Page 51 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

Avery

Avery and Reza followed the hearse out to Golders Green in North London. Harney & Jones Funeral Home and Crematorium sat on the edge of a large green estate, accompanied by a garden and cemetery.

They watched from the street at a safe distance, so as not to alert the driver of their presence.

After the pallbearers removed the casket and pushed it through the crematorium doors, Lahiri inquired, “How shall we do this, then? Do you have a plan?”

Avery waggled a hand back and forth. Calling it a “plan” was generous. That suggested more thought than she’d really given it. “Wait a few minutes, go in, and say we have a warrant to search Eira Goff’s casket.”

“We don’t have a warrant,” said Lahiri.

Avery opened the glove compartment in front of her and produced a small pamphlet on a preschool in the Primrose Hill area.

“We will in a few moments…” A little glamour and much like the little black notebook that served as a badge, this simple bit of paper would easily appear to be all the warrant they needed.

Understanding her meaning, he cleared his throat. “Avery, I work for Scotland Yard.”

“And the Winter Court.” When he didn’t answer, Avery appraised him in disbelief. “You cannot tell me this is the first time those two alliances have conflicted.”

Lahiri hesitated. “It’s…a delicate balance.”

Avery paused, thinking this over. “Could I clarify your objection and discomfort?”

“You may.”

“Are you uncomfortable with utilizing magic to obtain the information we’re looking for, or is it the concept of aligning your badge and the honor you associate with that with deceit?”

“The latter.”

“Does that discomfort extend to me?”

Lahiri shook his head. “You’re not a policeman.”

This puzzled Avery even further. “Indeed, but I do bandy about the title of inspector on the technicality that inspecting is what I do. While I try not to say it outright when possible, I have, and I allow people to assume I am part of Scotland Yard because that has its advantages. I have even on more than one occasion glamoured a notebook to appear as official identification.”

“I didn’t say you don’t pretend to be one. I said you aren’t one,” said Lahiri.

She blinked twice.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“My hesitation with this plan is not about mortal law, or even respecting mortal authority.” When Avery continued to look at him expectantly, he elaborated further.

“I remember my dida45 talking of the old ways and how since we’ve been cut off from Faerie, more and more they have withered.

Jinn are creatures of their word. Our promises, our contracts, verbal or otherwise—they mean something.

It is one of the many things that define us from mortal blood.

I took an oath when I joined the Metropolitan Police Service.

I stood before a magistrate and swore I would act ‘with fairness, integrity, diligence, and impartiality’…

” Lahiri trailed off, taking in Avery’s expression a moment before sighing and facing front again. “You think I am a fool.”

Avery had known quite a few constables in her time, Balaskas and his tendency to rush to the easiest and most convenient answer no matter the evidence to the contrary at the forefront of her mind.

She twisted in her seat so that she could face him more directly and placed her hand over her heart.

When she spoke it was deliberate and without jest. “Quite the contrary, Detective, I find you a rarity, and I am honored to know you.”

Surprised, Lahiri dared to look back at her.

“Does that oath compel you to stop me from entering with my aforementioned intent?”

He hesitated a moment before saying, “You didn’t take an oath of integrity, and to the best of my knowledge, you are acting to prevent future offenses against people and property.”

“I’m impersonating an officer of the law.”

“You’re an officer of a different kind of law,” said Lahiri. “Don’t argue too much with me about this, Hemlock, or I’ll change my mind.”

Avery turned to the mirror on the sun visor and focused on her reflection for a moment.

Glamours came easily enough, they barely took much thought.

Of course, it always helped to have some kind of image in mind.

And the image she conjured was that of Olivia Heilman.

When she looked back at Lahiri, his further bewilderment widened her grin.

“On second thought, I think I’ll be a bit less conspicuous like this.

The real Ms. Heilman should be running the lunch for at least another hour and a half.

” She replaced the packet in the glove compartment.

“So I won’t be needing this or any other faux trappings of legal authority.

Would you mind driving up and parking? I should be able to chase after them. ”

Lahiri did as requested and then quickly dug into his pocket. “Here.” he held out a small flat stone with a natural hole in the center. “Take this, just in case.”

Gratefully, Avery accepted the hagstone. “Brilliant. I’ll be as swift as possible.” She opened the car door and carefully climbed out. “Make yourself comfortable, and perhaps try to look less constable-like.” And with that, she jogged to where she’d seen the pallbearers vanish.

“Ms. Heilman,” the receptionist greeted in surprise as Avery came through the crematorium’s front doors. “Is something wrong? We weren’t expecting you back for at least two hours—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Avery said as Olivia Heilman, keeping her voice tight to indicate this was not entirely the truth. “Nothing will be wrong—a casket just came through, where did they take it?”

Confused, the woman pointed through one of the side doors. “You should be able to catch them, they’re just safely storing for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said the fake Olivia Heilman appreciatively.

Urgency and confidence were always far better lies than fanciful props anyway.

An object could and would be scrutinized, whereas invoking the somewhat innate desire to help someone in distress very rarely prompted unwanted questions.

She went through the doors and continued down the hall, paying close attention to the plaques above each door to know where she might be going.

But that was when she realized that a door beside the morgue had not fully closed. She opened it and found the two men lowering the casket by pulling the levers on the stand and slowly collapsing the legs.

“Gentlemen.” Avery cleared her throat. “Before Ms. Goff is prepared for tomorrow, could I have a moment alone?”

The two men stared at her, utterly baffled by this request.

“Mr. Bowen informed me of an item that should be given to Mr. Goff, and I fear out of misunderstanding it was placed in one of the deceased’s pockets.”

Understanding dawned on both men. “We can look for you if you like, Ms. Heilman. Lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to rifle through a dead woman’s pockets.”

“I must insist. I feel responsible.” The fake Olivia Heilman demurred with a tight smile.

Confused but obliging, the two men nodded and rose to their feet. “If you need any assistance, we’ll be just outside.”

“I’ll be but a moment.”

Once alone, she moved swiftly, kneeling by the casket and opening it.

Eira Goff lay inside as if she were asleep. It was strange. She was perfectly preserved. Why bother to go to such work if the casket were to be closed during the funeral? By all appearances, she seemed terrifyingly alive. As if merely fast asleep.

Curious, Avery reached in to touch Eira’s wrist. She expected it to be cold. It wasn’t. Her eyes widened and she felt for a pulse. None. Her right hand then rested over where Eira’s heart would be. Nothing.

No, this woman was dead—wasn’t she? Or was this the very sleeping curse Avery herself had once suffered?

She searched for binding at her wrists—none. At least none that could be seen by the naked eye. Avery reached into her pocket and produced the hagstone. She held it up to her eye like a monocle.

What she dreaded, what she feared she would see, was a woman enclosed in armor. The curse of eternal sleep and nightmares bound up its victims and gave the appearance of death. To some relief, that’s not what she saw when she gazed upon Eira Goff.

To a new horror, what she saw was not Eira Goff at all, but straw.

Straw that had been formed into a vaguely humanoid shape to make an impossibly large poppet.

That poppet had then been dressed in Eira’s clothing, and by the smell that intermingled in the wheat, sprayed with her perfume.

No magic glimmered around it save for the illusion which concealed its true appearance.

Where Eira Goff—or at least her body—was now was a completely new mystery, but inside the casket lay an empty, lifeless fetch.

It had been warm to the touch, but while it had been conjured, it had never been given animation—there was no need when imitating a dead body.

More questions filled Avery’s mind, but one among them had finally been answered.

Whoever was behind this was creating fetches, just as Bimo Shinwell had suggested.

Old magic. Banned magic. Someone powerful and educated.

There was a knock on the door, soft and cautious. “Ms. Heilman?”

Avery’s attention snapped back to the moment at hand. “One moment!” She dug into her pocket and drew out her cell phone. Could it take photographs the way Saga’s had? She cursed under her breath. She should have asked Lahiri before taking off.

She tapped on the phone and a light turned on.

Another quiet curse and frantic tap. She tapped another icon and a replication of the casket in front of her appeared on the small screen.

Her heart leapt. Was this it? Was this…?

She tapped the screen and something shifted, but she wasn’t sure if it took a photograph or not.

Another knock. “Ma’am, we’d be more than happy to help.”