"But it never is. That's what serial killers say when the police interview them. Some of them try again and again for the real-life kill to match the fantasy, but it never does, so they kill again and again to try to make it perfect."
Lucy smiled at me. "You know, that's one of the things I always liked about you."
"What?" I asked.
"You don't just rely on the magic; you actually try to be a good detective."
"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" I asked.
"Yeah, but you'd be surprised how many psychics and wizards are great at the magic but suck at the actual detecting part."
"No, I wouldn't, but remember, I didn't have that much magic until a few months ago."
"That's right, you were a late bloomer." And she smiled again. Once I'd thought it was strange that the police could smile over a body, but I'd learned that you either lighten up about it or you transfer out of homicide, or better yet, you get out of police work.
"I've already checked, Merry. There are no other homicides even close to this one. No demi-fey killed in a group. No costumes. No book illustration left. This is one of a kind."
"Maybe it is, but you helped teach me that killers don't start out this good. Maybe they just planned it perfectly and got lucky that it was this perfect, or maybe they've had other kills that weren't this good, this thought-out, but it would be staged, and it would have this feel to it."
"What kind of feel?" she asked.
"You thought film not just because it would give you more leads, but because there's something dramatic about it all. The setting, the choice of victims, the display, the book illustration; it's showy."
She nodded. "Exactly," she said.
The wind played with my purple sundress until I had to hold it to keep it from flipping up and flashing the police line behind us.
"I'm sorry to drag you out to something like this on a Saturday, Merry," she said. "I did try to call Jeremy."