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Saga rubbed her temples. “I wish you could come with me.”

“I could.”

Saga rolled her eyes at Avery. “He did want to have a private conversation.”

“In what I understand is a public space. He doesn’t have to know I’m there,” Avery explained. “Just because you can see me for who I am doesn’t mean he can.”

“You would glamour yourself as someone else just so you could eavesdrop on a conversation with my ex-fiancé?”

“A friend, in need.” Avery winked and stood before the voice announced their destination.

“This station is Charing Cross. Change here for the Northern line.”

Avery was getting the hang of these trains.

“Lahiri will meet us at Luna’s home.” Avery frowned at the address as they walked up to street level. “Is this really down the street from the store? Did I have to wait an entire day for a piece of paper to allow me just to walk down the street?” She showed the map on her phone to the woman next to her—who was not at all Saga. Startled, Avery whirled around to find that Saga had stopped on the stairs. “Is something wrong?”

Saga pulled her cerulean peacoat tighter around herself. “I didn’t realize Reza was going to be joining us.”

“Just for this part. Is that a problem? I could ask him to go.” He would hate it, but Avery could ask it.

“No, I just… I don’t know if he knew about the thing with my mom? So, I am processing that a little before we go see him.”

Ah. Yes. “Perhaps it would be best if we act under the assumption that he didn’t know, and possibly still doesn’t know, and focus on the crime scene.”

“Of course.” Saga smiled sheepishly. “I promise I won’t let my personal life interfere with the investigation.”

Avery offered her arm. “I know.”

The address, as it turned out, was not down the road from Luna Ravenwood’s store, it was precisely one and a half blocks down and to the left. A fact that did not prevent a great grumbling from Avery.

Lahiri was waiting for them through the gate. His expression darkened at the sight of Saga, and he frowned. “What is she—”

“Consulting. I asked for her assistance.” Avery craned her neck from the courtyard up the tall brick building. “Is this all hers?”

“No, the building makes up five condominiums, but they are substantial in size.”

The disdain in Lahiri’s voice was unmissable, but Avery instead focused on the word, which, like many in her absence, had clearly taken new meaning. Condominium, from the Latin for “joint dominion.” Joint dominion over the building, perhaps? Multiple living spaces within, all occupants owning a share. Yes, she comprehended that enough. “Do we have access?”

“The condo association let us in thanks to that warrant you were so irritated that we needed.” Lahiri was far too smug about his paperwork. “Follow me.”

“Did police not need warrants in the 1800s?” Saga whispered.

“The police absolutely needed warrants,” asserted Avery. “But I, not being a member of the constabulary, was less restricted by excessive bureaucracy.”

Saga’s expression battled between confusion and discomfort. “Did you just break and enter?”

“I never broke anything,” said Avery as they reached Luna Ravenwood’s door. “When investigating a premises in the rare instance where the owner was unwilling to allow me to search, I was struck with the good fortune of incriminating doors being left wide open.”

Of course Saga didn’t believe it. Avery might have lost a little respect for her if she had. After all, on their last case, she had witnessed Avery manipulating shadows into lockpicks. “Suspiciously good fortune.”

“Yes,” Avery played along, sharing a secret smile with her companion. “You would be surprised how criminal activity seems to make people forget how to shut a door.”

“This is the one.” Lahiri had donned his gloves and begrudgingly held out a second pair to Saga.

Ransacked. From the old Norse rannsaka, to pillage, or quite literally “search the house.” The word perfectly described the chaos before them as Lahiri opened the door. Cushions had been displaced, drawers emptied, shelves wiped to ensure nothing was behind them. The floor was littered with papers and decorative flotsam. Luna apparently had a fondness for…trinkets. Once displayed on the shelves, they were now booby traps to slip, trip, or break an ankle on.

“Robbery,” Lahiri grumbled immediately.