Page 61 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)

She’d addressed her inquiry to Saga, but the woman had not moved from the doorway.

Saga was staring past Lahiri, who had attempted to shield her from the sight and failed.

She was frozen and expressionless, not stoic but dissociated.

Avery had seen that look on her face once before—that morning outside of her grandmother’s home.

Numb, and a little ashen. It was a strange reaction to seeing a dead body for a doctor, even a young one.

Was she not used to cadavers? Perhaps it was the shock of seeing someone she’d recently seen alive so decidedly… not.

Avery returned her attention to the body. The coffin flies had found their way to him. They’d even had time to lay eggs. “He has been dead a little under two days.” She peered closer into the wounds, and winced. “And he’s been stuffed.”

Detective Lahiri’s upper lip curling ever so slightly in disgust. “Stuffed? More straw?”

Avery shook her head and pointed to one of the pages where distinct typography could be seen even beneath the layer of blood. “No, it appears to be some sort of documentation. A lot of it crumpled up.”

Lahiri pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll notify SOCO,59 they’ll need to collect evidence.”

“I’d prefer you hold off on calling anyone, if you please.

” Avery examined the doctor’s nails. “While our killer likely caught him by surprise, the old boy did manage to fight back a little.” She pointed to the dark line under the edge of his nails.

“Dirt—pretty uncommon for a doctor of his prestige, but a rather inevitable side effect of defending yourself. He might have scratched our murderer.”

“Scotland Yard should be notified,” insisted Lahiri.

“And indeed they shall be.” Avery pulled the hagstone from her pocket and examined the body. Even dried, the blood glimmered. It looked like gold flecks in the mud in this light. Glimmering with magic. “He’s one of ours.”

“Fey?”

“Blood confirms it. We’ll need to test to be sure, but… Were I a betting creature, I’d put my money on unicorn.”60

“Unicorn?” Saga echoed, incredulous.

“A being in a medical profession with the natural gift of healing and strong shape-shifting capabilities. Seems obvious now that it’s presented before me,” said Avery.

“Though the,” she pantomimed the knife in his forehead, “gave the me the idea, I must confess.” She shifted around the body, attempting to examine his forehead through the mess.

“I think we’ll find this blow was done postmortem to hide the remnants of the horn they took. ”

Lahiri turned away from Saga to peer where Avery was indicating. “In this form?”

“He may have partially shifted to heal himself or even as a form of defense,” answered Avery. “It’s also not uncommon for a shifter to revert near death. It’s the body’s last attempt at survival—it’s easier to heal your own physiology. I forget you primarily work in this field with Mundanes.”

“I’ll notify the magistrate,” said Lahiri. “We can’t risk Scotland Yard handling any of this evidence.” He stepped back into the hallway to make the call.

“Does this mean we were wrong?” Saga asked, before bringing her sleeve up to her nose and mouth again.

“No, I do believe this was the man performing the rituals.”

“Then who killed him?”

“Perhaps someone found out what he was doing before we did,” suggested Avery. “Though the simpler and more likely scenario is that our killer was eliminating a partner. I imagine that horn will come in handy for resurrection.”

“A partner?”

“Up until this point, every move was careful and calculated. The execution was disconnected—sterile even. This is a crime of passion: a kitchen knife is an improvised weapon, the number of stab wounds and imprecise manner suggests anger. If we find organs are missing, as I suspect beneath this mess we will, they were likely taken as an afterthought—just like the horn. Possibly because our second killer realized that without Doctor Campbell, their objective was going to be severely hindered. Which means our accomplice likely does not have the knowledge for medicine, Campbell’s gift for healing, or perhaps any natural magical talent at all.

” Avery moved to the refrigerator, pulling open the freezer.

“Icebox has been raided. Likely to try to keep the organs as fresh as possible.”

Saga shook her head. “If their goal remained the same—if this partner was still after organs to revive Eira—why did it come to this?”

“Things weren’t going according to plan, for starters. People died, remember?” Avery closed the freezer and crouched down to examine the floor. “For healing magic to be utilized, one has to firmly believe they are not causing harm.”

“So the solution is kill more?”

“Kill the problem,” said Avery simply.

“That doesn’t make sense to me,” said Saga.

Avery looked up from the pool of blood and gently prompted, “Have you ever snapped at a friend or family member while trying to organize a soiree of some sort?”

“I guess?”

“Imagine that party was illegal and involved life-threatening consequences. Then consider that you were assured that no one was going to be harmed in the process of throwing that party, only to discover your friend was very wrong.”

“I’d be horrified,” admitted Saga.

“Probably a little furious too. But now, thanks to your partner you’ve gone too far, you’re in it now—but you still need more organs to complete the process.”

“So you tell yourself it’s justified,” Lahiri scoffed, returning to the room. He pocketed his mobile once more. “They’re sending a team of our own for collection and cleanup. If they arrive before we’re finished they’ll stay out of your way until you’re ready.”

“Hm,” was the only acknowledgment Avery heard him at all.

She cocked her head to the side and pointed to a unique void in the pools on the floor.

“Here, you can see where someone might have stood. Next to a rectangular object of some sort.” Her brow furrowed.

“Impossible to tell foot size—they were well outside the edge.”

“Could be the tip of a woman’s shoe based on the shape,” offered Lahiri.

“There are a few high-end men’s styles that point similarly at the toe,” said Saga. “The rectangle could be a cooler or something similar to haul away the organs?”

Avery stood with a resolved sigh. “Saga?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to search the rest of the house for anything that might paint a clearer picture of what they were up to. Could you examine the body?”

“Me?”

“Nothing in-depth, just enough that we have a preliminary before the medical examiner does the whole formal process. This is our first violent crime of the case, and I would like to have an idea of what we are up against as soon as possible. The gloves are enough.”

Lahiri had that well-meaning but annoying look about him. “Hemlock, I think—”

“That you should assist her? Good, so do I. Wonderful to be on the same page,” Avery chirped and left the room before he could attempt to protest further.

For a doctor of great means, Alistair Campbell was a creature of limited taste.

Uncommon for the likes of an Archfey, let alone a unicorn.

Without overgeneralizing, as a people, they had a reputation for an eye for beautiful things.

Avery got the impression that someone else had chosen the trappings that filled this abode.

There was very little in the way of personal paraphernalia.

No photographs of family. Plants seemed to have been chosen based on their ability to survive neglect.

What few decorations lined the walls were color coordinated with the room they occupied. Mundane and mundane. Suspiciously so.

Avery employed the hagstone only to find the banal surroundings were not the result of a glamour. They were not a veil of tedium thrown over trappings of the Otherworld, they were real.

Simply put, it became plain to Avery that not only had Doctor Campbell hired someone else to decorate his home, but he personally spent very little time within it.

It was perhaps expected of a medical professional whose life was driven by loyalty to his patients.

Every inch from bath to boudoir was unremarkable and expertly cleaned if at all lived in.

Avery counted twenty rooms devoid of use in the great house: bathrooms that were regularly cleaned but with a stale scent rising from the drains that indicated they were never used, bedrooms dusted though the maid had given up on regularly changing the linens as they were never slept in, and the library full of books with uncracked spines.

In such disbelief at the absurd unblemished mediocrity, Avery had wedged the hagstone between her eyebrow and cheek, hoping to find one ounce of hidden magic.

And at last, her search reaped results.

A door, simple in appearance, visible in one eye but not the other.

As she approached it, she could feel the energy pulsing from it.

It wasn’t just hidden from sight—it was warded.

Rather clumsily too. Even without the hagstone, merely feeling the magic radiating from it would have given away its location to anyone sensitive to such energy.

While a remarkably talented healer, it was clear the man had no gift for hiding his other spell work.