Leaning against the white marble desk, half sitting on the corner, was a woman draped in a white pantsuit. The oversized blazer remained open, matching the tailored wide-legged pants and stiletto heels. Beneath the blazer she wore a bandeau that left her collarbone as well as two inches of her toned stomach exposed. Her black hair was arranged into a French twist that allowed strands to fall attractively around her angular face. Her features were striking, her skin flawless, and her body language fell into a strangely natural S curve that emanated sexuality and confidence.
If the receptionist’s presence had made Saga self-conscious, Iona was a beacon of all the qualities she knew she’d never have. This woman was incomparable; she had no equal and she knew it.
Iona quirked a strong eyebrow as they entered, but Saga got the feeling she wasn’t being seen at that moment. “Avery Hemlock,” she purred; her Romanian accent rolling theroff her tongue. She stroked her fingers along her lapel flirtatiously. “Don’t tell me it’s been five hundred years already.”
Saga felt Avery tense beside her, and then the door closed behind both of them.
“Reduced sentence.” Avery’s voice sounded different. Monotone. It lacked the quiet power she’d heard so many times before and was completely devoid of its usual warmth. “Good behavior.”
Iona laughed. It was music. It pulled at Saga’s being, beckoning her closer. “I’d forgotten what a wretched liar you are.” With a smooth undulation, she slipped off the desk, slowly closing the distance between them. It reminded Saga of a cat stalking its prey. “But really, Hemlock…” There was something about the way she spoke the name that felt simultaneouslyintimate and demeaning. “Tricking your way into my office?” She tsked, the action causing her full lips to purse.
Saga couldn’t help but wonder how soft those lips were.
“All you had to do was call. Fates know I’ve missed our…” Iona’s tongue lightly slid along the edge of her teeth as she debated her choice of words. “Tête-à-têtes.”
Saga swallowed. She took a step away from Avery, uncomfortable with the thoughts stirring in her mind, as well as witnessing an interaction that felt far too intimate for her to see. Something felt wrong. Not her attraction to these women—Saga had felt attraction to women many times before—but rather the intensity of it. It didn’t feel natural. It was as if she was being fed the response by some unseen stage manager. What had Avery said? They left you addled.Addled.She had called Iona “the Addler.”
“It’s not a trick,” said Avery, clipped. The dismissive, unemotional tone helped ground Saga back in the moment. It made her more aware of how disconnected she was from those thoughts. “We’re here on official business.”
That’s right. They were.
“There have been two murders.”
Saga felt cold. These werenother thoughts. This wasmagic.She needed to stay present and not allow herself to be swept up in it.
“Saga’s guardian was one of those killed. I have reason to believe the murderer also violated the law of hospitality in order to achieve their goal. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I was wondering how you got past reception.” Only then did Iona’s eyes slide to Saga, and the energy of her presence somehow intensified. “Your scales are rathertilted.” The words sounded salacious.
“As I said, her guardian was one of the victims—”
“Your guardian?” Iona beckoned Saga to look at her, now ignoring Avery and taking slow steps toward her.
Every fiber of Saga’s being warned her not to meet this woman’s gaze. But the idea ofnotlooking at her felt like the sort of impertinence fey wouldpunish humans for in stories. Perhaps she could lookaboveIona’s eyes. Focus somewhere on her forehead. Reluctantly, she attempted to raise her gaze to somewhere safe.
She failed.
Saga’s sight was caught and pulled in like a magnet. She found herself staring back at the mesmerizing woman.
“Your mother? No.” Iona cut herself off as if she somehow found evidence against this assumption. “Yourgrandmother.”
Saga felt her eyes widen, but she couldn’t look away. She vaguely wondered if this was how shrimp felt before being devoured by a cuttlefish. Hypnotized and helpless.
“Yourmotherabandoned you,” said Iona as she continued to read Saga’s scales. She closed the distance between them, and her fingers curled around Saga’s shoulders. “Butthat’snot where you feel wronged, is it? You were a smart child—you quickly saw that decision was for the best. It hurt you. Deeply. You want her approval more than anything else in the world, you are desperate for it, but you do not feel wronged by her.”
“L-like Avery said,” Saga tried to explain. “My grandmother was murdered.”
“If you could look at these photos,” Avery began, but she sounded so far away. Muffled. As if Saga had stuck her head underwater.
Iona directly addressed Saga once more. “The law of hospitality once broken has a way of setting the scales aright on its own, you don’t need my help withthat.”
“I want to find her killer,” Saga insisted, but her voice sounded sluggish in her own ears.
Iona leaned down as if to kiss her. “Andyoudo not feel wronged by them. You miss her, you mourn her loss, but you feel disconnected from her death. They wrongedher, not you, and sothatis not what tips your scales, so…”
Saga’s mouth felt dry.
“Oh.” The iele’s expertly painted red mouth formed a perfect “O” before the corners pulled back into a Cheshire cat grin. “I see.” Her right hand slidfrom Saga’s shoulder to gently cup her chin. “Handsome, sure of himself,foolish.All men are, my dear, you needn’t blame yourself for this one…” She glided a thumb over the swell of Saga’s lower lip. “But you do.”
