sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

twenty-two | coincidence

The sun had almost set, leaving the sky a deep shade of purple fragmented by unsettling silhouettes of passers-by and pointed rooftops. Greer had been watching it darken between piling books onto tables. She and Shyla had just about cleared the broken shelves and replaced them with low wooden tables that had been sitting, dust-covered, in storage for years. The books in poor condition had been piled atop them while the few shelves that had survived the assault held the ones that hadn't been damaged. The shop seemed empty now that it was no longer broken up by aisles of the tall shelves, and since she and Shyla had barely said a word to one another over the past few hours, an eerie silence had settled in with the dust.

It was broken now, though, as Lennox burst through the door, his shoe-laces loose and his scarf hanging off one shoulder. His face was a sickly shade of grey and his glasses were placed haphazardly on his head. "You'll never bloody guess what's happened now."

Greer stood up, anxiety twisting in her stomach. Behind her, she heard Shyla shuffle as he did the same. Her eyes darted about the shop as she took it in, wondering what her grandfather would think of the new layout, but it seemed he hadn't noticed it at all. His eyes were wide and glassy, lit up by a fleeting blue glow as a police-car raced past the window, its siren wailing. They had been on and off all afternoon. Only now, upon seeing her grandfather so dishevelled, did Greer think anything of them. "What is it?"

"A woman was found dead in the car park up the road," he replied, resting a frail arm on the counter as he paused to catch his breath. "You'd better have sorted that bloody spell out Greer or so help me—"

"It was the first thing I did when you left," she reassured him quickly, earning a huff of relief from Lennox.

"The woman ... Was she a witch?" Shyla questioned before Greer could. His face was still swollen, the bruises turning a deep purple despite the fact that Greer had used a cold compress and a couple of healing herbs on him earlier.

Lennox nodded, his eyes falling to his feet solemnly. "A Necromancer. She was on her way here to see us, I think."

"How do you know that?" Greer asked quietly, her brows furrowing as an ambulance passed the shop, casting a green light over them. This time, there were no sirens.

"They identified her when I was there: Eve Dupree, one of the elder's granddaughters." His eyes fell shut as he grimaced. "I only spoke to the woman yesterday over the phone. She wanted to book an appointment. With all the attacks, she was worried she might be targeted. I told her she had to come to the shop directly if she wanted our help. She had a baby, too, poor girl. Locked in the car, it was, while her mother was strangled to death."

"It's not your fault," Greer muttered, placing a comforting hand on her grandfather's arm. Her chest clenched with sadness for both the child and the mother, unable to stop thinking of herself though she knew it was selfish. She knew what it was to lose a parent and an aunt that way, though, knew what it was to grow up without a mother. Her heart ached for the baby.

"Well, I bloody-well know that, thank you," Lennox ranted, shaking off Greer's hand and swiping the glasses from his head. "That woman was murdered in cold blood. The only person to blame is the evil bastard who did it."

"Do you think it was the same people that attacked me?" Shyla responded, gulping. His hair was still a tussle of brown curls, untamed since the attack, and the collar of his shirt was still dotted with blood. It could have been him, Greer thought, her stomach sinking. Shyla could have died today, too.

"I'm not a big believer in coincidences, lad." Lennox pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back onto his nose and peered out of them. Shyla looked as taken aback as Greer felt at her grandfather calling him something other than 'Bowers.' "Either way, I wouldn't take my chances. I want to close the shop for a few days an' let all this chaos die down. We can focus on the clients who have already booked with us that way."

"I think that's for the best," Greer agreed, her voice light with relief. "Do you know how the woman—Eve—died?"

"She was beaten to a bloody pulp, just like Bowers here. You were lucky," he said, turning his attention to Shyla. "You walked away."

"Yes, sir," Shyla whispered. "I was."

"But no signs of Dark magic?" Greer urged.

"Couldn't get bloody close enough to see. Look, your grandmother wants us home." He was already straightening his jacket and pulling his car keys from his pocket. The fresh smell of a crisp night combined with cigarette smoke clung to his clothes, wafting with his movement. "I don't blame her. It's not safe tonight. We'll close up and sort the rest out in the morning."

"My car's outside. You go. I'll close and drive Shyla home."

Lennox cast both Greer and Shyla a hesitant glance. "If you're not home in an hour, there'll be trouble, madam. Not just from me, either. Your grandmother won't be best impressed."

"I know, Granddad," she sighed, already ushering him out of the door. "I won't be long. I promise."

Lennox gave in, not without a purse of his lips as he stepped out of the door. "You better be," he said, waggling a finger before disappearing into the night.

Greer smiled softly despite herself, shutting out the cold as she stepped back and turned to face Shyla. He was deep in thought, his jaw tensed as he gazed at something past Greer.

"I wasn't sure before, but now ..." Her voice trembled as she spoke.

"What?" Shyla snapped out of his daze, furrowing his brows and grabbing his coat off the hanger with a slight wince.

Greer helped him, holding out the coat so that he could slide his arms in the sleeves without too much strain. "Shyla, what if the people that attacked you—Devan's sister—what if they're not just the same people who killed Eve? What if they've killed others, too?"

"You mean, like your aunt?"

Greer worried at her lip, her fingers unsteady as she wrapped Shyla's scarf around his neck carefully and handed him his hat. "When I was talking to a client yesterday, they said there were rumours about the fires. Some people think that maybe the people killing us are Dark witches, not mortals. I asked Devan, but she told me she had nothing to do with it."

"Would she tell you if she did?" Shyla's expression was doubtful.

"Exactly," Greer said. "I thought that maybe that's why she was running, that maybe she was part of the murders when she didn't want to be. I thought I was being paranoid, but now ..."

"Now her sister has attacked me and a Necromancer has been murdered around the corner on the same day," Shyla nodded, narrowing his eyes. He had a cut above his eyebrow and the opposite temple was covered in gauze after Greer had forced him to let her clean him up. "Your grandfather was right: it doesn't seem like much of a coincidence. But the people who killed Clair were burning multiple people at once, imitating witch trials. They don't seem like the type to make a pitstop and get their hands dirty for the sake of one witch. Leaving someone for dead in a car park ... it doesn't seem premeditated like the others."

"Maybe not. Maybe it is just a coincidence," Greer shrugged. "There's only one way to know for sure, and I'm done taking my chances. This can't happen again." A silence fell between them as she thought of what might have happened to Shyla today—what she might have lost. "Do you still have the address of the Necromancer you found in Blackpool?"

Shyla's eyebrows raised in surprise, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "I do."

"Good." She turned the lights off so that they were bathed suddenly in darkness. "It's about time we found out the truth."