Chapter 5 #2
The hesitance Antaris always carries is present, but after a reassuring thumbs-up, he explores the kitchen, not touching anything, only pointing, eyes wide, glancing at Veda. He’s asking for help.
As it turns out, Antaris likes a lot of food.
Veda finds a pen and paper to make a list, but from what she gathers, he enjoys fresh fruit, crunchy vegetables, and sandwiches with no crusts.
Unsurprisingly, he has a sweet tooth, but is more curious about candy than familiar with it.
She hides a smile when he makes faces at food that touches, even incidentally.
He’s not the only child who dislikes anything mashed or is picky about meat, but his squinty side-eyes make it hard to not laugh.
With each nod, Antaris’s list grows alongside her spirits.
It’s strange how time with him has become a balm after long days.
Stranger still is how quickly the lights dim in his eyes when his grandmother arrives.
Veda hands the list to Simran, ready to share the success of the day, but Simran simply skims the paper, makes a dismissive noise, and pockets it. It might have been a thank you.
Veda watches them leave, frowning all the way to the greenhouse. The image of a stone-faced child glancing back at her once before climbing into the car plagues her until a voice cuts through the quiet.
“I thought you’d be out here.”
Thoughts scatter in all directions. She whips her head to Peter. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “I saw Simran leave with Antaris and thought you’d come back here. After last night, I’d suggest taking the day off, because I can tell you didn’t sleep, but you’ll ignore me. Or cuss me out . . . again.”
She considers both options but is too tired for either. “My thoughts are loud today.”
Peter steps back as she stands up. “Come with me.”
“The last time I followed you, I ended up with a mentee.” Still, she dusts off her hands on her jeans and follows him into the pasture.
“Everything going okay with Antaris?”
“Each day I learn something new,” Veda replies, rattling off what she’s learned, including the food list and how he likes being read to. “He was the only one who actually sat and listened during story time.”
“There’s no doubting genetics.” When she gives Peter a funny look, he adds, “His dad was that way, too, always had his nose in a book. He shipped his entire library separately when they moved here. I think he values it more than his clothes.”
“Is he involved?”
“With Antaris? Yes. He has primary custody.”
Veda frowns. “I’ve only seen Simran with him.”
“They have an agreement. She does pickups and drop-offs. He’s with Antaris the rest of the time. He’ll appreciate that list.”
“We went through so many options. I could tell whether he liked or hated something just by his expression. I’d say he’s unfurling like a cat. Keeps watching me like one.”
“Anxiety?”
“Definitely. He’s in therapy, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s a topic for another day.”
Veda nods, eyes on the path ahead. “He draws sometimes.”
Peter perks up. “What does he draw?”
“Doodles on his workbooks and scrap paper. I think one was a cat. Another might have been a flower. A tree and a boat. A house?”
Peter appears amused. “Noted.”
The days are getting longer, but a cloudy gray sky hides the sun.
Their decision to leave the school grounds is silent and easy.
The forest, lush and green, grows increasingly narrow.
Veda considers turning back, not for herself, but for Peter, who is dressed in nice pants and a gray shirt, his white tennis shoes unsuitable for walking in the forest.
“Tomorrow marks six years since Khadijah bound my curse.”
Peter’s apprehension resurrects every bit of tension Veda temporarily freed herself from in the greenhouse. “I should make a not-dead-yet cake, but that’s morbid, even for me.”
“Not if it’s vanilla.” His smile belies his otherwise somber demeanor. “They haven’t found Everett,” he continues. “I was thinking about your file and—”
“My file? The same one your friend, Mr. Ellis with two L’s, has seen,” she cuts in, scoffing as she climbs over a felled tree.
Peter bursts out laughing, then sobers under her glare. “Oh, you’re pissed. But in his defense, he’s part of the investigation.”
That Hiram Ellis, of all people, has anything to do with the Botanist case is beyond absurd. Since all the victims are Seers, it took years for even a single article to be published. The little public awareness they’ve gained hasn’t produced any real leads.
“Who is he to you?” she asks.
Peter looks uncharacteristically surprised by the question.
“My mom worked for his family. When she realized he was just a lonely, misguided kid, she brought me to play with him. I hated him when we first met, but over time, I saw he didn’t have the charmed life I assumed.
Prejudice is taught, not innate. We became friends, and he figured out his family—”
“Are horrible people,” she interjects. “Beautiful story of friendship forming from the pits of hell, but you’re a Seer and friends with an Ellis.
That entire family is infesting the government, using their wealth to get elected into positions where they make life harder for you, my parents when they were alive, and everyone you care about.
Why didn’t you say anything about your link to them? ”
“It’s complicated.”
“Does Khadijah know?”
“Yes, she knows. Hates it, we used to argue about it early on in our relationship, but it’s been a nonissue until he returned.
The Oracle Council knows, too.” Peter glances away and sighs.
“I get it. The Ellis family caused a lot of generational harm. They’re the worst of everything you can imagine. ”
“An understatement. Your friend’s grandfather argued for harsh laws and penalties against Seers.
His father came up with automating the Registration and tied it to a Seer’s Imprint.
The Ellis firm defends corporations nationwide that prey on desperate Seers, working them under horrible conditions and draining their magic like fodder.
The fact that anyone in that family even knows my name pisses me off more than anything. ”
“I apologized for that.” Peter levels her with a look, then sighs. “My mom managed to stop Hiram’s parents from sending him to Arcadia Academy until she quit to start Weston Academy when he was in year six. He left and barely returned.”
“Am I supposed to empathize?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he fires back, rolling his eyes. “But . . . it takes a lot to realize everything you were taught is hateful and wrong. It takes even more to actively rebel and separate yourself from it. Hiram did both, refusing to work for their law firm. He spent years away, and—”
“Now he’s come home to Mommy and Daddy.” Veda sits on a wide tree stump, completely unconvinced. “Tale as old as time.”
“It’s not what you think. I was the one who convinced him to tentatively accept their olive branch and move back.
It was the quickest way to secure custody of his son.
If Hiram had his way, he never would’ve returned.
Proventia isn’t a happy place for him. His father was absent at best. And his mother . . . well, you’ve met Simran, she’s—”
“What?” Veda balks. “Simran? So Antaris is—”
“Hiram’s son.”
Veda’s jaw falls open. “And you didn’t tell me this earlier because . . .”
“I’d rather you didn’t judge Antaris for a family he wasn’t raised in.”
“He’s a child,” she snaps. “Do you think that little of me?”
“No, I don’t. But you’ve got tunnel vision. You judged me for knowing the Ellis family, and you’ve judged Hiram without knowing him.”
“I know enough.”
Peter looks unimpressed. “You’re better than this.”
“And so are you. Simran’s only compliment about you was that you’re not like other Seers. She sees you as a convenience, not a person, and worse, you let her. People like her don’t change.”
“Perhaps not, but I choose to hope, because giving up is not an option.” Peter sits beside her, silent for a moment as the air between them settles.
“I didn’t let Simran treat me like anything, I just know how she is.
Play her game, let her think she’s winning, and she’ll do what you want.
That’s how I got Antaris enrolled in Weston versus a different Mage-only school across town.
I’d rather have him here, where I can keep an eye on him, and help Hiram sort through all this. ”
“But—”
“Antaris is my godson for a reason. If anything happens to Hiram, the last people he wants to raise his son are his parents. He filed guardianship papers the moment he arrived.” Peter looks up as a bird flies overhead.
“It’s not my place to explain to you who Hiram is.
That’s for you to decide, though it sounds like you already have. ”
Veda snorts. “I sure have.”
Peter shakes his head, faintly amused. “Trust me, he’s not the enemy.”
“He’s not a friend, either.”
Veda’s cottage is her fortress. Magic shields it from the outside world. Here, behind her walls, there’s no need to hide. The bricks keep her secrets, the mirrors see her pain. Living here is simultaneously comforting and suffocating.
After her talk with Peter, Veda returns to her fortress, sheds her jacket, peels off her shirt, careful of her cursed scars, and opens the window to let in a breeze to cool her inflamed skin.
Too uncomfortable to apply salve herself, Veda throws on an oversized shirt and shuffles into the kitchen.
Half-molding leftovers means she has only one option for dinner: noodles.
Her talisman activates, glowing a hazy orange. Someone is here, and she isn’t expecting guests. Veda flips the porch light on and peers through the peephole, relaxing at the sight of white braids and a familiar face.
Veda opens the door. “I thought you were busy.”