The question is an open wound, another truth Veda refuses to face. She’s exhausted. In the quiet, when she’s most terrified and overwhelmed, sheisready. But when someone cares, even a little, she hesitates.
“I need to believe this curse has a purpose beyond killing me. If enough of their blood is cursed, they’ll die with me when this block fades. I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
Khadijah looks away, visibly stricken. “We can keep trying to get it out safely.”
“You have another idea we haven’t already tried?”
“Not yet.” She folds her arms. “You don’t have to be a hero, Veda.”
“Not trying to be. But we’ve tried everything. Exhausted all known research. Connections can’t get us anywhere. There’s nothing left except to cause as much damage on my way out as possible.”
Khadijah hugs her in silent comfort. Veda almost says something self-deprecating to lighten the mood, but instead, she drops the act and holds on tighter, longer than she means to, before pulling away and blurting, “I need a drink.”
All she has is a half-full bottle of wine. They sit out back, facing the dark forest, passing it between them in a companionable silence.
“You’re allowed to be upset about what’s happening,” Khadijah says, finally breaking the silence. “You don’t always have to keep your head high while you suffer in silence.”
“I do,” Veda replies softly. “If I stop, I’ll drown. It’s self-preservation.”
“Self-preservation isn’t always about holding on through every storm.”
“That’s all I know how to do.”
Six
As the doleful cry of chaotic magic swirls about, doors rattle and floorboards creak. The scent of worms and driftwood permeates the air, intensifying as the walls weep tears that vanish before they touch the floor.
Antaris’s nightmares are getting worse.
Hiram can do nothing but watch as his son, drenched through his clothes and shivering, tosses and turns. He won’t let Hiram near. Each attempt to approach his son is blocked by a magical wall. Still, Hiram refuses to leave, standing guard, waiting for the barrier to vanish. Tonight, it takes only minutes. Antaris wakes up mid-gasp. The barrier pops like a bubble. The stench of magic fades, and for the first time in hours, silence settles. The urge to do something, anything, overpowers the advice he’s been given:Go at his pace. Be present. Give him space when he needs it.
Hiram kneels beside the bed, grabs the fallen rabbit, and puts it gently in Antaris’s arms. He hugs it tightly as Hiram places a tentative hand on his back.
“Breathe.”
Antaris’s breaths race on.
There’s more he wants to say: that he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to worry. Empty platitudes won’t form, but truth does. “I can tell you’re scared, and that’s okay. I’ll stay here, if you want.”
He repeats it until Antaris loosens his death grip on the rabbit. Antaris lies back down, owl-wide eyes fixed on him. Hiram makes a quick decision.
“Just a second, okay?”
Antaris’s expression morphs into alarm.
“I’m coming back.”
Hiram moves quickly, first to the kitchen for a glass of water, then to his bedroom for a blanket and pillow. When he returns, Antaris is sitting up, holding the rabbit and a folded piece of paper. Hiram recognizes it immediately.He still has the itinerary?Confusion flickers into something warm as Hiram drops the pillow on the floor and spreads the blanket before sitting. Only then does Antaris lie back down on his side, blinking at Hiram.
“I told you I’ll always come back.”
It takes half an hour for the twitch in Antaris’s lip to stop, and another hour for him to finally sleep. Only when his son’s breathing deepens does Hiram lie down on the blanket beside the bed. He checks his phone and notices one missed call from John, Grace’s stepfather. Needing someone to talk to, he returns the call. It’s morning in London.
“Hiram?” John answers. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Hiram replies stiffly, worn to the bone. “You?”
“Holding on.”
