He picks two of everything: grapes, blackberries, strawberries, tangerines, and lemons. Veda adds more to the basket to wash later in the kitchen. By the time they finish, the basket is half full. She doesn’t think twice about carrying it, but is amused when Antaris keeps hold of the handle. He’s helping. They’re nearly out when he stops at the last in a row of young olive trees, looking up. Everything in the greenhouse teems with life, but this tree has no leaves.
“It was sick not long ago. Normally, we’d uproot it, save our energy for the stronger ones, but I think it can be saved. It just needs extra care.” Veda puts down the basket and brings him closer, pointing at tiny buds. “Even if you can’t see it, there’s life in there. As long as the tree keeps fighting, I won’t give up on it.”
Just as she will never give up on him.
“Do you know about olive trees?”
Antaris shakes his head.
“They mean peace.” Veda touches the branch again. “It may be sick, but disease or drought will never kill it. I could cut it down, even burn it, and still it would heal and grow back.”
Antaris traces an X at the base of the tree. Even indestructible things need care and hope.
When their time is nearly up, Veda sends Antaris to water the flowers along the edge of the fence. She sneaks glances as he stops at each plant, stoops to its level, and traces shapes on a petal before watering it. After, they sit on the bottom step of the school. Veda peels a tangerine and offers him a slice. “You deserve it.”
Instead of eating, Antaris offers it back to her, eyes insistent.
“I deserve it?”
He nods. They split the slice in compromise. Antaris puts on his school jacket and book bag. She expects him to retreat before Simran’sarrival, as usual, but today, he’s distracted by a note in his hand. Consternation makes him look older than six.
“I can read that for you.”
Antaris looks up. She expects him to tuck it away, keep it hidden and protected. Instead, he offers it with slow hesitation. Veda unfolds it with the same care he gives everything, and they look at it together. The penmanship is legible enough to know it’s not meant for her eyes. Only his. She considers giving it back, but Antaris is watching her, waiting, hopeful that she can help him learn about the father he wants to know.
“It says ...” She’s struck by his father’s written words of devotion. “You’re the best choice I’ve ever made.”
Veda rides to the bridge over Dalneau River to clear her mind. She parks her bike and leans on the railing. It’s grounding, watching the water pass under the bridge and emerge on the other side. The river ebbs in some spots, flowing in others, painting the surface with tide pools and currents more stunning than any brushstrokes could capture on canvas.
Her phone rings, breaking the silence. She digs it out of her pocket and answers.
“Where are you?” Khadijah’s voice is low and frantic.
“At the river.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah . . .”
Khadijah’s relief is audible. “Okay. I called Gabriel, and he’s on the way here. Moab was attacked leaving the bank in Panoramic.”
“Is he . . .”
“He escaped. All I got out of him was that someone intervened so he could get away. He ran to my clinic, and I pulled him in. He lost consciousness from whatever curse he was hit with, but he’s stable now.”
“His family . . . ?”
“Jordan is at school in Montana. I called Forestry for Tawa, but he’s on shift in the Cascades and can’t get here for another few hours. Once Moab was stable, I started looking for witnesses and clearing the area so no one disturbs the spider lilies.”
“I’m on the way.” Veda hangs up before Khadijah can protest.
The ride to Panoramic is twenty-five minutes with traffic. Veda makes it in twelve, rolling through yellow lights and weaving past slow vehicles. The only available motorcycle spot is occupied by a double-parked, sleek black sedan adorned with the thin paneling typical of cars powered by magic and gasoline. She considers taking the caps off their tires out of spite, but decides she doesn’t have time for pettiness. At least, not today. Irritated, she parks in a no-parking zone at the end of the block and walks to the Conclave.
Spider lilies have followed Moab from the bank to the clinic, sprouting from pavement cracks. Bloodred blossoms shimmer in the sun, their dangerous hue catching her eye as glowing specks float upward. Khadijah emerges from the clinic next door, still in scrubs, looking ready to scold Veda. She stops short when something else catches her eye.
Gabriel has arrived, and he isn’t alone.
Hiram is with him, ignoring the glares and stares of nearby bystanders. He wears black like it defines him. The color of power, elegance, and authority. Fitting. Unreadable blue eyes land on her; the quick set of his jaw means he knows an argument is coming.
