Page 36 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

“As well as one can expect, I suppose. She was far more prepared for this day than Saga was—though no one can prepare you for murder…” He sighed. “Tell me you have a lead.”

“Many,” Avery answered. “Which is a great deal more than we had three days ago. Did you know Eira Goff well?”

He shook his head. “Saw her on some holidays, but we were never really social. You think all three deaths are related?”

“I think we have two mysterious deaths and the only link between them is a wealthy philanthropist who they each had close contact with before she died.” Avery shrugged. “Beyond that, I am still at a loss. Do you know if she had any connection to our world? Was she anything like your mother-in-law?”

Lahiri shook his head. “No, magic was never discussed or present when she was around. Though, I realize at family gatherings that could be because other people were around, but…” Another shake of the head. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Then I am afraid I’m going to have to accompany your family to that funeral.”

Lahiri shifted uncomfortably. “Won’t that draw attention?” Was he uncomfortable with running an investigation at the funeral? Or did this discomfort stem from the mere thought of Avery’s attendance at it?

“I am capable of being discreet,” Avery defended, then gestured at the shadow magic in full display all around her.

“This moment is a particularly poor example, so I would appreciate it if you struck it from any rebuttal you may have prepared.” With another gesture she sent the hawthorn necklace over to him in the palm of a shadow.

“Is this familiar by chance? Anything like it in your mother-in-law’s home? ”

Lahiri’s face crumpled, examining the piece but never touching it. At last he shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t a big jewelry person. Why?”

“It’s some kind of protective charm, very well crafted, actual hawthorn dipped in silver. I found it in Valentina LaRosa’s personal belongings.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Perhaps nothing,” Avery admitted, pulling the necklace back to rest on the rug beside her.

“But it takes great magical skill to create something like this, so I have to ask myself… Were our victims targeted because of who they were? Or possibly what they were? And is their personal connection a coincidence? Intentional? Or the link of how our killer found their next victim?”

“That’s a lot of heavy questions.”

“Indeed,” Avery said with an equally heavy sigh. “But eliminating them means we can finally find our motive. And if I can find the motive…I’ll be able to understand who thought these women had to die.” A thought occurred. “Did the tests come back on the garbage?”

“Paper in the back,” Lahiri said. “Digitalis purpurea.” The careful pronunciation of the scientific name gave the impression he had rehearsed it. “Foxglove.”

Avery frowned. “How was it administered?”

“Hard to tell through all the rubbish. We can safely say due to the distribution pattern it was likely through a liquid. The tea, possibly, maybe the milk.”

“Could it have been through wine?”

“I suppose, why do you ask?”

“Foxglove is bitter, sometimes a little spicy depending. Alcohol would have a better chance of concealing it.” Avery rubbed her face in thought. “But if someone spiked her drink, how? And when?”

“Would you like me to stay? We could bounce ideas off each other.”

“No. Your family needs you a great deal more tonight than I do. I will just be going through this and drawing what connections I can.”

The man nodded slowly, then hesitated. “About Saga…”

Avery’s attention jolted to him, perhaps a little too abruptly.

“I was appointed to help you through this case.”

Avery’s eyes narrowed. “I’m well aware of that, Inspector, and I am deeply grateful.” She didn’t like where this was going.

“But you’ve also been working with Saga, is that right?”

Avery’s jaw tightened. “Her knowledge has been invaluable.”

“She’s a civilian.”

“She’s brilliant,” Avery argued sharply.

“She is also completely in the dark about fey society—or was, prior to you, anyway.”

Avery took a deep breath, the rising defensive apprehension doused with guilt. “Yes, well… That was not an intentional revelation on my part, I assure you.”

Lahiri was conflicted. “It was inevitable, I suppose. I can’t imagine trying to explain to her what happened at Saoirse’s without being able to be honest, yet…”

Avery asked the question outright, there was too much dawdling. “Are you asking me to stay away from your niece, Inspector?”

The man’s expression dropped. “No. That’s not… I just… This is going to be a very emotional time for her—not just because of Saoirse’s death, but trying to take in all the new information. I’m just not sure involving her in the investigation is the best—”

“Respectfully, Inspector, I think it would be wise if you did not continue this particular line of conversation. I greatly admire your niece. While less-than-ideal scenarios brought her here, she is clever and charming, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to thus far enjoying her company.

” Avery set down the file. “However, neither of us have a say over what she chooses to do with her time. If she wishes to consult on the case, so long as she remains impartial, I will not reject her aid.”

Lahiri pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t you say it’s a conflict of interest at this point?”

“One might say the same for you now, Inspector.”

“Which is one of many reasons why I am not lead on this case. Saga is not with the police.”

“Which makes her an asset for infiltrating potential suspects, don’t you think? I believe we should leave that option up to her.”

There was logic in it, but he clearly didn’t like it. “She’s like a kid sister to me, Hemlock.”

Avery noted his shift in the formality of addressing her, as well as her own disappointment in hearing it. “And yet still very much an adult.”

A frustrated beat of silence. “Has anyone told you how irritating it is that you have a logical answer for everything?”

“My brother. At least three times an hour, should we both be unfortunate to coexist in the same ten-mile radius.”

Lahiri chuffed and turned to go, stopping to point to an envelope taped to the outside. “You do know there’s a note on your door, correct?”

Avery’s eyebrows raised. She had not known.

With a gesture, the shadows walked the candles with spiderlike limbs to their respective surfaces on tables and shelves.

Once in place, the shadows shrank beneath the candles, growing darker and smaller until they were once more mere insubstantial silhouettes.

The changeling planted her feet in their crossed position and stood with a turn before moving to examine the note herself.

For someone to place it, they would have had to get in through the front door.

They would have had to rise up the creaking stairs.

They would have had to bypass wards and her own detection.

And they had. Seamlessly and soundlessly.

The envelope was simple and nondescript. She took it off the door and opened it. Typed in a plain font, it read:

Highgate Cemetery West. 8 p.m. Irregular Mausoleum.

Avery frowned. “Do you have the time, Inspector?”

“About 5:30.”

“Did you drive here?”

“Of course.”

“Could I trouble you for a ride?”

Lahiri was understandably suspicious. “You’re not going to Highgate?”

Avery replaced the invitation in the envelope and slipped it into her interior chest pocket. “I have no intention of missing this appointment, and I imagine it will take me some time to find the correct mausoleum.”

“The cemetery will be closed by now.”

“That’s fine. Even preferable. I wasn’t exactly intending on asking for a tour.” Avery snapped her fingers, and the candles extinguished all at once.

“This note isn’t even signed.”

“It doesn’t need to be.”

“All the same, I think it would be best if I accompany you to this meeting.”

Avery smiled at him. Genuinely. Apprehension was etched into the inspector’s brow.

Regardless of what his opinion of her past actions might have been, or even how she had drawn his niece into the investigation, this man was sincerely anxious about her welfare, even if it was purely out of duty.

“Your concern is noted, but I will be fine. Though we should leave now. Finding a grave I’ve never been to even in broad daylight would take hours. We are losing sunlight.”

There are a handful of things people take for granted simply because they experience them so often they don’t notice their uniqueness.

For instance, the difference in perspective on a train or in the back seat of a town car is wildly different from that of a front passenger seat, perspective that Avery Hemlock had not at all been prepared for.

It was a comically tense twenty-minute drive from Baker Street to Highgate as every turn had the tall half-fey planting her hands and feet in odd positions as if she could push herself away from what appeared to be dangerously close objects to the car.

Being able to see the road ahead of them as they were actively in motion created a strange trepidation and sudden doubt in the mechanical contraption’s soundness.

It was only shortly before they arrived that she’d begun to acclimate to the process well enough that her muscles relaxed fully into the car seat.

“This is as close as I can take you,” Lahiri said. “I could try to throw the sirens, but I suspect that would cause you more problems.”

“That they would,” Avery agreed, smoothing down the front of her vest and shirt. “I’ll be able to manage from here, thank you.” She opened the car door to exit and was stopped by the seat belt she’d forgotten was on. The shakiness still subtly rattling her hands, she unbuckled and stepped out.

“Do you want me to wait?”

“No. I can find my own way home. And I’m worried your presence carries the sort of authority that might persuade them to not reveal themselves.”

“It doesn’t feel safe to leave you here alone. What even constitutes an irregular mausoleum anyway?”

“It’s not an adjective, Inspector,” Avery explained with reverence. “It is a name.”