Page 35 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery

She had made a promise to herself that an electric lamp would be among her first purchases upon payment.

Not really for its convenience, but for the miraculous achievement it stood for.

Her only experience with electric light prior to this modern age had been glimpses of its potential through increasingly fascinating lectures at the Royal Institution by an exceptionally brilliant young human by the name of Humphry Davy.

She’d sat through more than one of his demonstrations, mesmerized by the ingenuity of human curiosity and the cultivation of its own magic: science. It was a magic that did not depend on drawing energies from the Otherworld but used the properties and mysteries of this one.

The “arc lamp” as he had called it in its first inception, had been a series of batteries, electrodes, and charcoal—nothing you’d trust the average person to have in their home.

If they’d been able to set it up and work it, it would have been impossible to leave it unattended.

Even in the homes of London’s most brilliant minds, it would have been a dangerous fire risk.

Yet now? In less than a week’s time, Avery had seen electric light utilized everywhere she went. Safely contained within glass, in multiple shapes and sizes, lighting homes, businesses—even the train! It was so exciting she’d allowed herself a daydream of having one of these lamps as her own.

It was a fond thought that continuously drifted to the forefront of her mind as she sat in the center of the round rug, surrounded by a circle of files and boxes.

Candles floated three feet above, supported by candelabra-like constructs woven from their own shadows.

The wax dripped and pooled harmlessly on the dark haze that had been given form and feature beyond its natural means.

This was Avery’s preferred method of working.

Not only was she able to move through the umbra constructs without worrying about knocking anything over, but by manipulating shadows to sift through evidence rather than using her own hands, she sidestepped any possible concern of contamination.

She had also found the mere act of drawing the shadows from the corners of the room to fulfill a different occupation allowed the firelight to travel farther and consequently used fewer candles.

Her own shadow extended beyond her fingers and reached into the box of clothes in front of her.

The dark silhouette of her hands unfolded each item and allowed her to examine it closely before refolding and setting aside.

This repeated several times. Part of her tried to reason that this box was clearly not relevant to the case based on this pattern and the remaining contents, but Avery could not stop.

The compulsion to be thorough, the risk of missing something drove her on to the bottom.

“What a surprise, nothing! My favorite,” Avery grumbled with a dismissive gesture that pushed it out of the circle and up against the wall.

Her arm stretched out to a faint penumbra, curled around the next box, and drew it in front of her to repeat the examination process.

This box was as unexciting as the last. A few books, clothes, a shoe that matched one from the other box—but beneath it all laid an odd accordion-like case.

Intrigued, Avery’s shadow lifted it to view. Constructed from some sort of hard paper—almost like the box it had been in—the case’s design vaguely resembled a doctor’s bag. She twirled her index finger, and the shadow unwound the string that held the flap shut.

Within, she found papers—no, files. All neatly labeled. And one with Eira Goff’s name.

Medical records.

There was too much she didn’t understand, including a diagnosis she wasn’t familiar with even if it had been established in her previous lifetime. She needed Saga.

Needed.

Avery scoffed and petulantly continued reading, relieved to find she was able to understand and confirm a history of cardiovascular disease, including two serious heart attacks: one a few years prior, the other a little more than two months ago.

Still, it wasn’t an absolution of foul play.

Staging a heart attack for someone with a history of these issues would certainly be one way to throw suspicion off the trail.

Though you’d need to be certain no one would look at the heart itself, which made her wonder what organ of Eira Goff’s might have been had taken. And more importantly, why.

She shuffled the boxes around again for a new one.

Another gesture and items lifted into the air in a haze of darkness.

More books, magazines—and a jewelry box.

She used one dark hand to pull the jewelry box close, and the other to send the rest of the items neatly back into the cardboard container.

The jewelry box was simple, and appeared to be made of wood but had been so heavily lacquered, it had lost any natural texture or energy.

The latch was relatively flimsy and held no lock.

Inside there was a tangle of chains in varied states of tarnish, a few discolored rings of cheap and flimsy metal, and one very out-of-place shining silver pendant necklace.

Untangled from the rest, its differences became even more apparent.

Unlike the other chains made in a simple cable pattern, this one was braided.

It thickened the necklace more than a single cable link, but as such it was stronger and smoother—far less likely to catch on anything.

The shining loop held a silver hawthorn leaf pendant, roughly five centimeters in length.

The shadow slipped over her hand like a glove, and Avery gently ran her fingertips over the leaf. It hummed with a familiar energy.

Protection magic.

This wasn’t a silver mold, but an actual hawthorn leaf dipped in silver, forged with care and magic that hinted at a skill both with jewelry making and magic itself.

Had Valentina made it? Or was it a gift?

And if it was a gift, from whom? “If she did make this, then our known victims are two potentially powerful witches with two vital organs missing.” She frowned at the jewelry box.

“And judging by the tangle of all of these, Valentina was likely not wearing it when she was initially attacked.”

Avery closed her eyes, bringing the memory of Rachel’s interview to the forefront of her mind. She struggled before she could see the girl clearly in front of her as she had before.

“She had to check that she locked the door. The door had to be locked. Something was out there. Was I safe? Did I have my keys, because she didn’t want to lock me out. Then it would sort of repeat all over again?”

Was it possible Valentina had some faint recollection of the ritual? Had something actually been outside her door, or was her mind beginning to cloud as the spell began to take hold?

The downstairs front door creaked open, and Avery sat up straighter.

The muffled sound of pocketing keys. There were a few beats of hesitation, then footsteps.

A man’s dress shoe. By the sound, the stride was long—a tall, well-dressed man then.

Then up the steps, finding every creak along the way.

Not Gideon, then. At her door, he paused longer than Avery cared to wait, and so she reached out; the shadows grasped the handle, turned it, and swung it inward.

“Good evening, Inspector,” Avery greeted, still sitting on the floor surrounded by evidence and candles floating atop a pale gloom.

Lahiri was surprised, then, upon seeing Avery, his attention immediately darted to the windows, all of which had the curtains drawn. He relaxed. While he may have respected or even liked Avery, he clearly did not trust her to act discreetly. “How did you know it was me?”

“Old buildings don’t keep many secrets. I could hear the keys when you came in, which rapidly narrowed who it could be.

Your niece lives below, and your wife owns the building.

Your footfall eliminated both women as they neither wear hard-soled shoes or possess the length of your stride. I take it you have the autopsy report?”

Lahiri untucked it from his arm and took a few steps inside to present it to the outstretched shadow hand. “I could have been someone who’d stolen the keys.”

“No one is easily stealing your keys, Inspector, and both your wife and niece were together at your home—not exactly a prime theft location. These factors aside, you have a very distinctive policeman’s walk…

” Avery’s voice trailed off with a heavy sigh as her attention skimmed the report.

“I do not believe I have ever been so disappointed with a correct hypothesis.”

“Heart stolen. More straw, oil, thyme, and a bunch of gobbledygook,” Reza confirmed.

“Leonurus cardiaca, Viola tricolor, Crataegus, Rosa rubiginosa…”

“Motherwort, violets, hawthorn, and roses,” Lahiri confirmed, and when Avery looked surprised, he laughed.

“Don’t be impressed, I asked the coroner.

The thyme, straw, and oil are the same, but the new herbs, or flowers, I guess I should say, all relate to plants commonly used for heart health. Magical and medicinal.”

Avery leaned forward at that last part. “Did Saga tell you that?”

“No. Should I have asked her?”

“No,” dismissed Avery, her attention returning to the report.

“It was probably best that you didn’t.” She could feel a pit in her stomach forming but did her best to ignore it.

She hadn’t spoken to Saga since they’d parted ways after Hygge.

While the woman hadn’t been determined to get away, the less-than-delicate reveal of Avery’s crimes and previous imprisonment had left their new partnership feeling tenuous at best. “How is she?” The words came softer than she would have liked, gentle and nervous.

Lahiri was candid. “Not well.”

Avery’s fingers tightened on the file, and the pit twisted inside her. “And your wife?”