Avery, oblivious to Saga’s quickened heartbeat and need to distance herself, merely nodded thoughtfully as she leaned back in her own seat. “I think so.”
Perhaps it was the need toseemnormal that kept Saga’s mouth spilling out ideas and information. “Of course, hemayjust use a glamour to hide it. Sounds simpler.”
“It’s possible,” said Avery noncommittally, watching the lights of the tunnel whoosh by through the window. “I’ll be sure to check and not assume I’m seeing anything for what it is.”
“What about what Reza does? The thing I’m not able to see. Does the hagstone help with that?”
Avery shook her head. “No. Shape-shifting is trickier to detect since it changes the actual form of a person. Though, if this condition is a mutation of the human genes like you said, he might not be able to actually change that part of him—assuming he can even shape-shift, that is. Despite the moniker, I don’t know any changelings that can manage it.” She twiddled her thumbs before asking in a softer voice, “Are you sure you don’t wantto come with me?”
“If I don’t get these photographs, it might be my murder you have to investigate next.”
Avery didn’t laugh, confused.
“Spoilers, it was my mother, in the hall with the candlestick. Though not the good candlesticks, mind you, those are aninvestment.”
The confusion didn’t depart, but Avery’s eyes slowly narrowed. “I feel like you’re referencing something.”
“Cluedo. It’s a parlor game, and it’s not important.” As they approached Knightsbridge Station, Saga handed Avery the paper with Benjamin’s address. “This is your stop. I’ll see you back at Baker Street?”
Avery hesitated, then nodded decisively. “I’ll call if I find anything.”
***
The walk from Holborn Station was a quick and rather beautiful one that took Saga through Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The largest public square in London, it was a sight to behold during most of the year. Saga fondly remembered spring picnics put on by the Sunday Assembly every year in spring or the bountiful color that splashed over the trees and grassy lawn if you managed to make it during the exact right week in October.
It was rather quiet now in the later afternoon. It was cold for late summer, and only a few others walked the grounds. Some wore suits—likely those who worked in the offices nearby, going for a walk with what little personal time they could spare themselves—but most looked like students, and there was even a small family of three.
Saga smiled, watching the mother and father bent over, carefully walking on either side of a rather determined toddler whose legs weren’t quite strong enough to fully carry him from one step to the other.
Saga passed the private gardens and at last reached the location simply known as Stone Buildings. Like many things in the city, they were constructed long ago. Sometime in the eighteenth century, if Saga had to guess. They were aptly named as they were constructed of stone. Part of Lincoln’sInn itself, the area was a strange mix of history and modern use—housing a few boutique law firms and organizations.
She found the office with relative ease. Like the others, it was made of old red brick and stone. She could see through the windowpanes that made up most of the tall black French doors, and a stone square with a numeral 8 inset was embedded on either side. A small black sign, hardly larger than a desk plate, to the left of the door simply read:Bowen & Associates LLP.
Saga checked her watch again—she’d made it almost exactly when she’d said, giving herself an entire half hour before Mr. Bowen had set to leave. She headed up the stoop and inside to a small foyer, which held two mailboxes: one for Bowen & Associates LLP, and one for simply R. Bowen. Did Mr. Bowen also live at 8 Stone Buildings?
She felt a slight nervous thrill, wondering what floor she would find him on specifically, and walked through the door leading to the lobby.
A young woman sitting at a reception desk smiled, a little relieved. “You must be Miss Trygg.” Her hair was pulled back in a simple but professional bun, and she wore a charcoal gray pencil skirt and blazer.
Saga blinked and looked around the otherwise empty office. “Yes?”
“Mr. Bowen said you’d be by, I can take you to him.” She stood, picking up her purse and holding a small ring of keys. “I’m Erika.”
“Saga.” She glanced meaningfully around the office. “Kind of empty for a Tuesday afternoon, isn’t it?”
Erika laughed as she led Saga back out the doors, flipping the light switch as she went. “Yes, well, we’re all going on a paid mini break for the next week courtesy of Mr. Bowen since we’ve all been working really hard on the Goff account. I’m not usually at the reception. I’m a paralegal, but our normal receptionist already went home, and I was assisting Mr. Bowen with some last-minute paperwork, so I offered to wait for you.” She was cheerful as she locked the main doors behind her. “Follow me, he’s just one floor up.”
Saga followed the woman through the door to the stairs, and as they climbed up one flight, she noticed this stairwell also led to a basement. “Isit really just this firm in here?”
“There’s a flat upstairs that’s not really part of us—I mean, Mr. Bowen keeps it for when he works really late nights, but obviously it’s not used by the company.”
“What about the basement?” asked Saga.
“Just archives. We have to keep records for at least ten years, and believe me, all that paperwork piles up.” She held open the door for Saga as they stepped onto the second floor. “I love your hair, by the way.”
“Oh.” Saga smiled sheepishly, touching one of the waves a little self-consciously. “Thank you.”
“I wish I could have a bright color like that, but unfortunately that’s not really an option.”
