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“Or is Fiore merely annoyed by me?”

“Does it matter?” asked Saga.

“Incredibly,” asserted Avery. “In one scenario, I am a mosquito they are justified in swatting at. In the other, they are a pompous jackass jealous of my wit and good taste.”

“Those of course being the only options.”

“Invariably.” Avery held a sincere expression for approximately five seconds before grinning so widely her fangs were visible. “Do I annoy you?”

“Not at the moment.” But she didn’t trust that smile.

“Well then, it’s settled.” She smoothed down the front of her shirt and adjusted the royal-blue cravat about her neck. “Fiore merely has impeccably poor taste.” Avery frowned. “Except in fashion. And partners. And food…”

Saga’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Did you annoy them until they gave you what you wanted?”

“I’m rather peckish. Did you order already?”

“The seasonal spiced tea came highly recommended.”

“Excellent.” Avery shifted in her seat, kicking her long legs over the arm so that her boots dangled toward the fireplace.

“When do we interview Abigail?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. They’ll make sure everything is ready, we just need to drop Fiore’s name at Blackthorn’s front desk.” Avery sighed with the contentment of a cat that had just frayed someone’s last nerve as a means of winding down for bed. “We’ll see her after Patricia.”

41Also known as a high-wheel bicycle, the penny-farthing was invented by British engineer James Starley. It did not have the panache of marketing as the “hobbyhorse,” “velocipede,” or “boneshaker,” but it is considered the first really efficient bicycle, and what’s really more British than naming something very useful something very silly?

42Fly Catcher Spirits is a distillery specializing in a highly potent soju-style liquor. Despite its fey-ownership, it is distributed around the world to Magical and Mundane establishments alike. A practice that was jeopardized by a magical mishap, now only referred to among the fey as “the grapefruit incident.”

Chapter 32 Avery

When Avery, Saga, and Lahiri arrived the next morning, there was no Patricia to see. The door was locked, and the sentinels outside confirmed she hadn’t left. Upon entering the safe house, Avery recognized the uncomfortably familiar smell of death. Memories of their last case flooded back to her. Intending to interrogate Alistair Campbell about a series of murders, only to find he’d been murdered himself.

When they found Patricia Aldridge, she was lying in the bathroom, face down on the floor. Both Lahiri and Saga stared in a stunned silence that went on far too long for Avery’s comfort, so she broke it the only way she knew how. With ill-advised humor.

“Respectfully, Inspector, it may be wise not to bring you along to interrogate living suspects.”

When neither Saga nor Lahiri reacted to her joke, Avery elaborated. “First Doctor Campbell a month ago, now Ms. Aldridge. One more and I fear we will be exiting unfortunate coincidence and crossing over into the realm of ominous pattern.”

Again, her audience was disappointingly quiet.

“That was of course a joke. I was attempting to bring some levity to a rather upsetting development in our case…” Avery caught Saga’s subtle but disapproving headshake, and she coughed. “Which I see now is inappropriate.” She picked up Patricia Aldridge’s purse from the coffee table in the main room, finding a wallet, a second pair of glasses, and unidentifiable flotsam that suggested it had been some time since the bag had been cleaned. Yet, no keys. No hagstone.

“I can’t understand how they found her,” Lahiri admitted, stepping away from the bathroom as well.

“Can you not?” Avery didn’t particularly care for the word “can’t.” It was limiting and often used for extremely arbitrary reasons, if not self-imposed ones.

“No one knew she was here; she was moved yesterday.” Lahiri had begun to pace, and the theatrics of bewilderment irritated her. Even with the stupid little booties he’d insisted they all wear once they found the body, that sort of reckless movement was hazardous to trace evidence (if, unlike at the other two scenes, there was any to be found).

“No one? I requested it, Lord Blackthorn issued the order, I suspect a great deal of paperwork was drawn up so that it could be approved by at least two advocates and documented by their assistants. Without a doubt, as with all government work, there was a paper trail that would lead someone right to Patricia Aldridge.”

“In less than twenty-four hours?” He raised his voice now. Incredulity had a way of tweaking his pitch onto the sharper side, which made Avery wince.

She clung to a civil and unaffected tone. “I understand the satisfaction one derives from this sort of emotional reaction, but your coping mechanism is interfering with my investigation.” This was the wrong thing to say.

He was angry now. “My emotional reaction? You want to talk about my emotional reactions?”

Avery stopped. “That would be a jab at my past behavior.” She attempted to massage and then stretch the muscles around her jaw to alleviate the tightening sensation that followed her temper rising. She was not about to have the equivalent of a lover’s tiff around a body. “I succinctly told you to go to hell, but more importantly, I continued my work. We have now spent several unnecessary sentences on your discomfort with what we already know: The window of time during which she was moved was very small. That leads me to believe either Ms. Aldridge was followed from her previous tenancy to this one, or our murderer has access to official documentation. I suggest we investigate both avenues.”