“They won’t heal instantly,” the paramedic says. “Magical injuries can’t be healed with magic, but it can speed it up.”

  “How long?”

  “Re-bandage daily, or at least every other day.”

  “Okay.”

  A grim-faced Gabriel joins Veda in the ambulance while the medic pulls glass from her arm using a minor spell, her standard-issue medic amulet glowing green. Suddenly, she gasps. The blood hovers on the edge of Veda’s cut but doesn’t spill. “What the—”

  “Sanguis Curse,” Veda says casually, earning a wide-eyed look. “Antiseptic salve and a bandage will do to keep it out of sight. My blood is here to stay, and it’s not all mine . . . it’s a long story.”

  “You—you shouldn’t be able to walk around—”

  “It’s dormant.” For now.

  The medic’s eyes somehow bulge further.

  Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take over. Go report.”

  The medic looks ready to argue but nods and leaves. Gabriel finishes the bandaging, his thoughts elsewhere.

  “Was Lucinda home?” Veda asks.

  “Yes,” he reluctantly replies. “We found her in bed. Marlene is doing a scene analysis, but preliminary findings suggest she had been dead for hours when you arrived. The explosion was her talisman self-destructing to expel intruders. Do you remember what happened?”

  She recounts everything, from the talisman’s state to the door opening and the distorted figure whispering her name. “It was the Botanist. Same scrambled facial features, the music, everything floating, the spider lilies. Someone else was there, too. After the talisman woke, they pulled me from the magical tidal wave, asked if I was okay, then ran. I didn’t see their face.”

  Before Gabriel can respond, Marlene lumbers toward them, wearing a baggy white bodysuit that resembles a marshmallow. She’s subdued and wincing, gait uneven.

  “Are you okay?” Gabriel asks.

  “Yeah, I tripped getting into the house and fell on my ass.”

  “Almost did the same myself. Be careful.”

  “I will.” She sighs heavily, turning to Veda. “Shit day, huh?”

  “That’s putting it lightly.”

  “Glad you’re not seriously injured.”

  “Could have been worse,” Gabriel says grimly. “Did you finish the scene analysis?”

  “We can’t confirm what spell killed Lucinda because of the wasting curse degrading the Imprints, just like all the other killings. There were spider lilies all over her living room and under her bed.”

  Confirmation makes Veda sick.

  “Call your aunt Ruth,” Gabriel tells Marlene. “The Council will come for Lucinda’s body to give her a proper burial.”

  Veda taps her foot, biting her lip. “Actually, don’t call Ruth yet.”

  Gabriel looks up from applying the last patch over her cut. “Why not?”

  “You need to answer that question, gather evidence, and then approach them with all the facts. Otherwise it’s pointless.” She rolls her sore shoulders. “Were there any Imprints?”

  “One,” Marlene replies slowly. “A Seer’s. Dr. Everett Simpson.”

  “Do you think he came to save you?” Gabriel’s question confirms that they’re thinking the same thing.

  “What do you mean?” Marlene’s sharp gaze mirrors Gabriel’s.

  “He warned me to be careful of who I trust. That tricksters fly.”

  Marlene sucks in a breath. “What else did he say?”

  Veda jiggles her foot, restless. “A lot, but also a little. How did he know I’d be here?”

  “He’s watching you,” Gabriel says grimly. “Francisco was right. You need protection.”

  “I’m not letting enforcers into my cottage. It’s cloaked. I’m safe there.”

  “And when you’re not there?”

  Veda doesn’t know. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Once they leave to finish their investigation, Veda calls Khadijah to pick her up. Her thoughts spiral in every direction. Everything is connected—but how?

  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.

  The staff and patrons know Gabriel by name. They confirm his order of medium-well steak and eggs with cheese and clear his table on sight. In contrast, Hiram’s presence draws whispers, stares, and disdainful glares. He can only imagine the rumors. He wonders how they’ll have a private conversation amid the chaos, but when they sit, the noise dulls to a hum.

  Gabriel opens his hand to reveal a vibrating crystal. The only sound is the friction between the crystal and the air, heightened by magic. No one outside the blocking stone’s radius will hear them, and vice versa.

  “I didn’t know Washington legalized these for public use,” Hiram remarks.

  Gabriel pockets the stone. “They haven’t, but no one will know unless you tell them.”

  When the waitress arrives with coffee, Hiram orders something simple: eggs and toast. While pouring himself a cup and adding creamer, he watches Gabriel drown his in sugar.

  “Why a private conversation?”

  “You looked in Veda’s file the day you were in my office.”

  “I did,” Hiram says, unfazed.

  “That’s illegal.”

  “I know.”

  “I could have you brought in.”

  “Okay.”

  “Veda gave me an earful about it.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “Right.” Gabriel chuckles. “Then I’ll cut to the chase. I shouldn’t tell you this, but there was another murder in the Botanist case yesterday. Lucinda Hampton.”

  “One of the Oracle Council members?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Peter mentioned something.” Hiram recalls the town hall meeting to an enrapt Gabriel. Lucinda’s face remains a blur. “I bet they’re up in arms, probably accusing me of being the killer.”

  “Actually, it’s been crickets.”

  It’s his turn to listen in silence as Gabriel shares details about the latest murder. A twinge of guilt surfaces when he thinks back to his earlier interaction with Veda.

  “That’s not all,” Gabriel adds. “I’m taking a shot in the dark here. She got a note with a series of numbers from the school vet, Dr. Simpson. Have you gotten anything like that?”

  “Not numbers, but I did get a note that said, BeeyardS rain.”

  “What?” Gabriel looks as confused as Hiram feels. “Do you have it?”

  “No, it’s at home. I figured it was a mistake . . .” He shrugs.

  “I’ll need to see it, maybe test the handwriting.”

  “Okay.”

  Gabriel pulls a photo from his jacket and slides it across the table. “Do you recognize him?”

  Hiram glances at the ordinary man with a sandy beard and matching hair. “No.”

  “That’s Dr. Simpson.” Gabriel lowers his voice. “I don’t know where he fits in yet, but I assume it’s somewhere. If you see him, don’t call the enforcers. Call me.”

  Hiram nods. “Is he dangerous?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s been cursed to devolve into madness the more he tries to tell the truth—at least, that’s what he told Veda.” He straightens the salt and pepper shakers. “Did you ever receive Antaris’s boxes from London?”

  “I did.”

  “Let me guess, I need a search warrant?”

  Hiram considers it. “After we’re finished here, you can look. There’s a book that’s obviously Grace’s called The Hidden Powers of Rituals and Oddities. She put it in his box to be found, I’ll assume.”

  “Given her pattern, yeah, it’s a good assumption.”

  “I’ll let you see it if I can ask you a question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Veda—” Hiram watches Gabriel drain the rest of his coffee in two burning gulps, wincing. “Is she that difficult of a topic?”

  “You’ve met her.”

  Fair point. “Has she always been . . .”

  “Paranoid? Defensive? That’s the only Veda I’ve ever known. She has her reasons.”

  “The home invasion?” Gabriel’s silence is confirmation. Hiram taps his finger on the table. “Did she ever mention how they got in, with the windows and patio door locked?”

  “The front door was in pieces,” Gabriel says.