“They won’t really try to blame Saoirse, will they?" Alice asked Henry. "It's just a silly charm."

“In my experience, the police go for the most obvious solution, even if it’s not the correct one. They’ll claim Saoirse’s charm summoned something to kill Hathaway, even if such magic isn’t possible or within Saoirse’s abilities,” Henry explained. “Unless…Ms. Evans, is there anything else I should be aware of before taking on this case?”

“Not that I can think of,” Saoirse said, tapping a finger to her lips.

“There’s nothing else relevant that you’d like to tell me? Nothing that might help me prove your innocence?”

“Why, no. Is there something else you feel I should tell you, Mr. Bell?”

Henry narrowed his eyes at her. “Then, can you describe in exact detail what kind of wardings you placed on Camberley Hall, what steps you took to cast those wardings, and what school of magic you trained under?”

“Oh, um.” Saoirse glanced briefly at Alice, eyes wide. “I hardly think all that’s relevant. Is it, Mr. Bell? As I said, they’re very basic wardings.”

“Ms. Evans,” Henry said, giving Saoirse a shrewd look.

Saoirse laughed nervously. “Mr. Bell.”

“Ms. Evans, I’m going to ask something that you may take offense to.”

Saoirse laughed again, louder, and covered her sister’s ears. “Oh! Well, I’m very flattered, Mr. Bell, but Alice is right here. You are cute, though. I promise, if you get me out of this, I’ll show you just how grateful I am—”

“Ms. Evans, please!” Henry hissed. He pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. “This is about your heritage. I know that you’re human, so why are you pretending to be sídhe?”

Saoirse’s smile fell, as did her arms, leaving Alice to glare and try to fix her hair. Then, Saoirse threw her head back and laughed. “You’re even better than I thought! What gave me away?”

“Your ears are prosthetic,” Henry pointed out. “A convincing set, matched well to your skin tone, but when compared to Ms. Alice’s very real pair beside you, the differences are obvious. Your accent is local and you use incorrect terms for sídhe wardings, leading me to believe you never had any sort of magical education. Paired with the way you talk about your services, the situation becomes obvious.”

“How do I talk about my services?” Saoirse asked, eyeing Henry doubtfully.

“While talking about your shop, your charms, or your clients, you use ‘my.’ My shop, my charms, my clients. When you speak about your services, it becomes ‘our.’ Our services. I assume you’re referring to yourself and Ms. Alice, but why do only the services belong to both of you when nothing else does? The only difference I can think of is this: charms, spells, and tokens are easy to fake. Questions as to their effectiveness can be explained away, making it an easy con. Charms wear off, spells only give off the energy you put into them. But your services are observable to anyone with magic. If you were selling fake exorcisms, you would have been outed as a fraud long ago. That leads me to believe that your services, at least, are real. However, as a human, you have no magic.

“I knew Ms. Alice was from the other city the moment I heard her speak. Accents are generally understood to be malleable before the age of twelve and firm afterward. As Ms. Alice’s accent is still thoroughly sídhe, given her age, she must have come to this Tamarley recently — within the last few years, I’d wager. That would have given her plenty of time to receive a magical education in the other city.”

“Not bad,” Saoirse said, once he’d finished. “You know a lot about the other Tamarley, huh?”

Henry shrugged. “Only as needed for my work. I’ve done some studies of the regional dialects on both cities, of course.”

“Of course,” Saoirse echoed.

“There’s one other thing that gave you away,” Henry said.

“Enlighten me, Mr. Bell.”

Henry allowed himself a small smile. He pointed at the candlestick Saoirse had fixed for him earlier. “That candlestick you touched without a problem? It’s iron.”

Saoirse groaned and Alice laughed, though the latter quickly clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Henry smiled again, triumphant, and asked, “So is Alice the true magic behind your shop, then?”

Saoirse waved a hand. “Oh, who can say who’s the main contributor of a joint venture? I would say we both provide significant contributions—”

“Yes,” Alice interrupted. “I do the magic. Only for the services, though, not the charms. Saoirse distracts the client while I work.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Henry said with a pointed look at Saoirse. “Then, Ms. Evans, if all this is true, the charm you left at Camberley Hall has no more magic than any useless gift shop trinket?”

“Hey! You needn’t phrase it like that!” Saoirse said.

Ignoring her, Henry continued, “Why not simply tell the police the truth, if and when they come for you? You may face fines for the scam, lose business if it comes out in the papers, but that would be the worst of it. It would certainly exonerate you of the murder.”

“Telling the police is out of the question, Mr. Bell,” Saoirse said, her tone going cold all at once. Like an actor pulling on a mask, she put on a serious face and said, “Do you know how much my services mean to the masses? If people find out I’m human, they’ll lose faith in me, but even worse, in themselves and in the good magic can do! Sure, I may not have magic myself. Sure, the charms I sell are fake, but nobody buys charms like that expecting them to be real, anyway. They’re just a representation of dreams they want to see manifested. My charms give them hope, Mr. Bell, do you understand? When the people have hope, the city thrives! Do you want the city to stop thriving, Mr. Bell?”

Henry sat back at the speech, bemused, and studied Saoirse Evans. Alice was rolling her eyes, but Henry didn’t buy any of it. He didn’t believe Saoirse’s boisterous front was anything more than just that: a front, one that hid a shrewd mind, a keen business sense, and, he suspected, a bigger heart than she would have him believe. She had another reason for keeping this secret, one that had nothing at all to do with her business.

“You’re worried for Alice,” he guessed.

Saoirse stilled, a look of genuine surprise flitting across her face, then sighed. When she spoke again, she did so frankly, possibly for the first time that morning: “Aside from me, you’re now the only one in this world who knows Alice has magic. She’s quite the powerful little changeling, and if the police find out about her, at best they’ll want to monitor her. At worst, they’ll try to take her away. I would rather spend a lifetime in prison than let Alice see a lick of trouble.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you go to prison?” Alice asked, crossing her arms.

“Obviously, Alice, it would be best if neither of us went to prison, but Mr. Bell here is our only chance at achieving that particular outcome.”

When both Alice and Saoirse turned to look at Henry, Henry sighed. “I promise I’ll keep your secrets if I can help it. That does make my job harder, though: the only way to prove your innocence will be to find the real murderer, instead.”

“But you’ll take the case?” Saoirse asked, smiling again. She had a kind smile, soft and warm. It made Henry want to do whatever it took to help her; with a smile like that, he wasn’t surprised she’d made a successful living as a grifter.

“I will,” he said.

“I’m glad you sound confident,” Saoirse began. “I leave Alice in your hands, then — and myself as well. I’m sure the police will be here for me soon, after all.”

“Be here?” Henry asked, eyes widening.

“Of course! I have nothing to hide, so I left a note on the shop door telling them that I’d come to see you.”

“I see,” Henry said. He would’ve liked more time to question Saoirse about particulars, but at that moment, he heard the downstairs door slam and several sets of heavy footsteps start up the stairs. “I suppose that’s them now.”