The Devouring Gray(32)

He had been lucky this time.

Probably because she knew she’d won.

“All right,” Justin said dully, rising from his chair, suddenly exhausted from the enormous difference between who he was and who he wanted to be. “I’ll go home.”

Across the table, Augusta’s face split into a smile, like a crack forming in a slab of concrete.



Violet barely slept that night. She spent hours going over everything she’d learned during the day, trying to separate the truths from the lies, trying to understand this new world she’d just been plunged into headfirst.

She couldn’t shake the belief that there was more going on with the Hawthornes than what they’d told her. But they hadn’t been lying about the monster. They hadn’t been fazed by what she’d done to Orpheus.

And, most crucially, they had promised to help her find a way out.

She just wasn’t sure what other strings were attached to it.

Juniper was fiddling with the coffeemaker when Violet came down the stairs for breakfast. Her ears were Bluetooth-free, but her phone sat on the kitchen island. Orpheus wound around the legs of the kitchen table, his yellow eyes glimmering in the shadows.

Violet tried not to think about what he’d looked like the day before, the blood glimmering on his neck, his body sprawled beneath the trees.

He was okay now. That was what mattered.

“The local coffee stock is terrible here,” Juniper said by way of greeting. Violet grunted in assent. “And do you know how much trouble I’ve had with ordering anything online? No one wants to deliver to this town.”

Violet studied her mother, who was dressed like she was about to head off to her New York City office instead of spending six hours taking conference calls in her bedroom.

There was something else the Hawthornes had told her about the night before—something about Juniper.

“Mom,” she said. “You lived in Four Paths for eighteen years, right?”

“We’ve covered this.” Juniper fluffed her hair. It looked sleek and straight today, which meant she’d blow-dried it to within an inch of its life. “What is it? Are you going to ask more questions about…you know?”

So much had happened over the past day, Violet had legitimately forgotten about Stephen Saunders.

But now she thought about him again. Was the pain of losing her brother enough to make Juniper stay silent about Four Paths for all these years? Violet knew by now that Juniper had hidden a lot.

She’d hidden Stephen’s entire existence, Daria’s illness, her family’s reputation. She hadn’t let Violet and Rosie see their Caulfield cousins and grandparents for all those years, even when they’d asked. Violet hadn’t even known how to invite them to the funeral; there were a million Caulfields on social media, and it had been a long time since they’d been in contact beyond occasional holiday cards. So Violet wouldn’t put concealing a strange magical heritage past her. It was hardly the worst thing her mother had done.

“Not about your brother,” Violet said, not missing the way Juniper’s shoulders relaxed. “About Four Paths. Haven’t you noticed how weird things can get here?”

“I dearly wish weird things happened in this town. It would be an improvement over all the nothing.”

Violet could tell her mother wasn’t lying by the way she’d deflated after Violet mentioned Stephen, like the worst thing she could’ve talked about had already been taken off the table.

But she still had to know for certain.

“It’s okay,” said Violet. “You can tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” said Juniper. “Violet, what are you talking about?”

Her mother’s phone blinked, and as Juniper reached toward it, frustration swelled in Violet’s chest.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Violet said.

Juniper tapped absently at the phone, her focus changing to the brightly lit screen. “I don’t have time for this.”

Her clear lack of understanding loosed the anger in Violet’s chest. “About the founding families,” she said. “About the Gray, about powers, about rituals. I mean, it’s not like they had phones back when you were a kid, so you probably had to pay attention, right?”

But there was no recognition in her mother’s gaze at all—only concern.

“I know you’re suffering,” Juniper said calmly, the phone still hovering beside her head. “But accusing me of hiding nonsensical things won’t help. Maybe we can talk about finding a therapist here. Your grief counselor recommended we find someone new anyway.”

The lump in Violet’s throat swelled to bursting as she realized that for once, Juniper didn’t sound disinterested. She sounded worried.

She darted out of the kitchen, her hunger gone. When she heard Juniper answer her phone, she sank down against the wall of the foyer, choking back tears as she gazed into the eyes of a stuffed falcon pinned to a wooden frame.

The Hawthornes had been right. Her mother was genuinely clueless.

A familiar flash of turquoise hair flickered in her peripheral vision. She whipped her head around, but the hallway was completely empty.

Something twinged in the back of her skull, a sensation that reminded her of the way May’s power had felt when it had slid inside her head.