Saga’s throat felt tight again and she forced yet another tight fake smile. All she could manage was a whispered, “Hugh.”
Confused, Avery took a step back. “Me?” She’d misheard.
Saga quickly shook her head and cleared her throat. “No, not you,Hugh.” She wiped at her face again self-consciously. “My mother was just here, and that’s always emotionally taxing, but she also brought news of my ex-fiancé, Hugh.”
Realization dawned on Avery’s face, but she said nothing.
“Him, I suspect you’ve known about since…” She looked to the hand still holding Iona’s card and she laughed, holding it up.
A kind of panicked tension rippled through Avery that Saga had never seen before. Her voice was low, grave. “Saga, tell me you didn’t call her.”
“No! No, I was just…” She pocketed the card, feeling stupid and childish. “It fell out of my purse when I was getting something else, and then I got distracted with…”
“Do you…need to talk to someone?”
Saga tried to laugh it off unsuccessfully. “No, no, I’m good. Great, even.Fantastic.”
“You’re lying,” said Avery gently.
“Completely.”
Avery paused and pocketed her notebook. “May I come in?”
Wordlessly, Saga stepped aside, which was invitation enough. “We should talk about the case.”
“We will.” The half-fey closed the door behind them and led Saga to the comfortable armchair. “Sit. Do you have tea?”
Saga nodded numbly. “I was boiling water before my mother arrived. It should still be hot, the kettle keeps.”
Avery nodded and stepped into the kitchenette. “The tea?” she called behind her.
“There’s a cupboard to the right of the sink.”
“Strong?”
“Wake the Dead.”
“Sugar? Cream?”
“There’s a small bottle in the fridge, sugar jar near the kettle.”
It took perhaps five minutes for the tea to steep, but Avery had gathered everything onto a tea tray and brought it out to set it on the low table in the reading nook. “I hope it is up to your standards, I am afraid you have set the bar very high when it comes to brewing.”
Saga quickly removed the medical journals and books, stacking them to the side of the armchair and out of the way. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”
“Now,” Avery started, pouring them both a cup. “What’s happened with Hugh?”
Saga took her tea gratefully and pointed Avery to the newspaper lying open on the kitchen table. It was easier than forcing herself to explain everything.
Avery raised a quizzical white eyebrow and moved to retrieve it, her eyes scanning first over the picture, its caption, and then the body of the article. “Interesting. He’s betrothed yet again. Is that not quite soon?” She slowly walked back to the nook as she read.
Saga answered by downing the rest of her tea and pouring herself another cup.
“This article’s account of events differs greatly from Iona’s description.”
Saga exhaled through her nose forcefully but made no verbal comment.
Avery peered over the top of the newspaper at Saga with something akin to suspicion. “Iona cannot derive revenge from aperceivedslight, the scales she satisfies are more or less objective.”
