Chapter 26 #2
“Okay hug day?” Veda asks curiously, tousling August’s already messy hair.
“Ant doesn’t always wanna hug or play. His head gets fuzzy sometimes, so I ask, ’cause it’s polite,” August replies proudly while every adult realizes what Hiram already knows. “I’m . . . Dad, what’s that word again?”
“Thoughtful,” Gabriel supplies.
“Yeah, that one!”
After August all but drags Antaris to the rocky shoreline, a moment of silence passes, then Khadijah says, “So are we just going to ignore that Antaris has already figured out how to communicate with August?”
They erupt with chatter and laughter, dissolving into theories about when it started. Veda and Peter debate while Gabriel spectates. Hiram watches Antaris and August play, struck by how naturally in tune they are with each other.
He doesn’t notice Khadijah step up beside him. “He’s a good kid.”
“I had little to do with that, but I intend to do what I need to do going forward to keep him good.”
“Here.” She offers him a box. “It’s the trickster pendant. The Council wanted it, but Clinton said it needed to be here. We’ll know why soon enough.” At Hiram’s arched brow, she rolls her eyes. “I have no idea. You know how cryptic my uncle is. I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with it.”
Hiram isn’t sure, either, but he pockets it. “I’ll decide later.”
“Fair enough.” She glances over her shoulder. “And where does Veda fit in all this?”
“Wherever she wants to.”
“She’s been through a lot, and with that comes pride.”
“So I’ve seen.” His own pride has been battered by Veda a time or two. “I’m more concerned with keeping her alive than figuring out where she fits. Until then, I’m patient.”
Khadijah looks as if she’s seeing him for the first time. They return to the table, where Peter and Gabriel are now seated, and Veda calls over the boys. Hiram is placing the plates when Veda says, “Antaris?”
Hiram looks up. Antaris is rigid and terror-stricken, struggling to breathe as he tightly holds a bewildered August’s wrist. It’s hard to say who moves first, but Veda reaches him steps before Hiram.
August warily calls for his dad, and he’s there in an instant.
The moment Veda touches Antaris’s arm, he breaks into inconsolable sobs.
He lets go of August and begins signing frantically, incoherently, before giving up and dragging both August and Veda toward the water.
Without hesitation, Hiram follows. He’s never seen Antaris like this—cold to the touch yet sweating. For a second, he wonders if it’s over, but his son races past them toward Peter and Khadijah, who are still at the table, exchanging looks before glancing up.
Dark clouds roll over the trees. It looks like rain, but it’s the trees that are crying. The lake water begins to crystallize as azaleas bloom along the banks.
Hiram instantly recognizes the scent of ozone.
Magic thickens in the air. It’s Antaris’s nightmares come to life. Peter sweeps Antaris into his arms and bolts toward them, with Khadijah hot on his heels.
There’s a sharp crack, followed by a moan like thunder. Everyone jolts when the top half of a tree crashes onto the table they all were standing beside moments earlier.
It’s silent in the aftermath until a mystified Gabriel breaks it. “Well, shit.”
“That’s a bad word, Dad!”
August lies on his stomach, racing toy cars across the floor, making chaotic crashing noises when they collide. Each time he asks Antaris to watch, it earns him a fleeting moment of attention. Antaris is too interested in the conversation happening in the kitchen. He’s the subject, and he knows.
“Sight?” Hiram deadpans. “You think he has Sight.”
“It’s why I wanted Khadijah to test him,” Peter admits.
“I suspected there was a chance he’d develop Sight as a teenager because of his mother.
It’s easy to tell when Sight is manifesting at that age.
Their hormones are out of control. However, with children, it’s quiet.
Subtle. Woven into his personality. Even then, the signs can be attributed to the fact that wild magic is normal for children as there is no cost. I considered it when I found out about his nightmares, but kids sometimes display wild magic because they don’t pay for it.
My suspicions deepened when he couldn’t brew. ”
“He’s six. He’s far too young.”
“The youngest recorded Sight manifestation was a four-year-old girl in Paris. My uncle was five,” Khadijah says. “It’s not impossible.”
“Then we should talk to him instead of about him.” Veda calls Antaris over, and he doesn’t hesitate until they’re all sitting in a circle. He’s between Hiram and Veda, leaning against her while peering at him. “Can we ask you a few questions?”
He signs yes.
“Do you remember when you found the cat?” At his nod, she continues. “Did you know it was out in the rain?”
Antaris looks at Hiram, hesitant.
“You can tell the truth,” Hiram says.
Slowly, he nods.
“Did you know about its mom?” Veda keeps her voice even, gentle.
Antaris nods again.
She looks at Peter. “He brings me umbrellas before I even know it’s going to rain. I assumed it was attentiveness. He doesn’t like strangers but quickly warmed up to August. To me.” Then her expression softens with understanding. “You’d Seen me before you met me in Peter’s office.”
Antaris nods slowly, lip quivering.
“Did you See the furniture in the house?” Hiram keeps his voice as calm as possible despite his heart racing. “The paint? The drawings?” When the lights flicker, Antaris’s breathing quickens, tears threaten. “It’s okay.”
“Thank you for sharing.” Khadijah shifts so she’s sitting in front of Antaris.
“So much for that zero percent,” Peter mutters. “Can’t have potential for something you already have.”
“May I?” Khadijah glances at Hiram before adding, “It’s not painful, but as a Sensitive, it might make you uncomfortable.”
Hiram has heard stories about Seers struggling during Sight manifestation. Anxiety. Nightmares. Heightened emotions and sensitivity. Every clue was staring him in the face. Guilt whispers that he’s a bad parent, but Antaris reaching for him makes his inner turmoil fade into the background.
“I can handle it.” Hiram takes his son’s hand.
Khadijah nods, focusing on Antaris as she offers her hand.
He takes it, eyes fluttering shut. “My uncle told me that he remembers the quiet space he went to when everything was overwhelming. Sometimes he still goes. I know you peek out to talk to August but retreat back inside. Are you scared to lose your safe space?”
Antaris nods shyly.
“It’s okay. It’s yours. We just need to open the door and give you a key.”
From here, her mouth moves, forming words Hiram can’t hear but can feel.
The air in the room explodes with colors and fragrances.
It’s too much, too intense. He can’t focus on anything except Antaris, whose eyes are squeezed shut, hands clutching both him and Veda.
Khadijah’s expression shifts. A wave of pure ozone hits Hiram, but he doesn’t buckle.
A second wave sparks nausea that’ll only end one way.
Antaris’s eyes fly open, irises glowing gold, and he gasps for air.
“I See his beginning. It was her end.” Khadijah’s eyes open, silver and fading, but her expression is troubled. Tears roll down her cheeks. “The hole in you is healing. Slowly but surely. It’s okay to never be whole.”
Antaris lets out a rough breath and grits his teeth, his head tilted back as if he’s fighting something trying to hold him down. He releases Hiram’s hand as if burned, then grabs him again as if he’s the balm to soothe the flames.
“I See.” Khadijah’s voice is melodic. “Every step is too much, too hard, too intense. Even touch.”
Hiram remembers all the flinches. The hesitation.
The way Antaris curled into himself, shielding his body as if bracing for impact.
He blamed grief. The fear of the unknown.
Now he sees it was more; his son was at war with himself.
A whimper breaks free from deep inside Antaris.
His cheeks flush red, eyes blazing like the setting sun, but the unspoken anguish rips Hiram apart.
“You’re too young to know the weight of grief, but you’ve been carrying it in your heart. It’s too heavy. Too much.” Khadijah cups his cheek, her own eyes flashing briefly. “It’s okay to let it go. Just for now.”
When the dam cracks, it sounds like a cough.
Then it crashes. Grief rushes in as tears flow out.
No one is ready for the onslaught. A torrent of magic erupts, and Hiram clenches his jaw.
The lights flicker. The hands of clocks spin out of control.
August’s toy cars rise off the floor. It’s potent, visceral, and burns as hot as the sun.
Droplets rain from the ceiling. They taste like tears and evaporate the instant they touch skin.
The floorboards creak and bend. Hiram can barely see through the shimmering, searing heat rolling from Antaris, heat that threatens to burn everything.
It fades like the glow in his eyes.
Timing has been Hiram’s struggle, but it doesn’t fail him now.
He catches his son as he crumples, pulling him close, letting him sob against his chest and fist his shirt.
Hiram has spent hours, days, agonizing over what to do, what not to do, what might help, what might hurt.
But in the end, it’s instinct, the need to provide refuge, that guides him.
He picks Antaris up and carries him outside.
Hiram closes his eyes and lets his son feel it all. Every emotion that’s been trapped beneath weeks, months, of silence. Hiram can’t bring Grace back, but he can endure the fallout. Allow nature to run its course, all while reassuring Antaris that he won’t be swept away.
I won’t let go.
A mantra. A truth.
Only when the deluge has passed, only when his son’s sobs turn into sighs, does Hiram open his eyes. The world is so different from even this morning.