After a pause, he does. “I suspect the victim knew it was stolen and possibly the culprit, just like I think she knew what was coming and planned accordingly.”
“She knew she was going to die?”
Gabriel shrugs. “I can’t imagine knowing that kind of thing and continuing to live like nothing is happening. I—”
“Look, Dad!” August yells, pointing. “The poofies are still here! They’re almost as tall as me!”
Veda looks past the gleeful boy. Her breath hitches. Spider lilies spring from the asphalt’s cracks. Unlike in the forest, these glow with an eerie, unnatural hue, brightening by the second. A timer ticking down.
“Come here, August,” Gabriel calmly instructs.
The boy’s joy vanishes as he throws a worried glance at his dad. A small crowd is already gathering. More people join, whispering.
“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Gabriel assures his son, eyes flicking to a man reaching toward the long stamens. “No one touch anything.” His voice rises with authority. “Everyone,back away. This is Omnipotent magic. It’s erratic and highly volatile.”
The man nearly falls over himself stumbling back in alarm. August rushes to his dad’s side. The last thing Veda hears before tuning out the world is Gabriel on the phone, calling for a team. It’s not hot, barbed terror that rises in her chest but cold confirmation. This is a warning. The shift in the Cosmos.
Suddenly, Gabriel is in front of Veda. “I need to report this to my superiors, so you need to go. I can’t keep you out of this if you’re here when backup arrives.”
“I want to stay—”
“Your name is part of a report that is easily pulled if anyone looks hard enough. You don’t need to be here, and neither does August. Take him to Peter and Khadijah’s. I’ll meet you there and fill you in when I’m finished.”
Veda wants to argue, but logic and one look at August simmer her fight. Before backup arrives to cast an Unbreakable Line around the spider lilies, she leaves.
Four
Hiram parks in front of his parents’ house. He was raised here, but it’s never been home.
White brick. Black trim and shutters. Modern yet classic fixtures. Award-winning landscaping. He knows the aesthetic continues inside: clinical and impersonal. Portraits of a perfect family hang alongside expensive abstract art. Hiram knows every inch of this house, has climbed every tree, overturned every rock, and remembers the weakest points in their security talisman.
He takes the stairs two at a time. The family talisman greets him with a green glow before the door creaks open. Hiram passes the grand foyer, entrance hall, and open-plan kitchen and living room, surprised Simran is nowhere to be seen. He ventures deeper, through the archway, passing the dining room and library.
“You’re picking him up early today.”
His father’s voice startles him. Hiram’s eyes scan three points before landing on the source in the adjacent sitting room. With broad shoulders, stern features, and the advantage of height, Barrett Ellis is the kind of man who makes everything around him look small. As a child, Hiram had hoped to surpass him, but fell three inches short. Despite his presence, Barrett is quiet by choice, not nature.
Hiram follows his gaze to Antaris behind the glass wall in the sunroom examining each potted plant intensely without touching.
“How long has he been at it?” Hiram asks.
“An hour,” Barrett replies. “Your mother gave up trying to engage with him. I think it’s his favorite room.”
“What do you mean byengagewith him?”
His father gives him a knowing look. “She talks to him at length, shows him Arcadia Academy pamphlets, and has now taken to giving him lessons on our family history.”
Shit. “Where is she now?”
“In her dressing closet, decompressing and changing for dinner. Are you still going to Los Angeles to complete your move?”
“Yes, I fly out early in the morning and return the same evening. Everything’s set up, I just need to sign the last of my leave-of-absence forms from the firm and the paperwork for the movers.”
“Have you told Antaris?”
“No.” Hiram isn’t sure how to approach the conversation. “I’ll be back before he notices I’m gone.”
Barrett says nothing. The television is muted, gray silk curtains drawn, lights dimmed. Although retired, his father dresses like he’s still the mayor: navy dress pants, white shirt, maroon tie, and leather shoes. His graying hair is slicked back, making his widow’s peak more prominent, his pale skin starker. His reading glasses are on the table next to a sweating glass of lemon water, though he prefers brandy. His quiet rebellion includes resting his feet on the coffee table, one of the many things Hiram’s mother has banned.
