized a hand pump to push the water into a vessel above the user’s head, wherein they would pull a chain to release the water down on top of them.

Unfortunately this design did not accommodate heated water and ultimately was counterproductive, as it recycled the same dirty water for every cycle.

Still, it would be the cornerstone for the contraption we know today, and we would all be better off thinking of our imperfect ideas as foundations for better ones than dismissing them as failures.

21 While the modern shower is indeed a marvel, Hudson’s was originally built in the eighteenth century, and there is only so much hot water these old buildings can supply when multiple taps are being utilized simultaneously.

22 When first named, Knightsbridge was a great title for an area hardly inhabited.

Then it was too inhabited by the wrong sorts of people.

While now one of the most affluent neighborhoods in London, through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it was a favorite haunt of villains, highwaymen, and rogues.

Though, depending, you may agree little has changed.