Chapter 4 #2
Still, it’s not enough. Antaris looks away, rocking and hugging his rabbit tighter, his eyes distant. The clock spins out of control, and Hiram finds himself just as lost. How does he even begin to approach the topic of his mother, who left and never returned?
“I know it’s not much, but . . .”
Fumbling for a pen, Hiram scribbles a note. A written oath he vows to never break.
I’ll always come back.
Hiram keeps his promise by making it home with hours to spare, but his head is spinning from the chaos of the day.
Finalizing the shipping of his belongings was far easier than handling the last signatures to officially begin his hiatus.
He reached the airport with plenty of time, only to be bombarded with calls from his uncle Robert.
Apparently, Simran told him Hiram was in town, and he wanted to discuss an opportunity at the family’s firm.
When Robert brought Antaris into it, advising that moving firms would benefit his kid the most, Hiram told his uncle he’d rather be disbarred.
Now, back home, Hiram deletes his mother’s voicemails on the way to the mailbox.
The only thing inside is a card. Gabriel Sallant. Investigator.
Hiram almost tears the card in half before the address catches his eye. Moments later, he’s en route to the investigator’s downtown office. He flashes his identification at security and shows the card to the building receptionist, who mumbles, “Fourth floor,” and points to the elevator.
Avoiding eye contact in the elevator is easy. He steps out to find himself face-to-face with a door marked Federal Crime Division. He lets himself in.
Before he can ring the bell at the secretary’s desk, a woman—presumably Seren Landry, according to the precariously placed golden nameplate on the desk—pops up from behind a mountain of folders.
She looks no older than thirty-five, with fair skin, a sleek blond bob, and piercing green eyes.
She’s dressed in black tailored pants and a white shirt, a bird amulet brooch pinned to her jacket.
Folders seem more capable of withstanding a breeze than she does.
“Hey there, how can I help ya?” Her Southern accent is unexpected this far northwest.
“I’m looking for Investigator Sallant. He left this in my mailbox.” Hiram holds up the card.
“That sounds like Gabriel. He’s awfully dedicated to his cases.”
“Dedicated?” Hiram scoffs. “More like relentless.”
“I doubt the victims or their families think that’s a bad thing.” Seren touches a lone lavender bloom rising from the serrated leaves beside her. “The dead can’t seek justice, but the living can.”
She has a point.
“Who are you and what case are you here about?”
“Hiram Ellis and the Botanist.”
Seren nods slowly. “Ah yes. He and Francisco were working on that one long before I joined the team. Are you giving a statement? I can find a private room for you to wait in.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
An awkward beat follows. “Oh my goodness, I never introduced myself. I’m—” She glances at her nameplate. “Well, you already know. I’ll get Gabriel for ya. Have a seat anywhere.”
Hiram nods and picks a chair, checking his watch.
An hour and a half left until he needs to be home for Antaris.
He doesn’t wait long, surreptitiously glancing at Seren while she works.
Gabriel emerges first, only a few inches taller than the secretary.
He’s still wearing a criminal amount of plaid, but Hiram is more interested in why the hell he put the card in his mailbox.
“How can I—”
“I already said questioning my son is off-limits.” Hiram slaps the card onto the secretary’s desk.
“The card wasn’t for him, it was for you.” Gabriel gestures to the door. “Wanna talk in my office?”
“No.”
Gabriel grins and turns to Seren. “Can you bring him a bottle of water?”
“Sure thing, hun.”
Once Seren disappears, Hiram reluctantly follows Gabriel back to a cluttered office shared with Francisco, per the twin nameplates.
Francisco’s half is tidy, decorated with framed photos and a bamboo plant.
Gabriel’s is chaotic. Childlike drawings plaster one wall, and a rock sits on his desk with the name August painted on it in four different colors.
Catching Hiram’s stare, Gabriel shrugs. “Kids, am I right?”
Hiram doesn’t understand what the hell Gabriel is implying. “What do you want?”
“I did some digging to prepare for this conversation. Grace Fowler didn’t list you as next of kin, but since hers didn’t arrive, you were notified and given custody of your son. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“No, but she had plenty of friends you should track down and interrogate.” Hiram’s reply is clipped with growing irritation. Light flickers, drawing his attention to the window. It’s cloudy out, the air ripe for rain. Probably lightning.
“This isn’t an interrogation. I wanted to talk more about the trickster pendant. I also want to discuss more of the case, but I can’t divulge too much, since you’re not Grace’s immediate family.”
“My son is.” Hiram isn’t fully settled into fatherhood, but he knows he’ll have difficult conversations with Antaris about his mother’s murder in the future. It’ll be worse if he has to explain why he didn’t help with the investigation into her death. “Is he in any danger?”
“He shouldn’t be, but I don’t know what he’s seen, if anything.”
“I won’t—”
“I understand.”
Hiram shifts uncomfortably. “What should I tell him?”
Gabriel’s shoulders sag in the silence. “That his mother fought. She lured the Botanist away from her house, likely to protect him. Right now, that’s all I know. We’re working hard to give you both the rest of those answers.”
A strange tightness presses in Hiram’s chest.
“One more question,” Gabriel adds. “Are you the sun or the moon?”
Before Hiram can answer, Seren knocks on the glass and brings a bottle of water for Hiram and a message for Gabriel. He reads it and rises. “Excuse me for a minute.”
Seren stays behind, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. Hiram notices the discoloration.
“It’s a birthmark,” she volunteers. “Wherever I go, or however I do my hair, people stare. It’s better to get it out in the open, I think.” She glances over her shoulder. “Oh, someone just walked up to my desk. Excuse me. Gabriel should be back soon.”
Hiram ignores the water and glances around.
He shouldn’t snoop, but with Gabriel gone, he has a little time to satisfy his curiosity.
The files on Gabriel’s desk are from the Botanist case, though they don’t pertain to Grace’s murder.
Perplexingly, the top file details a home invasion six years ago with a sticky note that has keywords like Omnipresent magic, curse detection, and witness to the first Botanist killing two days before.
The photos show a violent encounter. The place looks like a bomb went off.
Discrepancies jump out immediately. The assailant’s point of entry is listed as the front door, and their exit is listed as the window, which makes sense, but the splintered wood of the front door doesn’t look right.
Pictures of the patio door on the ground-floor apartment show no damage.
It doesn’t make sense. Hiram flips the page to the victim’s statement and nearly drops the file when he sees a picture of the victim.
Veda.
He memorizes every angle, bruise, and cut—down to her busted lip—and scours the file for more details. Not about the case but about her. All pertinent information appears to be redacted, including her last name. Hiram shuts the file and leaves before Gabriel returns.
As Hiram approaches the front entrance of Weston Academy from the parking lot, a teenager on a skateboard barrels past, slapping a hand on Hiram’s chest as he flies by. Disoriented, Hiram stumbles back, but when he turns around to yell at the kid, he’s gone.
A coin is stuck to his shirt. Hiram pulls it off and frowns at the Standing Liberty etched in gold. He drops it, and it jumps back into his hand. He hurls it into the grass, and it flies straight back into his palm.
Shit—it’s spelled. Meant for him. Irritated, Hiram walks inside and manages to charm his way into Peter’s office without an appointment, only to find his best friend expecting him.
“You Saw me coming, did you?”
Peter’s smile is maddeningly familiar. “A few weeks ago. I told Simran she didn’t need to pick him up today because I’m taking him to the used book fair after school.
He doesn’t have a tutoring session. I’ll bring him home if you grab dinner after your errands.
Khadijah has a lot of patients and won’t be home until late. We’ll watch the game.”
Hiram’s brow raises. “Errands?”
“You’re picking out an office desk, right?” Peter hands him a card. “This place is downtown off Main Street. They do great work. I told them you were coming today.”
Hiram frowns at the card. “I wasn’t planning to get a desk yet.”
“It’ll be ready when you need it.”
Hiram squints at his friend. “You’re having multiple visions about me again, aren’t you?”
Peter gives a tight smile. “It’s annoying.”
To Seers, multiple visions mean a shift in the Cosmos, but the shift isn’t always overt. The last time this happened was around Peter’s graduation, and Hiram can’t think of anything major changing now.
Peter’s eyes slide to his hand. “Are you going to tell me about the coin, or . . .”
“I’d give it to you, but it’s liable to take out my eye.”
“The Standing Liberty symbolizes a readiness for battle, and a desire for peace,” Peter rattles off, then mutters, “Of course they’d give it to you when I’m going to be busy that night.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your return to town has been noticed by everyone, especially Seers. That coin gets you into our monthly town hall meeting.”