A blur of bright colors in the corner of her eye steals Veda’s attention. Quickly, she identifies the child-size ball of energy barreling toward her with a colorful jersey and cleats as August Sallant.
“Miss Thorne! Miss Thorne! We won!”
“Congrats, August!” Veda doesn’t have the heart to ask what sport, because he’s wearing a blend of uniforms. To keep the hyperactive boy occupied, August plays everything his dad can reasonably sign him up for. How he has energy to play in the dirt after school she’ll never know.
“I played today!” He holds up two fingers, flashing a smile that shows off burgeoning nubs of front teeth that are growing back. Thenhe launches into the story of how he won the game, but it starts with him getting up that morning and what he ate for breakfast. It’ll be a minute, and the details will be convoluted and out of order. He retells parts of it in great detail and omits others entirely. “Then I scored two goals by myself!”
Goalsnarrows down the list of sports, but she gets her answer when Gabriel, his dad, approaches in aProud Hockey Dadsweatshirt, looking every bit like someone whose last drop of energy was spent getting his son out of the house. He’s barely brushed his red beard. Despite August’s endless energy, Gabriel walks at a leisurely pace, carrying three reusable bags. He’s always smiling and cheerful, greeting a couple of women as they pass by. They stare at him with interest when his back is turned.
“... sparkling flowerspoofed. It was so cool!”
Veda has no idea how they got to that point in his story, but she’s happy for him. His dad, on the other hand, looks exhausted. “You okay, Gabriel?”
“Been busy on the case.”
He and his partner, Francisco, inherited the Botanist case a few years ago, after it bounced around the department when no one wanted it. They were the first to link the murders, and they found Veda’s home invasion by accident while searching keywords in the other Botanist files. She told them what she remembered, but spinning facial features and the smell of raw magic still make her queasy.
Eyeing her empty bins, Gabriel asks, “Need help carrying these?”
Veda considers declining, but the desire to get everything to the truck in one trip overrides her need for independence. After signing the table and chairs back in with the farmers’ market coordinator, they gather everything and leave. August leads the way to the park’s exit, making up nonsensical lyrics to a familiar song.
“Everything okay?” Gabriel asks.
She avoids his questioning gaze, watching August beam at a passing couple, who grin back, enamored. His joy is contagious, but she is immune.
“Are you sure about what you told me about the latest victim?”
“We are, but she’s different than I originally thought.”
“I’m scared to ask.”
“She sent me a stone message before she died. I haven’t reported it to my superiors, and I don’t think I will.”
Veda has trust issues for a long list of reasons, but Gabriel is as by the book as an investigator can be. His doubt is concerning. “Let me guess, you distrust your department as much as I do?”
“No ... Well ...” Gabriel shrugs. “My superiors have turned a blind eye to our investigation, so I don’t want to introduce anything that might pique their interest.”
“Sounds like you’ve got something.”
“I might, I think.” Gabriel looks around as if there’s someone eavesdropping. “Do you know anything about trickster pendants?”
“Aside from the basics, I know they don’t conceal cursed marks.”
Fissures bloom bloodred, and a trickster wears the face of a friend.
Clinton’s words can’t be a coincidence. “You suspect the Botanist has one. Meaning ...”
“The Botanist could look like anyone.” Gabriel sounds excited, but all Veda feels is stony resolution. Distrusting everyone has never felt more justified. Still, validation tastes like bile. Memories yank her back to the night she was cursed. She shuts her eyes, head moving as if she’s scanning the pages of a book, only they’re her memories. Clouded from panic-induced adrenaline, fractured from flashes of pain, heavy from the pressure of a heart beating too fast. Veda turns inward to pull herself free, but instead sinks into the floodwaters of emotion. Absorbed in finality, she chokes on hopelessness, grasping for anything to drag her to safety.
This time, it’s the pressure of Gabriel’s hand on her jacket, concern in his eyes.
When she gasps, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She waves him off. “I was just ... Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t listen to her. He never does. “Case aside, if you need to talk ...”
“I’m good. Go on.”
