“I left my familyyearsago. Why I’ve returned is of no concern to anyone in this room—”
“No concern?” Ruth cuts him off, seething. “Your family rose to power on the backs of Seers, betraying our trust, twisting laws to make it a crime for us to use magic and protect ourselves and our children. Your father is the worst of you, spreading hatred by creating the Registration.Seersbuilt that mansion you live in. Did you know that? We’ve not only built a city that treats us worse than animals, but we are the foundation of a country with laws that allow people to treat us worse than animals, then punish us for not suffering the same consequences of magic. Your presence alone endangers us.”
Only when she finishes does Veda finally exhale.
“The only thing I want is to be left alone. Your issues with my family are not mine.” Hiram remains unflappable in the face of the generational rage thrown at him. “I’m not here to stand trial for sins I didn’t commit, especially when I already know the verdict.”
Clinton rests his hand on the table. “You are right.”
“Perhaps heshouldstand trial,” Lucinda says, ignoring Clinton’s shake of the head. “It may not be fair, Clinton. Nothing is. You know this better than anyone, and yet you invited him here. You want us to accept him because he’s been affected by the Botanist, just like us. But he’s never spoken up for us. Why should we care about him?”
“Regardless of why I was invited, it’s clear nothing productive was ever meant to happen here. You want someone to crucify, and you’ve decided it’s me.”
Moab chuckles darkly. “Sins of the bloodline—”
“Arenotmine.”
“But they are,” Ani counters with quiet conviction. “We have suffered from allowing your ilk into our community, and we won’t ever be fooled again.”
“Thank you for coming,” Clinton says sincerely, though it’s clearly a dismissal.
In the storm of whispers and stares, Hiram leaves the podium, abandoning his hat and sunglasses. Veda catches a glimpse of his face but can’t read his expression.
All eyes follow Hiram until Clinton slowly stands. “This was not a failure. Only a beginning.”
As if his words are a spell, Hiram pauses. He doesn’t turn to face the Council. Instead, he squares his shoulders, fists curling as though preparing for another round. “No. It’s the end.”
“Character is the consequence of a choice, Hiram.” Clinton’s voice softens. “Will you choose the path of ease and comfort, or the one less traveled? I look forward to seeing what you decide.”
When the meeting adjourns, the hall, still buzzing from Hiram’s appearance, empties for the banquet next door. It’s a customary end to each meeting, a time for fellowship and connection. Khadijah is deep in conversation with a growing cluster of Council members, while Marlene chats with Lucinda. Without a reason to socialize, Veda returns to the now-empty meeting hall, frowning upon seeing the forgotten hat and glasses.
Watching Hiram get torn apart didn’t bring her the satisfaction she’d expected. Her talk with Peter didn’t change her opinions, yet something sits uneasily in the pit of her stomach, a weight no food or drink will soothe.
Everything they said was true. But was it right?
Veda picks up Hiram’s belongings, intending to pass them to Peter. The side door opens, and the man himself cautiously walks inside, stopping short upon seeing her. His eyes slide to the entrance door as if expecting security to burst into the room.
“Respectfully, I’m not here to argue or do anything that makes that amulet of yours glow.” Hiram approaches with the same caution she reserves for him. “Just grabbing my hat and glasses, then I’ll be on my way.”
Veda hands him both. “Weird that you got back in. That door is usually locked.”
Hiram studies her, confused, as though he can’t quite place something. “Okay, I’ll lean fully into masochism and ask why you haven’t gone on a paranoid rant accusing me of following you.”
Veda rolls her eyes. “I talked to Peter. You’re a lot of things but apparently not a stalker.”
“A glowing endorsement,” he drawls. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like Peter’s shitty idea of a disguise back so I can leave before someone accuses me of murder again.”
Of course it was Peter’s idea. Veda meant what she said: She has no interest in being Hiram’s friend. Whatever his story, she doesn’t care, but she no longer feels the same intensity.
Hiram puts on the hat and pockets the sunglasses. There’s no reason to stay, yet Veda doesn’t leave. Her gaze falls in every direction except his. The moment hangs like a pendulum at the tip of its arc until the door opens again.
Khadijah stands frozen at the end of the aisle, smile faltering. She walks briskly toward them on a mission. From the corner of her eye, Veda watches Hiram shift. A man resigned, ready for another confrontation.
“Ellis.” Khadijah’s arms fold.
“Desai,” Hiram replies. “You’re welcome, by the way. For the apothecary.”
“Don’t pretend like you did it out of the kindness of your heart.”
