“How is he?” Veda asks carefully. “He seemed okay today, but it’s not always easy to gauge what’s on his mind.”
Hiram tells her about the weekend, the corner of her mouth twitching when he recounts the successful apology and the day spent together. “What did you teach him today?”
“We practiced sign language,” she replies. “He’s picking up the basics so quickly. The days of the week, names of food.”
“I read that book you gave him cover to cover, and have been practicing with him at home.”
“That explains how he knew the sign forcheesebefore I did.”
Hiram smiles, but can’t help but notice the way she bites hers back. He polishes off his drink. “So, what else do you teach him during tutoring sessions?”
“Nothing much. We gardened and ate tangerines under the olive tree. It’s popping leaves.”
“I didn’t know they grew that fast.”
“They don’t, but ...” She shrugs. “Nature doesn’t always follow the rules.”
Their eyes meet. Veda looks away. Hiram doesn’t.
“I won’t intrude on your night any longer. I know we haven’t been able to schedule that time to meet yet, but perhaps later this week?”
The easiest response comes quietly. “Okay.”
Hiram pulls out his wallet and offers her a sleek card.
Veda accepts it. “Self-updating business cards? Fancy.”
“Practical.” Hiram stands up. “How about Friday?”
Veda studies him for a moment, then nods.
Hiram walks away, feeling oddly unsettled. He looks back once to see Veda staring at the card before pocketing it. She drains the rest of her drink. On his way out, he finds the waiter and stops him, pointing at Veda’s back. “I want to pay for my drink and her entire bill.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hiram hands him more than enough money, the extra serving as a generous tip. He leaves for a nearby steak house, but not before giving clear instructions: “Make sure she gets the best service of her life.”
Seventeen
Veda feels good. Thanks to the excellent drinks and food, both the day and her conversation with Hiram are hazy memories she can sort through tomorrow. Warm and pliant from the alcohol, Veda tries to pay, only to be told it has already been covered. With zero complaints, she heads toward the nearby river walk. She plans to wander into whatever shops draw her interest until she’s sober enough to ride home.
She doesn’t notice the shift.
How the steady flow of people slows to a trickle. How, even at her polite nod, people look through her as if she’s invisible. How she can’t hear the passing cars, the breeze, anything.
Something is wrong.
Plans abandoned, Veda starts back to her bike but stumbles on something she can’t see and reaches out, only for her hand to rebound off nothing.
An invisible curtain. She sobers instantly. Magical layering is rare, complex magic that can’t be done on a whim and is illegal in public places.
Veda walks faster, then cuts off the path, heading down a well-lit alley. But he emerges from the shadows.
In a few weeks, Everett’s become haggard and barely recognizable, a pale shell of himself. His sandy-brown hair is oily, unkempt, and falling into hooded, luminescent red eyes. It’s clear the man standing before her is not Dr. Simpson. He’s lost to the curse.
“Veda.” He sounds as rough as he looks, hoarse like he’s been screaming for days. “You need my help.”
“I think you’re the one who needs help. Everyone has been looking for you.”
