Peter scratches behind the kitten’s ear until it purrs, placing the basket on his desk. “I assumed he knew. Apparently, I was mistaken.”
“You were also mistaken thinking my opinion of him would change. Fine, he’s not a bigot, but that doesn’t mean I want to be his friend.”
He gestures, giving her the floor. “You sound like you need to get it off your chest, so I’m listening.”
Thrown slightly, she charges on. “I could talk about how arrogant he is, how he’s dripping in inherited wealth, how he has more audacity than I can stand in a single person. But honestly, my biggest gripe is his absence. He doesn’t bring Antaris to schoolorpick him up. The teachers haven’t seen him. Hell,Ididn’t even meet him when I was hired. I know he’s your best friend, but letting Simran call the shots is a mistake. Amassiveone. Antaris doesn’t even like her. He’s always stiff and makes himself small around her. I wouldn’t let someone like that near my kid, relative or not.”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re making excuses for him.”
“Yes, I am, but he’ll reconcile this soon enough.”
“You’ve Seen that?”
Peter half shrugs.
“My second point of contention is that he looked at my file from the night I was attacked—illegally—then tried to have agotchamoment about wrong information. Yeah, he apologized, but I’m still upset. He threw one of the worst nights of my life in my face, then had the gall to look shocked when I reacted.”
“I will agree he was wrong for his approach—”
“Antaris wants to know him,” she barrels on. “And after talking to him after the verbal abuse he took at the town hall, I do, too—if only to figure out why a Seer tattooedmy amuleton his arm.”
Peter leans back in his chair, calm as ever. “Why does it matter?”
Veda opens her mouth twice and fails to answer.
“Look,” Peter says, “I understand why you’re defensive and paranoid. I even understand why he aggravates the hell out of you. But have you even thought about his question?”
Leave it to Peter to douse her fire. “No, I didn’t.”
“I know your memory from that night is spotty at best before you ran, but don’t focus on the whole night. Try to remember pieces. When did you get home? What did you eat? What time of day was it? Were you alone, or was your roommate there?”
Veda closes her eyes. She remembers the sounds, the smells, their voice. Beingexhaustedas she fought for her life. Running. Knowing she couldn’t stop or she’d die. The Sanguis Curse catching her, the cursed blood melting into her skin, liquefying, somethingwrongbeneath her flesh. She tries to recall earlier memories, but they turn to sand, slipping through her fingers.
She opens her eyes, defeated, and grabs the keys to the school’s truck.
“Let me know what they say about the cat,” she mutters. “I’m dropping Lucinda’s order off like I promised, then going home. I’ll bring the truck back in the morning.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply.
Veda stews during the drive to East Proventia. She turns into one of the many subdivisions that have multiplied around the city. After passing a community pool and two stop signs, she parks in front of a pale-yellow house with green shutters and a matching front door.
Beyond her Oracle Council role, she doesn’t know Lucinda well. The drop should be quick, but this assumption unravels the moment she reaches the door. Lucinda’s talisman is rusted, and the gemstone, normally shining, is now opaque.
Something is wrong.
Only a handful of spells can alter a talisman; the spell must match the strength of the magic used to create it. It’s a dangerous guessing game for Mages, even those with amulets. Upon further examination, Veda realizes it’s not damaged. It’s sleeping.
Her interest is piqued.
One rap on the door creaks it open slightly. It’s eerily quiet.
Like a mausoleum.Veda shudders, stomach churning. The wrongness is why she dials the number Peter gave her for Lucinda.The phone rings from inside the house. Once, twice, then cuts off mid-ring. No voicemail. Veda knows better than to call enforcers to a Seer’s home. It never ends well. Instead, she calls Gabriel. He answers on the second ring.
“I’m at Lucinda Hampton’s house at five-six-three Shelling Port Drive. Her talisman is opaque, the door’s slightly open, and the phone disconnected mid-ring. How close are you?”
After a pause, he replies, “Ten minutes out.”
