“The victim’s name is Arthur Hathaway,” Saoirse answered, “And early this morning, he was mauled by some kind of beast.”

“A beast,” Henry repeated, trying to keep the skepticism out of his tone. “Can you please elaborate? What does that mean, exactly?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Bell. Do you read The Gazette?” Saoirse asked.

Henry patted his coat pockets only to remember he’d left his copy of the paper down with Joseph. He’d barely gotten to skim it. “Usually, yes, but I haven’t had a chance today.”

“That’s no problem,” Saoirse said, pulling a rolled-up newspaper out of her suitcoat and passing it to Henry. “Page two.”

Henry turned the page, then read the headline aloud: “A Mauling at Camberley Hall: Mathematician Found Dead in Home. Magical Culprits Suspected.” Henry skimmed the article quickly. It was, he noted with distaste, as sensationalized as the one about himself, but he at least managed to glean the important facts from it. Arthur Hathaway was a mathematician with some little renown in the field, found dead in his daughter’s nursery after the sound of gunshots alerted his wife and the family nurse. The daughter was unharmed, but witnesses claimed Hathaway’s body had been viciously mauled. The police had yet to officially release any details, but Hathaway’s death was currently thought to be the work of sídhe magic.

Henry clicked his tongue and looked up at the sídhe woman sitting across from him. “Start from the beginning. What is your connection to Arthur Hathaway?”

“The silly thing is, I have no connection to him whatsoever.”

Henry frowned at her. “Then why are you so sure you’ll be blamed for his murder?”

“It’s a rotten, unlucky story, Mr. Bell,” Saoirse said. “Wrong time, wrong place and all that. I run a business in Lower Brimnes, you see, a modest little magic shop. Alice helps me with it when she’s not busy with schoolwork.”

“That’s this Brimnes, correct?” Henry asked.

“Yes, that’s right. We never go to the other city.”

Henry nodded. “Go on.”

“My shop sells charms, spells, and tokens — small blessings for good luck, fertility, and the like. All the things human tourists love to buy in the other Tamarley, conveniently located in their own neighborhood. My real source of income, though, comes from our services: cleansings, protections, exorcisms. These are usually house calls, but we’ll go anywhere. We were supposed to exorcise a pub this afternoon, though now I doubt we’ll make the appointment. It’s probably worth noting, Mr. Bell, that customer satisfaction is very important to me. I try to ease my clients through the process, and when we’re done, I leave one of my charms as a complementary gift.

“We hadn’t sold any services in a while, so last Sunday, Alice and I went out in the hopes of bringing in new clients. She passed out flyers, I put advertisements in the local papers and encouraged my regulars to spread word about the business. It took days to see any results, but on Friday, someone new came into the shop. She was a real lady, dressed far better than our usual clientèle. She marched right past my charms and came up to the counter to ask about protection services. She bought one of the big packages, too, one of the ones Alice said no one would buy because they’re too expensive.”

At this, Alice, rolled her eyes, but Saoirse continued, “With any of our services, I do a consultation beforehand. It helps us know what to expect and tailor the package to the client. During my consultation with the lady, she said her name was Helena Hathaway and that the services would be for her estate up in Chatnam, north of the river. I forgot the exact square footage, but it was a big house. In addition to the usual, there were guest rooms, servants’ quarters, several libraries and a nursery suite. You may have guessed it, but Helena was our Mr. Arthur Hathaway’s young wife.”

Here, Saoirse paused to pull a small metal case out of her pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked. Seeing Henry wrinkle his nose, she quickly tacked on, “It may very well be my last chance before the police come for me, you know, and wouldn’t that be a shame if you denied me.”

Henry sighed and rose to his feet. “As you will, then, Ms. Evans, but give me one moment.”

He didn’t have an ashtray, so instead, he found a small bowl for Saoirse to use. As he slid it across the coffee table toward her, his elbow bumped the candlestick sitting on it and tipped it over. Saoirse carefully righted it for him.

“Thank you, Detective,” she said, not noticing Henry’s smile. She took her time picking a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long draft before continuing, “Anyway, Mrs. Hathaway seemed wary of us, which I’m used to dealing with. Most of my clients haven’t even been to the other Tamarley, let alone seen magic in action. They don’t believe in it, but they’re out of alternatives and need a miracle. When I asked Helena about her reservations, she said that the magic wasn’t the issue and that she used to be ‘very into this sort of thing’ when she was younger, but her husband wouldn’t like that she was there, even though it was all for him.”

Henry raised an eyebrow at this, and Saoirse pointed her cigarette at him. “That’s how I reacted, too! When I asked what she meant, she only said that her husband had been paranoid, of late, and she didn’t know why. Seeing him like that had gotten to her, and she knew she’d feel better with the extra protection. I needed the money, so I didn’t press, but now I rather wish I had. Whatever Mr. Hathaway feared seems to have caught up with him, despite our best efforts.”

“That’s not our fault,” Alice said, crossing her arms. “Our wards were just fine.”

Saoirse shrugged. “In any case, after the consultation, we closed shop and headed straight to Camberley Hall. Everything went smoothly from there, or so I thought. We performed the cleansing and put up the usual protective spells, though it took a while due to the size of the place. I didn’t notice anything unusual, aside from Helena hurrying us out before her husband got home.”

“This was Friday afternoon?” Henry asked.

“That’s right. Helena didn’t know when Arthur would be home but didn’t want to take any risks.”

Henry considered this. “So you performed magic in Hathaway’s home, and less than twelve hours later, he died there under unusual circumstances. That does seem a rather damning connection, but it also seems Hathaway was afraid of something happening long before the two of you were involved. Is there anything else connecting you to the crime?”

“That’s where the unlucky piece comes in. You remember what I said about customer satisfaction, don’t you, Mr. Bell? About how I leave complementary charms? I left one in the last room we warded, like I usually do.” Saoirse met Henry’s gaze. “It happened to be the nursery.”

“Ah,” Henry said.

“Yes,” Saoirse agreed. “So you see my problem. The police already suspect sídhe involvement, and I imagine it won’t take them long to find my charm at the scene of the crime.”

“What was the charm meant to accomplish?” Henry asked.

“It was one of my own invention. The purpose was threefold: attract luck, prosperity, and good health. Hah, I don’t quite remember, but I think I might have used a symbol for summoning…?” Saoirse said with a sheepish shrug. “I left it under the baby’s pillow.”

Alice elbowed her. “Don’t you know that babies choke on small objects? What would you have done if she’d died, too?”

Saoirse’s expression turned troubled. “Oh, dear. I had forgotten about that.”