Whatever works.
Hiram makes himself scarce, though he stays within earshot, unpacking the final boxes in his bedroom. Last on the list of priorities,it’s something he’s been putting off—anything to avoid the clean lines and white walls. Cold. Quiet. Devoid of character. Identity. He could make changes, but practicality nags about resale value and neutral tones. Too much personality, and it won’t sell. But will he want to sell?
They could live anywhere, in any country; Hiram has the means to make the sky their limit. But after a little over a month here, he’s not sure. Uprooting Antaris means separating him from Veda, and that feels wrong.
Unfortunately, he knows the truth. She’s right ...andwrong. He could try to make up for lost time by spoiling Antaris, buying his love, but Hiram knows from experience that love unearned means nothing.
“You should go with a neutral color.”
Hiram doesn’t jolt, but it’s close. Gabriel’s steps are lighter than expected.
“Cream or gray,” he adds. “It’ll pair well with the dark wood.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Hiram closes the bedroom door. “Find everything you need?”
“About that ...” Gabriel gestures for him to follow, leading the way to the living room, where Francisco waits, closed book in hand. “Ask him what you asked me.”
Francisco looks at Hiram. “As an Ellis, how connected are you?”
“No.”
“We’d pay a consulting fee,” he bargains.
“Does itlooklike I need money?” Hiram replies flatly.
Gabriel looks at the vaulted ceilings and crown molding. “Fair point.”
“Grace used a scrambling hex on several pages.” Francisco opens the book and holds it out. “If we don’t break it, we’ll lose whatever she was trying to hide. The department gave us the bare minimum in resources, butyoumight know someone who can help.”
Hiram looks at the pages. Broken words and letters float and shift, quickening the longer he stares. Random letters glow in different colors.It gives him a headache. He looks between the investigators and sighs. “I’ll help. On one condition.”
“What’s the condition?” Gabriel asks.
“That you don’t need my help again foranythingin the foreseeable future.”
Eleven
Veda has a shadow named Antaris.
He walks ahead, trails behind, veers off course, but never strays far from her side while roaming the greenhouse. Content without purpose, he explores every corner, touching nothing, and marveling at everything. Veda follows leisurely, happy to bask in the peace of watching him. The gloves she brought for him are bright yellow, and when he tries them on, they reach his elbows. The addition of goggles earns her a perplexed look.
“Follow me.”
Veda leads him to the berries, pointing to the ripening blueberry bushes. “Look for the dark-blue ones. They’ll fall into your hand easily.”
Antaris follows instructions well, but the first berry he picks is his last. Initially confused, Veda kneels beside him, ready to help, until she sees him cradling the blueberry in both hands.
“My mom used to tell me to thank the earth when I picked my first fruit. You don’t have to speak to saythank you. Just close your eyes and say the words in your head.” She demonstrates, and when she opens her eyes, Antaris is doing the same. When he finishes, before she can tell him to rinse it, he eats it, brightening at the sweetness.
“Good?” He nods. Veda smiles and draws an X on the side of the terra-cotta pot holding the bush. “The X is a mark of protection. It’s superstitious, but my mom swore by it.”
He draws an X, not on the pot but on the back of her hand.
“You think I need protection?”
His expression sobers, then he leans against her. Not a hug, just a moment of shared space.
“Come on, let’s pick some fruit for you to take home.”
