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“She has an illness that makes her see them. We don’t usually bother her because we could make a good day into a bad one, but … with everything, and Mr. Ivers being hurt and … Salma said we should. Mrs. Nazari might be able to help.”
Gabi looked thoughtful. Still tired, but contemplative at least. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Great!” Joy gave Gabi her brightest smile and watched Gabi’s frayed edges knit back together. “I’ll tell Salma. We can go tomorrow afternoon. Oh—can you bring some of your dad’s cinnamon shortbread? Mrs. Nazari would love it; Salma says baked goods make her happy.”
“I’ll bring some,” Gabi promised, giving Joy that soft look that turned her insides to mush.
“Thank you.” Joy wanted to keep talking but couldn’t think of a good excuse. “I should go. I need to feed Jilly—that’s Neil’s dog. Unless you need to talk some more…?”
“Go, Joy,” Gabi said with a smile creasing her golden face. “Text me where and when to meet you tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah.” Joy was aware her smile became too soft, too loving. “Bye, then!”
She ended the call before her face could betray her anymore, flushing red hot. She’d already blurted that she still loved Gabi. She didn’t need to do any more damage.
Despite Gabi admitting she had feelings for Joy too, they were managing a friendship, and working together well. She didn’t want to mess that up, especially when people were at risk.
Joy flashed back to finding Neil with a vivid jolt, blood everywhere she looked, but she fought her way out of those memories.
Jilly needed her; she’d be hungry.
Joy grabbed her keys off the sideboard and tucked a sachet of a protective spell into her pocket. Jilly would make her smile again. Dogs had their own brand of magic, special and more powerful than witchcraft.
* * *
It tooka whole hour of sitting in Salma’s box bedroom in the eaves of her sage-scented home for Salma’s mother to feel ready to talk to them. But just Salma and Gabi. Even though the rest of the coven had come, a whole coven of unfamiliar faces would overwhelm Mrs. Nazari. So most of them had squashed into Salma’s miniscule room, ducking their heads to avoid hitting the sloped ceilings.
Joy perched on the sliver of windowsill beside a trio of potted plants and a singular cactus, overlooking a patch of sad grass and the rows of matching houses behind Salma’s. The rest of her coven occupied the single bed under draping boughs of ivy and honeysuckle and plants even Joy didn’t know. Maisie had burrowed under the pillows, but her eyes were wide open, grave.
Joy knitted her fingers together around her wand—she still couldn’t let it go—and watched Gabi with Salma. It was strange to see Gabi in a colour other than black or grey, but black clothes made Salma’s mum unsettled. She’d startle and panic, and whatever clarity and calm she’d had would spiral into fear and absence. So Gabi was wearing a very pale green vest, the taut muscles of her arms exposed, and white trousers that Salma had dug out of a cramped drawer in her older brother’s bedroom.
Only Salma still lived at home, but she had four siblings, scattered across the world in various supernatural and non-supernatural cities and towns. Joy struggled to picture so many personalities clamouring in this house and understood a little of why Salma often watched Victoriya and Gus bicker with a fond smile.
Gus’s phone blared a morose metal song—Gabi calling—and then they could hear the conversation as Salma and Gabi joined her mother in the sitting room. They didn’t tell Mrs. Nazari many details—Salma expertly left out anything that could trigger her but told her mum enough about the murders for Mrs. Nazari to be able to help. Even though she suffered hallucinations, she was still a fearsome seer.
“Mama,” Salma said warmly, her voice crackly over the phone.
Joy pressed her knees to her chest on the windowsill, watching the phone for no real reason—it wasn’tshowingthem anything. But Gus, Maisie, and Eilidh were doing the same.
Victoriya had never turned up. She’d texted Salma,I’m busy, and hadn’t offered any other explanation. They all knew she was still upset because of Neil Ivers’s attack. Joy and the others weren’t dumb. It was common knowledge that Victoriya liked an older man. Were they supposed to think it was coincidence that Mr. Ivers was hurt and she’d gone ballistic? They hadn’t spoken about it, despite Gus’s pointed attempts, but now they knew the identity of Victoriya’s mystery man. And they all knew she was shaken and scared, so they left her alone.
“Give me that,” Salma’s mum said, her voice a thicker version of Salma’s Moroccan accent.
Joy wondered if she’d snatched the item they’d brought with them to help her tap into her sight—a scrap of Neil’s shirt where the killer had torn it open.
“Is she a mirror? A reflection? A trick?”
“I don’t know, mama,” Salma replied in her calm voice.
“A trick,” Mrs Nazari repeated, sounding surer. “You think she’s one person, but she’s two. A witch, and a dealer of justice. Old. Older than the witches here. As old as ours, Salma.”
“She’s from another country?” Salma asked, surprise clear in her voice.
“Yes. The mountains. Snow. Europe?”
“Can you be any more specific?”
“Mountains,” Mrs. Nazari repeated firmly. “That’s what I see. Not a sign or landmark, no word or name. But I see land, I see Europe. Are those biscuits?”
