Chapter 7 #2
But when the teaching ended, they’d sit under the stars and tell stories, reminding Veda that magic, like any element, is forged by cosmic events and phenomena.
Falling meteors, solar flares, the births and deaths of stars.
Energy. The days she remembers best are those filled with stories of lives lived before her: her parents’ childhoods, their Sight.
They would laugh, cry, and hold each other in those moments.
It was then her parents stopped being giants in her world and became real.
Gardening with Antaris reopens the wound their absence left.
She didn’t lie when she said the pain hadn’t changed.
It follows her, lies beside her at night, and rises early with her to inspect the greenhouse.
Some days it whispers. Today, it screams. Veda can’t quiet it until she lets herself remember.
When she opens her eyes again, Khadijah is on her knees, facing east, glowing in the sun.
“How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes. I was giving you time with your parents.” She looks over her shoulder at Veda. “Rough day?”
“Yeah.”
“Ready to get out of here?”
“Where are we going?”
“Panoramic.”
A microcosm of Seers, Panoramic lies in uptown Proventia, bustling and thriving with all the necessities of life found within its nine-block radius.
It’s the only place that’s truly theirs.
Inside, Seers relax, their guards down and smiles genuine.
Still, to the chagrin of separatist-leaning Seers, everyone is allowed in.
Some Mages treat it like a zoo, taking pictures of Seers going about their day.
Others come to shop or pitch business deals.
Even at Khadijah’s side, Veda’s early visits used to draw curious stares.
But now, Seers wave as they walk into the Conclave, the largest event hall in Panorama, for the town hall meeting.
“I’m going with my uncle to update the Council on Everett after the meeting, and give them Gabriel’s and Francisco’s information if they want to talk. I’m prepared for an argument,” Khadijah says. “Have you seen Marlene?”
They spot her only because she’s in a floral pastel-blue dress with a blue-jay amulet hanging around her neck.
Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail of tight coils so black they look blue.
The look is pretty and accentuates her curves and fuller figure, but is not her usual style of monochrome with bold pops of color.
Khadijah folds her arms. “Well, well, well. Hello, stranger.”
Marlene grins like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and throws an arm around her friend. “Khadijah! I know, I know. Don’t start yelling. I’m sorry I canceled our plans the other day, but I’ve been swamped at work. I’m gunnin’ for a promotion, so I’ve been picking up extra shifts.”
Veda isn’t sure why she frowns, but the excuse is good enough for the equally career-minded Khadijah. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”
“I won’t.” Marlene turns and smiles. “Hey, Veda.”
The seats next to them are open. Veda takes the aisle, Khadijah and Marlene sit beside her, Everly at the end. As she catches pieces of their conversation, Veda scans the nearly full meeting hall. She hopes Everett turns up, but sees only his mother, who looks stressed out.
“What happened there?” Khadijah asks, pointing at a bruise under Marlene’s ear. “Want me to heal—”
“No, it’s fine. I had a little work accident,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“Typical.” Khadijah laughs. “Be careful.”
The clock tower chimes seven times, and a hush falls.
It’s time for the meeting to start. Tonight, they are nearly at capacity, and when they do roll call, Veda learns some are from as far east as Spokane.
There’s a strange charge in the room; murmurs hum and people look around as if expecting someone famous to jump out.
The doors open for the Oracle Council to enter.
The Council is made up of thirteen women and five men.
Veda knows only five by name: Clinton, their leader; district representatives Moab, Ruth Wells, and Ani Johnson; and lastly, Lucinda Hampton, their deponent, an appointed member who oversees magical agreements.
The rest of the Council perform a variety of duties.
Most have been voted in over the last five years as old members retire or leave Proventia.
Moab helps Clinton settle in his chair before taking his own seat. The rest follow suit.
The first order of business is the good news: new Seer-friendly businesses, proposals to local officials, Panoramic’s street-repaving schedule, and a clothing drive for displaced Seer teenagers.
Then come the cautions: areas to avoid due to rising attacks on Seers, and a reminder not to wander the streets alone at any time of day.
Overall, it’s a routine meeting until Clinton announces, “I have invited a guest tonight and given him a Standing Liberty coin.”
Murmurs ripple through the room. This, it seems, is what they’ve been waiting for. Receiving a coin is an honor. It allows the recipient to formally introduce themselves. Veda received hers months after her arrival, and while she didn’t like the spotlight, it helped her integrate.
“Remember, the lion’s den is where you test yourself.”
Clinton’s ominous words bring silence. Veda joins everyone in searching for the guest. Slowly, a man in a baseball hat and sunglasses walks down the long aisle. At the podium, he removes both the hat and sunglasses.
Gasps and chatter erupt.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Khadijah blurts.
The subject of all the commotion in the room glances at the crowd. Veda recognizes the sky-blue eyes of Hiram Ellis. A wise man might walk away from such ire. Hiram doesn’t. Still, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The blurring insults and angry voices reach a fevered pitch.
Clinton raises his hand. “Silence.”
A hush falls instantly. The spell would leave most Mages with migraines for days, but Clinton remains unbothered. Power, when freely used, never ceases to amaze Veda. He drops the spell effortlessly. The quiet holds.
“Before we continue,” Clinton says, voice stern and commanding, blind eyes locked on Hiram, “please state your name for the record.”
“Hiram Ellis.” Smooth and posh, his voice now has an edge that wasn’t there when Veda ran into him. He places the coin on the podium. “I was unaware this was a summons. I had no plans to speak, only observe.”
“Observe for what purpose, Ellis?” Moab asks, turning to Clinton. “Bold of you to invite him.”
“Change comes from strange places,” Clinton replies.
“Whatever you’re trying to prove, you’d have better success with someone who actually wants what you’re offering.” Hiram’s bluntness should be unsettling, but it’s refreshing. “I’m not here to make friends or change anything. I’m staying out of it.”
“Be that as it may, you are here. And change is inevitable.” Clinton straightens in his seat. “We have a common interest.”
Khadijah frowns. Marlene leans forward, temporarily distracting Veda until Moab’s voice grabs her attention. “What could we possibly have in common with him?”
Hiram shifts, placing his hands at his sides.
“Will you address the room, or shall I?” Clinton’s question is a challenge.
When Hiram stays silent, Clinton clears his throat.
“Very well. This is about the Botanist. The person who has been killing members of our community for six years. Hiram is as much of a victim as any Seer who has lost loved ones to their violence. His so—”
“Leave him out of this,” Hiram snaps. “I’m not the friend your community wants. That much is abundantly clear.”
Given the consensus of the room, Veda can’t disagree.
Hiram’s detachment earns no sympathy, but Peter’s advice lingers in Veda’s mind: Be open to Hiram’s intentions. She recalls Hiram’s earlier words—we have the same goal: catching the Botanist. She dismissed him then. Now, with Clinton’s invitation, she wonders how much of that is true.
“Your lack of respect is typical for someone like you,” Moab spits.
“Would you prefer false courtesy?” Hiram’s response inflames the room.
Lucinda and Ruth have been silent, but Lucinda straightens in her seat. “Clinton, unless you have Seen something the rest of us have not, how do you know you have not invited the killer into our safe space?”
Painfully human, Hiram recoils at the implication. A crack in his perfect armor. “So now I’m a serial killer?”
“I put nothing past you Ellises, especially when your uncle has been studying us like lab rats for decades.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” He turns to Clinton. “I’m done.”
“Are you?” is Clinton’s cryptic reply. “I do not think we have even begun.”
“He is.” Moab looks ready to grind his teeth on quartz.
“Why would we want you here?” Ruth lashes out with a venom that surprises Veda. It’s a far cry from the kind, sassy old woman who gives advice and makes sure Veda doesn’t spend her birthdays wallowing.
“I never asked for your protection,” Hiram replies.
“Of course not. You Ellises have spent generations spreading your hatred of us across the country. When your father retired and you left, we celebrated, thinking the cycle was over, but now you’re back.”
Veda flinches. So does Hiram.
“I left my family years ago. Why I’ve returned is of no concern to anyone in this room—”
“No concern?” Ruth cuts him off, seething.
“Your family rose to power on the backs of Seers, betraying our trust, twisting laws to make it a crime for us to use magic and protect ourselves and our children. Your father is the worst of you, spreading hatred by creating the Registration. Seers built that mansion you live in. Did you know that? We’ve not only built a city that treats us worse than animals, but we are the foundation of a country with laws that allow people to treat us worse than animals, then punish us for not suffering the same consequences of magic. Your presence alone endangers us.”