Page 98 of Sigils & Spells

Even though I hadn’t seen inside the room, I was convinced Raven had been in there. How did the suitcase man fit in? I had no doubt he was involved somehow. Was he the amplification witch? What had been in that case?

Since the police seemed to doubt his presence they certainly wouldn’t ask any questions about him. They wouldn’t look into any connection between him, Raven, and Clancy. If there was a connection. Did the women know him? Had both witches been killed by the same person? For the same reason? Had he killed them? Why? Was Jonah tied into this? How?

I could drop in on Mr. Abernathy. He knew Raven. Maybe he could answer a few questions. I checked the street sign attached to the traffic lights. Seventh Avenue.

Huh.

I was less than a mile from Mission of Hope. Maybe the Director or some of the volunteers would talk to me. Hopefully, I could find an answer or two there.

I turned left at the light.

Over the years, the Mission of Hope had changed locations several times. The current site was a two-storied brown brick building. In addition to providing meals and temporary shelter, the organization worked with multiple agencies to help people find jobs, affordable housing, and provided food assistance. I’d never been inside the Mission, though I’d contributed to several fundraisers throughout the years.

I found a parking spot a block from the main entrance. Using the Kingston Metro parking app I entered the parking space number and then dithered over how long I’d be there. There could be wait time. I might get lucky and meet some chatty people. Or no one would talk to me and I’d be done in minutes. That last thought kicked up a flurry of doubts. I opted for an optimistic thirty minutes, locked the car, and started walking.

Pessimism hounded me as my low heels clicked against the sidewalk. What exactly was I going to ask? Would they answer my questions? Or would that be considered a breach of privacy? I rehearsed a few opening lines in my head. Rejecting them all as lame or bordering on ridiculous.

Keep it simple. The right words would come to me and I’d find that thread that tied Raven to the suitcase man. Then I’d hand it over to the police.

Holding onto that hope, I grasped the doorknob, the metal warm from the sun, and opened the door.

The tidy reception area smelled faintly of pine cleaner and coffee. A rack of brochures and four white, hard-plastic folding chairs took up the left side of the room. Children’s drawings decorated the beige walls. From the hallway straight ahead of me I heard the shuffle of activity and murmur of indistinguishable voices. To my right, a narrow-faced woman looked up from a battered laptop that had seen better days and smiled at me.

“How may I help you?”

Answers. There could be answers here. I took a steadying breath.

“Good morning, I’m Marin Girard. If it’s possible I’d like to speak to the Director.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” I gripped my purse, holding it in front of me like a shield. “I don’t. But I won’t take up much of their time. I have a few questions about Raven.”

The receptionist’s hand rose to cover her heart. Sorrow filled her dark eyes. “We’re all devastated. Are you with the police?” She popped up from her chair. “Mr. Hampstead said you might come by.”

“No, I’m—”

“Raven was a tortured soul,” she cut in, coming around the desk. “You know she was a seer, of course. Such a shame. She had trouble protecting her mind. Started using drugs to block her sight. Of course, it made things worse. Drugs always do. If you’ll follow me.”

The front door opened. I turned to see Aidan Kelley entering.

No. No. No. Why did he have to show up?

I had a moment to appreciate the way his black suitcoat accentuated his shoulders and lean waist before his forest-green eyes connected with mine. Surprise flashed over his face, immediately followed by a very pissed-off scowl.

“Please have a seat,” the receptionist told him. “I’ll be right with you.”

“Marin?” His steely glare froze me in place. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m—”

“Do you two work together?” Her voice held a note of concern.

“No, I’m—”

“What are you doing here?” He snapped out the question.

“Are you both here to speak with Mr. Hampstead?”

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