Seren nods slowly. “Ah yes. He and Francisco were working on that one long before I joined the team. Are you giving a statement? I can find a private room for you to wait in.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
An awkward beat follows. “Oh my goodness, I never introduced myself. I’m—” She glances at her nameplate. “Well, you already know. I’ll get Gabriel for ya. Have a seat anywhere.”
Hiram nods and picks a chair, checking his watch. An hour and a half left until he needs to be home for Antaris. He doesn’t wait long, surreptitiously glancing at Seren while she works. Gabriel emerges first, only a few inches taller than the secretary. He’s still wearing a criminal amount of plaid, but Hiram is more interested in why the hell he put the card in his mailbox.
“How can I—”
“I already said questioning my son is off-limits.” Hiram slaps the card onto the secretary’s desk.
“The card wasn’t for him, it was for you.” Gabriel gestures to the door. “Wanna talk in my office?”
“No.”
Gabriel grins and turns to Seren. “Can you bring him a bottle of water?”
“Sure thing, hun.”
Once Seren disappears, Hiram reluctantly follows Gabriel back to a cluttered office shared with Francisco, per the twin nameplates. Francisco’s half is tidy, decorated with framed photos and a bamboo plant. Gabriel’s is chaotic. Childlike drawings plaster one wall, and a rock sits on his desk with the nameAugustpainted on it in four different colors. Catching Hiram’s stare, Gabriel shrugs. “Kids, am I right?”
Hiram doesn’t understand what the hell Gabriel is implying. “What do you want?”
“I did some digging to prepare for this conversation. Grace Fowler didn’t list you as next of kin, but since hers didn’t arrive, you were notified and given custody of your son. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“No, but she had plenty of friends you should track down and interrogate.” Hiram’s reply is clipped with growing irritation. Light flickers, drawing his attention to the window. It’s cloudy out, the air ripe for rain. Probably lightning.
“This isn’t an interrogation. I wanted to talk more about the trickster pendant. I also want to discuss more of the case, but I can’t divulge too much, since you’re not Grace’s immediate family.”
“My son is.” Hiram isn’t fully settled into fatherhood, but he knows he’ll have difficult conversations with Antaris about his mother’s murder in the future. It’ll be worse if he has to explain why he didn’t help with the investigation into her death. “Is he in any danger?”
“He shouldn’t be, but I don’t know what he’s seen, if anything.”
“I won’t—”
“I understand.”
Hiram shifts uncomfortably. “What should I tell him?”
Gabriel’s shoulders sag in the silence. “That his mother fought. She lured the Botanist away from her house, likely to protect him. Right now, that’s all I know. We’re working hard to give you both the rest of those answers.”
A strange tightness presses in Hiram’s chest.
“One more question,” Gabriel adds. “Are you the sun or the moon?”
Before Hiram can answer, Seren knocks on the glass and brings a bottle of water for Hiram and a message for Gabriel. He reads it and rises. “Excuse me for a minute.”
Seren stays behind, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. Hiram notices the discoloration.
“It’s a birthmark,” she volunteers. “Wherever I go, or however I do my hair, people stare. It’s better to get it out in the open, I think.” Sheglances over her shoulder. “Oh, someone just walked up to my desk. Excuse me. Gabriel should be back soon.”
Hiram ignores the water and glances around. He shouldn’t snoop, but with Gabriel gone, he has a little time to satisfy his curiosity. The files on Gabriel’s desk are from the Botanist case, though they don’t pertain to Grace’s murder. Perplexingly, the top file details a home invasion six years ago with a sticky note that has keywords likeOmnipresent magic,curse detection, andwitness to the first Botanist killing two days before. The photos show a violent encounter. The place looks like a bomb went off.
Discrepancies jump out immediately. The assailant’s point of entry is listed as the front door, and their exit is listed as the window, which makes sense, but the splintered wood of the front door doesn’t look right. Pictures of the patio door on the ground-floor apartment show no damage. It doesn’t make sense. Hiram flips the page to the victim’s statement and nearly drops the file when he sees a picture of the victim.
