“She’s brilliant,” Avery argued sharply.
“She is also completely in the dark about fey society—or was, prior to you, anyway.”
Avery took a deep breath, the rising defensive apprehension doused with guilt. “Yes, well… That was not an intentional revelation on my part, I assure you.”
Lahiri was conflicted. “It was inevitable, I suppose. I can’t imagine trying to explain to her what happened at Saoirse’s without being able to be honest, yet…”
Avery asked the question outright, there was too much dawdling. “Are you asking me to stay away from your niece, Inspector?”
The man’s expression dropped. “No. That’s not… I just… This is going to be a very emotional time for her—not just because of Saoirse’s death, but trying to take in all the new information. I’m just not sure involving her in the investigation is the best—”
“Respectfully, Inspector, I think it would be wise if you did not continue this particular line of conversation. I greatly admire your niece. While less-than-ideal scenarios brought her here, she is clever and charming, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to thus far enjoying her company.” Avery set down the file. “However, neither of us have a say over what she chooses to do with her time. If she wishes to consult on the case, so long as she remains impartial, I will not reject her aid.”
Lahiri pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t you say it’s a conflict of interest at this point?”
“One might say the same for you now, Inspector.”
“Which is one of many reasons why I am not lead on this case. Saga is not with the police.”
“Which makes her an asset for infiltrating potential suspects, don’t you think? I believe we should leave that option up to her.”
There was logic in it, but he clearly didn’t like it. “She’s like a kid sister to me, Hemlock.”
Avery noted his shift in the formality of addressing her, as well as her own disappointment in hearing it. “And yet still very much an adult.”
A frustrated beat of silence. “Has anyone told you how irritating it is that you have a logical answer for everything?”
“My brother. At least three times an hour, should we both be unfortunate to coexist in the same ten-mile radius.”
Lahiri chuffed and turned to go, stopping to point to an envelope taped to the outside. “You do know there’s a note on your door, correct?”
Avery’s eyebrows raised. She hadnotknown. With a gesture, the shadows walked the candles with spiderlike limbs to their respective surfaces on tables and shelves. Once in place, the shadows shrank beneath the candles, growing darker and smaller until they were once more mere insubstantial silhouettes. The changeling planted her feet in their crossed position and stood with a turn before moving to examine the note herself. For someone to place it, they would have had to get in through the front door. They would have had to rise up the creaking stairs. They would have had to bypass wards and her own detection.
And they had. Seamlessly and soundlessly.
The envelope was simple and nondescript. She took it off the door and opened it. Typed in a plain font, it read:
Highgate Cemetery West. 8 p.m. Irregular Mausoleum.
Avery frowned. “Do you have the time, Inspector?”
“About 5:30.”
“Did you drive here?”
“Of course.”
“Could I trouble you for a ride?”
Lahiri was understandably suspicious. “You’re not going to Highgate?”
Avery replaced the invitation in the envelope and slipped it into her interior chest pocket. “I have no intention of missing this appointment, and I imagine it will take me some time to find the correct mausoleum.”
“The cemetery will be closed by now.”
“That’s fine. Even preferable. I wasn’t exactly intending on asking for a tour.” Avery snapped her fingers, and the candles extinguished all at once.
“This note isn’t even signed.”
