“Why would you help me?”
Hiram shrugs. “My son is attached to you. I’d rather he not lose anyone else.”
It’s one thing to have these errant thoughts when she’s alone, and another to hear it said out loud by someone who will have to pick up the pieces when she’s gone. Not a thought anymore but tangible with the power to shape reality.
“More than that,” he adds quietly, “you can pretend all you want, but we both know you’re not ready to die.”
Hiram’s smirk grows the longer she doesn’t rebut.
“That’s what I thought.” He extends his hand. “Be prepared to be sick of me.”
She smacks it away. “I already am.”
“It’s mutual.” He’s unfazed, smug yet serious. Weirdly charming. “You’ll live. I’ll see to it.”
“Sounds like you’re about to overpromise and under-deliver on—”
“I have a high success rate of making good on promises.”
Veda snatches her helmet and puts it on. “Well, aren’tyoua smug asshole?”
“I am.” He leans in, determined eyes set on her. The corners of his lips twitch. “I’m also more than that. You’ll see.”
Twelve
Promises made, now Hiram has to deliver.
He gathers patience before making calls to several of his father’s contacts. No one answers, but he doesn’t think much of it until his phone rings.
Barrett skips the greeting. “The last time you called this many of my friends, it was for rushed paperwork, genetic and Imprint testing, and a custody hearing for Antaris. Anything I should know?”
“No,” Hiram replies, tapping his finger. “I need information.”
There is a pause. “You could have called me.”
“I doubt you’d want to be involved.”
“Try me.”
“I need access. Peter mentioned trying and failing to obtain research on the Sanguis Curse: unpublished articles, unsanctioned extraction attempts, survival rates, everything hidden under the bureaucratic rugs. I called Uncle Phillip because he’s the silent partner of a curse research institute in Atlanta, and likely the reason that research is guarded.”
Phillip is a well-connected figure in magical research—a fanatic believer of Mage supremacy, a mad scientist, and a raging bigot all wrapped up in one terrifying human being. He believes magic is the answer to the “Seer problem.” Eugenics. Scientific dogmatism. Sterilization in families with high Seer birth rates. All of it. Odd views for someone with a dozen illegitimate children he refuses to claim.
“How do you know this?” Barrett murmurs.
“It wasn’t hard. There are Seer-interest groups tracking bigots with too much money and influence. They make sure they’re boycotting the right places.” From what Hiram’s gathered, these groups monitor the entire family, but Barrett and his brothers get special attention.
“Smart.” Barrett offers the rare compliment, but Hiram doesn’t trust it. “I’ll handle my brother.”
“Why?”
“He’s become paranoid. Calling after years of silence will only fuel his fire.”
“I get it,” Hiram says.
“Besides, I don’t need to talk to him to get what you need. He uses his house in Medina as overflow for whatever he does. I have access, and he has an extensive organization system. This shouldn’t take long.”
It sounds too good to be true. “If you do this, what do you want?”
