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She watched the shadow walk down the stairs.

It must have been late at night. Theresa had heard something. She turned on the light, worried about an intruder.

A scratching sound from the sliding door, but it was too dark to see clearly.

The shadow of Theresa Abernathy cautiously took the knife from the block and began making her way to the sliding glass door—or rather the light switch that would illuminate the yard.

“As she does, the killer surprises her and does something perceived by the victim, which causes them to be so overcome with violent madness, they take their lives, but not before destroying their own eyes…”

Divination for ritual magic in the backyard yielded nothing.

Whatever the suspect recovered from the backyard could not be an item of personal value to focus a hex. That would have left a magical signature. If her theory regarding the series of events were true, then the murder, while related to the theft, was an act of its own. The suspect recovered an item and murdered its owner rather than, as they had theorized with Luna, recovered an item in order to murder its owner. This evidence allowed her to see the first crime in a new light, but as for the murder weapon…

“What are they trying to unsee?”

Chapter 21 Saga

Saga had taken maybe three steps out the door when her phone buzzed. Her mother. Again. She frowned and dismissed the call. That would be at least three now she had deliberately ignored. She knew to expect a rather terse voicemail. Not angry. Her mother never seemed to muster the passion required for anger. Disdain. Disgust. Disappointment. These were the barbs in her arsenal.

“What the hell was that, eh?” Reza asked as she met him at the sidewalk.

“I don’t know.” It was out of character, but Saga knew Avery would explain if and when she was ready.

“The Winter Council relies on her ability to approach these kinds of things critically. If they lose faith in that, it could be detrimental.”

Something about this was starting to rub Saga the wrong way. “So I’ve heard.”

“If she can’t control her emotions at work—”

“Maybe”—Saga’s volume raised for a single word in order to grab hold of the conversation again—“since this is the first time this has happened, we acknowledge this is not normal behavior, and cut her some slack with the understanding she seems to be going through something.” The last thing Saga expected to be today was a peacekeeper between her friend and her uncle.

Reza’s shoulders slumped. “Did she snap at you?”

“She did not. But I thought it would be better if she took some time alone while I talk to the family.”

“You’re not a police officer.”

Saga considered enrolling in the academy just to spite him. Instead, she merely reminded, “Neither is Avery.”

“She’s a consultant.”

Her phone buzzed once in her pocket. The dread-inducing announcement that a voicemail had been left for her. “Well, I’m the consultant’s consultant.”

“Saga.” Reza was using his I-am-an-adult voice now. The voice that regardless of her own age meant “I am more of an adult than you because I have been one longer and therefore will always hold more authority.” The voice that did admittedly grate on her as a teenager but infuriated her at nearly thirty. “You’re not qualified to talk to these people.”

“I see.” She took a slow inhalation, meditating on the knowledge her uncle was not trying to be condescending or unkind, merely professional. “Quick question, do you have training in trauma-informed care?”

“What?”

“Are you qualified in any way to help someone through shock or PTSD? Because those children may have the most valuable witness information, and regardless of what you think of me as an investigator, I am a trained medical professional. Maybe my expertise dealing with those conditions could be helpful.”

Reza hesitated—that was good. He was not allowing his bias to immediately shut down the proposition.

“What if I just speak to the elder one?” Saga wondered if he had considered that, since the girl’s memory would be altered anyway, it might not matter whether he let them talk.

“All right.”

Finally. An inch. “Keep a distance. Don’t need any tall, intimidating policemen hovering.” He frowned, but Saga spoke before he could protest. “I mean it. That’s not me being petulant.” She looked to the girl sitting on the low brick wall outside the neighboring house. “What’s her name?”