The Devouring Gray(45)

Justin couldn’t handle it anymore. He didn’t care that it was a Saturday night, or that he had appearances to keep up. He did a shot of terrible vodka with Marissa Czechowicz, then chased it with the rest of his beer. The force of the alcohol hit him hard after that, and he gulped and staggered away, trying to forget how Marissa had laughed at him when he grimaced at the shot.

But there wasn’t enough cheap liquor in the world to wash away the guilt Justin felt when he thought of what he’d done to Harper.

A flash of pastel pink appeared behind a hay bale, and Justin hurried over to May, the world spinning around him. His sister was usually alone at these parties—she liked it better that way.

But this time, she was talking to a boy.

A boy with dark, curly hair, a T-shirt that said PUBLIC SAFETY HAZARD, and a half-smoked cigarette held lazily in his left hand.

Seth Carlisle.

Justin couldn’t face a Carlisle right now. He was about to turn away when May caught his eye.

“Hey!” she called out. “You should go check on Isaac. He was matching Henrik Dougan on shots, and you know…” She trailed off, then hiccuped. Seth chuckled at her, raising the cigarette to his mouth. “You know how that ends.”

Justin wondered, vaguely, if she was trying to get rid of him. He didn’t like how closely she and Seth were standing. Or the way Seth was looking at her.

But May knew the rules about founder hookups. And May would die before she broke a rule. Also, she had a point.

Drunk Isaac had a tendency to disintegrate party decor he didn’t agree with. It was getting to the point where Justin was considering texting hosts in advance and warning them to hide their books by Isaac’s least favorite authors. Drunk Isaac would also sneak away with whoever caught his eye that night, girl or guy, which was partially why Justin had let him wander off in the first place. Isaac had only come out to him as bi a few months ago, and Justin wanted to be supportive—but knew how private his friend was about his love life. So he’d made a point of asking if Isaac needed a wingman, then backed off when Isaac had laughed and told him no.

But Isaac only hooked up with people when he was in a good mood, and these past few weeks, he’d been nothing but preoccupied and grumpy. So, faced with the prospect of having to deal with a drunk, angry best friend, Justin left May and Seth and started across the barn.

It wasn’t long before he caught sight of Henrik’s bulky form among a crowd in the far corner. Justin moved past a few couples stealing furtive kisses, the noise growing as he approached. He found Isaac leaning against the slatted wooden wall, slurring and shimmering and short-circuiting, a semicircle of people forming around him.

“No, see, I can do it!” Isaac insisted as Justin pushed his way through the crowd, muttering excuse mes as he jostled shoulders and stepped on feet. Justin reached the front of the circle as the empty whiskey bottle in Isaac’s hands disintegrated into ash. Henrik roared with approval and clapped Isaac on the shoulder. Isaac jolted forward, then stumbled, chuckling, back to the wall.

“Hey.” Justin crossed the circle and stood between the other boys. Adrenaline cut through his intoxication—he had to take care of Isaac. That was more important than his self-pity. “You all right?”

“’Course I’m all right.” Isaac frowned at him. “Best I’ve ever been.”

“Want a swig?” boomed Henrik, holding up another bottle.

Justin shook his head, his stomach churning. The Dougans made their own whiskey. How, no one was quite sure, but everyone knew a few sips were strong enough to kill a goat. Judging by the way Isaac was swaying, he’d had at least enough to kill an elephant.

“Do it again!” called the crowd.

Henrik held out a bale of hay. “Think you can do that?”

Isaac snorted. “Easy.” A second later, ash was dripping onto Henrik’s size-fifteen shoes. But the crowd barely clapped this time. The looks on their faces were clear—they were no longer impressed.

Justin’s mother had once warned him about showing off, back before his ritual day. Our powers aren’t cheap, silly tricks, Augusta had said. They are life and death. Never forget that.

“That all you got?” said a kid who Justin vaguely recognized as someone’s younger sibling. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen, but he stood at the front of the crowd with a gap-toothed smirk. Writhing in his arms was a panicked barn cat, a scrawny orange thing doing its best to sink its claws into the boy’s neck. “If you’re really as powerful as people say, why don’t you get rid of this?”

“Hey,” said Justin, but Isaac had already taken a wobbling step toward the boy, distress leaking through the intoxicated expression on his face.

“I won’t hurt something that doesn’t deserve it. I’m…honorable.”

The last word was barely decipherable. Justin was fairly certain this was the drunkest Isaac had ever been.

“Really?” said the boy. “’Cause that’s not what they say about your family.”

Isaac’s hands began to tremble, the twin medallions on his wrists glowing dully in the dim light.

And Justin saw something he’d never seen before on the faces of the people watching them. Disgust.

He wondered if it was just the alcohol that had allowed them to be so bold. But no, this felt different. Like the alcohol was merely allowing them to show something that had been festering for a long time.