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 thatbore 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. Youcannothide. 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.
