Chapter 18
Eighteen
On the final day of school before the break, after watching the comical sight of Gabriel carrying August like a sack of potatoes—determined to keep him from ruining his clothes by jumping in puddles—Hiram lingers by the fountain, waiting with purpose.
Gabriel appears confused, but approaches nonetheless.
“No more Everett sightings, and nothing on any sightings of the Botanist or, hell, anyone wearing Veda’s face as a mask.
We have alerts out for both,” he says, unprompted.
“We have preliminary results from the magical testing collected from Veda’s attack and that blocked Imprint is there, mixed in with Veda’s and Everett’s Imprints.
That’s enough to confirm the Botanist for me.
I took this to my superiors, and they’ve had several closed-door meetings about it. Veda—”
“How is she?” Hiram asks.
Gabriel’s expression changes. “Still sore and shaken, but she went through some extra healing sessions with Khadijah and is on the mend.”
Admittedly, Hiram is hungry for more details but can’t be too greedy.
This isn’t enough, but it will suffice for now.
It’s hard to rest when Veda resides in his dreams: eerily still, not moving, not breathing, dying beneath an explosion of once-absorbed magic released in desperate sacrifice.
He’ll never unsee it or the tears she shed in the hospital, clutching the charred remains of the amulet that gave its life for her.
“She doesn’t have a new phone yet,” Gabriel adds. “But I’m dropping by Khadijah’s to talk to her after her follow-up appointment.”
“Ah.” Hiram rubs the back of his neck. “Can you tell her that my invitation stands if she’s up to it? Antaris would love to have her over.”
Gabriel’s brow rises sharply. “Antaris, huh?”
The comment earns Gabriel a glare.
“I’ll let her know.”
“Thanks.”
It’s after six when Hiram puts the finishing touches on the chicken biryani while Antaris plays on the floor with the kitten.
He’s about to tell Antaris to wash his hands when the talisman sends a sound echoing through the house.
Antaris’s head pops up, and they exchange a confused look before Hiram drops the kitchen towel and answers the door.
Veda stands on his front porch in jeans, a loose flannel shirt, and boots. Her hair is pulled back, highlighting the deep-purple bruise around her eye that splatters like paint down the side of her neck before disappearing under her collar.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Veda says, pausing. “I, uh . . . brought a plant.”
He realizes, as she offers it, that the plant is for him.
“Lavenders mean peace,” Veda says, handing off the potted ceasefire. “I would have brought flowers, but potted plants are more sustainable, improve air quality, reduce stress, and—and I’m babbling. Please tell me to shut up.”
“No.” Hiram opens the door wider. “But you can come in.”
“Khadijah thought I shouldn’t ride, but I needed the fresh air. Sorry if I’m late.”
“I didn’t expect you to show. You’re right on time.”
It’s instinct, Hiram thinks, how she immediately glares at him, though Veda’s sharpness softens into amused disbelief. He looks back twice as Veda follows him deeper into the house to the great room.
Her eyes fall on Antaris, who is standing in the center, kitten in hand. Her smile grows wider than Hiram’s ever seen. His son deposits the kitten in its play area, and rushes forward, stopping short when he notices the marks on her.
Veda kneels in front of him. “I got hurt, but I’m okay now, still a bit sore. Your dad helped me.”
Antaris’s eyes are twice their normal size as he swivels toward Hiram, who confirms with a nod. He places the lavender on the edge of the island, and like a moth to a flame, Antaris is drawn to it. “Veda gave this to us. What do we do?”
Hiram follows his son’s lead, bringing his hand to his chin and moving it out. Thank you.
Veda’s smile comes easily with Antaris. “You did that so well.” To Hiram, her words are slower, guarded. “Because I wasn’t able to see him this week, I was thinking—if it’s okay with you—we can continue our sessions here or at the school during the break.”
Antaris turns wide, hopeful eyes on Hiram.
He folds like a house of cards. “We can work something out.”
“I suggested we practice brewing ahead of you starting year two, but Peter said the giggle potion didn’t go well. Something about nearly starting a fire.”
Hiram is confused. “He never said a word.”
“To be fair, a lot happened that night,” Veda says, then smooths down his blushing son’s hair. “Accidents happen, okay? Only Seers can’t brew, so you’ll get it right next time.”
Dinner is pleasant enough between a boy who doesn’t talk and the adults who don’t know what to say, but they figure it out. Afterward, Antaris leads her on a scattered tour of the house: first to Hiram’s makeshift office, then to his closed bedroom door, and lastly to Antaris’s bedroom.
Hiram lingers at the doorway while Antaris proceeds to show her every item he can get his hands on.
The gifted lantern. His mother’s photo album.
Paintings and a few of his own drawings that didn’t make it on the fridge.
His collection of bow ties. His stuffed bunny that’s losing more stuffing by the day.
The tour concludes when Antaris puts on proper shoes for his nightly wandering.
Hiram explains once his son leads the way to the back door, “He wanders before bed.”
“Why?” she asks, interest piqued.
“Looking for what he’s missing, I’ve theorized.”
“Have you ever asked?”
He hasn’t. Every conversation with Antaris is a challenge he’s only beginning to tackle. The kitten meows from the corner of the room, and Hiram retrieves him.
“Aren’t you allergic?”
“I’ve been taking this terrible daily elixir.” He frowns at the cat pawing at his finger. “The things I do for what my son cherishes.”
“Maybe he’s drawn to it because of the similarities.” Veda reaches for the cat, and Hiram lets the wiggling creature go to her. She rubs behind the kitten’s tiny ears. “They’ve both lost the world they once knew.”
Hiram hangs back as she places the kitten in its play area once more, then they both follow Antaris outside.
Tonight’s walk is different. Antaris slips a hand into Veda’s and leads her to each spot, looking first, then inviting her to do the same.
He seems to nearly speak up twice when he sees her wince, but Veda’s encouraging nod subdues him.
Hiram marvels at how at ease Antaris is with her here, how he always finds his way back to her side.
There’s trust, not hesitation. Belief instead of suspicion.
Hiram wants that. He’s been working hard to earn it, patient and trusting that he’ll get there. But tonight, the walk is less distressing because Hiram finds comfort knowing his son trusts someone. When Antaris finishes, they’re all clearly tired.
“I’ll start your bath,” Hiram says to his son. While he’s bathing, Hiram returns to the living room.
Veda is looking around, a curious frown on her face. “Still moving in?”
“Wasn’t planning to stay long.”
An understanding passes between them. “My walls at home are bare, too.”
“Not done running?”
Veda shrugs.
“I think I want to paint,” Hiram says casually.
“Put pictures on the walls. Something as pretentious as you are.”
“How about a fur rug in the great room?”
“That’ll work.” Veda snaps her fingers. “Oh, and an herb garden on the back porch for Antaris. He’ll like that.”
“Fresh herbs for cooking would be nice. Unfortunately, my thumb is black.”
“Your son’s is quite green.” Veda walks on, pushing her uninjured hand into her pocket. “You know what else would be nice? If your office had office-like things. For starters, a second chair.”
“Bookshelves, too. I bought two more, but we’re still running out of space.”
“I saw that, yes.” She nods. “Peter mentioned you read.”
“Voraciously.”
Something heavy rests between them, unspoken. The moment ends with her rolling her eyes and Hiram huffing a laugh.
“It appears my assumption that we could have a civil conversation was not premature. We’ve extended the streak too far to count.”
She shrugs. “The night is still young.”
Twenty minutes later, Antaris emerges from his room to get Hiram for bedtime, but today he shyly waits for Veda’s agreement to join them. The lantern above his bed casts a low glow over the room. Once tucked in, he signs tomorrow to Veda, who looks taken aback.
“We’ll see.”
The answer satisfies him enough to settle into bed. Hiram excuses himself to grab Antaris’s kitten and a glass of water for his bedside. When he returns, he lingers in the doorway, watching them practice signing, Veda struggling with one hand.
“Do you want to hear a story about your name?” Veda asks.
Antaris nods.
“It all starts with Orion, a hunter so great he vowed to kill every animal on the planet. But Mother Earth asked a giant scorpion to protect them. His name was Scorpio, and he fought Orion to the bitter end. He stung Orion, and as a reward for his bravery, Mother Earth placed Scorpio in the sky.” She taps his nose, making him smile.
“You are named after Scorpio’s brightest star. Antares is the heart of the scorpion.”
Hiram didn’t know any of this. He barely pays attention to the sky, too preoccupied by what’s happening on the ground.
Veda’s expression grows serious as she pats down Antaris’s drying curls. “You’re the heart of the scorpion. You’re brave and strong. You—oh.”
Thanks to the kitten’s meow, Hiram’s been noticed. He places the water on the table while Veda looks away. Good nights are exchanged with hands and words before Hiram deposits the kitten in the new cat bed next to Antaris. He leaves the door cracked after Veda follows him back out.
“What do you drink?” Hiram asks.
It’s the first question he’s asked strictly to learn about her.
“Wine. White and sweet, if you have it.”
A bottle of dessert wine should do. “It’s not chilled.”
“That’s fine.”