Murder Among the Roses

The sweet, earthy scent of roses usually filled Evangeline Rose's flower shop, a comforting aroma that masked the weariness in her bones. Tonight, however, it was tinged with something else—the faint, metallic tang of blood and the unsettling chill of an uninvited presence. She had heard the crash from her hidden bedroom, a sound like shattered glass echoing through the silent shop.

Her wand clutched tightly in her hand, Evangeline moved with cautious, mouse-like steps, Azalea, her skunk familiar, nudging at her chest with soft whimpers. The darkness of the shop was absolute, save for the slivers of moonlight pooling through the front windows. As she crept past familiar displays of daisies and elegant vases, a pungent odor, burnt and sulfurous, singed her nostrils.

Then, she saw it. A figure, splayed grotesquely on the floor near the entrance, surrounded by shards of broken glass. Her breath hitched, a scream threatening to claw its way up her throat, as bile rose in her stomach. The man was unfamiliar, his head disfigured, brain matter and blood splattered across her pristine floor. What in the hells had happened?