Page 45 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery

Avery had fussed over her wardrobe. Most of it, thankfully, was funeral appropriate, but she had scrutinized the fabric of each piece to ensure neither time nor moths had marred it.

She’d opted for a black suit and gloves, which was tradition, but began doubting herself with each step she took down the stairs.

“Is this appropriate?” were the first words out of her mouth when Saga opened her door to her.

Saga took a step back to properly examine her. “I’d lose the jacket.”

Avery balked, horrified. “Lose the…”

“I don’t mean get rid of it permanently,” Saga defended quickly. “You just might not want to wear it to the funeral.”

“What’s wrong with my coat?” Avery smoothed down her lapels self-consciously. “I’ll have you know it was tailored by one of the best snips in London back in my day.”

“That’s exactly my point. It has tails, at best it looks like some kind of tuxedo, at worst like a costume.

It’s beautiful but might make you stick out too much, and you want to blend in.

” Saga, on the other hand, was still in some kind of pajama, her hair bundled around rods and tucked into a silk scarf.

“You look stunning, but it might be worth investing in something just a bit more modern.”

The word “stunning” was a balm to her ego, but Avery still found herself reluctantly shrugging off her coat. “Am I so far out of fashion? Will I shame you?”

“No!” Saga had undone the scarf and was unwinding her hair from the rods one by one. “I just mean… Maybe if we end up going undercover more often, you might want clothing from this century.”

There was logic in her words, but it still made Avery feel vaguely self-conscious.

She gently laid her coat on the back of the plush armchair and strode to examine herself in the decorative mirror near the door.

Perhaps the coat had been too much. She remembered the suit Reza had worn the day they met—or even Fiore’s.

Neither had a coat like this one. Modern suits often cut their coat hems at a uniform length, no tails at all.

She tugged at the plain black vest and scrutinized her cravat.

The white shirtsleeves felt too exposed. “What if I wore my overcoat?”

“If that makes you more comfortable, I think that could work.” Her hair now a bounce of ringlets, Saga moved back toward the bedroom. “I need to finish getting ready!”

Satisfied that her vest looked as presentable as possible, Avery considered her boots. Saga hadn’t said anything about her footwear, so she was hopeful that meant it was appropriate. She pursed her lips, wondering if she should call the woman out to look at her again, but decided against it.

At least her hair was cooperating. The curl in particular was rather pleasing.

When she’d cast her glamour that morning, she’d only had to change the shade rather than fight with the style.

There had been more than one frustrated occasion where Avery had trusted the illusion to hide her mess of untamed curls and simply hoped no one aimed a hagstone in her direction.

Now there was a thought. She pondered the coat on the chair. She could also glamour her coat, and that would solve any issues of looking out of time. She just had to know what to mimic. “Do you have any photographs of a modern suit?” She called back to Saga.

“What?”

“So I can mimic it. I need visual stimuli in order to pattern the illusion after it.”

“You want to use an illusion spell to make your coat look more modern?” Saga emerged, curious and altered.

The dress she’d chosen had a hem that stopped above the knees, and she’d pulled a black cardigan on as well to cover her shoulders.

She’d brushed out the ringlets, and now her hair fell in waves down her back.

Avery wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Saga’s hair unrestrained; it was full and beautiful, and oddly captivating the way it moved as she walked.

“It would be economical.” The idea felt far more silly now.

Vain. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Saga thinking she was vain… regardless how true it might have been.

“I could look for a picture.”

“No,” Avery dismissed. “Don’t trouble yourself. If you say I look well, then I believe you.” Even if it meant leaving one of her best coats behind.

“We should have some sort of cover story,” said Saga, joining Avery at the small mirror and raking her fingers through the fringe that draped just above her eyes and framed her face.

“You don’t think telling them you brought me because I’m investigating a series of murders and they’re all suspects will suffice?” asked Avery wryly.

Saga produced a small compact and proceeded to put a different finger into each of the four golden shades within it. She dabbed color on her eyelids quickly, smudging and blending them together with an artist’s hand. “No, I would wager no one will want to talk to either of us if we go that route.”

Avery shrugged. “We will simply say I am your escort.”

Saga’s face scrunched at this.

Had the suggestion been in poor taste? “Your aunt is going as well, correct? She could pose as our chaperone, if you like.”

“Oh, you mean you’d be my date.” There was such a sound of clarification in Saga’s voice, yet the word did not make sense to Avery in this context.

“I am not following.”

“You want us to pose as if we were a couple engaging in romantic courtship?” Saga brushed her eyelashes with some kind of black paint.

The design of the brush in particular caught Avery’s attention—she’d seen many makeup techniques, but she was far more used to Saga’s previous application method of merely utilizing the fingertips.

“Yes…” said Avery, intrigued by the convenient advances ingenuity had applied to even cosmetics.

“It seems the best way to avoid unnecessary questions. Unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course.”

Saga had now brought out what looked like some kind of lip pomade.

“No, of course not. Why would that make me uncomfortable?” She glided the stick over her lips carefully.

It did not shift the color much beyond giving the natural olive brown shade of her lips a more dusky rose complexion, as well as a soft sheen.

She pressed her lips together then allowed her face to relax before she reviewed her artistry with a critical eye.

“We should avoid the word ‘escort,’ though. It tends to have a more ‘I paid you to be here’ sort of connotation these days.”

“Fascinating,” Avery answered, distracted by the sheen of Saga’s painted lips.

It made them look wet—like she’d just run her tongue over them.

It was curious. Despite years of contending with the energies of Iona and fey like her, the small and innocuous act of Saga carefully applying her makeup captivated her more than any overt advance.

It was not a salacious thought, not even a romantic one, really.

But feeling genuinely taken by a simple aspect of someone’s beauty was a new sensation.

“We won’t need a chaperone, though,” said Saga. “That’s not really been a thing for… I honestly don’t know how long. A while. It’s never been in practice since I’ve been dating, anyway.”

It was such an odd slang for courtship; to refer to it as “dating” made little sense, but she wasn’t here to argue with modern linguistics.

“Even better. I’d prefer to avoid involving your aunt if possible.

I imagine this has been trying enough on her.

” She paused and considered Saga, who had set one last compact on the small shelf by the mirror and was lightly patting on a rouge with a kind of brush. “How are you handling all of this?”

Saga spoke to Avery’s reflection in the mirror rather than making direct eye contact. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“That’s why I’m concerned,” Avery said.

Saga paused, her eyes drifting to the side in an unfocused manner that suggested she might be taking internal stock of herself.

It was in those moments Avery thought she caught sight of a great sadness.

“I think I’m disassociating.” It was a quiet admission.

“To say this has been traumatic would probably be a ridiculous understatement.”

“Probably,” Avery agreed.

“But I need to do this.”

“You don’t,” Avery assured.

“You need my help.”

“I can manage.” Avery tentatively rested a hand on Saga’s shoulder.

She surprised herself with the gesture, but tried to not draw too much attention to it.

“I might need to ask a few questions now and then, but you don’t need to be this involved.

I’d understand—especially after what happened at Reprise. ”

“I want to do this. I want to know why they did it.”

“That won’t make her death any easier, Saga.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it will help me understand it. I know it won’t bring her back or really fix anything, but maybe having the full context of why someone thought she had to die will at least help me make sense of it.”

Avery peered at her. She knew Saga had taken Iona’s card, and while she also knew it was likely done so they could exit with haste, she had to ask. “No inclination toward revenge?”

“Not one, Iona.”

***

They could have taken the tube, but Lahiri had offered them a ride, and it seemed better for everyone to see them arrive as a group.

Leigh Hudson had expressed her discomfort with questioning mourners, and Lahiri made a show of making Avery promise she would be discreet.

They were not interrogating, they were surveying.

Merely gathering information on both the attendees as well as Eira herself in her final days.

Even with all three reassuring her that the conversations would be carried out with the utmost respect, it still took most of the short drive to assuage Leigh’s reservations.