Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Dense trees surround the house. Protected by layered canopies that allow only streaks of sunlight through, ferns and shrubs grow wild. Moss covers everything.
Hiram follows Veda on a morning hike with Antaris, watching her excitement when she notices something new.
They find the path by following the shifts in the forest, catch the breeze by noting changes in elevation, discover the lake by following the stream.
The trees touched by magic draw wildlife in with their energy.
Hiram sits on a rock at the lake’s edge, his back to the picturesque view, fully in awe of her.
Veda kneels beside Antaris, pointing out birds and letting him feel the moss. When something catches her eye, Hiram follows as she leads his son to a different tree. Veda touches the base of the tree, and the space between the bark glows.
“So many trees in this forest are touched by magic,” Hiram remarks.
“Proof that nature is fine without human interference, but we can’t survive without nature to give us what we need.” Veda peers around the tree, her smile fading into something curious. “Like foxgloves.”
Standing tall in a bed of ivy at the edge of a clearing beside the lake are dozens of lavender foxgloves in bloom. Hiram knows little about plants outside of herbs, but they are beautiful. “What about them?”
“They’re poisonous, likely more potent due to their proximity to this tree.
I don’t typically forage poisonous plants, but foxglove poisoning is treatable if you’re quick.
” When his eyes widen in awareness, Veda nods.
“I can dry the leaves to create a powder. Half a gram is enough to stop a heart. It’ll work slower than a potion, but it’s less prone to human error. ”
“Do you have what you need to pick it?”
Veda pats her bag and smiles at Antaris. “A trusty foraging bag is key. We’ll have to get you one when we get back.”
His eyes brighten as he nods, excited. They watch Veda work, precisely cutting the leaves and flowers and sealing them into bags with a spell she pays for with a small chill.
They decide to turn back. Just as he did on their ascent, Hiram keeps glancing in her direction.
Aside from kissing her forehead before starting breakfast, he hasn’t acknowledged last night.
Neither has she. A planner whose backup plans have backup plans, Hiram is determining when he can broach the subject when Veda falls into step with him, presses a hand against his back, and whispers, “Tonight?”
Then she’s walking ahead to Antaris, helping him over a large log blocking the path.
Hiram’s smile grows. Tonight, it is.
Back at the house, Antaris takes his snack on the balcony, giving Hiram a moment to nudge Veda against the wall, ignoring her sarcasm to angle for the kiss that will break their nightcap ritual.
But his phone starts vibrating with calls and messages.
Then hers does the same. The messages are from different people, but they say the same thing.
Your dad was attacked by Ariadne. He’s in the hospital.
Hiram calls the pilot. Veda starts packing.
In the waiting room, Simran stands out, not for how she’s dressed but because she isn’t.
His mother is in a long silk nightgown and tennis shoes Hiram never knew she owned.
She looks years older, her eyes puffy from crying, her forehead in need of rebandaging.
Simran notices him first, but instead of speaking, she returns to staring at the door, lip quivering, on the edge of tears.
He spots Khadijah on the other side of the waiting room, white hair crinkled from unbraiding.
Peter hops up from his spot across from Simran and walks to him.
“What happened?” Hiram asks.
“Apparently Ariadne is looking for her father. She walked into your parents’ house at around six this morning. Their talisman let her in—”
“Because she’s blood related. I changed mine.”
“Good.” Peter glances over at Simran, lowering his voice.
“She took her time breaking all the bones in your dad’s legs because he refused to give up his brother’s location.
Your mom woke up to him screaming, hit Ariadne with a vase, and was shoved into a wall, which is why she ended up with a concussion.
Ariadne ran off, hurt but not obviously bleeding, and your mom managed to call me.
Then I called Gabriel. By the time Khadijah and I got there, he was in shock.
The medics weren’t there yet, so Khadijah healed him.
He has some internal bleeding they’re working on now, but they believe he’ll pull through. Where are Veda and Antaris?”
“At home . . . my home.”
“Okay.” Peter gestures to the door, which prompts Khadijah to approach. “We’re going to go. I’d like to stop by tomorrow and have Khadijah do those tests I mentioned. I know the timing isn’t great, but I think it’ll help you and Antaris. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. We’ll bring everything. I’ve asked Gabriel to join with August. He’s dying to see Antaris.”
“That’s fine. Is eleven okay?”
“Yes.”
Hiram stops Khadijah on her way out. “Thank you for what you did.”
Hiram watches her leave while bracing for the onslaught that doesn’t come. Simran continues staring at the door for so long, he lets his guard down, which is precisely when she says, “I thought you blocked my number.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you did not answer.”
“I was away with Antaris.”
Dark-brown eyes cut to him before returning to the door. “And Miss Thorne, too, so I have heard.”
“We’re not discussing this now,” Hiram says. He knows she may sound cool and calm, but her broken nails and shaking hands betray her. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She touches her temple. “I did not know about your uncle Phillip’s daughter until recently. Have they found her yet?”
“No.”
“She nearly killed him.” Simran’s voice is low, short of a whisper. “Now do you see why we did not want you involved in everything? This is dangerous business.”
“We’re involved whether we want to be or not.
Turning a blind eye is what got us here.
We’re on the same fucked-up family tree, whether you acknowledge it or not.
Uncle Phillip wanted to steal Sight from his own daughter, and no, it doesn’t absolve her for what she’s done, but it explains it.
She’s like the rest of us Ellises. No regard for anything beyond herself. ”
Simran turns toward her son, eyes wide. “Why would he want her Sight?”
“Why do you hate Seers?”
“I do not hate them, but they put us all in danger. They could overpower Mages in the blink of an eye. Their magic can cause more widespread devastation than anything a Mage is capable of. Vanishings. Curses. I just do not believe one group of people should have unlimited magic.”
“Who are you to challenge the Cosmos?”
“I . . .” Simran falters. “Seers know too much, and their history is riddled with people who—”
“Want to be treated equally.”
“They are not the same. They keep their secrets. They know things we cannot conceive of. Even the full extent of their magic is a secret. History is riddled with Seers who have wreaked havoc on the world in the name of freedom—”
“And our history of terrorizing their communities and shackling their existence is just as destructive,” Hiram argues.
“Yes, there are Seers who break rules, but more who don’t.
We’re all capable of cruelty, which shows every day in how society treats them.
The expectation that they’re supposed to take that mistreatment without complaint is absurd.
All over a group of genes that activate when they’re teenagers—” He stops short upon noticing Khadijah frozen behind his mother.
How long has she been there, Hiram doesn’t know, but she picks up the hat she left behind and leaves again.
Simran primly sits back in her chair. “I do not wish to argue with you.”
“Because it makes you uncomfortable,” Hiram replies.
“I used to not bother myself with this, but that made me as complicit as you are. Uncle Phillip’s bigotry isn’t out of fear of losing power and control like yours; it’s born of resentment.
He wanted Sight. Her Sight. Ariadne wants it back, even if she has to steal it and kill anyone who gets in her way. ”
The doors open, and a familiar-looking healer emerges. Hiram remembers him from Veda’s attack. Healer Michaels.
“Barrett Ellis’s next of kin?”
When Simran nods, the healer approaches, offering his hand. She notes his name tag and the symbol on it designating him as a Seer.
Hiram shakes his hand when she doesn’t move. “I’m his son, Hiram Ellis. This is my mother, Simran Ellis.”
“He’ll need to stay a few days to make sure that the bones don’t rebreak, but the counterspell done before he arrived was brilliantly executed. He should be out of the woods by morning. He’ll need time to recover, and therapy to regain his strength, but we will discuss that in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Simran manages to say, relief softening her prejudice. Finally, she shakes his hand. “May I see him?”
“Of course. He’s sleeping right now.”
He leads the way, and Simran follows but Hiram stays. He’s not ready yet.
While Peter and Khadijah set up, Hiram opens the door, heaving an internal sigh at the grinning child before him. August is missing another tooth, his hair is an absolute mess, and he’s wearing rain boots despite the clear skies.
The always cheery boy waves with both hands. “Hi, Mr. Hiram.”
“Hello, havoc.”
“I’m August!”
Behind him, Gabriel approaches holding a container of juice.
Hiram leads them out back, where a table laden with food is in the middle of his yard.
At the sound of August’s footsteps, Antaris turns and grins.
Undeterred by Gabriel’s request to walk, August charges down the steps and stops short of throwing himself at Antaris to ask, “Is today an okay hug day?”
Hiram doesn’t understand what he means until Antaris nods, and August proceeds to hug him tightly.