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Gabi wrote that down. She hadn’t been far off in her earlier profiling. The girl was a saint. Well, except for the cheating.
“Alright,” she said, getting to her feet and tucking her notebook away. “Thank you for speaking to me.”
Skye blew her nose again, sniffling. “Just … arrest him, okay?”
“I’ll find whoever hurt your friend.” Gabi turned to the door to avoid making any more promises.
She threw herself into the front seat of her car and slammed the door behind her. Macon Brent. Gabi fastened her seat belt, her mind making connections. Wasn’t Macon a fae name? She’d known a Macon in school, and he’d been a pure, infuriating fae—despite the species segregation in the town proper, a lack of teachers meant even the fae deigned to share classrooms with witches and elves.
Maybe Skye was right about the boyfriend, or maybe someone didn’t like a fae dating a witch. The town was still rife with prejudice and separation between species. At least this was a more solid motive than Gabi’d had before. And the cheating explained why the killer wanted to punish her. Gabi needed to Skype Rick Ali and update him—this changed things.
NINETEEN
JOY
“Why are you always in my kitchen?” Joy complained as Gus ate the last of her cereal. She felt better, steadier, for having them here, and it seemed less likely that Paulina could get in and pry her wand from her fingers with her coven as a barrier between them. But still. Her cereal…
“Because you have a big table,” Eilidh replied, chopping a sprig of sage. “My house is full of family right now, Salma’s mum doesn’t like us going round, Maisie and Gus don’t have a real table—”
“A breakfast barisa real table,” Gus argued fiercely around a mouthful of dry cereal.
“And none of us are brave enough to go to Victoriya’s house,” Eilidh finished, her knife hitting the board with soothing thuds.
All valid points, Joy had to admit, her soul soothing to watch them do normal, familiar—albeit irritating—things. She jumped when the front door slammed open without so much as a courteous knock, but her heartbeat settled as logic set in.
Not Paulina, she told herself.She wouldn’t dare come here.
“What’s up, fuckers?” Victoriya asked in lieu of hello, dropping into a chair and kicking her boots up onto the table where Maisie laid curled up. The fix slitted yellow eyes in her friend’s direction.
“Do we think this will work?” Joy asked, scuffing her feet on the tile floor and eyeing the copper pan on the stove beside her with more apprehension than she used to. She turned a bit of green sea stone over in her hand, worrying it smooth.
Victoriya snorted.
“Don’t be pessimistic,” Salma chided, breezing into the house like a goddess. She approached Joy, assessed the pot, and stirred the clear concoction. “We have to try. If we help Gabriella catch this killer, we don’t have to jump at every shadow.”
Maisie made a long, high sound from the nest she’d made of Joy’s hat and scarf on the table.
“Oh yeah,” Gus said, rumpling his brown hair and looking at Salma with a rueful wince. “I might have punched an old man in the supermarket. And before you all look at me like I’m a monster, I didn’tmeanto. It was right after we left the morgue; I was a little on edge.”
“Morgue?” Joy asked, her mouth falling open and her heart clanging in her chest. “When did you—?”
“Long story,” Victoriya cut in, trying to spare Joy the details. “How’d you hit him, Gus? Straight in the face, punch to the gut, or did you box his ears? Give me details.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t arrested, Augustus.” Salma sighed, spinning a golden ring around her finger. “You’re lucky Gabriella wouldn’t detain you for long.”
“Yeah, that’s a thing,” Victoriya said, stretching her pale arms above her head for no apparent reason other than to show off the deep cut sides of her faded vest. “Since we’re besties with the law now,canwe be arrested? Or do we have a free pass for any crime?”
Salma gave her an unamused stare, pointing the stirring spoon in warning. She said nothing but her expression spoke volumes.
“Asking for a friend,” Victoriya added with a grin.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Joy told her, peering into the pot on the stove. It was just starting to bubble, all according to plan. It was a relief to see a potion brewing normally—a few months ago, there’d been a period when no spells had worked at all, thanks to a mischievous and stubborn naiad corrupting their water source. Salma had been hurt—badly—and for a tense, terrifying period, Joy was scared they’d never be able to heal her.
Now, Salma wisely ignored Victoriya, removing a leather-bound notebook from her pocket to check the potion’s instructions. Salma’s grimoire was full of so many things Joy couldn’t keep track—spells and incantations, potion recipes, runes and their meanings, plus the properties of every herb and flower. And more.
“This spell should reveal the species of who we’re looking for. Weallneed to be focussed on the same person—the killer—or it won’t work. Eilidh, will you be okay to do this? You don’t have to.”
“I’m fine.” Eilidh’s voice was quiet but strong, and more than a little annoyed at Salma’s fussing. Joy looked between them, sensing something unspoken, but Salma just nodded and turned off the hob, putting down the spoon.
