Chapter Ten
Ten
Antaris left with Simran in a strangely good mood, clutching his tea thermos in both hands like a prized possession, so distracted he forgot his lunch on the counter. Hiram grabs it on his way out.
Ten minutes later, he parks in the visitor’s lot.
School hasn’t started yet. Early arrivals are out back, surrounded by tables and chairs under a banner that says Appreciation Day.
Hiram spots his son quickly, tracking him as he makes a beeline for Veda.
She’s handing out fruit, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the bright sky.
She greets Antaris with a pear. He shyly offers his thermos in return.
From her lack of surprise, it’s not the first time. The urge to linger and observe is strong, but Hiram leaves to deliver the lunch box to Antaris’s classroom. He finds the third-, fifth-, and ninth-year classrooms before giving up and walking to Peter’s office instead.
Every surface is cluttered with folders and books. It would be alarming if Peter weren’t so immaculate, even while working. Rather than knock, Hiram leans on the doorframe. “Miss Thorne, is it?”
Peter stops writing and sighs, lifting his head to the ceiling.
“I spent the night bottle-feeding a kitten your son heard mewling from the balcony, and there are chickens in my bathroom. I’m too tired for this.
” He pinches the bridge of his nose, runs a hand through his hair, and shoots Hiram a sharp glance.
“When I wanted to apologize for helping Simran find him a tutor, you said you’d heard. So I assumed you knew about her.”
“Oh.”
“Are you upset?” Peter asks. “You were interested in her once.”
“Operative tense being past,” he says darkly. “When she didn’t know I existed, and I was an Ellis. Since she’s connected the dots, she’s lashed out at me every chance she gets. We’ve had three conversations, and at no point did I know whether they would end in peace or violence.”
Peter glances at what he’s holding. “Lunch box?”
“Couldn’t find his classroom.”
“Ah.” Peter gives him a look. “You know, first impressions set the tone.”
“She told you?”
“Of course she did,” he replies, reasonable as ever. A faint smirk follows. “I’m surprised she didn’t push you into traffic.”
“She considered it,” Hiram grumbles, recalling the threatening glow of her amulet’s eye.
Hostility and flattery are nothing new, but Veda’s ire grates him.
She isn’t committed to her disdain. Dissecting every shade of Veda’s gray is impossible.
He should avoid her presence outside of what she means to Antaris, but too much of him wants to peel back each of her layers and disprove her accusations.
Just because he can. Just because he wants the approval of someone he hardly knows. Which is baffling.
“Veda is paranoid for good reason, and just as judgmental,” Peter tells him. “She’s already ranted about you once or twice. But I do have a question. She said you mentioned something incorrect in her file.”
“It’s a discrepancy,” Hiram amends. “Didn’t she look at it?”
Peter sighs and looks away. “No one enjoys reliving their darkest days, especially when all they remember are the worst parts.”
When put that way, Hiram understands. “There’s more to it, though, right?”
“There always is,” Peter says, checking his watch. “Shit. I’ve got a parent memo to send out about a staff member being a person of interest in the Botanist murders.”
“What?” Hiram’s icy response makes Peter flinch. “You should have led with that.”
“You were keen on ranting about Veda.” At Hiram’s go on look, Peter runs a hand through his blond hair.
“Our staff vet, Dr. Simpson, might be involved—possibly against his will. The investigators are looking for him. All I know is another murder happened yesterday. An Oracle Council member named Lucinda Hampton.”
“I remember the name.” And what she practically yelled at him. “What happened?”
Peter shares what he knows while working on his memo. “Oh, one more thing. If you see Veda, don’t engage. Antaris has been the first thing to make her smile today.”
Hiram snorts. “You’re better off hoping we don’t cross paths.”
“True.” Peter shakes his head. “She can’t stand you, but she needs all the help she can get.”
Hiram raises a brow. “With what?”
“The list is too long to go through right now.” Peter sips his water. “Let me finish this. We’ll talk later. I’ll have Antaris’s lunch box delivered to his classroom.”
“Thanks.” Hiram mulls over what he’s learned as he leaves. Near the entrance, he spots Veda holding his son’s thermos. Her puzzled, pleased smile vanishes into an arched brow.
“Not today” is all she says before turning and walking off.
Hiram lets her go, but is surprised when he finds her around the corner leaning against the bench by the fountain. Heeding Peter’s advice, he continues walking, stopping only when she says, “You never come here.”
“I was dropping off Antaris’s lunch box.”
“In Peter’s office?”
“I didn’t know where his classroom was.”
Veda scoffs. “Unbelievable.”
Irritation sparks at her comment, but it dies when he sees the bruises on her collar, the scrape on her chin. Her hands are bandaged and trembling. She’s stiff, and the exhaustion in her eyes is unmistakable.
“What happened?” Veda’s dagger glare makes him concede, hands raised. “Fine. None of my business.”
“Glad you figured that out.” She sounds hollow, not hostile, fatigue thick in her voice.
When Veda catches him staring, she thrusts the thermos into his hands and walks away.
He doesn’t have a good grip and nearly drops the thermos, juggling and securing it, but not before having to use his hand to catch himself from falling into the fountain.
It’s only as he grumbles about his soaked clothes that he realizes his onyx amulet ring must have slid off in the shuffle and is now at the bottom of the fountain.
“Fuck it.” He fishes out the ring and slides it back on.
Ready to leave, Hiram turns to find Gabriel with a wide-eyed miniature version of himself that’s missing a front tooth.
“How long have you been standing there?” Hiram asks.
“I’m clumsy, too!” the boy announces proudly.
“August,” Gabriel says gently, “remember what I said about filtering our words?”
The boy pauses, then shakes his head. “Nope.”
Gabriel closes his eyes briefly, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’ll remind you later. Now, say hi to Mr. Ellis.”
August beams, his smile impossibly bright. “Hi!”
Hiram’s awkward wave makes Gabriel smile. “This is my son, August. He’s in year two.”
Children weren’t in Hiram’s plan, but the more he meets, the more he realizes they are tiny, complicated humans with sticky hands and ever-fluctuating dispositions.
One size doesn’t fit all. Their multifaceted capabilities are on display in August, who fist-bumps when Hiram offers his hand to shake formally.
Gabriel flushes red from holding back laughter, but his kid’s grin is so wide, Hiram can see every tooth, and weirdly, this feels . . . normal.
There’s a heaviness to Antaris that reminds Hiram of someone holding their breath, bracing for the world to crash on top of them.
August couldn’t be more different, a bright, chatty bundle of energy.
The shift is jarring enough for Hiram to wonder what might happen if Antaris felt comfortable enough to trust. To let his guard down. To believe Hiram is there for him.
“Mr. Ellis, do you have a kid who goes here?” August practically bounces with excitement.
“I do. My son, Antaris. He’s in year one.”
“Can he be my first friend? I don’t have any.” The light in August’s eyes dims briefly, then reignites. “But I’ll be a good one. I know it. I’ll be the bestest friend ever.”
Hiram and Gabriel exchange a look, one he oddly recognizes.
They are parents of kids who don’t quite fit the typical mold.
The opportunity for judgment is there, especially given August’s lack of filter, but Hiram doesn’t use it.
August is hyperactive with barely combed hair and a stain from breakfast, but not bad.
I think he’s ready for a friend.
Hiram looks between them. Nothing beats failure but not trying. “We can arrange that.”
August cheers while relief blooms into a smile on Gabriel’s face. “Can you wait for a second while I check him in?”
“Yeah.”
Gabriel leads August inside, and less than five minutes later, he returns alone, face set. “Look, if you don’t want your kid to play with mine, say so now. I can distract him, and he’ll forget.”
Hiram frowns. “Why would I do that?”
“August gets too excited, which overwhelms the other kids, then he gets scared they won’t like him. He shuts down, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“Antaris stopped talking after his mother was murdered. If he had friends in London, he’s now a continent away.”
Gabriel nods. “The socializing bar is in hell for us, isn’t it?”
“Lower.”
They laugh.
“Let’s schedule a playdate and see what happens,” Gabriel suggests.
“That might be good.”
“Oh, and I noticed you talking to Veda. We might want to invite her as a buffer. She watches August sometimes. She’s always been able to wrangle him.”
“My mother hired her as Antaris’s tutor,” Hiram says. “Didn’t know you two were friends.”
“Occupational and situational friends. Veda seems cold and tough, but she’s dealing with a lot of shit. More since yesterday.”
“Peter mentioned something but wasn’t specific. Care to enlighten me?”
Gabriel looks around, making sure no one is in earshot, then lowers his voice. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have time to talk in private?”
Private means a small breakfast shop down the road called the Leaning Cactus.