The Devouring Gray

by Christine Lynn Herman

  Harper did. A moment later, the bag was lifted off her head. She filled her lungs with a deep, relieved breath of fresh air.

  “Harper,” said her dad, his hand suddenly squeezing hers. “You can look.”

  She opened her eyes.

  She was sitting in the library’s attic. Shelves of books that had been deemed either too boring, too scandalous, or too dangerous for public consumption filled every inch of available wall space. They’d put her in a circle of folding chairs with perhaps fifteen other people in coarse brown robes identical to hers. She recognized all of them, even with the hoods pulled over their faces—Pete and Theo and Ma Burnham from the Diner, Korrie Lee from the grocer’s, even a few of her fellow classmates.

  The only sources of light in the room were the moon, which streamed in through the skylight, and a flickering candelabra in the center of the circle. Harper’s gaze darted nervously to the books. A stray ember from the flames, and there would be nothing left of this place but ashes.

  “Welcome!”

  Harper realized suddenly that the voice belonged to Mrs. Moore—the librarian. Of course. The woman appeared in her field of view a moment later, a smile on her face.

  “Let us all welcome Harper Carlisle to the Church of the Four Deities.”

  As if on cue, everyone rose from their chairs except for Harper. Mrs. Moore joined the circle. And, before Harper could ask any questions, they began to sing.

  At first, Harper thought it was the “Founders’ Lullaby.” But she realized quickly that it was something very different.

  Sinners who were led astray,

  Wandered through the woods one day,

  Stumbled right into the Gray,

  Never to return.

  Hear the lies our gods will tell,

  The prison the Four wove so well,

  But listen to us when we say:

  Branches and stones, daggers and bones,

  Will meet their judgment day.

  When the song was done, they all sat down. No one clapped. No one fidgeted. The sight sent a chill down Harper’s spine.

  She didn’t know much about the Church of the Four Deities. It was ancient history by Four Paths standards, a bunch of townspeople who’d worshipped the original four founders as gods. The religion had died out when the original founders did, and although most of the original practices had been lost, Harper knew enough to know this wasn’t right.

  Her father had said that he was involved in a plot to take the Hawthornes down. Worshipping them definitely didn’t seem like a good way to do that.

  As if anticipating her question, Mrs. Moore stepped back into the center of the circle again and cleared her throat. The flickering light of the candelabra reflected in her horn-rimmed glasses, making it look as if her eyes were balls of flame.

  “As most of you know, our leader has more pressing matters to attend to tonight, so I will handle this explanation of our organization. The original purpose of the Church of the Four Deities when it was founded in 1847 was to find the path to salvation. We have taken on its mantle now to symbolize our intentions: Save our town. Save ourselves. The Hawthorne family has begun to lose their grip on the Gray, and we are paying for it with innocent lives.”

  The room fixed itself on Harper, fifteen expectant faces peering at hers.

  She squirmed.

  “We shouldn’t suffer for the Hawthornes’ mistakes,” she said. Which seemed to be enough for Mrs. Moore to continue.

  “Augusta Hawthorne holds this town in an iron grip. Our leader has come up with a plan that we believe will dislodge her—but it requires the help of a Saunders to work. That’s why your connection to Violet is so important to us. Do you understand?”

  Harper nodded. “What is this plan? I want to help.”

  Mrs. Moore’s face froze slightly. When she continued, her words were far more careful. “As long as the Hawthornes hold power, they’re a threat. So we have found a potential way to remove their abilities—for good. This will destabilize their hold on the town and allow more deserving families to take charge of the duties of keeping us all safe.”

  Harper shuddered.

  It was exactly what they deserved, all of them. To know how she felt. To be powerless, and have nothing they could do about it.

  There was just one question remaining. “How will we do it?”

  Beside her, Maurice Carlisle squeezed her hand once more, and Harper felt a surge of vicious pride.

  “One secret at a time, Miss Carlisle,” said Mrs. Moore, a gentle laugh in her voice. “I’m afraid these plans are sensitive enough that even most of our own don’t know every detail. For now, keep Violet Saunders close. Help her develop her powers. When the time is right, we will need her to use them.”

  “Can I tell her about this?”

  This time, it was her own father who spoke. “I know you mean well, Harper, but this information simply cannot be shared with anyone unless we know they can be trusted. Hopefully, you can tell her soon.”

  Harper nodded, a twinge of unease rolling through her. “Understood.”

  “Excellent,” said Mrs. Moore.

  The sound of wind chimes rang through the room, urgent, insistent, and undeniably electronic. Someone’s ringtone.

  Harper realized, with a rush of horror, that it was her ringtone.

  “Sorry!” she gasped, drawing her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket.

  But the number on the screen was Violet’s.

  Maurice Carlisle glanced down at her phone. “It’s the Saunders girl,” he said, signaling to everyone else to stay quiet. “Take it.”

  Harper accepted the call, then held the phone up to her ear. Her mouth was dry with sudden nerves. “Hello?”

  “Harper—please.” Violet’s voice was so ragged, so broken, Harper barely recognized it. “It’s an emergency. Something’s happened, something—” Her words were cut off by a choked sob. “Can you come over? Right now?”

  Harper paused, her eyes frozen on her father.

  “Go to her,” hissed Maurice Carlisle. “We trust you, Harper.”

  “Of course,” said Harper, even though something felt wrong about all this, something she was too stressed and overwhelmed to fully think about. “I’ll be right there.”

  It wasn’t the noise that woke Violet up. It was the ache in her head, a dizziness that spread through her dreams and yanked her back into reality.

  She was nauseous. She was sore, as if she’d run a dozen miles. She felt like part of her mind was missing.

  And she was standing. At the edge of the second-floor landing in the Saunders manor, the chandelier looming above her, the reddish stone stairs, cloaked in shadow, extending below her, starting just inches away from her bare feet.

  Violet curled her fingers around the wrought-iron banister, shivering at the cool metal against her fingers. Moonlight danced across the feathers of a taxidermy falcon mounted on the landing wall. It lingered in the nooks and crannies of the chandelier, making the ivory carvings look as if they were actual bones.

  Violet studied the stairs again, shuddering. Two more steps, and she would’ve tumbled down. She had never sleepwalked in her life, and now she was showing up in strange places in the middle of the night.

  That couldn’t be accidental. She’d have to text Harper about this in the morning.

  Violet was about to turn around and head back to bed when she heard Orpheus meowing. The cat padded around the corner of the landing, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

  “What is it?” Violet’s voice echoed from the edge of the landing, filling the wide emptiness of the house even though she’d tried to whisper. “Do undead cats still like to be let outside?”

  Orpheus meowed again. He butted his head against her bare ankle, then descended gracefully onto the first stair. This time, his low, guttural mewls sounded oddly frantic. He leaped down two more stairs and turned, his tail waving from side to side.

  Violet felt that tug at her insides again, the same o
ne she’d felt back in her bedroom earlier that day. It reminded her of May’s powers this time. Like there was something nosing at the edge of her skull.

  Something telling her to look more closely at the bottom of the stairs.

  Her eyes could make out something now; a figure standing in the foyer. Too broad in the shoulders to be Juniper. Too tall to be Daria.

  Panic flooded through her chest. She reached, slowly and carefully, toward the light switch at the top of the stairs. “Who’s there?”

  The figure made for the door at the same time as her fingers flicked the switch. The chandelier flooded to life, reflecting off the crystals, sending refracting tendrils of light across the foyer.

  Her eyes found the intruder.

  Its face was mummified flesh clinging to a half-rotted skull, its body dressed in torn-up rags.

  It didn’t walk—it shuffled.

  A sharp hiss of panic went through Violet’s chest, followed by a sudden tug of exhaustion, a sensation she recognized as her energy being sucked away.

  It was a body.

  And Violet understood in that moment that the nausea that had awoken her was the connection between them, like the one between her and Orpheus, but stronger.

  Which meant it was a body she’d brought back to life.

  But when? And how? And who?

  She started forward—but the front door was already slamming behind it.

  And she could see, now that the lights were on, that it had left something in its wake.

  There was a heap of crimson at the bottom of the stairs. A tangle of graying curls and red yarn, and more red, red everywhere, spreading slowly beneath Aunt Daria’s motionless body, speckled across her lifeless, slack-jawed face.

  Violet didn’t remember descending the stairs.

  All she remembered was pressing her fingers to Daria’s neck and feeling the faintest possible thrumming of a pulse.

  Her fingers smeared blood across her phone as she fumbled for 911, then dialed Harper’s number, then—desperate—Justin’s, and Isaac’s, and May’s.

  And finally, hunched beside her aunt’s motionless body, she allowed herself to cry.

  The Saunders manor shone like a beacon from half a mile away. The lights flaring in the upstairs windows cut harshly through the forest, making it easy for Harper to keep the house in sight as she navigated the woods. Maurice Carlisle’s words ran through her mind with every step: Go to her. We trust you, Harper.

  It had been a long time since someone had shown any faith in her at all; and now, in the space of just a few days, she’d gained the respect of Violet Saunders—and her own father.

  She was not about to let either of them down.

  But as the bottom of the hill came into view, Harper froze. Parked in the center of the driveway were two police cars, their sirens casting red-and-blue shadows across the manor’s front porch.

  Standing next to the second car, her badge gleaming in the light that spilled through the windows, was Augusta Hawthorne.

  The person Harper had sworn to take down at all costs.

  The person who, if Justin was to be believed, had taken Harper’s best friend away from her.

  The person who Harper was more afraid of than the Gray. Than the Beast.

  Her legs were heavy as stone, anchoring her to the forest floor. All her bravery had crumbled the moment she saw that shock of blond hair.

  But if she bolted, she’d be disappointing everyone.

  Worst of all, she’d be proving the Beast right the day it told her she was unworthy of her family birthright.

  Harper patted the edge of the dagger she’d tucked into her pocket, then stepped carefully through the woods, circling the Saunders manor. If she could get in through the back door, there was still a chance she could talk to Violet.

  But she’d barely gone a few feet when a series of rustles and curses came from the trees to her left.

  Harper flattened her spine against the nearest tree trunk, struggling to calm her breathing. Someone was in the forest with her. Someone who, she realized as the stream of curses continued, was either very drunk, or very, very foolish.

  “Are you fucking serious?” sighed the voice, apparently to itself. “I am the branch guy! It’s, like, my whole thing! Don’t you wanna be helpful, trees, instead of getting in my way?”

  Harper groaned silently as the sea of branches parted to her left, revealing a disheveled, visibly intoxicated Justin Hawthorne.

  Very drunk and very foolish, then.

  His gaze found her before she had time to duck behind the nearest tree.

  “You!” Justin raised a finger and jabbed it in her direction. The gesture felt like an accusation. “Why in the founders’ names are you here?”

  Harper wondered if he would believe her if she told him she was a drunk hallucination.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, instead.

  The question seemed to confuse him. “Violet asked for help,” he said. “And Isaac was too drunk, so May had to take him home, so I came here.”

  Harper pushed down a surge of annoyance that Violet had reached out to the Hawthornes, too. At least Justin was in no condition to win back Violet’s allegiance. If he was the soberest one in their little trio, Isaac had to be absolutely wasted.

  “You should’ve gone home with May and Isaac,” she said. “You’re way too drunk to help her.”

  “I am not!”

  A new chorus of voices rose behind them before Harper could respond.

  “We’ve gotta check the forest,” called one of the officers to another.

  “She doesn’t think it’s the Beast?”

  “You know what those bodies look like. Nah, this is a different kind of killer.”

  Harper’s heart jolted in her chest.

  Killer. That meant someone was dead.

  And, more importantly, it meant that Harper could not be found nearby.

  Yes, Violet needed her. But she would have to wait.

  Harper was already halfway out of the clearing when she realized Justin hadn’t moved. He was just standing in the middle of the trees, swaying back and forth, bewilderment spreading across his handsome face.

  It would be so easy for Harper to leave him there. He’d get in a heap of trouble and distract the police for long enough to guarantee her escape.

  But as the officers’ footsteps crushed across the underbrush, Harper remembered what he’d said back at her house. The earnestness in his eyes as he’d talked about defying his mother, once and for all.

  And, against every self-preservation instinct she possessed, she rushed back into the clearing.

  “Come on, branch guy,” Harper hissed, grabbing Justin’s arm and yanking him after her into the woods. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at running?”

  “I am,” said Justin indignantly, stumbling behind her as they wove through the trees. “I am the fastest.” He knocked into her shoulder, nearly toppling her over, then overcorrected and slammed into a tree.

  “You’re a child.” Harper ducked beneath a branch. The footsteps behind them were fainter now, but they weren’t gone. She had no idea how the deputies hadn’t noticed Justin’s general idiocy. “And you’re going to land us both in your mother’s office if you don’t shut up and sober up, right now.”

  Justin chuckled. “Well, shit. I forgot how formal you get when you’re angry.”

  “And I’m learning just how annoying you are when you drink.”

  But Justin must’ve finally processed her words, because he went silent for a moment and all Harper could hear was the sound of their footsteps in the underbrush. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly less slurred. “Doesn’t make any sense for us to run. The officers’ll just hear us. We should hide until they leave.”

  Harper was annoyed by how much she agreed with him. There was just one problem. “Hide? Where?”

  “I know where,” said Justin, with a confidence that Harper mightily hoped came from something other than
whatever he’d had to drink. “Follow me.”

  He surged ahead, and she picked her way behind him. Twigs clutched at her sweatshirt and snagged in her hair; her sneakers stumbled across tree roots as she and Justin moved deeper into the woods. She had no idea how Justin was navigating, but a few minutes later, he paused in front of a thickly woven cluster of branches that looked identical to the rest of the forest and nodded.

  “This is it,” he said, gesturing toward the branches. “Go on.”

  Harper was skeptical, but the faint patter of footsteps and the distant glow of a flashlight beam to their right motivated her to pull the branches aside.

  They bent easily beneath her hand, revealing a copse of trees that had grown so closely together, their roots and trunks were intertwined. A hollow of tightly woven branches knitted below her like an upturned hand.

  Harper stepped inside the trees’ embrace, sliding into one of the natural seats between two trees’ bent trunks. Justin followed her a moment later, letting the branches spring into place after them as he sat down a few feet away from her. The hollow was barely big enough for both of them. Harper drew her knees against her chest, trying not to think about how easy it would be for their legs to brush.

  “How did you know about this place?” she whispered, gaping at the patches of sky that shone above their cocoon of trees. The moon was nearly full. Its pale light, filtered through the canopy of leaves, gave everything a slight tint of green.

  Justin shrugged. “Oh…you know. It’s just someplace I go sometimes.”

  There was something cagey in his voice. She studied his face and realized there was a flush creeping up his cheeks, turned sallow by the moonlight.

  He was embarrassed. Which meant either he’d never taken anyone here before, or…“Oh my god,” said Harper. “This isn’t where you take girls, is it?”

  He ducked his head. It was all the answer she needed.

  “Are you serious?” Harper scrambled to her feet, disgust roiling through her. “You took me to your weird forest sex den?”

  She’d heard rumors about Justin’s extracurricular activities. She’d spent years trying to block them out. Now all she could think about was every other hand who’d pushed those branches aside. Every girl who’d sat where she was sitting.