Page 81 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“He said he was sorry for what happened. In fact, he implied multiple times that everything you went through was what just happened and he claimed no responsibility in the matter.” Avery folded her long fingers on the table. “And the moment your mother came up in conversation, he leapt at the chance to thrust blame on someone else and commiserate with you on what a terrible person someone else is. Of course, then you started to defend her, and, realizing he couldn’t win you over by simply slandering someone else for the pain they caused you, he praised your good nature.”

Saga felt cold, replaying the conversation in her mind in a new light. “Wait…no, I… Oh gods…” She brought her hands to her face; it felt hot with embarrassment. “And I just ate up his stupid…always love you.” She could feel tears burning in her eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”

Avery touched Saga’s arm reassuringly. “You’re not an idiot, Saga. You just want to see the best in people.”

“You certainly didn’t fall for his act. You saw right through it immediately.”

“Yes.” Avery sighed heavily and stood. She pulled Saga into her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around the woman. “But I am not in love with him.”

Saga let herself cry. Frustrated tears. Tears of the betrayed and manipulated. Tears until her eyes were dry from crying.

Yet when she looked back on that night, it would not be her tears she would remember, but rather that Avery let them fall. That at no point did the other woman hush her or tell her not to make a scene. She just held her and let her feel everything without commentary or censorship.

Chapter 20 Avery

Murder did not wait for broken hearts to mend. It was a particularly inconsiderate crime that way. Avery thought it added insult to injury that this second murder had happened all the way in Richmond—the Mortlake district, according to Saga.

It was around three p.m. when Avery received the call from Lahiri, and it had been her companion’s suggestion they take a cab if they were going to make it to Langdon Place in a timely fashion.

It was an odd sort of street, designed in a loop around a raised bit of concrete where the dwellers of the surrounding houses parked their cars.

“This might be helpful,” Saga observed. “My friend Peregrine grew up on a street like this. Said the sound gets trapped and you end up knowing far too much about your neighbors… She credits it for being how she got interested in journalism.”

“You think someone might have heard something?”

“I think those faces”—Saga pointed to the neighbors peering at the house sentineled by police officers—“look like they’ve found something that rivals what’s on the telly rather than concern for the welfare of the community.”

“Would not be the first time idle gossip helped a case,” Avery observed. “Let us see what is to be seen before we make the rounds.”

The road was still wet from the morning rain. Had it washed away evidence or helped create more?

Lahiri was waiting for them at the foot of the little brick pathway leading up to the house. It was a quaint little detail in a neighborhood suspiciously abundant with quaint little details. Murders loved happening in neighborhoods with quaint little details—it added drama and whispers and turned the sort of people who gossiped about everyone else into everyone else’s gossip. “Our victim is a Theresa Abernathy, thirty-nine, lived alone. Former housewife, now divorced, but kept her husband’s last name. They share joint custody of the kids; weekdays with their father, Carson, because it’s closer to school, weekends here with Theresa. They found her after Carson dropped them off, called us shortly after. I saw the body and knew it had to be connected to our last victim.”

“I assume a crystal ball wasn’t involved this time, but does that mean we’re looking at a similar death?”

“Similar enough. She used a knife this time.”

Avery felt Saga flinch beside her. “Is the house ready for me?”

“It is secure, but DC is on their way, so I would prioritize talking to the family first.”

“DC?” Saga asked.

“Department of Concealment,” Avery explained. “Is that necessary? Knife or not, it does not sound more supernatural than the last one.”

“Special circumstances.”

Avery felt the muscles in her neck and jaw grow tense. This put her on a time limit. This inhibited her ability to work in the most efficient order. “They cannot tamper with memory before we clear everything. Who made that call?”

“I did. Body was found by her two kids, ages sixteen and ten.”

“And?” The indignation rose up in Avery’s throat like bile. “Their firsthand account could be vital to identifying what is missing or wrong, Detective. I need to see the body first so I know what to ask them. This could compromise the efficacy of our investigation. How could you do this?”

“Because no child should be burdened with the memory of their mother covered in blood.”

“Go to hell!” It echoed against the circle of houses surrounding them, a guttural sound more growl than words. It surprised even Avery, and she took a step back. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her breath heavy through her nostrils. Anger tightened the tendons on her hands and so she flexed them. She set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and met Lahiri’s eyes. “In the future you will consult me before you deliberately contaminate my crime scene.” She pushed past him into the house.

It was too bright in the diffused afternoon sunlight, and she was grateful for the reprieve of the dark house. Inside, there was a small hallway, claustrophobic and hospital white. A shoe rack took up most of the entryway tile—a preventive measure to preserve the pristine carpet.