The Devouring Gray

by Christine Lynn Herman

  Violet remembered, with a rush, that Harper had been wearing one of those robes, too. “What happened?”

  Harper cast a careful glance at Augusta Hawthorne. “I’ll explain later.”

  Her voice sounded different. Smoother. Stronger.

  Violet had questions for all of them, but right now, her priority was getting to the squad car that held her mother. She had earned herself a second chance with Juniper, and she would not waste it. It was time she started learning to move on.

  The Four Paths sheriff’s station was cold and sterile. Justin suspected Augusta Hawthorne had tried as hard as possible to provide an alternative to the sea of chestnut oaks outside. He’d spent the past hour since Violet and her mother had arrived at the clinic in the waiting area, staring at the white tiles and fluorescent lights.

  When they’d first come in, the clinic staff insisted on treating Violet for weeks’ worth of minor injuries. Justin had watched the nurse practitioner bustle her away, her latex-coated hand wrapped firmly around Violet’s upper arm like she was a child prone to running off.

  Violet looked back at him when they got her to the doorway, blood and grime smeared across her face, and shot him a tiny, wicked grin. They were actually friends now. He could tell that was new to her.

  Honestly, wanting to be just friends with a girl who wasn’t related to him was new for Justin, too.

  He had no idea how she’d gotten her memories back. Part of him was scared to ask, because that meant there was a solution. A cure. Another way in which he’d failed Harper.

  Justin thought back to that night at the lake. How Harper had screamed as his mother advanced, flanked by her mastiffs.

  He hadn’t been able to stop himself from touching her back in Maurice Carlisle’s workshop. It had taken everything he had not to slide his fingers from her neck up to her cheek.

  He’d wanted to kiss her. But Justin knew he couldn’t. They were both founders, powers or not.

  And she’d lied to him. He’d lied to her.

  But they weren’t even.

  Everything she thought of him now was a consequence of not knowing what had really happened to her. It was selfish to get close to her when she didn’t know the truth.

  Justin either needed to let her go, or find some way to show her what had really happened the night she’d lost her arm.

  He shook the memories away to find May standing in front of him.

  Her ruffled white blouse was tied in a neat bow at her neck, her skirt billowing out in perfect pleats. But Justin had learned a long time ago to read May’s small signs of disarray. Her red-rimmed eyes. The chewed-off bits of her nail polish.

  She was upset.

  Good.

  “Mom wants to see you.” Her fingers twisted together in front of her paisley skirt like pale, grasping roots. “But she says you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  “Isn’t that generous of her?”

  May fixed her clear blue eyes on the scratched linoleum floor. “I’m sorry. The things I said were unwarranted and cruel.”

  In that moment, Justin saw that May’s powers had hurt her, not helped her. She’d gotten everything she’d ever wanted—which meant she had no reason to question why Augusta ran Four Paths the way she did.

  He’d expected to feel angry the next time they spoke, but all he felt was pity. He had been May’s most ardent defender during the years when Augusta had anointed him as the favorite child. But May had shredded the bond between them now that she was the one in power. And for the first time in his life, he had no interest in mending something shattered.

  “You didn’t care that you were being cruel,” Justin said. “You wanted to hurt me.”

  An unreadable expression flashed across her face. “That’s not true.”

  “Really?” said Justin. “Violet could’ve died. I hope you’re happy.”

  He turned away, starting toward his mother’s office. Justin heard her footsteps behind him, but he didn’t look back.

  A few officers were clustered around Augusta’s desk, but when Justin pushed open the door, she waved them out with a flick of her hand.

  “Justin.” Augusta’s voice was soft and feathered around the edges, like she was sculpting each word with utmost care. “So you’ve decided to join me.”

  “I decided to hear you out.” Justin shut the door before May could follow him in. This was between him and his mother. “I’m not like you. I don’t decide people are worthless before they get a chance to apologize.”

  Augusta’s broad shoulders twitched. “I know I was harsh with you. I should’ve taken your concerns about the town potentially planning a power grab into account.”

  “What about Violet?” asked Justin. “Are you going to apologize for what you did to her?”

  He knew it was a lost cause to ask about Harper, or any of the other people whose lives Augusta had casually rearranged.

  Yet he couldn’t bear to walk out the door.

  The thing was, Justin had never been very good at giving up on lost causes. Especially when they needed him.

  “I did what I thought was necessary with the evidence provided,” said Augusta. “Perhaps, if you had pleaded your case to me earlier, I would’ve been more understanding. But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  “Can you blame me?” said Justin.

  The corners of his mother’s mouth drooped. “No. But I have something for you that might help us move forward. May suggested it.”

  She withdrew a sheaf of papers from her desk, then offered it to Justin.

  He took it.

  She’d printed out the applications for the liberal arts schools within a thirty-minute drive of Four Paths, along with the information for the local community college. Justin swallowed hard. “You want me to stay.”

  Augusta locked eyes with him. “I think you’ve proven by now that you are useful to Four Paths in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Perhaps my determination to make you leave town was unwarranted. So, yes, I want you to stay.”

  It was everything Justin had ever wanted.

  But her version of his decision to remain would mean ignoring the truth of his family legacy.

  It would mean surrender.

  He thought of the cards May had laid out before him. This was his chance to change things.

  Failing his ritual had put him in a unique position. No powers, but a life spent with the founders. He might be the only person who truly understood both sides of the problems in Four Paths. It wasn’t the future he’d planned on. But it was a future spent where he belonged: at home.

  Justin laid the papers back down on the desk. Then he untied the medallion at his wrist, dropping the thin glass disc into his palm.

  “If I stay in Four Paths,” he said, “I won’t hide who I am anymore. I’m telling the town the truth about my powers. And I won’t let you erase it.”

  Augusta’s face had gone alabaster white. “You will lose their respect.”

  “Maybe. But at least I won’t be lying anymore.” He released the medallion, let it fall onto his mother’s desk. The red glass glimmered like a dying sun. “One more thing. I want you to promise you’ll stop using your powers on people.”

  Augusta chuckled. “Absolutely not.”

  But Justin had prepared himself for this. “Then I’ll cut off your access to Isaac Sullivan. After what you’ve done to her, Violet Saunders will never answer to you—you know that. Which means you’ll barely have any founders on patrol.”

  Augusta’s nostrils flared slightly. Justin could tell he’d struck a nerve.

  “My powers are an essential part of keeping this town safe,” she said. “Right now, we have fourteen members of the Church of the Four Deities in custody. Would you rather I sent them a county over and let them be tried for attempted murder, or erased their involvement and allowed them to live in peace? Removing their memories neutralizes them as threats. It’s effective. It’s humane.”

  Justin paused. As mu
ch as he hated to admit it, Augusta did have a point. But surely there was some way to find a balance between people like Violet and the members of Church of the Four Deities.

  “Give them a choice,” he said at last. “Ask them if they’d rather go to jail or have their memories taken away. And promise me you’ll never touch a founder kid again.”

  The office was silent for a second as Augusta’s face went still, considering. Then she extended a gloved hand.

  “You’ll come home?” she said, a quiet sort of respect ringing out in her voice.

  It was worth surrendering for this. For the possibility of change. For a town where the Hawthorne name meant something more than fear.

  He clasped Augusta’s gloved hand and shook.

  The nurses at the clinic gave Violet a hideous paper gown and forced her to sit still as they re-bandaged every scratch and wound. The only thing she managed to cling to was Rosie’s bracelet, which sat on her lap in a plastic bag, the silver scrubbed clean, as she watched the staff swarm around her mother, who lay unconscious on the next pallet over.

  From what she could gather, the Church members had drugged Juniper. She was unharmed aside from that, but the sight of her mother’s limp body still hurt whenever Violet looked at her.

  Violet was arguing with a nursing trainee about getting her phone back when Augusta Hawthorne burst through the door. She didn’t even acknowledge Violet, just made her way straight to Juniper’s side while volleying questions at the nurse practitioner.

  “She’ll be fine,” the nurse practitioner said. “Yes, it has to flush itself from her system. No, there won’t be lasting damage.”

  “But it’s been hours.” Augusta’s forehead creased. “She should be awake by now.”

  “She will wake up, Sheriff Hawthorne.” The nurse hesitantly patted her on the arm. “Give her time.”

  “What’s the deal?” Violet’s voice was sharp and loud. “Are you here to take her memories when she wakes up, just in case?”

  Augusta turned away from Juniper, her arms folding across her chest. Violet felt exposed in her flimsy hospital gown, but she refused to flinch beneath the other woman’s gaze.

  “I know what you did,” Violet said. “When she tried to leave town, you took her memories of Four Paths away. The real Four Paths. For all I know, you took Daria’s memories away, too.”

  “I never laid a finger on Daria,” said Augusta quietly. “As for what happened with your mother—well, that’s complicated.”

  Violet curled her fingers around the edge of the cot. “I know about Stephen. He tried to kill my mother thirty years ago, but he failed, and suddenly your family was in charge of Four Paths, not mine. So what really happened? What are you hiding?”

  The clinic staff had fallen silent, their eyes flicking back and forth between Augusta and Violet like they were watching a tennis match.

  “I think you should go,” Augusta told them. “Miss Saunders and I need to have a conversation.”

  The nurse practitioner gulped. “We should stay with the patient.”

  “You just said she’d wake up eventually,” said Augusta. “You’re not doing anything important here. Now get out.”

  The clinic staff scuttled off, although Violet was pretty sure they’d spend the next few minutes doing their best to eavesdrop.

  “Does that mean you’re going to answer my questions?” Nerves thrummed through her—she had control of her powers now, but raising the dead wouldn’t help her if Augusta attacked. “Or are you here to take my memories again, too?”

  But Augusta didn’t even move toward taking off her gloves. “You did your ritual. You’re no longer a threat to Four Paths, so I will not be attempting to neutralize you. Although I am interested to know how you restored your memories.”

  Violet tried to mask her relief. “As if I would ever tell you that.”

  “Perhaps we can trade?” said Augusta icily. “I’ll fill in the blanks of the spring equinox of 1985, if you tell me how you retrieved your memories.”

  Violet considered it. Augusta Hawthorne was her best shot at knowing the truth. But the thought of selling out May to a woman who had nearly gotten Violet killed made her nauseous.

  “Oh, please,” she said. “You would never tell me the real reason why you took my mother’s memories away.”

  A new voice rose up from the cot beside Violet, precise and coiled, like a viper waiting to pounce.

  “That’s an easy one to answer, actually,” said Juniper Saunders. “She took away my memories because I asked her to.”

  Augusta whirled back toward the cot, while Violet hopped off her own, not caring what her flimsy hospital gown was showing off as she rushed over to her mother’s makeshift hospital bed. Juniper was still lying down, but her eyes were wide open.

  “Mom?” she said, but her mother wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the sheriff.

  The room was suddenly thick with tension. There was something in their body language that spoke of truth. Of pain. Of history.

  “August?” said Violet’s mother.

  “June?” said Augusta. “Is that—are you…?”

  Juniper nodded, and then Augusta swept her up in an embrace, heedless of Juniper’s hospital gown. Her mother looked so small like that, almost doll-like against Augusta’s larger frame.

  Juniper had called them best friends. But Violet saw the truth between them, the tenderness that spoke to something very different from friendship.

  They were looking at each other the same way Justin and Harper did.

  And Violet realized that, for all she and her mother had learned about one another, there was still so much uncharted territory between them. But for the first time, she truly wanted to bridge that gap.

  It wouldn’t be easy. But she thought of her new friends, who had risked their lives to save her family, and promised herself that she would try.

  “How?” the sheriff whispered, once Juniper had pulled away and settled herself on the cot, her brown hair frizzing out in all directions.

  “I was part of Violet’s ritual,” said Juniper. “I suppose it makes sense that it could be a cleansing, too, especially when ours is so cerebral. Violet…” Her mother’s smile, unpolished and real, showed off her incisors. “Thank you. I’m so sorry you had to figure this out on your own.”

  “So you know?” Tears welled up in Violet’s throat. “About our family? Our powers?”

  Juniper nodded. “It all came back.”

  Violet swallowed hard. “Can you tell me what happened to Stephen?”

  Juniper’s face tightened. She raised a hesitant hand to her frizzy hair, pushed it behind her ear.

  “You don’t have to do this right now,” Augusta said, her voice still soft and wobbly.

  “No, August,” said Juniper. “She’s waited long enough. And she deserves to hear it from me.”

  Violet felt a pang of recognition in her chest at the determination on her mother’s face.

  Juniper knotted her hands together in her lap and began. “Stephen was the baby of the family. Daria and I completed our rituals by the time he turned fourteen.” Her eyes flickered toward the sheriff. “I’m going to talk about our ritual now. August, you know the rules.”

  The sheriff sighed but nodded, turning her back as Juniper beckoned toward Violet to lean in close.

  “It’s slightly ridiculous,” she whispered in Violet’s ear. “But we do keep the particulars of the rituals a secret from one another. On a Saunders’s sixteenth birthday, we go into the ritual room hidden in the spire, enter the founders’ symbol painted on the floor, and let the Beast inside our heads. We travel into the Gray and best it there. To understand death, you must be intimately close to it. When you traveled into the Gray and forced the Beast out of your head, you completed the ritual, too—albeit under far more dangerous circumstances.

  “Unfortunately, Stephen’s ritual went awry. The Beast took up residence inside his mind, as it normally does, but he hadn’t gained c
ontrol over it before he came back out. It changed him over time, altering thoughts, moods, and eventually his actions. But Stephen had always been a little unpredictable, and the Beast used that to keep the reformation of the Church—frankly it was a bastardization of the Church—a secret.”

  “So you really didn’t know the Beast was in his head?” Violet asked.

  Juniper’s lips tightened into a rueful smile as she pulled away from Violet. “I had no idea.”

  Augusta turned around. “I trust you’re done with the family secrets?”

  Juniper smiled. “You were never good at hiding your annoyance.”

  Augusta huffed but stayed silent as she made her way back over to them.

  “As I was saying,” Juniper continued, “I didn’t know what had happened to my brother. Not until the equinox, anyway. Stephen dragged me out of bed and into the woods at knife-point. He was going to let the Beast take control of me so it would have a physical form, which would break its bonds to the prison. He would have given it his own body, but he wasn’t strong enough. My powers were…uniquely suited to the Beast’s needs. But he didn’t…” Her hand jerked up toward her face, then stopped, trembling, by her shoulder. “He didn’t know,” she whispered.

  And then her mother was crying. She hadn’t cried for her husband, she hadn’t cried for Daria, she hadn’t cried for Rosie. But here she was, tears nestling at the rims of her eyelids, ready to splatter across her cheeks.

  “June,” said Augusta again. “You don’t have to tell her.”

  “I do,” Juniper said, her voice wobbling. “Stephen didn’t know what my power was. We’d kept it a secret because it was a difficult thing to prove. But every Saunders family deals with death somehow. Daria saw it. Stephen raised it.” Juniper’s hand steadied itself, then lowered, methodically, back to her lap. “I suppose you could say I’ve mastered it.”

  Violet gaped at her. “Mastered it? What, you mean you can’t die?”

  “Oh, no, I’m not immortal,” Juniper said, which made Augusta tense up for some reason. “I still age. I can be drugged, as you’ve seen. But I am impervious to most things—I fell off the roof of the manor a few weeks after my ritual, and I walked away without a scratch. I don’t get ill. And when someone hurts me, whatever they were trying to inflict on me is done to them. That’s why the Beast wanted me. In my body, it would have been almost impossible to destroy, at least for some time.”