“Yeah, I tripped getting into the house and fell on my ass.”
“Almost did the same myself. Be careful.”
“I will.” She sighs heavily, turning to Veda. “Shit day, huh?”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“Glad you’re not seriously injured.”
“Could have been worse,” Gabriel says grimly. “Did you finish the scene analysis?”
“We can’t confirm what spell killed Lucinda because of the wasting curse degrading the Imprints, just like all the other killings. There were spider lilies all over her living room and under her bed.”
Confirmation makes Veda sick.
“Call your aunt Ruth,” Gabriel tells Marlene. “The Council will come for Lucinda’s body to give her a proper burial.”
Veda taps her foot, biting her lip. “Actually, don’t call Ruth yet.”
Gabriel looks up from applying the last patch over her cut. “Why not?”
“You need to answer that question, gather evidence, and then approach them with all the facts. Otherwise it’s pointless.” She rolls her sore shoulders. “Were thereanyImprints?”
“One,” Marlene replies slowly. “A Seer’s. Dr. Everett Simpson.”
“Do you think he came to save you?” Gabriel’s question confirms that they’re thinking the same thing.
“What do you mean?” Marlene’s sharp gaze mirrors Gabriel’s.
“He warned me to be careful of who I trust. That tricksters fly.”
Marlene sucks in a breath. “What else did he say?”
Veda jiggles her foot, restless. “A lot, but also a little. How did he know I’d be here?”
“He’s watching you,” Gabriel says grimly. “Francisco was right. You need protection.”
“I’m not letting enforcers into my cottage. It’s cloaked. I’m safe there.”
“And when you’re not there?”
Veda doesn’t know. “I’ll figure it out.”
Once they leave to finish their investigation, Veda calls Khadijah to pick her up. Her thoughts spiral in every direction. Everything is connected—buthow?
Ten
Antaris left with Simran in a strangely good mood, clutching his tea thermos in both hands like a prized possession, so distracted he forgot his lunch on the counter. Hiram grabs it on his way out.
Ten minutes later, he parks in the visitor’s lot. School hasn’t started yet. Early arrivals are out back, surrounded by tables and chairs under a banner that saysAppreciation Day. Hiram spots his son quickly, tracking him as he makes a beeline for Veda. She’s handing out fruit, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the bright sky. She greets Antaris with a pear. He shyly offers his thermos in return.
From her lack of surprise, it’s not the first time. The urge to linger and observe is strong, but Hiram leaves to deliver the lunch box to Antaris’s classroom. He finds the third-, fifth-, and ninth-year classrooms before giving up and walking to Peter’s office instead.
Every surface is cluttered with folders and books. It would be alarming if Peter weren’t so immaculate, even while working. Rather than knock, Hiram leans on the doorframe. “Miss Thorne, is it?”
Peter stops writing and sighs, lifting his head to the ceiling. “I spent the night bottle-feeding a kitten your son heard mewling from the balcony, and there are chickens in my bathroom. I’m too tired for this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, runs a hand through his hair, and shoots Hiram a sharp glance. “When I wanted to apologize for helping Simran find him a tutor, you said you’d heard. So I assumed you knew about her.”
“Oh.”
