Chapter 8 #2
The next ten minutes are heavy with silence until Antaris emerges carrying a stack of books.
His expression is blank, his eyes wet. Hiram wants to help, but Antaris simply places the books on the table and returns to his bedroom.
The top title catches his eye. The Hidden Powers of Rituals and Oddities.
Likely one of Grace’s mixed in with others.
She specialized in obscure magic and rituals, and spent most of her career helping the Unseen readjust to their new normal of having to monitor their magic like a Mage.
As soon as Hiram puts it on a shelf, Antaris returns, struggling with another armful of books. Then a third. Hiram doesn’t understand until Antaris peers up at the first bookcase.
Ah, there’s no space.
Hiram adjusts his arrangement on one shelf, then two. It’s still not enough.
“I think we need another bookshelf.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Want to get out of the house?”
Fresh air does Antaris wonders. Sadness lingers—Hiram doubts it will ever fully leave—but at least he’s no longer hiding like in those first few weeks.
It’s Saturday, and the stores are crowded with families.
Antaris sticks close, frowning at misbehaving kids.
Hiram has to stifle his amusement more than once.
The bookshelves they choose won’t fit in his car, so Hiram arranges for delivery. Normally they eat lunch at home, but the weather is warm, and the sun is bright. Hamburgers at Lewie’s Diner sound better.
Some people recognize Hiram; more look puzzled or intrigued by Antaris’s presence. The waitress is charmed by the silent, well-behaved boy. Hiram barely notices anyone else. He’s watching his son’s mood improve, especially when the elderly waitress offers him a free scoop of ice cream and a wink.
Hiram catches Antaris watching him, and he raises both hands. “It’s all yours.”
Only then does his son eat.
Later, as they drive home, Hiram checks the rearview mirror. Antaris is watching the world rush past, hair flopping in the wind.
“How about one more stop?”
Antaris nods.
It’s just before two o’clock, and the library is packed with children and families.
Unbeknownst to Hiram, it’s story time. One hopeful glance from Antaris, and Hiram knows he’s about to spend twenty minutes on the floor.
He stays for the first story, glancing repeatedly at his enraptured son.
When the second story begins, Antaris wants to stay, so Hiram tells him he’ll go look for a book.
While the story unfolds, Hiram roams the aisles in search of something to catch his attention.
What he finds is the last thing he expects to see. After years of being nothing more than a footnote in a surreal night, now Veda is everywhere.
Despite the crowd, she stands alone in the amulet section, seemingly undecided about which book to choose. Torn between irritation and curiosity, Hiram considers ignoring her but calls his own bluff. He’s always been a glutton for punishment.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he declares.
Veda closes her eyes and exhales before looking at him, unimpressed. “To what do I owe this latest displeasure?”
“I saw you and thought it would be more polite to speak than threaten magical violence.”
“But not nearly as fun.”
Hiram smirks. “I see you’ve acquired a sense of humor.”
“Funny how you mistake sarcasm for humor. You can’t catch a hint.”
“Speaking of hints, call your advocate off. I’m sick of his cryptic word salad.”
Veda looks confused, then her eyes widen slightly. “Wait. Clinton?”
“Who else?”
She laughs. “He’s got a knack for popping up in places, but I didn’t set him on you. Cosmos only knows what he’s Seen.”
Hiram frowns. “So it wasn’t you—”
“Now why would I do that?”
“His topics of conversation were similar to yours.”
“Clinton was the only person in that room who wanted you as an ally. I said my piece and had no plans to see you again.” She gives him a glowering once-over. “Yet here we are. You’re stubborn, and clearly that overwhelms what little common sense you have.”
“Stubborn?” He chuckles dryly. “Sounds about right.” Hiram steps close enough to see the title of the book in her hand: Theory of Curses. When she plucks a thick volume on amulet and talisman creation, he sizes it up. “Why would a Mage be interested in amulet creation?”
“It takes an inordinate amount of magic to create a single amulet or talisman, which is why Seers can make them with ease. It’s also why they’re regulated. Can’t allow the masses free rein to subvert the consequences of magic use.”
“Would be a shit show,” he agrees.
“What people fail to realize is that anyone can create them. Infusing the magic is as tedious as destroying it—and just as dangerous—but it’s far from impossible.” Veda glances at Hiram. “It takes time and requires patience. I suspect you’re not familiar with either.”
“Believe it or not, I’m a patient man,” he says in a low, private tone as he takes the book from her.
Her smugness fades into something unreadable as he opens the first page, flips to the second, then closes it.
Veda reaches for it, but he pulls it back.
“Aht-aht, I might consider checking this out. You’ve convinced me. ”
“You’re so full of—” Veda’s focus shifts to something behind him.
Hiram turns to find Antaris with five books and a hopeful gleam that turns into excitement when he sees Veda.
Her reaction to his son isn’t what he expects.
She smiles. The world must be ending. “Hi there.”
To his further confusion, Antaris walks right past him like he’s invisible.
“Oh my, you’ve picked out a lot of books,” Veda says warmly.
Antaris glances back at Hiram, proud.
“Is this your . . .”
“Father?” Hiram smirks at her waning smile. “Why, yes, I am.”
She doesn’t seem surprised.
His smirk fades, eyes sliding from her to Antaris, who’s blinking like a baby owl. “How do you know my son?”
“Are you that uninvolved as to not know who his tutor is?”
“My mother handles that, but she referred to . . . you, I suppose, as Miss Thorne.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ah yes, your mother knows my last name and everything about me. She’s a”—her eyes slide to Antaris, ready with a wide, fake smile—“delight.”
“And during our previous encounters, you didn’t think to mention that you’re tutoring my son?”
“Not my job to tell you what you should already know.”
The look he gives her could melt steel. “You don’t know a thing about—”
A passing librarian shushes them.
Veda pastes on a smile and snatches the book from Hiram, rougher than necessary. When she looks at Antaris, her expression softens. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
Looking puzzled, Antaris nods slowly.
They watch her go. Hiram’s brain is spinning with questions only Peter can answer, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. But first, Antaris is back at his side, silently holding out the books, clearly seeking permission to check them out.
Hiram’s pretty sure the limit is five books. “Whatever you want.”
They get in line behind Veda, who uses her Imprint to check out her selections.
She’s nearly out the door when she turns around, bag in hand, hand on hip.
Hiram hasn’t checked out a book in years and fumbles through the process.
The instructions are confusing. He’s slow, times out the machine twice, and the line behind them grows.
Antaris starts shuffling anxiously. Veda sighs and slides in between him and the machine.
“Not at all surprised you’ve never been to a public library.” She taps through the prompts and scans her finger. The receipt prints. She hands it to him, grumbling, “You better return them on time.”
Words dry in his mouth when he realizes how close she is.
Close enough to see the browns in her eyes settle on him. Close enough to see her swallow. A flyaway curl beckons, but Hiram isn’t crazy enough to tuck it behind her ear.
The person behind them clears their throat.
Antaris walks between them as they exit. Veda’s motorcycle is parked in the opposite direction of their car. Antaris peers up at Veda and waves bashfully, earning him another smile that dies when Veda notices Hiram once more.
She walks away without a word. Hiram thinks that’s the end of it until Antaris hands him the books and bolts after her. Confused and intrigued, Hiram watches as his son catches up.
At first, Veda is startled. Then she places her books on the seat of her bike and kneels before him.
Hiram can’t stop staring.
At her. At them.
Antaris is usually hard to read, but not now.
He hangs on her every word in a way Hiram has never seen with anyone else.
How has Veda earned this kind of trust so quickly?
And, in turn, he wonders the same about her.
There’s warmth in her eyes where Hiram has only seen coldness.
What does she know about his son that he doesn’t?
When Veda lifts a finger while speaking, it looks like reassurance. About what? Hiram’s stomach churns. Antaris gently taps her finger twice. As his son walks back, Veda’s dark eyes catch him across the lot, silently warning him to stay away.
Hiram responds with a small smile, quietly rejecting her unspoken demand.
It’s too late.
She holds the key to understanding his son.