Chapter 3 #2
Designed to expand when needed and withstand anything short of a meteor strike, the greenhouse started as four glass panes bound by powerful incantations.
Now two stories tall, it boasts a roof that shifts with the weather and the movement of the sun.
Whimsical and cozy, it’s cloaked in wisteria and ivy, blending seamlessly into the school’s landscape.
Inside, it’s more impressive: a methodically organized maze of rich foliage, herbs, lush local and tropical trees, and rows of vegetables and flowers.
Plants are potted, trellised, or hung from the ceilings and along the circular steps leading to the upper gardens and work areas. Everything bursts with color.
Veda’s job is to monitor everything, plants and staff alike. The work is mundane, but she finds comfort in the routine, especially as her life spirals elsewhere. Midway through her morning tasks, she glances from the glass balcony and spots a disruption.
Everett Simpson is so nondescript, he seems faceless.
A wiry beard elongates his face, and his sandy-brown hair fades gray at the temples.
He looks like the sort who enjoys dry oats and has niche hobbies, like fly-fishing.
A Seer and the school’s new veterinarian, he replaced his predecessor last year.
Veda has always been polite, but since the start of the year, something about him has unsettled her.
“Can I help you, Dr. Simpson?” she calls.
His head swivels in three directions before he spots her. “Oh, there you are, Veda.”
The casual use of her name sharpens her suspicion.
“Is there something you need?” she asks.
Undeterred, he weaves through the winding paths to the spiral staircase. When Everett reaches her, Veda’s arms are crossed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t let anyone up here without a bachelor’s in magi-horticulture or a PhD in herbal biotechnology.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to shout.” Everett looks chastened. “I just—here.”
He all but shoves a folded paper in her hands and quickly retreats. Confused, Veda starts to open it until a glance at the clock jolts her memory. She’s late for her meeting with Antaris.
“Shit.”
Veda sprints to the school. By the time she reaches Peter’s office, she’s breathless and ready to apologize, but stops short at the sight of Antaris pacing.
His hand absently skims the spine of each book on the lower row once, then again.
It’s methodical. Five steps to the left, five to the right.
Veda clears her throat, and he stops, startled, before his eyebrows knit in cautious observation.
Every child has their own version of chaos.
She’s certain Antaris’s is buried deep, but for now, he’s unnervingly composed.
It’s been less than five minutes, and Veda is already at a loss, nervous that if she opens her mouth, the wrong thing will spill out, and she’ll scare him off like a wild animal prone to run.
She takes the first step, just as hesitant. “Hi, Antaris.”
Antaris keeps staring. It’s uncomfortable. Veda usually relies on August’s chatter to guide her, but this child offers no such cues.
“I see you like books,” she tries.
He glances at the bookshelf, and just like that, Veda briefly loses his attention until hazel eyes slide back to her.
She clears her throat. “Do you want to pick out a book?”
He shakes his head.
Veda sits on the floor and watches him. No wrinkles are present on his clothes, his black knitted bow tie is perfectly straight, and his hair is as severely parted as it was when they first met.
He’s careful, first with his blazer, hanging on the chair, then with Peter’s books, as if he understands actions have consequences.
Curiosity grabs Veda and doesn’t let go.
What would he sound like laughing? Telling a story?
Would he be animated? Does he get distracted and jump from subject to subject until he can’t remember how the story began?
Why do I care? It’s a question for which Veda has no answer.
Antaris catches her staring.
“Your grandmother wants me to tutor you. What do you think about that?”
His expression grows even more puzzled.
“You can shake your head no.”
He doesn’t.
“You can nod your head yes.”
He doesn’t do that, either.
“If you had five minutes to do anything, what would you do?”
Antaris looks as though he’s never considered it.
She holds up her hand. “I mean it—anything.”
It’s a question Veda has asked before. Mud pies was August’s answer, but Antaris is a much different child.
He proves this by walking out of the room.
Veda scrambles to follow, locking Peter’s office before chasing the boy down the corridor.
She finds him waiting by the academy’s door to the grounds.
Of all the things he could ask for . . . “You want to go outside?”
This earns Veda a hesitant nod.
“Okay.” When she opens the door, Antaris pauses, casting a tentative gaze up at Veda for confirmation, which she gives by saying gently, “Five minutes starts now.”
Antaris steps onto the deck with a panoramic view of the grounds.
The sun shines above the trees; mountains frame clear blue skies.
They can hear clucking chickens and the distant mooing of cows grazing in the pastures.
It’s beautiful, peaceful, but Veda isn’t the only restless soul.
Antaris closes his eyes, breath hitching.
Hazel eyes fly open as he quickly scrubs at them, then tries to exhale slowly, mouth pursed—but it doesn’t calm him.
Dread settles into Veda’s bones as she bears witness to his struggles.
Drowning doesn’t always look like drowning.
The ones in the most trouble don’t kick, splash, or cry for help.
Every shred of energy is used to stay afloat.
Antaris has been treading water for Cosmos knows how long, and he’s exhausted.
She tosses the only lifeline she has. “Your grandmother wants me to tutor you in hopes that you’ll talk, but I told her no. ”
There’s no wonder in his eyes, only scrutiny.
“I’m . . . I . . .” Flustered, Veda fumbles over words. “I won’t say no if you ask.”
Antaris’s breath catches.
“You don’t have to speak. I won’t push you. We can sit outside every day, rain or shine. We can color or read books, work through your workbook, or do nothing at all. It’ll be your time. Sometimes, we all need a place in the day that’s just ours. I’d like to give you that.”
Antaris worries at his bottom lip, gaze drifting toward the trees and beyond. When he turns to her once more, Veda knows this is her last shot. She holds up a finger. “How about this? Touch my finger once for no, twice for yes.”
The oar is cast, and Veda has done what she can. Antaris must do the rest, but she wonders if he’s too deep in silence to grab the lifeline. Her own problems are louder than this silent child, yet empathy compels her to keep reaching into the harsh seas of his misery, hoping to pull him to safety.
“It’s your choice,” she says, finger still raised.
Hope takes many forms and wears many faces. Today, it’s a boy timidly pressing a finger against hers. Once, then twice.
Unseasonably warm weather draws a large crowd to Proventia’s outdoor farmers’ market the first weekend of April.
The atmosphere is surprisingly friendly and festive with Mages and Seers intermingling.
They wander between vendors trying to outshine one another with an array of crafts, produce, meats, and art.
A local cover band plays popular songs from two decades ago.
Enforcers patrol while people sit on blankets, eating and talking, their dogs relaxing, playing, or nosing around the grass for dropped treats.
An undercurrent of tension remains, a heightened awareness that Veda likens to the feel of magic.
Often, it roars. Today it’s a dull thrum.
Veda dislikes public places, but Weston Academy remains self-funded, and to keep the school functioning, without high tuition costs, they sell excess produce at events like this.
Normally teachers volunteer to staff the booth, but today, Veda is alone.
Between price questions and bulk-order requests, she watches the crowd, etching faces into memory, linking strangers through imagined connections.
The passing hours smooth Veda’s serious edges and lower the volume of her ever-present anxiety. She’s nearly sold out when her final customers approach.
Ruth and Everly Wells are an odd contrast in both appearance and temperament.
Ruth, a Seer and member of the Oracle Council alongside Clinton, is tall and willowy with pale skin and gray hair.
She always wears a wide-brimmed hat regardless of the weather, and today is no exception.
Everly, on the other hand, isn’t a Seer.
She is as short as Veda and plump in a grandmotherly sort of way.
Her skin is olive and her eyes are as brown as her hair.
Despite their differences, they are sisters, but not by blood.
“Alone again, Veda?” Everly tsks. Since Veda’s birthday, Everly has cut her long hair into a bob that suits her nicely. “I’m beginning to think you only come when no one else does.”
Veda laughs awkwardly at the truth. “I don’t mind. It’s been a nice day.”
While Everly overpays for the rest of the school’s stock and refuses a discount, Ruth observes Veda like someone trying to decide whether food is too far past its expiration date to consume.
Veda hates being scrutinized, but it’s worse because it’s Ruth.
She doesn’t have kids of her own and has spent years as something of a mother figure to anyone who needs one.
Since Veda arrived in Proventia, Ruth invites her to holidays, and Everly brews the salve she puts on her back.
“What you think is loneliness is actually hunger.”
Everly does a double take and gives her sister a small swat. “Don’t scare the poor girl.”