She remains suspicious. “And Nénuphar?”
“I’ve known about it since I was ten. I only told one person, and you know him. Peter Weston.”
She rolls her eyes. “Peter knows too many people.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Veda,” Hiram drawls, extending a hand politely.
She doesn’t accept. Instead, she scans the area. For witnesses or help, Hiram isn’t sure. She closes like a fist, and the chance for a surface-level conversation vanishes. “Whoareyou? How do you know me? Why are you following me?”
Hiram’s reaction to her volley of questions sparks visible aggravation in Veda, which bleeds into his own frustration. “I’m not following you, but if I’d known you’d be so damn paranoid, I wouldn’t have said your name.”
She recoils like one would from an exposed flame. She barely reaches his shoulders, but the magic wafting from her amulet feels immense. He’s never felt a regulated amulet this strong, which means it’s like his onyx amulet ring:illegal. “What’syourname?”
“Why?”
“Quid pro quo.”
Hiram’s irritation stalls, and he can’t figure out why. “Hiram Ellis. TwoL’s.”
Veda’s scowl softens into cold suspicion. There it is: a spark of the sharp woman he remembers.
“Ellis? Interesting.” His name rolls off her tongue like a curse. It’s not the first time he’s heard it said that way, but something aboutherscrutiny unsettles him in a way he can’t describe.
“Just like it’s interesting that you’re walking around freely when the person who tried to kill you is still out there,” he retorts.
It’s the wrong thing to say, and Hiram knows it. Proving him right, Veda’s amulet flares, its sapphire eye glowing brighter, poised to cut him down with a single spell. It’s unlike him to play with fire, but there’s pretense blazing in her eyes. She isn’t defensive, she’sfrightened. Fear distorts the world, twisting caution into perceived threat. Hiram keeps this in mind when Veda puts distance between them, then turns sharplyon her boots. She doesn’t run to her bike, but it’s a close thing. Without sparing a thought for the consequences to his own safety, Hiram follows.
“They think the Botanist has a pendant that changes their appearance. Did you notice any of their features blurring? Were they wearing—”
“I don’t rememberanything.”
Hiram doesn’t believe her. “Where did they enter your apartment? Your file lists the door and the window, but the door looks blown outward, and your window was broken. Yet the patio door, the only undamaged entrance, was unlocked.”
Veda whirls on him, fury and fear erupting in tandem. “Oh, soyou’rean investigator now? Tracking me down to interrogate me?”
Hiram searches her face, his expression even. This wasn’t his plan, but each question births more. The most pressing of all rattles in his brain. “They say they have no leads. But they do. A survivor.You. There’s a reason you’re still alive.”
Veda goes still for a moment, then hardens. “Stayoutof my file andawayfrom me, or else I’ll—”
“If you were going to use magic on me, you would’ve already.” He grips her handlebar, forcing her to look at him. “We’re on the same side.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Hiram raises his hands. “I’ll leave the questions to the investigators if you’ll have a conversation with me. We have the same goal: catching the Botanist.”
Before he can say another word, Veda shoves on her helmet, turns the key, and revs her bike. Her parting shot is a single raised middle finger.
Five
Since finding the spider lilies in the forest, everything that’s happened adds up to too much of a coincidence for Veda to ignore. She sits down with Dr. Simpson’s note, a pen, and a bowl of Ruth’s clam chowder.
19114721919
It irritates Veda that she can’t make sense of the riddle. Eleven digits. Not a phone number, but a message with too many combinations. She’s on her third attempt at decoding, about to give up, when she flips it over and stares at the numbers on the back.
22541. BBEDA.
Veda stops.
