Chapter 1 #2
Antaris scrutinizes her in a silence that borders on painful until Peter gestures to the woman. “This is his grandmother, Simran.”
Simran assesses Veda with equal interest before politely nodding. “Pleasure.”
It doesn’t sound like it.
“You as well,” Veda replies with a practiced, put-on pleasantness.
“Please, do take a seat, Miss Thorne.” Simran’s British accent is gratingly posh yet smooth in a way that naturally develops after years in America. “I imagine you are curious about why you are here.”
Veda is, but instead asks, “How did you know my last name?”
“I know many things.”
“Subtlety won’t get you anywhere with me.” Veda smiles, saccharine sweet.
Peter’s cough sounds like a chuckle. Every eye turns to him. “Just had something in my throat.”
Veda folds her arms, still waiting for her question to be answered.
A tight expression crosses Simran’s face.
“If you must know, I inquired about you, Miss Thorne. Peter tells me you spent a year studying Eastern brewing in my hometown, Bangalore, India. You were born in Maine, turned thirty eleven days ago, and do not possess Sight. Your mother was a tenured professor of theoretical Earth magic, and your father was an expert stonemaker. They Vanished when you were sixteen, during the Great Vanishing. To your credit, you did not let this tragedy stop you and went to college on scholarship, graduating with high honors in magiology and Earth medicine. You studied to be a doctor at Riverty University, where you again graduated with high honors, but quit during your internship. Pity.”
Keeping quiet in the face of a woman who will talk more when given a stage is harder than Veda realized, but she’s motivated by irritation at Simran’s flippant attitude toward her tragedy, her life.
“That is all I was able to gather. You see, Miss Thorne, I like to know everything about those I invite into my personal space. I want to surround my grandson with the right kind of people, if you understand what I mean.”
Veda’s politeness dies. “Clearly.”
Mages and Seers live, work, and are educated mostly separately because of the normalization of prejudice.
Demeaning incidents, slurs, biases, and the desire to remain independent of each other are common occurrences.
Casual cruelty. Mages’ actions are dismissed as harmless yet cause tremendous damage.
The most extreme bigots use rhetoric involving extermination, like “breeding out the gene,” and express a desire to bring back a time when Seers were controlled by injecting them with magic-blocking serum and forcing them into compliant servitude.
Where on the scale Simran lies, Veda can’t tell.
Her willingness to enroll Antaris in the only integrated school in Proventia is promising, considering there are other institutions that fit her taste.
More importantly, Veda can’t help but wonder what the hell Peter is thinking by allowing a proud bigot to set foot on the property.
With over three hundred students from years one to twelve, half of whom are Seers, security has always been tight due to threats from various hate groups.
Since its opening, and more so in the years since Peter took over, the academy has been vandalized, Seer students attacked walking to and from campus, and law enforcement has made it clear they watch the school closely—not to protect anyone but to arrest any Seer who steps out of line.
Allowing a bigot free access to the faculty and student body is dangerous.
“I would not have requested this meeting had I not thought you were worthy.” At Veda’s visible tension, Simran continues. “Consider my approval a compliment, Miss Thorne.”
Veda certainly does not.
Simran gestures to the chair once more, clearly used to getting her way. “Please sit. I insist.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“Very well.”
From Veda’s vantage point, observing Antaris and Simran comes naturally.
Grandmother and grandson. Aside from the freckles, their features vastly differ.
Simran’s are delicate and fawn-like, a contrast to her strong presence, while Antaris’s are rounder yet serious.
The only resemblance Veda can find is that they both look through people, not at them.
She catches Antaris staring at her amulet.
“Is he Sensitive?” Veda asks.
Like oxygen, magic is omnipresent, but Sensitives are naturally able to feel or smell residual magic after a spell has been cast. Or when it has been imbued into objects like her necklace.
Sensitivity is found only in Mages. Along with wealth, it’s used to define social hierarchy, with wealthy Sensitives at the top.
“His father and grandfather are, but Antaris is not.” Simran doesn’t disguise her tinge of disappointment. “There will be no need for accommodations, if that is why you are asking.”
It isn’t, but Veda doesn’t probe further.
Despite working at a school, she finds teenagers and babies easier to manage than children old enough to talk yet young enough to lack the filter of common sense developed by experience.
Veda glances at Peter, her patience slipping along with her manners.
“Not to be rude, but why exactly am I here?”
“Simran wanted to discuss something with you.”
The woman in question moves to stand at the end of the desk. “I take it Peter did not inform you about my visit.”
“He didn’t.”
Simran assesses her further before nodding. “You will do as a tutor for my grandson.”
Antaris looks more confused than Veda.
“Isn’t he—” She refuses to keep talking about him like he isn’t there, turning to the boy. “Aren’t you in year one?”
“Yes, he is,” Simran replies.
Irritation spikes, but Veda suppresses the unproductive emotion. “Typically, their curriculum—”
“Is not my concern. Tutor him for two hours a day following dismissal. I intend for him to be ready for testing to gain admittance into a respectable school.”
From the corner of her eye, Veda catches Peter shifting his weight.
“Weston Academy is an excellent school,” Veda says.
“It is. I can hardly tell it is an integrated school. The teenage Seers are well behaved and polite.”
“They are no different than Mage teenagers.” Veda glances at Peter, who pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you aware he is a Seer?”
“Peter is not like the others.”
It’s not a compliment, responding is futile, but Veda can’t leave well enough alone. “Why are his parents not here having this discussion?”
“My son is new to fatherhood, having only discovered his existence a mere two months ago. As a mother, I am better suited to guide Antaris’s path.”
Is he a commodity or a child?
Veda notices Antaris’s pinched, wounded expression. “Have you had a tour of the grounds?”
This grabs his attention. His response is a quick shake of his head, but it’s Peter’s and Simran’s surprise that leaves her puzzled. “Peter, will you show him around?”
He’s already on his feet midway through her request, gesturing for Antaris to follow. The boy appears hesitant, but one stern look from his grandmother makes him comply. Once they’re out the door, Veda excuses herself and follows. Antaris is already out of sight, Peter several steps behind.
She sharply whispers his name. Peter turns. “What?”
“Is she paying full tuition?”
“She is, and has made a sizable donation.”
“Be that as it may, her being here is absolutely insane.” When he offers no explanation, she glares. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’ll tell you more when you check your judgment at the door.”
He’s gone before she can argue. Seething, Veda returns to find Simran sitting in Peter’s chair.
“Is there something wrong?” The tone implies she knows the answer. “Or did you need a moment to fuss at Peter for not preparing you for our intrusion?”
The room feels smaller, congested. Veda takes the seat Antaris left. “I was letting him know who was at the barn to help with the tour.”
“Peter reminds me of myself,” Simran says. “He moves in silence, not letting one string know how it fits with the others until they are all entwined.”
That is Peter in a nutshell. Veda rests her hands on her lap. “What strings are we?”
“I do not know. My current concern is for my grandson. His mother recently passed on, as you probably know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Nausea rises with the guilt of judging her absence.
“Antaris has been in the country for less than two weeks, and we have much to do to acclimate him.”
“Where’s he from?”
“London,” Simran replies.
“That’s not the moon. It shouldn’t take much for him to—”
“Cosmos only knows what his Seer mother taught him before her death. Antaris was homeschooled and did not complete proper testing. We had a comprehensive Sight panel done yesterday, and blessedly, he tested at a zero.”
Stifling her growing anger is all Veda can do in the face of such bigotry. “Those tests are not accurate. Most Mages have the potential for Sight. How it manifests is a matter of genetics and chance.”
“The chance, according to the test, is zero.”
Veda smothers her original comment, amending it to something softer. “I’m struggling to see why it’s so dire that I take him on.”
“Antaris does not speak.”
Once again, Veda silently apologizes for assuming he was being spoken over. “Can he speak?”
“He has not always been silent, according to his mother’s stepfather, who helped raise him.”
“Then he’ll speak again, I suppose.” Veda shrugs. “I’m not a child therapist.”
“Be that as it may, from the moment you spoke, Antaris paid attention. You are the first adult outside of our family to gain his attention and response without prompting. I need him to speak again. No proper school will take him as he is now.”
“I can’t make him talk.”
“Perhaps not.” Simran’s jaw is tight as she stands and crosses the room to the table to pick up her purse.
After producing a collection of folded papers, she hands them to Veda.
“This contract includes payment information, guidelines, and an ideal time frame. There is also a stipulation for time bonuses, should you get him speaking before August. All you need to do is sign.”
It’s not that simple.
When Simran realizes Veda isn’t accepting the contract, she places it on the desk. “It appears you have already made a choice. Had you planned to accept my terms, this conversation would have gone differently.”
“It would have.”
Confirmation of Veda’s decision deflates her. She sits back down, suddenly less rigid. “Are you going to tell me why you denied my request?”
“No is a complete sentence.” Veda stands and dusts her jeans. “But since you’re curious, I manage the grounds. Spring and summer are my busiest times of year. I won’t have the time to tutor anyone.”
Confusion flashes across Simran’s face, but she remains composed. “I have been told you tutor Investigator Sallant’s son.”
The extent of Peter’s association with Simran is a curious juxtaposition.
Veda wants to jump to a hundred conclusions.
Instead, she holds her judgment until they can talk.
She owes him that much. “I don’t tutor August, per se.
He occasionally stays after school, plays in the dirt, chases the school’s livestock.
It’s hardly educational. Peter should’ve known better.
Wait, who is he to you? You’ve made it clear you don’t associate with Seers. ”
“I do not, but his mother was my housekeeper before starting Weston Academy. Peter was my son’s playmate until my son left for boarding school at twelve. From afar, I watched Peter grow into a respectable man. Sight notwithstanding.”
“Ah, well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Veda extends her hand to shake, sighing when it’s rejected. “My denial isn’t personal.”
Simran’s facade collapses, and something honest rises. “I am asking for one session.”
“It’s best that you . . .”
Movement catches Veda’s eye through the window.
Antaris is at the top step of the deck, dubious in the face of Peter’s welcoming smile and warm gestures.
He turns, almost searching. Their eyes meet through the glass.
Veda’s list of excuses is long, but self-awareness lingers.
In time, her curiosity will grow louder, resolute and insistent that this melancholic child needs help.
Her help. Rationalizing that it’s best she answer that call just this once, she looks back at Simran.
“Fine. One session.”