Chapter 7 #3
Only when she finishes does Veda finally exhale.
“The only thing I want is to be left alone. Your issues with my family are not mine.” Hiram remains unflappable in the face of the generational rage thrown at him. “I’m not here to stand trial for sins I didn’t commit, especially when I already know the verdict.”
Clinton rests his hand on the table. “You are right.”
“Perhaps he should stand trial,” Lucinda says, ignoring Clinton’s shake of the head.
“It may not be fair, Clinton. Nothing is. You know this better than anyone, and yet you invited him here. You want us to accept him because he’s been affected by the Botanist, just like us.
But he’s never spoken up for us. Why should we care about him? ”
“Regardless of why I was invited, it’s clear nothing productive was ever meant to happen here. You want someone to crucify, and you’ve decided it’s me.”
Moab chuckles darkly. “Sins of the bloodline—”
“Are not mine.”
“But they are,” Ani counters with quiet conviction. “We have suffered from allowing your ilk into our community, and we won’t ever be fooled again.”
“Thank you for coming,” Clinton says sincerely, though it’s clearly a dismissal.
In the storm of whispers and stares, Hiram leaves the podium, abandoning his hat and sunglasses. Veda catches a glimpse of his face but can’t read his expression.
All eyes follow Hiram until Clinton slowly stands. “This was not a failure. Only a beginning.”
As if his words are a spell, Hiram pauses. He doesn’t turn to face the Council. Instead, he squares his shoulders, fists curling as though preparing for another round. “No. It’s the end.”
“Character is the consequence of a choice, Hiram.” Clinton’s voice softens. “Will you choose the path of ease and comfort, or the one less traveled? I look forward to seeing what you decide.”
When the meeting adjourns, the hall, still buzzing from Hiram’s appearance, empties for the banquet next door.
It’s a customary end to each meeting, a time for fellowship and connection.
Khadijah is deep in conversation with a growing cluster of Council members, while Marlene chats with Lucinda.
Without a reason to socialize, Veda returns to the now-empty meeting hall, frowning upon seeing the forgotten hat and glasses.
Watching Hiram get torn apart didn’t bring her the satisfaction she’d expected. Her talk with Peter didn’t change her opinions, yet something sits uneasily in the pit of her stomach, a weight no food or drink will soothe.
Everything they said was true. But was it right?
Veda picks up Hiram’s belongings, intending to pass them to Peter. The side door opens, and the man himself cautiously walks inside, stopping short upon seeing her. His eyes slide to the entrance door as if expecting security to burst into the room.
“Respectfully, I’m not here to argue or do anything that makes that amulet of yours glow.” Hiram approaches with the same caution she reserves for him. “Just grabbing my hat and glasses, then I’ll be on my way.”
Veda hands him both. “Weird that you got back in. That door is usually locked.”
Hiram studies her, confused, as though he can’t quite place something. “Okay, I’ll lean fully into masochism and ask why you haven’t gone on a paranoid rant accusing me of following you.”
Veda rolls her eyes. “I talked to Peter. You’re a lot of things but apparently not a stalker.”
“A glowing endorsement,” he drawls. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like Peter’s shitty idea of a disguise back so I can leave before someone accuses me of murder again.”
Of course it was Peter’s idea. Veda meant what she said: She has no interest in being Hiram’s friend. Whatever his story, she doesn’t care, but she no longer feels the same intensity.
Hiram puts on the hat and pockets the sunglasses. There’s no reason to stay, yet Veda doesn’t leave. Her gaze falls in every direction except his. The moment hangs like a pendulum at the tip of its arc until the door opens again.
Khadijah stands frozen at the end of the aisle, smile faltering. She walks briskly toward them on a mission. From the corner of her eye, Veda watches Hiram shift. A man resigned, ready for another confrontation.
“Ellis.” Khadijah’s arms fold.
“Desai,” Hiram replies. “You’re welcome, by the way. For the apothecary.”
“Don’t pretend like you did it out of the kindness of your heart.”
Khadijah turns to Veda. “I’m going to a small room to talk to the Council. Walk to Olive and get us a table. I’ll meet you there.” The verbal skirmish concludes with Khadijah excusing herself.
“What was that all about?” Veda asks the only person left to give answers.
“Bad blood” is all Hiram says.
Veda sidesteps him and leaves out the side door, no goodbye needed.
The city’s lights dim the stars, clouds partially conceal the moon, but the spring air is crisp and clean.
She hasn’t made it far when she remembers to ask Everly to make her another tin of salve for her scars.
Sighing, Veda turns on her heels just to see the door closing behind Hiram, who stops, awaiting her next move.
It should be to head back inside, but there’s a question smoldering that won’t extinguish. “How do you know Clinton?”
“I don’t,” he says, irritated.
Veda isn’t buying it. “He seems to know you.”
“If he did, he’d know I hate all that cryptic Seer speak.”
An amused huff slips past her lips. “Same.”
They’re under a streetlamp, light casting shadows in all directions. Hiram slides his hands into the pockets of his navy pants. He seems more open like this—vulnerable, even.
His expression is curious as it falls on her once more. “Why were you there?”
“Apparently to see you be raked over the coals.”
He ignores her sarcasm. “Are you a Seer?”
“No, but they trust me.”
“Why?” Hiram’s question is low, private. He doesn’t move when Veda takes a step back, ready to go to Olive for that much-needed drink. “Never mind. You won’t tell me.”
The truth is complicated. She doesn’t owe him an explanation.
There’s a gleam in his blue eyes, shadowed by a fleeting heaviness, a weight that sleep can’t cure. “My ex was the Botanist’s latest victim.”
The fire inside her cools to a simmer. Antaris’s mother? “The London case?”
Hiram nods. “Let me guess, Gabriel told you.”
“Yeah.” Quietly, Veda wrestles with two truths: sorrow for Antaris, and disbelief that someone like Hiram once dated a Seer.
“I stumbled onto yours while looking for more information on hers.” Hiram moves closer, approaching like she’s a bird he’s trying not to frighten, not within reach but enough to eclipse the glow from the streetlamp. He stops when Veda steps back, contempt in his eyes. “You think I’m a killer, too?”
She stares at him blankly. “I’m not ruling anything out.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I’m not trying to,” Veda snaps. “But Peter won’t shut up about you. And my judgment is the result of your actions—like accosting me with questions about the worst night of my life. You have other priorities to focus on instead of me.”
“My priorities are none of your business.”
Unconsciously, Veda takes a step toward him, looking him up and down. His eyes follow her every move. “Peter’s belief in you clashes with everything I’ve seen. I have my opinions, and you’ve done nothing to change them.”
“My questions were abrupt, I apologize for that. As for anything you’ve seen tonight, I’m not in the business of kissing the ass of every person I meet simply because of my surname. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“If you believe that, you’re a damn fool.” Veda tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “I’m not saying I agree with everything that was said, but you can’t ignore the reasons no one wants you as their ally, whether you asked for it or not.”
“I didn’t,” Hiram retorts firmly.
“You can’t pretend their concerns don’t exist. The past happened, and no, you weren’t there, but you benefit from it now. The damage lingers. They can’t be forced to move on, nor do you get to decide that you’re forgiven—it’s up to them. Your family—”
“I am not my family.” There are signs of struggle where there was once arrogance. “I don’t even know why Clinton invited me. Whatever he’s Seen, I don’t care, nor do I want any part of it. I just want to raise my kid in peace. It’s what he deserves after all the shit he’s been through.”
“You should care. If only to be a better example for your son and a better friend.”
His blue eyes search hers. For what, Veda isn’t sure, but he must find what he’s looking for because he leans just a hair closer.
She doesn’t back down. Peter’s insistence and Hiram’s contradictions push her to question things in ways she hasn’t in a long time.
If she strips away everything she’s assumed, what’s left is a blank slate.
“If you’re not like your family, you don’t have the luxury of being neutral,” Veda says. “No one knows what you stand for, so they assume. And that makes you just as complicit as your family.”
Hiram’s jaw ticks. “I don’t have to prove what I believe to anyone.”
“No, you don’t, and you lose nothing watching Seers be dehumanized,” Veda says slowly. “Since it’s not your reality, it’s not your problem, isn’t that right?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You don’t need to. Your silence says enough. Raise your son, no one can fault you, but don’t act like you’re better than your family because you’re not a loud, proud bigot. Say something, say anything. Have an original thought. Take a stand.”
Veda turns to leave, then stops. “Peter says you’re a good man despite your family, but I’ve never known a good man who spectates.”