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Lahiri stared ahead as if he hadn’t heard her. There was tension in his jaw. “Are we going to pretend earlier didn’t happen?”

“Preferably.”

“Will it be happening again?”

“I do not foresee it as a likely possibility, but given the natural ebb and flow of relationships, claiming it won’t would be vain fantasy.”

“Should I expect an apology?”

“No one should ever expect an apology, Inspector. That never ends well for anyone.” Avery fiddled with the interior lining of her coat pocket. “But I will acknowledge the intensity of my ire was not entirely inspired by your actions and deeply regret that my response was disproportionate to the matter at hand. Your actions were aligned with what you thought was right, and while I am allowed to disagree with you, it should be done within the bounds of professionalism. I will endeavor to handle similar situations, should they present themselves, with more delicacy and tact.”

Lahiri gave a slow nod. “I should have checked with you before calling them.”

“You should have.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology from Lahiri felt less important. She could see some merit in regret as it often led to change, but it was also common for remorse to be expressed and then forgotten, so the infraction would be committed again, and the cycle would repeat. “As am I. Let us endeavor to avoid a reprise.”

“I pray we never have the opportunity,” Lahiri agreed. He departed to speak to one of his uniformed officers.

Saga must have seen them, because she walked up to Avery now, dusting off her backside from the brick she’d been sitting on. “Chloe said it was odd the TV wasn’t on. Her mother didn’t like quiet in the house when she was awake.”

“That confirms my theory that Theresa Abernathy was woken by her killer,” said Avery. “The light to the stairs was still on, as was the light to the garden. I do not think our killer ever entered the home.”

“So, no robbery this time?”

Avery’s face crumpled. “Of that I am not so sure. Anything else I should know?”

“Theresa Abernathy clearly harbored some internalized misogyny and didn’t seem to have any friends. She did not know Luna Ravenwood but did have strong feelings toward the occult. Chloe had one of Luna’s books from the library, and according to her, Theresa wanted to burn it.”

“Religious reasons?”

Saga shook her head.

Curious. “So, we have one victim who steeped herself in the world of Mundane magick and a second who could not have been further from it…” Avery sighed. There were pieces to connect them; she just needed to find them.

“Did you ask if Theresa knew a Betsey Paris?”

“I did. It didn’t ring any bells. Chloe only had her book because of something weird at school. One of your boring cases, maybe? Girl sprouted a pig nose and ears about a week back?”

Avery snorted. “Not my case, but I heard about it. Harmless, except the council’s severity toward anything that puts discovery at risk. Adolescent prank, nothing more.” She tapped her toe in thought. “If Betsey and Theresa didn’t know each other, and magick isn’t the connection either…perhaps John Hingley and University College London might be.”

“I wouldn’t write Betsey off entirely. Chloe might just not know. To be honest, growing up I barely knew the names of my grandmother’s friends other than Eira—I still don’t know my mother’s friends. If she has them.”

It was as valid a point as any. “Thank you.” Avery shifted awkwardly, aware of the vulnerable position she was putting herself in and deeply uncomfortable with it. “For speaking with the daughter and giving me…time.”

Saga brought out a familiar small notebook and smiled at her. The clouds broke with that smile, and any lingering tension in Avery’s chest dissolved. “We should talk to Carson Abernathy before DC arrives.”

Abernathy was sitting with his son inside the parlor of his wife’s neighbor, eyes locked on the young girl sitting on the brick wall outside. He looked like he might be a few years older than his ex-wife had been. He was a clean-shaven man, dressed smartly in a suit and tie, which he had loosened. The spouse, under normal circumstances, was always the first suspect—though Avery knew it was unlikely here. Still, until evidence ruled him out, it would be unwise to discount him.

“You’re Theresa’s ex-husband, Mr. Abernathy?” Avery clarified—it was more businesslike than a simple hello and gave enough context to who she was that she didn’t feel bogged down in introductions.

“Carson.” Abernathy nodded. Avery wasn’t sure she’d get used to this modern insistence of using first names even upon meeting someone. It felt so intimate.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” said Saga. It was the sort of thing that should be said at times like this but always made Avery feel insincere. Neither of them had known the woman. From what they’d learned so far, she did not sound like she had been a terribly pleasant woman to know. Yet somehow, from Saga, those words sounded true.

While Avery was not particularly adept at weaving that sort of empathy into her communication, she did make a point to focus on the magic in her voice—not to coerce, but rather to keep the man relaxed in the way Saga had already primed him to be. “Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”