Saga nodded but leaned toward Avery once they were out of earshot. “Closed casket, cremation… Call me paranoid, but I have a feeling something may be suspicious about that body…”
True to the event organizer’s word, a beautiful casket sat on a stand in the alcove to their left. It was surrounded by candles, including what appeared to be approximately forty-some votives on a stand in front of it.
After a quick count, Avery could see that the number of lit votives matched the number of current funeral attendees. A beautiful portrait of the woman she presumed to be Eira Goff sat on an easel beside the casket and votives.
She was a striking woman, with a strong bone structure and bright eyes accentuated by dark lush lashes. She had the regal air of a queen posing for a coronation painting, her white hair swept up off her neck elegantly. She wore a white lab coat over a cerulean dress. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of golden knot earring studs that matched the frame around the painting.
Avery liked Eira’s smile. She had a clever look about her.
Her companions lit their own votives before Lahiri took a step back and quietly made his way up the aisle of chairs toward the altar. Leigh and Saga stayed behind, and it wasn’t until Avery saw them take hands and light the fourth candle together that she understood what was happening.
“They’re together now,” Saga whispered, squeezing Leigh’s hand comfortingly.
Leigh audibly sniffed and carefully glided her fingertips beneath each eye so as to not smudge her makeup.
Avery took a step back from the two, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristicas the Hudson women said goodbye to two mother figures. Her eyes wandered to the rest of the congregation, catching sight of Lahiri shaking the hand of a man in his mid-forties. He was lightly tanned while his hair had gone prematurely salt-and-pepper gray. There was a familiarity between the two men but a distant one—they knew each other, but not well. Perhaps he was one of the family.
“Do you need help lighting a candle?” A voice asked beside her.
Avery startled and realized both Leigh and Saga had moved on, leaving her standing in front of the votives and holding up those behind her. She turned to the owner of the voice, staring eye to eye with a young man whose face was suspiciously symmetrical.
He had golden blond hair, warm caramel brown eyes, and a faint dusting of freckles that hit just across the bridge of his straight nose. He appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties, but he pitched his voice low, as if he was eager to appear older. “I don’t mean to interrupt. You just seem lost. I’d be honored to help a beautiful woman in need.”
Avery looked from the votive altar to the newcomer and shook her head with a tight smile, stepping to the side and out of the way of the mourners behind her. “It wouldn’t be right. I’m afraid I didn’t know her.” Realizing this was not the sort of thing a normal person said at funerals, she rapidly clarified. “I’m here as emotional support for…” She glanced around for Saga but had lost sight of her temporarily and finished her sentence clumsily with, “my date.” She prayed she’d at least used the term properly.
The golden boy affected surprise. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you came here with someone.” He followed her off to the side, surprise melting into sheepishness. “I thought you might be with the press.”
Avery quirked an eyebrow, but without Saga to guide her, she had to muddle through on her own. “The press” was likely shorthand for “printing press,” which likely meant this person thought she was some kind of journalist. “Why would you think that?”
“You would be surprised at some of the tricks they have pulled over theyears, I have no doubt one of themwilltry to sneak in. I knowevery faceon the guest list, yet I don’t recognizeyou.”
Avery’s brow relaxed, and her face fell into an easy smile at her good fortune. If he wasn’t lying, this could very well be a very useful person. “Avery.” She extended her hand.
He took it, but rather than the expected firm handshake, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Benjamin.”
It was an act that under normal circumstances would have caused Avery to pull away, but his forwardness and prolonged contact allowed her to feel for any residual traces of magic. Finding none, she pulled back as delicately as she could manage without looking uncomfortable. For now she would treat him as a Mundane with striking genetics. “Benjamin.” Avery repeated his name, maintaining eye contact. The coaxing magical melody of her voice wrapped around his name, and she began the process of beckoning the verbal floodgates to open. “Who are you that you know every face here, Benjamin? Security, perhaps?”
The young man grinned. “Oh, I like you, you’re funny.” It was not the response she expected, but she could tell by the way his voice had raised back to its natural octave, the spell was working. He was already feeling more comfortable around her. To her dismay, this meant he also looped his arm in hers in order to lead her away from the candles. “But you’re taking the play-dumb thing a little too far. Who did you convince to bring you along? Or more importantly, who do you work for?”
“Scotland Yard.” It was an easy and familiar lie.
Benjamin stopped walking immediately and Avery stumbled over her own feet. “You’re with the police?” His voice dropped down again. She was losing him. She had to remember most people didn’t find comfort in the company of law enforcement, even if they weren’t guilty of a crime.
“I’m with my date, Benjamin,” Avery reminded, trying to refocus the magic in her voice. Calming. Present. Trustworthy. “But you did ask my profession, and so I obliged.”
There was a mixture of emotions on his face. Discomfort was at theforefront, but it melted with a sudden realization. “Oh my God, so youdon’tactually know who I am?”
Avery attempted a charming smile through her own vexation at still being held on to by this stranger. Under most circumstances, with some few exceptions, Avery didn’t like being touched. Spending so long without it had only deepened that aversion. “I know your name is Benjamin.”
He smiled in a way that conveyed both relief and embarrassment simultaneously. “Call me Ben.” The offer of a nickname—her magic was working. “I’m—well, IwasEira’s confidant and companion before she died. And a whole lot more if you want to believe what they print in the papers.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t read about you,” admitted Avery.
He laughed, throwing his head back. “You know you might be the only one in all of London who hasn’t?”
Avery searched for a convincing plausible reason aside from the truth. “I’ve…been out of the country for a while. Moved back a few days ago to be home.”
“That is so goddamn refreshing, you know that?” His voice had returned again to its natural pitch. It was a symphonic tenor that skipped dramatically between high and low for emphasis like an actor’s might. “The tabloids were brutal about me, and crass. They hounded Eira and I, writing whatever whim or fancy came to them. Assaulted us with photographs—constantly trying to catch us in the act.”
