Gasps and chatter erupt.
“What the fuck ishedoing here?” Khadijah blurts.
The subject of all the commotion in the room glances at the crowd. Veda recognizes the sky-blue eyes of Hiram Ellis. A wise man might walk away from such ire. Hiram doesn’t. Still, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The blurring insults and angry voices reach a fevered pitch.
Clinton raises his hand. “Silence.”
A hush falls instantly. The spell would leave most Mages with migraines for days, but Clinton remains unbothered. Power, when freely used, never ceases to amaze Veda. He drops the spell effortlessly. The quiet holds.
“Before we continue,” Clinton says, voice stern and commanding, blind eyes locked on Hiram, “please state your name for the record.”
“Hiram Ellis.” Smooth and posh, his voice now has an edge that wasn’t there when Veda ran into him. He places the coin on the podium. “I was unaware this was a summons. I had no plans to speak, only observe.”
“Observe for what purpose, Ellis?” Moab asks, turning to Clinton. “Bold of you to invitehim.”
“Change comes from strange places,” Clinton replies.
“Whatever you’re trying to prove, you’d have better success with someone who actually wants what you’re offering.” Hiram’s bluntness should be unsettling, but it’s refreshing. “I’m not here to make friends or change anything. I’m staying out of it.”
“Be that as it may, you are here. And change is inevitable.” Clinton straightens in his seat. “We have a common interest.”
Khadijah frowns. Marlene leans forward, temporarily distracting Veda until Moab’s voice grabs her attention. “What could wepossiblyhave in common with him?”
Hiram shifts, placing his hands at his sides.
“Will you address the room, or shall I?” Clinton’s question is a challenge. When Hiram stays silent, Clinton clears his throat. “Very well. This is about the Botanist. The person who has been killing members of our community for six years. Hiram is as much of a victim as any Seer who has lost loved ones to their violence. His so—”
“Leave him out of this,” Hiram snaps. “I’m not the friend your community wants. That much is abundantly clear.”
Given the consensus of the room, Veda can’t disagree.
Hiram’s detachment earns no sympathy, but Peter’s advice lingers in Veda’s mind: Be open to Hiram’s intentions. She recalls Hiram’s earlier words—we have the same goal: catching the Botanist.She dismissed him then. Now, with Clinton’s invitation, she wonders how much of that is true.
“Your lack of respect is typical for someone like you,” Moab spits.
“Would you prefer false courtesy?” Hiram’s response inflames the room.
Lucinda and Ruth have been silent, but Lucinda straightens in her seat. “Clinton, unless you have Seen something the rest of us have not, how do you know you have not invited the killer into our safe space?”
Painfully human, Hiram recoils at the implication. A crack in his perfect armor. “So now I’m a serial killer?”
“I put nothing past you Ellises, especially when your uncle has been studying us like lab rats for decades.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” He turns to Clinton. “I’m done.”
“Are you?” is Clinton’s cryptic reply. “I do not think we have even begun.”
“He is.” Moab looks ready to grind his teeth on quartz.
“Why would we want you here?” Ruth lashes out with a venom that surprises Veda. It’s a far cry from the kind, sassy old woman who gives advice and makes sure Veda doesn’t spend her birthdays wallowing.
“I never asked for your protection,” Hiram replies.
“Of course not. You Ellises have spent generations spreading your hatred of us across the country. When your father retired and you left, we celebrated, thinking the cycle was over, but now you’re back.”
Veda flinches. So does Hiram.
