“I know.”

  He kisses the black streaks on her shoulder. Each reverent press leaves currents of heat that shift as he moves. His lips skim every scar. He mouths every ugly vein and whispers homage to every wound. Murmured words slide against her skin like a promise Veda lets him keep with a sigh as she closes her eyes, letting go.

  “I don’t see anything wrong,” he murmurs, lifting her gently onto the bed. Veda is intoxicated, high on him, a greedy, shaking mess as his hands worship her while his mouth pours praise across her skin like water. She wants more. Molten heat pools between her legs as Hiram spreads her thighs and kneels between them.

  It’s instinct, the way Veda opens for him. There’s purpose in the tilt of her hips. Her sharp inhale is loud in the silence as Hiram slips a finger inside her wet cunt, his kisses closing in on her core. Nerves spike, then flee in an instant, as sure fingers spread her lips and his tongue slides against her aching sex. A gasping breath escapes as she tangles her fingers in his hair.

  Hiram takes his time, familiarizing himself with her body. The low timbre of his moan vibrates against her, sending a shock of arousal straight to her core. When she begins to quake, he slips a second finger inside, stretching and curling them in all the right ways to make her clench.

  “Hiram.”

  He freezes for the span of a breath before doubling his efforts, his eyes on her—watching, learning, feeling. Arching against his mouth, she is frantic as he holds her shaking legs apart and urges, demands, commands her to—

  She falls apart. Both trembling in the aftermath, they come together in quiet reverence.

  Her bed is smaller than his, but that makes little difference when Hiram slips into it facing her. He kisses her deeply, draws her leg over his hip, and finds the right angle to slowly sink into her with a shaky gasp. He stretches her open until it almost hurts, overwhelming yet still not enough.

  Sex isn’t new to Veda, not even like this: lying on their sides with nothing to stop the sighs slipping between them. But Hiram is silent now that he’s inside her. He touches her like she’s something precious, reverently breathing her in, basking in the moment.

  Then he shifts, cradling her as he rolls onto his back and brings her on top.

  “Use me,” he says.

  Hands pressed to his chest, she begins to move, rising and falling on him. It’s deeper like this, toe curling.

  “Take what you need,” he whispers.

  She doesn’t need to be told twice. Her control incinerates with a single roll of her hips.

  Long suppressed, her desire ignites, movements becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy that make Veda want more. Desire consumes them. Hiram’s body, lean and strong, matches her rhythm stroke for stroke. Everything burns in the best way. Broken moans and bitten-off words mark Hiram’s command in each dip of her hips.

  Frantic. Desperate. Messy. Neither is quiet. Pain and pleasure blur the edges of her vision. She leans forward, flush against him, sliding her hands in his hair, burying her face in his neck. She lets him take over. Lets him hold her too tightly. Lets him give her exactly what she’s never asked for but always needed.

  Hiram is right there with her, coming with her name on his lips. Their hearts pound wildly, out of sync, until stillness finds them—side by side, face-to-face. He rubs slow circles on her back.

  “How do you feel?” The whispered question is followed by a kiss on her shoulder.

  Veda falls asleep to the first fingers of light crawling across the sky before she can answer.

  Thirty

  Hiram wakes late in the morning to the sound of the shower running. The space beside him is empty.

  Five minutes pass. Then ten. By fifteen, he is curious enough to test the waters after what happened last night. He abandons the warmth of the bed and walks into the bathroom, greeted by a wave of steam. Veda’s bathroom is modest, the shower’s curtain drawn but clear. She stands under the showerhead, eyes closed, looking lost in thought. They snap open when Hiram pulls back the curtain and joins her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hey.”

  Awkwardness tries to creep in, but Hiram doesn’t let it. Hot water cascades over their bodies as he kisses her, his hand caressing the side of her neck while one of hers rests on his chest.

  “Everything okay?”

  “You interrupted my mental breakdown.”

  “How rude of me.”

  “Exactly.” Veda runs fingers down his tattooed arm.

  “Any regrets?” Hiram asks, fear in his throat.

  “I tried to find a few, but couldn’t.”

  “What a shame.” He pulls her flush against him, catching her interested brow raise when she feels him hardening against her. “Are you staying?”

  “Yeah.”

  They shower together, occasionally stopping for kisses or quips. Veda navigates his body in the light, and he does the same, watching black veins retreat from his touch. She yelps when he massages between her shoulder blades.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s—I don’t think anyone has touched me there in years. I didn’t realize how sore it was.”

  That’s how he ends up behind her, hands working across her back. She squirms beneath his touch, breathing hard, pained but relieved. The air thickens with steam and the scent of her lavender soap. Despite his best intentions, his thoughts turn.

  The plan is to dry off and fall back into bed after such a late night. Instead, they don’t make it past the bathroom counter. Unlike the night before, it’s a race of wet skin and hair, digging fingers and deep strokes. Veda’s legs are spread wide, head thrown back and lips bitten as she grinds against him, chasing her release. In no time, she’s clawing at him, gasping for breath.

  One sharp rake of her nails down his back is all it takes for him to catch up. He shudders, the edge of pain tipping him over. Pressing his mouth to her shoulder, he muffles a groan as release crashes through him. Even in the aftermath, all he can think about is how much he wants her again. And again.

  For now, they kiss until the fog of desire lifts. After a quick rinse, Hiram dries off and dresses while Veda tackles her hair. When she winces while brushing through it, he takes over, eventually braiding it into the single French braid she likes after she moisturizes it.

  “Where’s your salve?”

  She meets his eyes in the mirror, then hands him the container. The scent is less than pleasant, but as he applies it, the dark veins fade and the redness settles. He kisses her temple and leaves her to get dressed.

  Hiram makes pancakes, the quickest option, and by the time she appears in her usual long-sleeved, fitted shirt and jeans, the last one is nearly done.

  “Breakfast, too? You’re setting impossibly high standards,” she teases. “You’ve got to go soon, don’t you?”

  He does, but checks his phone only to find a message from Gabriel. “Oh, Gabriel is taking Antaris to August’s T-ball game. He said he’ll bring him home after. They had a good night. No nightmares.” He glances at Veda. “Looks like we’ll have a little more time after all. Not that I was planning on leaving you alone to spiral about last night.”

  “Is that so?”

  Hiram steps closer, boxing her in against the counter. “I miss your cold feet.”

  Veda cracks a smile that turns into a chuckle. “Just for the weekend.”

  What’s left of the morning passes in a haze.

  Veda’s cottage is devoid of food, and pancakes for lunch aren’t nearly as appealing, so they return to Hiram’s house for leftovers. She waits until he finishes eating, then straddles him.

  “Haven’t had enough?” he teases.

  “No.”

  They make use of the quiet house, taking their time to learn each other’s preferences. Veda’s is simple: him.

  It’s hard to slip from her side as she dozes, but he manages, catching sight of the dead amulet she’s been holding on to more and more these past few days. Hiram puts on shorts and wanders into the living room, making the most impulsive call of his life.

  Clinton answers on the first ring, smug as ever. “Ah, Mr. Ellis. You’re finally ready.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I guess I am.”

  “Veda’s pride would never allow her to ask for help with the amulet, but your love for her will,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Death is not the end. Nothing that dies is ever truly gone. It returns to the Cosmos that bore it, waiting to be called back. Then the endless cycle begins anew. Do you know how amulets are made?”

  “You shape each gemstone and pour magic into it until it activates.”

  “A simplistic explanation for a complicated task, but essentially correct,” Clinton replies. “You can do it, too.”

  Hiram remembers Veda saying something similar once, in the library. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I don’t—”

  “Stonemakers do, indeed, pour magic into each gemstone. It’s an act of love, for both the craft and the person who will receive it. Born out of love, stonemakers create something that benefits the world. I’ve heard you like to create, too. Here’s your chance to create something for her.”

  Hiram stares down at the amulet resting heavy in his palm. “How?”

  “It’ll never be what it was, but that’s okay. This will be from you, reborn through your power and shaped anew. All it takes is a bit of determination. Call to the Cosmos: the moon, the stars, the earth, the planets, the sun. If an element does not answer, try another. Do this each day until it comes to life. It will require more than patience, more than strength and power. But you are ready.”

  Hiram keeps his eyes on the softly glowing amulet. “I am.”

  Clinton pauses, then continues, voice lower now. “But you can’t wear your amulet while crafting this. You cannot hide. You must show your true face.”

  Hiram sits down for his monthly call with John, though it’s earlier than usual. For the first time, he’s not alone. After the usual greetings and check-ins, Hiram puts the call on speaker and passes the phone to Antaris, who stares at it for a long moment. Then, with a nervous tremor, he leans close to the mouthpiece and whispers, “Hi.”

  John’s gasp is audible. “H-hi, Antaris. It’s . . . it’s so nice to hear your voice again.”

  Antaris buries his face in Hiram’s shirt, and he gently strokes the back of his son’s head. “You did well,” he murmurs.

  “You did,” John echoes. To Hiram, he asks, “When?”

  “It’s been a few days.” Hiram adjusts as Antaris leans heavily against him, staring at the phone. “He has Sight. He’s had it since Grace . . . They think the stress of it manifesting early is why he stopped speaking.”

  “I should have known.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Hiram admits. “I missed a lot of signs, but that’s okay. We’re working with him now.”

  “Oh, you’re not—”

  “Going to take it from him? Never.”

  “Good, good.” John pauses and asks, “Is he still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Antaris . . . your mom is so proud of you.”

  The boy clutches Hiram a little tighter, a little longer, even after the call ends. He wanders off to find Veda outside watering the herb garden.

  Their tender little bubble of happiness bursts when Hiram’s phone rings again.

  “Hiram, there’s been an incident . . .”

  The hotel is on the edge of town. FCD investigators swarm the grounds, reporters are on-site, and the only reason Hiram isn’t turned away by a spell-happy enforcer, who looks fresh out of the academy, is Francisco calling him through.

  “I thought you were in Portland,” Hiram says.

  “I was, but Marlene said I needed to come back and get that bitch, so here I am.”

  Hiram feels the same way.

  Investigators part for them like the sea, granting them a narrow path to the shit show. Reporters close in at once, flinging questions he doesn’t hear, though the sheer volume of them confirms it’s bad.

  Hiram starts mentally preparing—for what, he’s not sure. It doesn’t matter. Nothing could have prepared him for the scene.

  For one harsh second, Hiram thinks his father is splayed across the driveway like a ritual sacrifice. But the details—the clothes, the shoes, the lack of a watch—hold his grief at bay. That, and the spider lilies pushing through the cracks in the concrete. He hasn’t seen his uncle Phillip since childhood, but his mother used to say how much he resembled Barrett.

  “Ariadne got to her father,” Francisco explains.

  “Why is he here?”

  “From what I’ve gathered, in my absence and with Gabriel on desk duty, our superiors found your uncle and brought him in to put him under protection. Somehow, she found him. They’re interviewing everyone who knew his location—”

  “And the magic,” Hiram murmurs, staring. “I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

  “The scene analysts believe she performed Sight Unseen again. But this time she didn’t bother to cover it up with a wasting curse or conceal her Imprint.” One grim thought ricochets in Hiram’s mind as the medics carefully cover the body in preservation sheets.

  Ariadne has only one option left to get her Sight back. And she’s waiting at Hiram’s house.

  “We need to call Gabriel.”

  They get back in Hiram’s car to make the call, filling Gabriel in on what’s going on. Dread settles in the depths of Hiram’s stomach. There’s no telling if Ariadne learned something while she posed as Marlene, Seren, Everett, or even Veda and held on to it for the right moment. “We need a way to get ahead of her.”

  “Let’s meet at your house. I have an idea.”

  Francisco groans. “The last time you had an idea, I ended up waist-deep in shit searching for smuggled deactivated amulets.”

  “I was right, though! They were there, just somewhere else on the farm,” Gabriel says.

  “I smelled like cow shit for days.”

  “But did you die?”

  Hiram is beginning to understand where August gets his chaotic streak. He sighs as deeply as Francisco, who’s now pinching the bridge of his nose. Still, Hiram bites. “What’s the idea?”

  “We set a trap with what we already have,” Gabriel says simply. “We use Veda as bait.”

  “Absolutely not,” Hiram snaps.

  “Not the real Veda. Let’s take a page from Ariadne’s book and use her arrogance against her. She gave us the trickster pendant. Let’s use it. Someone can pose as Veda and ride her bike through town. Ariadne’s watching, waiting. If she takes the bait—and I think she will, because she’s desperate and time is running out—she’ll make a move on the fake Veda, and we’ll be waiting for her.”

  Hiram and Francisco exchange looks. “This is a wildly chaotic idea.”

  Gabriel chuckles. “We’ve been steps behind her. Let’s try getting ahead for once. What do we have to lose?”

  When they return to Hiram’s house, they begin preparations and decide to keep the plan secret—limited only to the core group already involved. After filling Veda in, they call Peter and Khadijah, who drop everything and come over. Once everyone is present, they plan in earnest.

  There are more than a few steps involved in the final idea, but it’s surprisingly simple. Veda will lower her security measures at home. Hiram will have them safely in the air and out of reach while this all happens. Peter will watch his house. Khadijah will use the pendant to impersonate Veda. August will stay with Francisco’s family as a precaution. Gabriel will tell the enforcers Veda is aiding the operation and station teams, hidden, in the surrounding forest. He and Francisco will be positioned inside.

  After giving Khadijah the pendant box and adjusting Veda’s bike with her Imprint, everyone leaves. Within minutes, Hiram puts the pilot on notice.

  Once they’re alone, Veda starts wincing. “Might’ve been a little too enthusiastic earlier,” she mutters.

  “Probably.” Hiram chuckles. “How about I run you a bath when we get back from your house?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  That’s when he first notices something amiss. Black veins creep above her collar. Not wanting to alarm Veda, Hiram waits to call until she’s wrangling the cat.

  “To what do I owe this surprise, Ellis?” Khadijah asks in lieu of hello.

  “Veda has veins above her collar. Can you—”

  “Come back and take a look? Sure. I’ll turn around and meet you at Veda’s so I can bully her into it.”

  “Thanks. We’ll leave in twenty.”

  Hiram returns to find Veda finishing up with the cat’s food and toys for the trip. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” A sharp pain makes her clutch her side. “I’m a little more sore than I thought.”

  Hiram keeps an eye on Veda during the drive to her house. Antaris is in the back, looking out the window pensively. Khadijah is waiting when they arrive. Veda looks over at Hiram, who promises to explain shortly, before she heads inside. Khadijah approaches the passenger window as Hiram rolls it down.

  “I didn’t see any veins on her collar.”

  “They were there . . . unless they moved.”

  Khadijah frowns in the direction of the cottage. “They shouldn’t be.”

  Hiram’s phone buzzes, stops, then buzzes again. He ignores it. “What do you mean?”

  “If her veins are moving, the curse is waking up.”

  “What?” Hiram snaps. “It’s been moving like that for a few days now.”

  Khadijah swears under her breath and bolts in the house. Hiram scrambles out of the car with Antaris in tow. His phone buzzes in his pocket again. By the time he gets inside, Khadijah is examining Veda’s collar. At first, he sees nothing, exhaling in relief. Then the black, fractured veins appear, crawling toward Khadijah’s fingers like they’re drawn to her touch.

  “Oh shit,” she breathes, pressing her hand to Veda’s shoulder. The veins ripple beneath her skin. “Your curse is waking up.”

  Veda’s face falls, and with it, Hiram’s heart takes a dive.

  “How long before the block breaks?” she asks, voice shaky.