Sandra didn’t like the way the police had looked at her husband. She felt they suspected him when they asked him difficult questions about their friendship, calling it a ‘relationship’. Sandra would have laughed had it not been such dire circumstances. Though she did notice that Fred held back on telling the police the exact nature of their group. She understood: ordinary folk saw what they did as nothing short of black magic. Nothing could be further from the truth, but to those who didn’t have the luxury of wisdom it was a dark art to be mistrusted. Fred was right to protect them, and her loyalty, too, was to her husband, not the police. And Mary would agree. Would have agreed.

‘Love. Eat the sandwich. I made the bread.’

Fred continued to gaze into space. Occasionally he would sigh and run his hand through his silver hair, shaking his head, as though if he did so, things would return to normal. Then, upon realising that they wouldn’t, he’d shake his head, close his eyes and settle back into his sorrow.

‘Why, Sandra? I can’t…’

It was the first he’d spoken all day. She knew he hadn’t slept last night. He’d been up, reading his books and notepads, saying blessings and mantras all night, hoping to protect her soul from the underworld. Autumn was the most active of seasons for the spirits, as daylight gave way to darkness. It was almost the autumn equinox, and after that, the days would get shorter and shorter, until winter solstice. Until then, they were vulnerable to the most active of the spirits, and with a bereavement hanging over them, they were weakened with an imbalance of auras and thus less armed if attacked. It made them exposed.

Sandra had never shown interest in becoming a High Priestess: she was happier to follow the way rather than organise it. That was Fred’s job, and he found a willing and able collaborator in Mary. Mary had been the ultimate fixer, arranger, coordinator and regulator, and the group was held together by her. Her passion for what she did drove them all forward and they’d relied on her: Sandra realised this now. Without Mary they were lost, and with Fred in the pit of despair, she didn’t know who to turn to. She thought about calling a meeting so they could at least mourn together. The police said they’d be interviewing everyone who was a member of their social group. She’d called all of them last night to deliver the awful news before the police. And to warn them.

‘Fred, can I call someone? Perhaps Jock? Or Joe maybe?’ she asked.