“That’s true.” Veda’s expression shifts. “So what now that you’ve cut them out? Do they finance anything?”

  “No, I have more than enough. Between my own savings and an inheritance from my uncle Sebastian, who also left the family behind and married a Seer, I can live comfortably and still leave more than enough to Antaris.” Hiram sighs. “The longer I’m here, the more I realize I can’t go back to my job. I think it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Why?”

  “It’ll put me back in Los Angeles, too close to my purist extended family, who don’t know Grace had Sight. The family used to make people who broke rank disappear or reform them. Now they make defectors’ lives miserable. My uncle and his wife lived in virtual solitude for the rest of their lives once they stopped running.”

  “Is Antaris—”

  “Safe? Yes. My mother keeps them busy.”

  “What’s stopping her from exposing Grace as his mom now that you’ve cut her out?”

  “The status she’s worked hard to ascend to over the last thirty-five years.” Hiram chuckles. “She won’t risk taking herself down with me. My mother may have everything now, but she knows what it’s like to have nothing.”

  “What about you?” Veda asks. “Do you have everything or nothing?”

  “Neither. Both.” Hiram watches the brandy as he swirls his glass. “I have everything for myself, but I’d give it up for him.”

  Veda falls silent, stealing glances at him now and then. Hiram’s had enough alcohol to wonder what the heat in her eyes might mean, but not nearly enough to ask.

  “You know”—she chuckles softly—“I didn’t expect much tonight. I was coming to see Antaris and apologize to you again.”

  “And now?” Hiram asks, voice near a whisper.

  “I’m figuring it out as I go.”

  Hiram tries his luck. “You could always come back to figure out, if you ever feel inclined.”

  “I’ll think about it.” The warmth in Veda cools as she searches his eyes. “Why did you help Ruth after what happened at the town hall? You didn’t have to. You had every reason not to. Yet you did. Why?”

  Hiram is surprised by the question. “I almost didn’t, but I didn’t feel like minding my business. Not heroic. Call it the bare minimum of human decency.”

  “You saw beyond yourself.”

  “I did,” Hiram murmurs, leaning closer. “Now it’s your turn to actually see me.”

  Nineteen

  Antaris chooses green.

  Not forest or sage, but mint, and remains steadfast, refusing all other options Hiram offers until he realizes decisiveness must be an inherited trait. That’s why they have mint-green paint and supplies ready when Veda arrives. She hangs back while Hiram carefully takes everything off the walls and casts a charm for the brushes to start painting. His onyx ring flashes with each stroke.

  Fascinated, Antaris sits cross-legged, elbows on his thighs, watching the brush move up and down the wall while the kitten plays with a toy. Hiram is the first to leave him to it, shaking his head with amusement.

  Veda follows.

  It’s her third time over in the last week, her first visit where she isn’t here for dinner, sign language lessons, or watching Antaris fail at a second brewing attempt. Today, she’s here to study. Boxes of books are stacked everywhere, all opened, in Hiram’s makeshift office, which now has two chairs and a new bookcase.

  “Unpublished research we’ve needed to get to for a couple of weeks now,” Hiram says, taking a seat and putting on his glasses. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Actually, we need to start with BeeyardS Rain.”

  “Gabriel told you?”

  “He let me take a crack at the anagram, and honestly, with everything that’s happened, it slipped my mind until last night. I never figured out the code, but I remembered the name he mentioned, and it fit the anagram. Ariadne Byers. Gabriel said you vaguely knew the name. Clinton, too.”

  “Yeah,” Hiram says.

  “It’s not looking like one of those coincidences, is it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I wonder what else Everett knows. The handwriting is the same as the note he gave me.”

  Hiram looks grim. “I have a feeling we won’t find out in time.”

  “Then we should get started with something we can figure out. What have you found so far?”

  “Not much, but I’ve sorted some.” He points to one stack. “That’s information on general curses, but I think you’d be more interested in this.” He moves to the next. “Blood curses. How they’re created, how they can survive while dormant, and several unconventional and dangerous ways they’ve been expelled from the body.”

  Veda skims the top file. “This is more of what I know. Only thing I need to know is whether there’ve been any successes using unconventional extraction methods.”

  “A few, but all of them have one thing in common. The blood in your veins must stop. Death will lead it out. I read that in a book.”

  “The healer at the hospital said he’d seen my curse before, in another patient. It didn’t leave until she died. I think . . . Where are the reports of the tests that were run to extract the curse?”

  Hiram flips through files, finds it, and hands it over. Veda reads it until words begin jumping out at her. “Didn’t leave until . . . death will lead it out . . .” An idea strikes like lightning and rolls like thunder. She paces the width of the room twice, deep in thought. “Like a parasite.”

  “I wonder how long it takes to be expelled after death. We’ll need to try something that mimics death. Poison?”

  “I’ve never seen one that’s both powerful enough while also slow-acting enough to do what we want it to do. Hmm . . . another option might be something that tricks the body into thinking it’s dying.”

  “We can figure something out.”

  Veda glances at him, slow and reflective. He didn’t misspeak. Wandering to the boxes lined against the wall, she asks, “What’s in here?”

  “From what I gathered, curse studies,” Hiram replies, visibly uncomfortable. “My father said that everything I need to know is here, but I’m not sure how this applies.”

  “Sounds like some illegal shit.”

  “Probably. I’d turn it in to Gabriel for the hell of it, but they’re spelled to burst into flames if they leave the custody of a blood relative.” At her raised brow, he shrugs. “My uncle is bizarre, even for an Ellis. Paranoid, apparently. Likely for good reason.”

  “Are the subjects Seers?” Veda asks, already scanning for the answer herself.

  “Not sure.”

  She doesn’t get far before a more pressing question arises. “The subjects are all different, all Mages paid handsomely, but all the casters’ names are redacted. Why?” Veda frowns. “Actually, better question, why didn’t they redact their ages? One caster was fifteen!”

  “Check the others,” Hiram says.

  He calls out dates and hands Veda the files to arrange chronologically. He starts from the beginning; she begins at the end. The more Veda reads, the more disturbed she becomes at the thought of teenagers casting serious curses under instruction. Soon, they’ve gone through an entire box of case studies.

  “Says here that the curse studies were cut short because the school was shut down. There’s an article listing Phillip Ellis as the lead science teacher . . . basically the person running these studies. I can’t believe this was at a school.” Revulsion is thick in her voice. “Shit, this reminds me of the horror stories Ruth used to tell me. Seers were sent to boarding schools after their parents gave up custody once their Sight manifested. Since the schools were unregulated, the Seers were used for free labor or experimenting on their magic, then the schools covered up the horrific details to publish their results.”

  Hiram doesn’t respond, so Veda looks up. He’s leaning against his desk, eyes glued to the document he’s reading. His expression shifts. “This isn’t about curses or experimenting on test subjects. This is about the fact that my uncle was a hypocrite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He barely notes the types of curses and their results, but details everything about the curser, right down to their blood pressure and temperament. What they eat. What activities they do prior to each experimental curse. He even details what they do after.”

  Veda is deeply disturbed. “What was he trying to learn?”

  “Take a look.” Hiram flips back to the first page and shows her the file. She moves to his side to read.

  Sight extraction—Sight Unseen.

  “I’ve seen this ritual twice, scrambled in books,” Hiram says. “Grace’s book on oddities and one from the library. Both had scrambling hexes over what the ritual does, but Clinton told me as much as he knows about it.”

  As Hiram shares his conversation with Clinton, Veda’s terror eclipses her anger. “Phillip Ellis is a bigot. Why would he want Sight?”

  “It’s a defense mechanism.” Hiram angles his body toward hers, folder between them like a barrier. “It’s easy to convince yourself that you don’t want what you can’t have, or that having what you want is wrong.”

  She mutters, “I thought you’d say power.”

  “Not everyone wants power. It is human nature to want to feel like we have some measure of control.” Hiram crosses the room to the boxes, tilting his head curiously when something catches his eye. In the groove of the box is an envelope. He pulls it out, reads it, then shows her the word hastily scrawled: Botanist.

  “What does he know?” Veda’s voice is hushed.

  “I need to find out.” He opens the envelope and pulls out a picture. “I think we can assume one of these girls is our Botanist.”

  Veda looks at the photograph. There are five girls. Different races, heights, and sizes, linked by their hands. None are smiling, but they look like a unit, bonded by trauma and circumstance. Veda recognizes the one standing next to a brunette with blue eyes.

  “I think I’ve figured out why Ruth has been refusing to help. They’re protecting someone they care about. We need to talk to her now.”

  Hiram’s already on the phone. “She owes me a favor. It’s time to collect.”

  Ruth agrees to meet in a public place in half an hour.

  With such a short window and Peter busy, Veda watches as Hiram grabs a small go bag for Antaris that looks like Italian leather and is worth more than her motorcycle. He packs it with snacks and books while Veda guides Antaris along without causing unnecessary anxiety. She’s already getting into Hiram’s car before she realizes what she’s done, and he’s starting it with his Imprint before she can argue.

  The ride is quiet. Veda speaks only to announce upcoming turns and once to joke about the insufficient tint on the windows, since Antaris is squinting in the sunlight. Hiram removes his sunglasses and hands them to his stunned son. Veda steals a glance in the back seat at Antaris with his khakis, white shirt, and bow tie, nonchalantly gazing out the window with his father’s oversized glasses perched on his face.

  They arrive with ten minutes to spare. Sanctuary is a community center for troubled Seers located in Hope Park in the middle of Panoramic. With schools out and the weekend in full force, the nice weather has drawn people outside in droves. Live music. People grilling by the gazebos, and food vendors selling everything from ice cream to gyros. Walking through the crowd as a unit, even with his father’s sunglasses on, Antaris looks overwhelmed, squeezing Veda’s hand tightly. She steers him toward the community center.

  The entrance is painted a similar shade of green to Antaris’s bedroom; a pleasant calm separates the inside from the chaos outside. The grip on her hand loosens slightly. A teenager, Indica, with tanned olive skin that makes her blond hair seem even brighter is manning the front desk, her automatic smile turning genuine when she sees them.

  “Hi and welcome! Ruth’s waiting for you in room two.” She points toward the closed double doors. “Go through there, past the kitchen, and down the second hall. Before you ask, what you’re smelling is mint. Helps ground the littles. Some don’t handle the transition well.”

  Indica’s eyes drop to Antaris, head tilting slightly. “I think there’s something in the main auditorium that’ll interest you. Your fascination with the stars has only begun.”

  Veda’s heart drops. She can practically feel Hiram’s coils twist tight.

  “Don’t stress, little one,” Indica says. “You’ll speak again in time.”

  Antaris leans against Veda as they pass through the doors and down the first hallway.

  “She obviously attends Clinton’s School of Cryptic Shit,” Hiram mutters.

  Blessedly, Antaris doesn’t seem to hear the comment. He steps behind them, looking around in awe. Veda covers her mouth so as not to laugh while passing the kitchens, where two rows of students are having cooking lessons taught by Ami, one of the Council members.

  “Today, I’ll teach you how to make sad pie . . .”

  Hiram tries to watch, curious, but Veda clears her throat, which makes him move. “Sad pie?”

  “Does baking not help when things aren’t going your way? You’re a great cook, but I bet if you’re angry enough, you’ll be spectacular,” she says.

  They spot an open door halfway down the second hallway. Ruth sticks her head out first, then steps out. She greets Veda with a warm hug and shakes Hiram’s hand, which is jarringly friendly given the last interaction Veda witnessed. Then Ruth spots Antaris peering at her behind sunglasses.

  “I’m afraid you won’t need those to explore space.”

  Antaris perks up, giving them back to Hiram as Ruth opens her hand. The doors open wider so they can look inside. In the sea of children on blankets lining the floor, there is an empty space near the door. Ruth offers her hand to Antaris. “Would you like to hear the story about how the stars in the sky came to be?”

  He looks from Veda to his father, then nods shyly.

  “Good. You’re in for a treat. That spot is yours.”

  After Hiram gives him two tangerines and a juice box, Antaris settles in an empty spot, looking around before lying down like every other child in the room.

  “Will he be okay in here?” Hiram asks Ruth.

  “Safe and sound,” she replies, gesturing down the hall. “Khadijah usually does interactive storytelling as a way to help settle the more restless little ones, but today she’s letting Marlene and the teenagers run the show.”

  Hiram looks at Veda, who scans the room and spots Khadijah, back turned as she talks to Marlene. Khadijah does a double take when she sees Veda with Hiram. Marlene peeks around her, a peculiar look flickering across her face before another volunteer stops her to chat.

  Khadijah approaches, frowning at Hiram.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  “We’ll talk a little later,” Veda answers. “Come by the cottage.”

  Khadijah squints at them before slowly replying, “Okay.”

  Veda ignores the question in her eyes and points at Antaris. “Can you stay with him?”

  Khadijah’s suspicion deepens. “In the four times I’ve met him, he only ever side-eyes me, but of course I will.”

  The third volunteer announces to the children that story time is about to begin. Khadijah sits, cross-legged, next to Antaris’s blanket, which earns her the expected side-eye. A spell makes every light in the room draw into the bottle they’re holding, plunging the space into darkness.

  A collective gasp rings out. The children start giggling.

  A burst of light projects across the ceiling as one of the teens begins a story about the formation of the Cosmos, magic, and how they came into being.

  Ruth clears her throat, and Veda and Hiram follow her to an empty lounge overflowing with books and sofas. Ruth sits in an armchair next to a love seat Veda and Hiram have little choice but to share. From the snack-stuffed bag, Hiram produces the photo of the girls.

  Ruth’s expression freezes. “Where did you get this?”

  “My uncle’s house,” Hiram replies.

  “If I’d Seen this, I never would’ve offered that favor.”

  Veda recoils. “What’s going on, Ruth? Marlene is in this photo, and the box holding it was labeled Botanist. Is she involved in this? Cosmos, is she the kill—”

  Ruth looks at her like she’s gone mad. “What? No! You’re close, but wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ruth turns the picture around, pointing at the girl next to Marlene.

  “We’re protecting ourselves from her.”

  That isn’t what Veda expects. Hiram, either, judging from the confusion on his face.

  “Who is she?” Veda asks.

  “Her name is Ariadne Byers.”

  They exchange looks. “What does she have to do with the Botanist?”

  “She is the Botanist.”

  The words hit Veda like waves, one conflicting emotion after the next. Anger. Grief. Helplessness. Disbelief. Each strikes harder than the last. Ruth knew. She knew and stepped in like a quasi-parent, telling Veda to live while knowing exactly who haunts her. A hand grips her knee. Veda stares at the onyx ring, then turns. Concerned blue eyes study her, lips downturned.

  It’s too soon to be overwhelmed, practicality reminds her. There’s more to learn.

  “How long have you known?” Veda asks, voice stronger, focused.

  “That’s complicated.”

  “Tell me. Everything.”

  “Ariadne was at the same boarding school as Marlene. We took all the teenage Seers in. Ariadne was lonely, clung to any shred of kindness, and supposedly had a rough life prior to ending up at the school. She and Marlene were inseparable, so when Everly adopted Marlene, I adopted her. It took a while for her to open up, but when she did, Ariadne blossomed. She was smart as a whip and charming, fascinated by Omnipotent magic and creative expression. She had such potential.” Ruth sounds like a proud parent. “But I forgot the cardinal rule.”