Hiram comes in as she finishes. Hesitant, he asks, “Should I be concerned?”

  “We’re processing the foxgloves.”

  “My question remains unanswered.”

  Khadijah cuts her eyes. “We need something to put it in.”

  “I have something.” Hiram is gone for so long, Khadijah sheds her protective gear to check on Peter and Antaris. He returns with a modest silver ring with striations and a navy opal stone. Ignoring her wide-eyed stare, Hiram flips it open, revealing a small pillbox.

  “There’s probably a story with this.”

  Hiram chuckles. “No story. It was my aunt’s. My uncle wore it, and her wedding ring, around his neck after she died.”

  “And you’re giving it to me?” Veda asks skeptically.

  “You need a place to store your crushed foxgloves, and this will do.”

  Veda hesitantly accepts, carefully fills the pillbox and closes it. “If you want it back—”

  “I already told you.” Hiram slips it on the right ring finger. It fits. She looks at it, tests taking it off and putting it back on, while Hiram watches with an unrivaled intensity that’s hard to ignore, even when he takes her hand once more.

  “Worst-case scenario, it’ll put me out of my misery.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Hiram says. “I know it’s a reality, but—”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Anxiety breaks through like the persistent weed it is. “Let me clean up.”

  Taking extra precautions with the pieces they used, Hiram cleans the counters twice, stores everything in another room, and starts figuring out breakfast, his mood quiet and somber.

  “Everything okay?” Veda asks.

  “Yeah.” Hiram abandons cracked eggs to tilt her chin and kisses her in a way that unravels the tightness inside her. A conversation without words. At the feel of his lips, time stills, their breaths syncing. Freeing and frightening. Veda thinks back to what she once told herself: He’s a temporary insanity. Unfortunately, bursting their island bubble and returning to real life hasn’t cured her one bit.

  The talisman alerts them to a new arrival. “Expecting anyone?”

  Hiram shakes his head. “I was planning a quiet day with you and Antaris after Peter’s lesson.”

  Those plans crumble when Veda answers the door.

  “Is there a place we can talk?”

  Ruth looks frail. It makes it harder for Veda to hold on to her anger, especially after learning about the oath. When Veda lets her inside, Ruth drifts to the great room and stands at the glass door, watching Peter and Antaris work on control. Khadijah returns, takes one look at Ruth, and mumbles something about needing to run an errand.

  Hiram boils water. Veda sits at the table. Minutes pass as they sit in tense silence, trading increasingly skeptical glances. The clink of Hiram placing a cup of hot tea on the glass table startles Ruth, who draws a hand to her chest, closes her eyes, and takes a few settling breaths.

  Hiram sits beside Veda.

  “How are you?” Ruth asks at last, joining them at the table. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “Moving forward, as I always do. But I’ll admit you’re making me nervous.”

  “I see Antaris is catching on nicely.” Ruth smiles sadly. “The littles do struggle the most when Sight manifests earlier than intended.”

  Hiram tilts his head. “You knew?”

  “No, but one of the volunteers suspected. Indica.”

  Don’t stress, little one. You’ll speak again in time.

  “Child Seers are—”

  “Nicknamed littles, yes. It’s meant to be ironic, because they unconsciously do so much little magic that’s overlooked. They need the most care. A father’s love, a mother’s strength.” Ruth sips her tea, brow rising at Veda’s expression. “You may not be his mother in blood, but you don’t have to be to love like one.”

  Veda awkwardly studies her hands.

  “Look out for Marlene and Everly.”

  The request lands oddly. “What’s going on?” Veda asks.

  Ruth reaches across the table and covers Veda’s hand with her own. “Remember what I once told you, Veda. What you think is loneliness is actually hunger. Don’t starve it, or it will die. Don’t be afraid to indulge. To live. To want and to care. That hunger is what makes you human, and you will need your humanity to face the road ahead.” Her hands shake, but she doesn’t let go. “Remember the bad times, even when it physically hurts to do so. But remember the good times, even if it hurts more to know they’re gone. Grieve. Let forgiveness come in its own time, when you’re ready to move forward.”

  “What are you—”

  “Giving you life lessons. There’s more, but there is something more important we need to discuss.” Veda starts to speak again, but Ruth hushes her. “Ariadne will come for you. I have Seen it.”

  Veda’s eyes bug, alarmed. “You can’t tell me your vision—”

  “It will not matter,” Ruth says, brushing her off. “Ariadne will be desperate. She will try Sight Unseen, as she has done before, and will again.”

  Veda is confused. “I’m not a Seer. I don’t have Sight for her to steal.”

  “No, but because of your parents, you carry the potential for Sight, whether it ever manifests or not. And you two share blood. Meaning your potential for Sight now lives in her, too. Ariadne doesn’t want to just kill you, Veda. She wants to consume you.”

  Knowing this leaves Veda strangely calm. “And the curse?”

  “I don’t know how she plans to extract it, but it’s a problem she’ll deal with once she has what she wants. Ariadne is brilliant, but her hunt for Sight has blinded her in other ways.”

  “Do you think she knew this would happen the night she cursed me?”

  “No. This is a twist only the Cosmos could have created. I don’t know how she figured it out, but if she is anything like her father, she wanted to take you so she could experiment on you until she found an answer. She is dangerous. You need to protect yourself.”

  An idea forms. “I’ll do that by giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

  “How?” Hiram asks.

  Veda turns to him. “The Liquid Curse.”

  Hiram’s nod draws Ruth’s attention. “You surprised me, Hiram Ellis. The world is wrong about you. I was, too. Continue to be the man we never thought you were.”

  Reflective and humbled, Hiram replies, “I will.”

  “Your father is home from the hospital.” Ruth gives a knowing look before rising to her feet. The back door opens, and Antaris walks in. His hand slips from Peter’s as he drifts forward, standing before the elderly woman as if waiting for his own message. “Hello, little one.”

  Antaris signs hello.

  “You’re closer now than ever.” She rests both hands on his shoulders. “You’re the soul of the Scorpion. You have your mother’s heart and your father’s will.”

  The boy steps closer, face full of questions.

  “Did you know Grace?” Hiram asks.

  “No, but I’ve heard much about her fighting spirit. I can only hope to show her fortitude when the time comes.”

  Veda’s feelings for Ruth are complicated. A deep sadness fills her, an inexplicable ache. She can’t pinpoint the origin, but the weight of it presses on her stomach, growing heavier as Antaris hugs Ruth around the waist. They walk her to the door, but before she leaves, she tells them, “Lead him to the still water.”

  They stand in the doorway until Ruth drives away. Veda lingers long after she’s gone, unable to name the feeling that grips her. It’s after breakfast when realization strikes.

  “Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?”

  “I’m having dinner with my parents.”

  It’s Hiram’s calm decisiveness that makes Veda look up from the potions book. She’s been poring over every scrap she can find about the Liquid Curse. He’s dressed in gray slacks and a short-sleeved button-down. His hair, which has been relaxed for the last couple of weeks, is now parted severely. He’s even shaved. Veda doesn’t hide the once-over she gives him before placing her pen in the book.

  “How long ago did you decide this?”

  “Eight minutes ago.”

  Veda makes a small noise and stands, ignoring the strange looks he’s giving her. “I should change.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  “I know,” Veda replies, then asks, “How do you know they’re having dinner now?”

  “They have dinner at the same time every day, regardless of what’s going on. My mother always makes it a production.”

  “How much time do I have?”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Veda is dressed in a floral jumpsuit Khadijah bought her ages ago, paired with sandals. Her hair is slicked back into a low braided bun. Hiram and Antaris wait for her in the foyer. She does a double take at the sight of Antaris. Instead of the usual black, his knitted bow tie is . . .

  “Green?”

  Olive green, to be precise.

  “That’s what he chose.” Hiram ruffles the curls his son has worn free only a few times. It earns him a funny look that makes Veda laugh.

  Antaris leads the way to the car. Hiram stops Veda briefly with a hand on her stomach and a compliment that warms her.

  The ride is as quiet as the finely dressed Simran when she notices their joined hands at the front door. She leads the way into an ornate dining room with soft light, where a pale Barrett sits in a wheelchair at the head of the table.

  “How are you, Father?” Hiram asks, tone edged.

  “I’m fine. My bones have been healed. The wheelchair is a precaution until I am strong enough to walk on my own,” Barrett replies, his eyes dropping to Antaris, then sliding to her. “You have only joined us for dinner twice since your return. Why is today number three?”

  “I wanted to see that you were okay, but if you want us to leave—”

  “No,” he says quickly. “Please sit.”

  Veda looks at Hiram when he pulls out her chair, but sits without a sarcastic response. He takes the seat on the other side of Antaris. Dinner is served on beautifully decorated silver thalis: an assortment of vegetables, curries, naan, dal, chicken, and lamb. Antaris looks confused, so Hiram patiently explains each dish and how to eat them. Simran interjects occasionally, offering the cultural context Hiram doesn’t know. Veda enjoys her meal while sneaking glances around the room.

  After dinner, they move to the sitting room and watch Antaris wander the sunroom, visiting the plants. When Simran attempts to join him, he stiffens. Children aren’t subtle. Antaris is no exception. He keeps a wide berth with Simran until she gives up and returns. Hiram replaces her, and the lights switch on. Antaris warms in his father’s presence, smiling, eager to show him the plants. Barrett excuses himself to take his nightly healing elixirs.

  Simran wastes no time. “I am surprised to see you here, Miss Thorne.”

  Me too doesn’t seem appropriate, so Veda says nothing. The air between them is heavy, unchanged since their last interaction.

  “I believe we are at a point where I can speak to you freely,” Simran starts.

  “You’ve never been one to mince words with me.”

  “Touché, Miss Thorne, but I believe the time has come for me to intervene. I would like my son back.”

  “I haven’t taken him.” Veda wants to say more—criticism burns within her—but she reins it in. A full confrontation would only devolve into unproductivity. “Hiram is a man who says exactly what he means. Instead of focusing only on what you feel is right, listen to him. Oh, and rip up the guardianship petition you’re planning to file.”

  “I had no intentions of following through with that threat. I believed he would be more amenable to conversation than the inconvenience of a legal fight.”

  Veda nearly laughs in her face. “That version of Hiram doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “I was not aware that you and Hiram were familiar enough for you to have such an opinion about his character.”

  “A recent development,” Veda clips. “But you’re lying. If you truly didn’t know, you wouldn’t have started this conversation with me. If you think I’m controlling him, you’re mistaken. He controls himself.”

  Simran says nothing, smoothing a hand over her gold-embroidered burnt-orange saree.

  “You’re wasting your time testing me when you should be thinking about why Antaris prefers literally anyone else to you.” Simran is momentarily taken aback, whether from Veda’s tone or message, Veda isn’t sure. “He needs as much family as possible, and it doesn’t need to be blood. They just need to have his best interest at heart and give more of a damn about him than their own selfish wants. They need to encourage instead of discourage, breathe life into him instead of stealing it away. Instead of trying to bend everyone to your will, you need to protect them.”

  “You have strong opinions about a child who is not yours.”

  “I wasn’t only talking about Antaris.” Veda stands firm in the face of Simran’s surprise. “There are no guarantees in life. I know this more than most. My parents . . .” Her voice catches. “I’ve never needed them more than I do now.”

  Simran is rendered speechless.

  “No matter how old he gets, how angry or frustrated you make him, how much you push—he will never stop wanting a normal relationship with you. But that doesn’t mean he has to tolerate your shitty behavior simply because you gave him life.” Veda shakes her head. “I don’t understand how you get a second chance and squander it out of a stubborn need to be right.”

  “No matter what you think, I do love my son. So much that I refuse to let him make mistakes.”

  “It’s through mistakes that we learn.”

  “I left my family just as he left us. They did not approve of the choices I made in life, of the man I fell in love with. They told me I would fail, and I refused to prove them right. I married Barrett, fit into his family, his world, and became more than they ever believed I could be. Hiram—” Simran places a hand over her heart.

  “Did the same as you, and you don’t see you’ve become what you once ran from.”

  Simran looks away. “I push and I meddle because I want better for him. I want Hiram to be more than me. I do not want him to lose the Ellis name. It is what is owed to him, what is rightfully his.”

  “And if he doesn’t want it?” Veda asks softly. “Better is subjective. It’s an opinion, and opinions can be misguided. The highest duty he has isn’t to fulfill your wishes, but rather his own. Respect the decisions he makes. Let him raise Antaris as he wishes. If you love him like you say you do, let him breathe, Simran. You’ve strangled him long enough.”

  Simran turns, but her gaze moves past Veda, mouth forming a taut line. “How long have you been there?”

  Veda turns to find Barrett in his wheelchair, parked in the doorway.

  “Long enough.” His expression is impossible to read. “Simran, I’m tired. Aren’t you?”

  “We can discuss this—”

  “Now. Not later,” he cuts her off. “You weren’t like this when I fell in love with you. My family . . . they’ve made monsters of us all, but I won’t let them get to Hiram or Antaris. We lost fourteen years, and I’ll be damned if we lose any more. I have lost so much because I have idly stood by and did nothing. I’m sick of losing. I nearly died for my silence. That ends today. Veda, please excuse us.”

  She doesn’t hesitate, making her way to the sunroom. It’s warm and pleasant. The plants are lush. Veda sidesteps a palm and pauses. Hiram holds Antaris, his back to her, pointing out the glass window, telling a story about how he climbed that fence, got lost in the forest, and found a cave. Antaris isn’t looking outside in wonder, but at him . . . then her. Losing his attention makes Hiram glance over his shoulder. His smile at Veda fades as he seems to notice the muted argument behind her. “What’s happening out there?”

  “A conversation that’s long overdue.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Silence breaks with sniffles and soft sobbing. Bleary-eyed and barely awake, Hiram gets out of bed and approaches Veda from behind. She’s clutching her phone in shaking hands.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Veda turns into his embrace. “That was Gabriel. Ruth . . .” She chokes. “She’s gone. Ariadne . . . There was a fire. It was goodbye.”

  Hiram feels a pang at her loss. Ruth’s memory is complicated by everything that’s come to light, so he can only imagine how Veda must be feeling. When she tries to pull away, he holds on. He’s gotten better at fighting her instincts, at not reacting to her resistance, just holding and giving her shelter. Even when she’s the storm.

  “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs.

  “I need to go. Everly—”

  “Is in Portland with Marlene at rehab.”

  “I—”

  “You need to take care of yourself. It’s . . .” He glances at the glowing clock. “It’s three in the morning. There’s nothing you can do now.”

  The last flicker of her resistance melts away. She doesn’t want food, but eats the apple he slices for her. She isn’t thirsty, but drinks the water he places in her hands. Veda showers and he gives her space to grieve. When she emerges in a towel, Hiram waits outside while she changes, returning only when she opens the door. Her damp hair is already frizzing, but she lets him sit her down in front of the mirror in his room. After she moisturizes her hair, Hiram quietly brushes and fashions it into a single French braid to keep it from tangling. He’s so focused, he doesn’t notice her watching.

  “You’re not real,” she murmurs.

  “Remember that next time I piss you off.”

  Her smile is little more than a weak smirk. Nonetheless, it’s a feat. She accepts a clean shirt and shorts that don’t quite fit, then climbs into his bed. Beneath the covers, she initiates the tangling of legs and hands.