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Eyes narrowed, eyebrows slashed further together, arms crossed over her leather jacket. The witch looked vaguely familiar, but Gabi couldn’t put a finger on why. “What the fuck’s it to you?”
“I’m the person who’s going to get her out of that cell.” Gabi clenched her jaw, ignoring the onlookers as they disbanded, bored. “Do you think you could deign to assist me in that? Or are you too busy wasting time Joy doesn’t have spitting venom at guards?” It took everything in Gabi to not swear.
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously; Gabi glared right back. “I’ll help,” she huffed eventually, her mouth in a thin line.
Gabi turned on her heel and left the toxic Town Hall behind her, feeling like she could breathe again when she was standing by the side of the road, inhaling the salt, earth, and sea, her sleek ponytail caught in the wind. Gabi waited for a break in traffic and jogged across the road, not waiting for Dark and Snarly to catch up. “I’m Gabriella Pride,” she said when they were on the steep road down to Gabi’s house—the Pride’s house. Her dad lived across town in a nicer bungalow, but this shitty terrace house had always been home to them both if they were being honest. The bungalow was less home than their attempt at pretending they were normal, civilised folk.
“Victoriya Stone,” the witch replied, putting her wand in an inner pocket of her jacket and looking less inclined to hex Gabi. “So you’re the new Pride.”
Gabi nodded, skirting a particularly determined grey cat who wanted to rub its tortoiseshell face on Gabi’s jeans. “For now. If I get on Paulina’s bad side by the end of the week, you’re stuck with Big Phil.”
Victoriya made a sound in the back of her throat. “That guy’s a wimp. He wouldn’t even arm wrestle me.”
Gabi gave her a measured look. “I wouldn’t arm wrestle you either. I couldn’t be sure I’d keep the arm.”
Victoriya’s eyebrows flicked up, surprised if Gabi was reading her right. Maybe a touch pleased at the assessment.
“Here,” Gabi said, turning onto a bare stone path. She fished the old set of keys from her pocket and let herself into the building, taking off her stress like she’d removed a coat. This house had always been a safe place. Back when it had been her dad’s place of work, she’d come to visit on evenings when he was busy, investigating or filing paperwork or fines. It felt natural that the place was hers now.
The house looked like every other terrace house on the street, but inside, the ground floor had been turned into an office, two interview rooms, and a tiny kitchen where Gabi made coffee in between working—she’d already gotten a lot of use out of the Tassimo. Upstairs, it was like any other house: two bedrooms and a bathroom, the front room looking out onto the quiet street and the others backing onto the bare yard of the butcher’s behind the house. Thanks to its handy location—and an arrangement her dad made with Will the butcher years ago—Gabi had access to the old cooler building where meat used to hang. It had been cleared out and upgraded years ago and now served as their—her—morgue.
It was strange to think of all this ashers, and even stranger to be here without her dad. But the house was perfect for her job, and really, the position came with the assumption that the town would be able to find her—at all hours—at the house. It had come to be known as the Pride House
It was damn daunting to have to fillhisboots as well as her mum Clover’s. Doing a coroner’s job? Fine. Photographing and collecting evidence? Second nature. Investigating? Thanks to her education, totally doable. But being a pillar of the community, someone they could rely on and turn to for every disaster? Gabi baulked.
Better to do a job she was sure she could actually do.
“Shut the door behind you,” Gabi told Victoriya and marched right to the kitchen at the end of the hall. It was a squashed, tiny space barely big enough for the well-loved table and the cabinets along the walls, but this room took another portion of weight off her shoulders.
Here, Gabi felt capable, not small and insecure and alone. Here, she had her mum’s experience and her dad’s knowledge to help her, even if just in spirit—and if that didn’t work, her dad was a phone call away.
“You’re one of Joy’s coven,” Gabi said as Victoriya leant against the threshold. Not a question.
She wanted to change into her running clothes and pound the beachside path until she could think clearly again—until she could get the image of the dead girl from behind her eyes, until she could push out the memory of Joy staring into space. But she didn’t have time for that. She’d just have to find a way to function while stressed, anxious, and mildly nauseated. But what was new there?
“I am,” Victoriya confirmed. She prowled around the table to lean against the worktop next to the mug tree Gabi’s mum made out of clay when Gabi was five. The townspeople had their own ways of repaying Gabi’s parents—electric bills paid, money waved away when they did the weekly shop, casseroles upon casseroles left on the doorstep in the winter, quiches upon quiches in the summertime. Gabi had grown up with every day having the same initial excitement and mystery as Christmas morning, never knowing what would have been left for them overnight. One of those gifts had been a pottery class. Actually, a lot of them were classes at the community centre—as a child, Gabi had gone through sewing, pottery, painting, arts and crafts, knitting, and flower arranging. And those were just the ones she could remember.
She wondered if people would start leavinghercasseroles and payingherbills for her; God knew the wage Paulina paid her was barely enough to scrape rent, electric, and water, let alone a TV licence or Wi-Fi. Her dad was still paying the bills on the place from the savings left from Mum’s life insurance, but that wouldn’t last forever. Gabi needed to pass this trial for more than one reason.
For more than ten.
She flicked on the kettle, trying to hide how frayed and stressed she was. “Here’s the situation. Paulina is determined to prosecute Joy for murder for some innate personal reason, and all the while whoever actually killed a girl is out there. I need to find them, not only to get Paulina to hire me full time, but to free Joy. I could use help.” Alotof help, but she didn’t add that part. “Are you on board?”
God, let her agree to help.
“Obviously,” Victoriya snapped, her dark eyes narrowed. “Joy’s my friend. I’m not gonna let her rot in a fucking cell when she couldn’t even hurt a puppy.” She leaned towards Gabi, her gaze sharp. “Who’s the girl though? The dead one?”
Gabi sighed. A missing persons report had been filed two days ago but Paulina hadn’t bothered to pass it on to Gabi. Gabi only knewnowbecause the girl’s parents had gone to her dad, as most people did when Paulina was too busy to address their concerns.
She needed to visit her dad’s old neighbourhood watch network and let them know to report to her. Once those nosey old people got hold of the news that she was the new Pride, it’d spread like witchfire.That’s a good thing,she reminded herself,you want people to approach you.
Later—she’d deal with that later. For now, getting the witches to identify that wrong sense Gabi had picked up from the girl’s body was more important.
“Agree to help,” she said, “get your coven to help too, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“They’ll help.” Victoriya’s anger was palpable, her jaw clenched. “You think we’re going to sit back and let Joy stay in that place? Salma’s probably at your dad’s now, asking for help.”
Gabi took a steadying breath, trying to brush off the memories that had filled every dark corner of her mind when Joy told her she’d lied. “How soon can you gather them?”
