On the final day of school before the break, after watching the comical sight of Gabriel carrying August like a sack of potatoes—determined to keep him from ruining his clothes by jumping in puddles—Hiram lingers by the fountain, waiting with purpose.
Gabriel appears confused, but approaches nonetheless. “No more Everett sightings, and nothing on any sightings of the Botanist or, hell, anyone wearing Veda’s face as a mask. We have alerts out for both,” he says, unprompted. “We have preliminary results from the magical testing collected from Veda’s attack and that blocked Imprint is there, mixed in with Veda’s and Everett’s Imprints. That’s enough to confirm the Botanist for me. I took this to my superiors, and they’ve hadseveralclosed-door meetings about it. Veda—”
“How is she?” Hiram asks.
Gabriel’s expression changes. “Still sore and shaken, but she went through some extra healing sessions with Khadijah and is on the mend.”
Admittedly, Hiram is hungry for more details but can’t be too greedy. This isn’t enough, but it will suffice for now. It’s hard to rest when Veda resides in his dreams: eerily still, not moving, not breathing, dying beneath an explosion of once-absorbed magic released in desperate sacrifice. He’ll never unsee it or the tears she shed in the hospital, clutching the charred remains of the amulet that gave its life for her.
“She doesn’t have a new phone yet,” Gabriel adds. “But I’m dropping by Khadijah’s to talk to her after her follow-up appointment.”
“Ah.” Hiram rubs the back of his neck. “Can you tell her that my invitation stands if she’s up to it? Antaris would love to have her over.”
Gabriel’s brow rises sharply. “Antaris, huh?”
The comment earns Gabriel a glare.
“I’ll let her know.”
“Thanks.”
It’s after six when Hiram puts the finishing touches on the chicken biryani while Antaris plays on the floor with the kitten. He’s about to tell Antaris to wash his hands when the talisman sends a sound echoing through the house. Antaris’s head pops up, and they exchange a confused look before Hiram drops the kitchen towel and answers the door.
Veda stands on his front porch in jeans, a loose flannel shirt, and boots. Her hair is pulled back, highlighting the deep-purple bruise around her eye that splatters like paint down the side of her neck before disappearing under her collar.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Veda says, pausing. “I, uh ... brought a plant.”
He realizes, as she offers it, that the plant is for him.
“Lavenders mean peace,” Veda says, handing off the potted ceasefire. “I would have brought flowers, but potted plants are more sustainable, improve air quality, reduce stress, and—and I’m babbling. Please tell me to shut up.”
“No.” Hiram opens the door wider. “But you can come in.”
“Khadijah thought I shouldn’t ride, but I needed the fresh air. Sorry if I’m late.”
“I didn’t expect you to show. You’re right on time.”
It’s instinct, Hiram thinks, how she immediately glares at him, though Veda’s sharpness softens into amused disbelief. He looks back twice as Veda follows him deeper into the house to the great room.
Her eyes fall on Antaris, who is standing in the center, kitten in hand. Her smile grows wider than Hiram’s ever seen. His son deposits the kitten in its play area, and rushes forward, stopping short when he notices the marks on her.
Veda kneels in front of him. “I got hurt, but I’m okay now, still a bit sore. Your dad helped me.”
Antaris’s eyes are twice their normal size as he swivels toward Hiram, who confirms with a nod. He places the lavender on the edge of the island, and like a moth to a flame, Antaris is drawn to it. “Veda gave this to us. What do we do?”
Hiram follows his son’s lead, bringing his hand to his chin and moving it out.Thank you.
Veda’s smile comes easily with Antaris. “You did that so well.” To Hiram, her words are slower, guarded. “Because I wasn’t able to see him this week, I was thinking—if it’s okay with you—we can continue our sessions here or at the school during the break.”
Antaris turns wide, hopeful eyes on Hiram.
He folds like a house of cards. “We can work something out.”
“I suggested we practice brewing ahead of you starting year two, but Peter said the giggle potion didn’t go well. Something about nearly starting a fire.”
Hiram is confused. “He never said a word.”
