“Fascinating,” Avery answered, distracted by the sheen of Saga’s painted lips. It made them look wet—like she’d just run her tongue over them. It was curious. Despite years of contending with the energies of Iona and fey like her, the small and innocuous act of Saga carefully applying her makeup captivated her more than any overt advance. It was not a salacious thought, not even a romantic one, really. But feeling genuinely taken by a simple aspect of someone’s beauty was a new sensation.
“We won’t need a chaperone, though,” said Saga. “That’s not really been a thing for… I honestly don’t know how long. A while. It’s never been in practice since I’ve been dating, anyway.”
It was such an odd slang for courtship; to refer to it as “dating” made little sense, but she wasn’t here to argue with modern linguistics. “Even better. I’d prefer to avoid involving your aunt if possible. I imagine this has been trying enough on her.” She paused and considered Saga, who had set one last compact on the small shelf by the mirror and was lightly patting on a rouge with a kind of brush. “How areyouhandling all of this?”
Saga spoke to Avery’s reflection in the mirror rather than making direct eye contact. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“That’s why I’m concerned,” Avery said.
Saga paused, her eyes drifting to the side in an unfocused manner that suggested she might be taking internal stock of herself. It was in those moments Avery thought she caught sight of a great sadness. “I think I’m disassociating.” It was a quiet admission. “To say this has been traumatic would probably be a ridiculous understatement.”
“Probably,” Avery agreed.
“But I need to do this.”
“You don’t,” Avery assured.
“You need my help.”
“I can manage.” Avery tentatively rested a hand on Saga’s shoulder. She surprised herself with the gesture, but tried to not draw too much attention to it. “I might need to ask a few questions now and then, but you don’t need to be this involved. I’d understand—especially after what happened at Reprise.”
“Iwantto do this. I want to know why they did it.”
“That won’t make her death any easier, Saga.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it will help me understand it. I know it won’t bring her back or really fix anything, but maybe having the full context of why someone thought she had to die will at least help me make sense of it.”
Avery peered at her. She knew Saga had taken Iona’s card, and while she also knew it was likely done so they could exit with haste, she had to ask. “No inclination toward revenge?”
“Not one, Iona.”
***
They could have taken the tube, but Lahiri had offered them a ride, and it seemed better for everyone to see them arrive as a group. Leigh Hudson had expressed her discomfort with questioning mourners, and Lahiri made a show of making Avery promise she would be discreet. They were not interrogating, they were surveying. Merely gathering information on both the attendees as well as Eira herself in her final days.
Even with all three reassuring her that the conversations would becarried out with the utmost respect, it still took most of the short drive to assuage Leigh’s reservations.
Fitzrovia Chapel was one of those strange locations in London you could go your whole life without knowing about, even if you passed it daily. Once the site of the Middlesex Hospital, it was a small, unassuming brick building surrounded by a grove of bloomless magnolia trees and bordered by office buildings.
As suspected, parking just outside of Pearson Square had been taken, but they’d found a spot on the street just one block over. The sky had been threatening rain all morning, but remained merely overcast and superficially blustery, causing the party to huddle together as they hurried out of the chill.
They ducked through the singular door behind two other mourners before they truly had a moment to take stock of their surroundings.
Over a dozen types of marble made up the floor, walls, and ceiling, crafted into mosaic borders, tiles, and even great pillars that supported the cloister vaulted ceilings. Cool gray daylight gave the stained glass windows that lined the hallway in front of them a soft glow and cast a shine along the golden mosaic ceiling that reflected even the smallest hint of light.
From their position in the entryway, Avery could see that directly down the hall was an altar, adorned with portraits and objects of sentimental importance to the deceased.
A woman with a clipboard and headset greeted them with a polite English smile. “Names?”
“Hudson,” Leigh answered for the group. “There should be four seats reserved for us.”
Avery noticed the way the woman’s voice tightened when she reached the word “four.” It was a reminder that while the number of their party had not changed, the members had. The seat Avery herself would be taking had been meant for Saoirse.
The woman found the name near the top of her list and crossed something out. “You will notice behind me in the alcove to your left, we dohave the casket present, but per the family’s request it will not be open for viewing. Following the ceremony, the family would like to invite everyone across the way to the Arber Garden for a small reception.”
“Will we not be following the hearse to the graveyard?” asked Saga.
“No ma’am, following the funeral, the body will be prepared for cremation.”
