“I suppose we should make peace.”
“If that’s what you want,” Hiram replies. “I was never fighting you.”
“What happened to make you change?”
“Peter’s mom, mostly. She’s the best person I know. She talked when I was ready to listen, taught when I was ready to learn, explained when I was ready to understand. She taught me patience by waiting for my mistakes to teach me the right way. And the rest of what kept me dedicated to my family’s ways and rhetoric was unhinged by logic.”
“What do you mean?”
“It makes no sense that those with power at their fingertips, with the ability to see into the past and future, are somehow inferior. Bigotry has never stemmed from ignorance. It comes from knowledge. From fear.”
“That’s true.” Veda’s expression shifts. “So what now that you’ve cut them out? Do they finance anything?”
“No, I have more than enough. Between my own savings and an inheritance from my uncle Sebastian, who also left the family behind and married a Seer, I can live comfortably and still leave more than enough to Antaris.” Hiram sighs. “The longer I’m here, the more I realize I can’t go back to my job. I think it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Why?”
“It’ll put me back in Los Angeles, too close to my purist extended family, who don’t know Grace had Sight. The family used to make people who broke rank disappear or reform them. Now they make defectors’ lives miserable. My uncle and his wife lived in virtual solitude for the rest of their lives once they stopped running.”
“Is Antaris—”
“Safe? Yes. My mother keeps them busy.”
“What’s stopping her from exposing Grace as his mom now that you’ve cut her out?”
“The status she’s worked hard to ascend to over the last thirty-five years.” Hiram chuckles. “She won’t risk taking herself down with me. My mother may have everything now, but she knows what it’s like to have nothing.”
“What about you?” Veda asks. “Do you have everything or nothing?”
“Neither. Both.” Hiram watches the brandy as he swirls his glass. “I have everything for myself, but I’d give it up for him.”
Veda falls silent, stealing glances at him now and then. Hiram’s had enough alcohol to wonder what the heat in her eyes might mean, but not nearly enough to ask.
“You know”—she chuckles softly—“I didn’t expect much tonight. I was coming to see Antaris and apologize to you again.”
“And now?” Hiram asks, voice near a whisper.
“I’m figuring it out as I go.”
Hiram tries his luck. “You could always come back to figure out, if you ever feel inclined.”
“I’ll think about it.” The warmth in Veda cools as she searches his eyes. “Why did you help Ruth after what happened at the town hall? You didn’t have to. You had every reason not to. Yet you did. Why?”
Hiram is surprised by the question. “I almost didn’t, but I didn’t feel like minding my business. Not heroic. Call it the bare minimum of human decency.”
“You saw beyond yourself.”
“I did,” Hiram murmurs, leaning closer. “Now it’s your turn to actually seeme.”
Nineteen
Antaris chooses green.
Not forest or sage, but mint, and remains steadfast, refusing all other options Hiram offers until he realizes decisiveness must be an inherited trait. That’s why they have mint-green paint and supplies ready when Veda arrives. She hangs back while Hiram carefully takes everything off the walls and casts a charm for the brushes to start painting. His onyx ring flashes with each stroke.
Fascinated, Antaris sits cross-legged, elbows on his thighs, watching the brush move up and down the wall while the kitten plays with a toy. Hiram is the first to leave him to it, shaking his head with amusement.
Veda follows.
