Page 94 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

At least as far as he knew. “One last question, and I am sorry as it will seem peculiar… How tall is your mother?”

It caught him off guard, but if this conversation had proven anything to Avery, it was that this was not a particularly difficult feat to accomplish. “Uh, I dunno, maybe five-seven, five-eight?”

It was on the shorter end of her range but certainly did not exclude her from the list of potential suspects. “Thank you, this has been very helpful. I hope you…” She stopped herself before she urged him to enjoy the rest of the ritual. “Find healing in tonight’s ritual.”

Blake nodded and raised the small box of tarot cards. “My first deck. It was a gift from her. Seems appropriate I return it.” He took a few steps and set the cards on the altar with the other offerings. He hesitated, looking back at Avery. “I know you didn’t know Luna, and you’re here because it’s your job, but Bell, Book, and Candle has become a real staple in our community. As her coven, we’ve been trying to raise money to buy the property to keep the store open. If you’re able, I hope you’ll consider donating. There’s boxes placed throughout.”

Avery smiled and watched him go before returning to examine the rest of the objects on the altar, finding crystals and pendulums. Photographs that seemed far more recent than the ones in Luna’s apartment, including pictures of events held at the store or holidays celebrated together such as Samhain and Beltane.

A few figures in robes similar to what Luna wore in her center photograph began to place small cauldrons on the altar and set their contents aflame.

Dried mugwort and lavender, by the smell of it. To purify and reach across the divide. She doubled back to look along the altar for anything she missed or that might have been placed after her first pass. It was much of the same: stones, medallions, objects of personal value and power, and pictures.

And one surprisingly familiar face.

Avery stopped at a photograph—it was older, like the photos in Luna’s home, at least twenty years older. The face she didn’t recognize from her own life, but it was the face of the dark-haired girl Betsey had taken a photo with on the beach. This photo looked like it might have been from the same day. Four girls, crowded together, smiling beneath a sky that passed for sunny on this side of Europe. Betsey/Luna, the dark-haired girl from the photograph, a cheery blond, and a brunette in a UCL sweatshirt whose mass of tight curls was held back by a cloth headband. She wondered if one of the girls she couldn’t name might be Theresa Abernathy. She had been blond—though thanks to Saga previously educating her about haircare, that did not mean she had been blond twenty years ago. She could have been one of those girls. The two brunettes did look familiar somehow… Perhaps these faces could be compared to those in one of the almanacs Saga had mentioned.

Her fingertips itched. This was evidence, but it was also part of a dead woman’s memorial.

“Gather round!” a woman called from the center of the room. “Place any items you have on the altar for Luna or if you have a memory for the cauldron. Please retrieve a cake and glass if you haven’t got one and gather round.”

It could be argued that committing sacrilege against the dead might be viewed with kindness if the act prevented more death. At the very least, it would be argued by Avery should Saga attempt to lecture her on stealing from an altar. Or she could surreptitiously take a photo of it herself. That was probably the most ethical and efficient manner of collecting evidence in this moment—and if she was lucky, she’d catch a glimpse of the person who’d brought it.

She circled around the outskirts of the gathering circle until she found the beacon of her companion’s pink hair. “Think I found something,” she whispered as she stood next to her.

The girl glanced at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

Avery could feel her cheeks burn as the woman looking back at her was very clearly not Saga. “Sorry, thought you were…” She cleared her throat and shook her head, ducking away to try again.

“Do not clump, my darlings, let us spread,” the woman at the center called to them. “Let us form a circle so that all may be a part of this equally.” She stood with four others around her in a circle of their own—one of them was Blake.

Taking more time to identify not just pink hair but the exact shade of pink—cherry blossom—no, more vibrant, like the early pink of a flowering peach tree against the brown of her skin—Avery managed to move in next to Saga. “Just made a fool of myself,” she muttered.

“Fool might be a bit harsh,” said Saga.

“You saw?”

“Saw you mistake a white girl for me?” The woman grinned. “Yes. Ten out of ten, hilarious.”

“I was not paying attention,” Avery said, flustered.

“Do you think all pink-haired people look the same?” Saga teased in a whisper.

“I found something,” Avery hissed.

“Let’s bring our voices down,” the woman in the center called. It was a lovely voice that was resonant and melodic in a way that suggested it had received some kind of vocal training. She spoke above the din with little effort. “Let us settle.” She was a tall woman, imposing even. She and the other four around her wore black velvet robes, trimmed in silver-embroidered moons. She had turned her own dark umber skin into a canvas where she had adorned her brow with the same symbol of three moons together, a waxing crescent, a full moon, and a waning crescent in silver paint.

“Welcome, all of you,” said the woman. “Some of you I know, the rest I hope to know soon. I am Eugenia Scrimshaw, and I am the acting High Priestess of the London Order of Hekate, in absence of our dear departed.”

Avery glanced at Saga, who also seemed to remember the name Blake had scribbled on the paper under Luna’s possible enemies. She was not yet prepared to remove Eugenia from the list at the boy’s word, but, Avery had to admit, Eugenia wouldn’t have been on there at all without Blake putting her name down the first place.

“We are gathered to honor the life and mourn the death of Luna Ravenwood here today. If you are members of our coven, or perhaps celebrated one of our holidays with us, you may be familiar with this kind of ritual. If you are joining us for the first time…” Eugenia gave a bit of a smirk. “Good luck.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Avery whispered.

“Remember how I told you I didn’t like how exclusionary Luna’s books felt?” Saga asked quietly. “It was stuff like this. A little too superior and…smug.”

“Place your plates in front of you on the floor. You will need them later. Be careful not to knock them over,” instructed Eugenia. She motioned to the other four.