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“Really?” Iona’s voice had lost its melody. The word was spoken flatly, angrily. “Well, if you’ve already had council approval, what more do you need from me?”

“Information about the Devil’s Mirror,” Avery rasped, mentally crawling back to her objective. She would have to thank Saga later. She had ill memories of being in Iona’s influence, but either the iele had grown stronger since Iona last aimed her siren song at her, or two hundred years apart had robbed the memory of its full intensity.

Avery had never seen Iona afraid, so she didn’t dare call the look that flashed across her eyes in that moment fear—but it certainly was not the controlled mask she wore at all times. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” said Saga. “Pieces of it were also found with the body of the Erlking. They’re from the same origin as the sword you gave to Avery to kill him. It even bears a similar name.”

Another glimpse of what might have been fear, then anger, then amusement. “Oh, Hemlock.” Iona always had a way of speaking her name with the full force the epithet originally intended. “Did you find a way around our agreement? Or is she really that clever?” She slunk toward Saga, truly looking at her for the first time since they arrived. “How deliciously unexpected…”

“That I’m clever?” Saga raised her eyebrows.

“Oh darling, I always knew you were clever.” The melody had returned, and it always sounded different when Avery wasn’t its intended audience. “But perhaps too patient, it would seem. Did you allow that foolish boy to wrong you further?” The iele gasped in delight. “And perhaps even gain a vendetta against the Winter Prince himself…”

Saga took a step back. “My mother committed a crime, and she paid for it. The scales were satisfied.”

“Mmm, but he didn’t just punish her, he robbed you of a mother. He let his anger push him and he overstepped…”

“We aren’t here to talk about Saga’s life, Iona, we’re talking about yours.” Avery’s vocal magic was not remotely equipped to combat with the iele’s, but it did charge her words enough they at least felt like they clashed against the siren’s song. She was still weak, but she would be damned if she let Iona pull her friend under again.

Iona glared at Avery and sighed. “Fine.” She held up her hands. “Is this blackmail? Or have you already told the council of my involvement?”

“I am not here to punish you for the help I asked for,” Avery managed. She wasn’t directly speaking of it, but even hedging that close made her head ache. “I want to know if you helped Abigail Rhyder.”

“Quite the opposite, I assure you.” Iona sat on the edge of her desk, pulled a cigarette from a gold case, and lit it with a crystal table lighter on her desk. It smelled like cloves as she exhaled the smoke past pursed lips. “Abigail was my personal assistant for a little over a year. She was human, but she had a talent for magic, and she needed a job. She was, however, never a client, nor did I discuss my clients with her.”

“Are you suggesting she was ignorant of what you did here?” Avery’s voice was full of skepticism.

“No, I’m telling you she was not involved in any Reprise-sanctioned vengeance.” Iona had the audacity to actually wink at Saga. “We’re very discerning with our clientele.”

“Did she ever attempt to solicit your services?” Avery cut in.

The direct question caused Iona to take another drag of her cigarette. “Once. Her married boyfriend had decided to leave her, and she wanted retribution. I could not have granted it even if I wanted to. I explained to her that John Hingley, while a cad, had broken no vows made to her. She entered into an affair fully knowing the man was married, and any illusions she had about him leaving his wife for her were purely the product of her imagination. Her scales were perfectly aligned. I could assist Elizabeth Hingley, if she were aware of my services, but Abigail hadn’t been wronged, so I could not help her.” She shrugged. “She did not appreciate my candor.”

“You argued?”

“She argued,” Iona clipped. “I dismissed her.”

“That was it?” Avery asked.

“Yes, it was all very civil. Well, I was civil.”

Avery nodded thoughtfully. “Does the council know you falsified your records of her employment?”

Iona’s smile waned and she took another drag of the cigarette.

Avery looked to Saga for confirmation. “Shakespeare’s birthday, April 23rd, if memory serves?” The witch smiled with a confused nod. “Abigail was out of town on a school trip that took her around the country for a week. Stratford only being the third of the five locations they visited. There’s a photo from Shakespeare’s birthday parade in the school’s yearbook featuring Abigail rather prominently with John Hingley. His arm is around her waist, and while none are quite so damning of the professor, there are also photos of the trip from the following days where Abigail is still present. So, tell me, given your testimony… How were you arguing with her about her boyfriend when they were clearly still together, and she wasn’t even in the city?”

Iona’s stare was daggers.

“Now I do believe that argument happened, just not the date on which you said it happened. It seems to me that moment was more probable once they’d returned to London, after the birth of John’s son, Blake, on May 3rd, yes? Now, why would you falsify that date of termination? Unless, of course, you were attempting to further distance your business from the murder itself, which, by the grace of Mundane newspapers, we know took place on the night of May 5th. But if Abigail was not a client and you had no hand in her revenge, I have to ask… What need would you have to distance yourself?”

Defiantly, Iona snuffed out the cigarette, grinding it harder than necessary into the crystal ashtray. “She stole from me.”

“Why didn’t you report it?”

“I did,” she said gingerly. “Anonymously. It was how the sentinels knew to look into Hingley’s death.”

“Convenient,” said Avery—it meant Iona’s name was nowhere on the record.