The Devouring Gray(58)

Brian hesitated. “I guess not.”

“Thank you,” said May, almost gently, and then she turned to Ma Burnham. “Tell us everything.”

“It was Brian,” said Ma Burnham, stabbing a finger in the boy’s direction. “He said something or other about the Sullivans, I can’t recall what, exactly, but it sent Isaac into a terrible rage, and then there was just glass everywhere and people screaming.”

“I see,” said Justin. He’d known it would be something about Isaac’s family. It always came back to his family. “Is everyone out?”

Mrs. Burnham shook her head, blood leaking onto her chin. Justin bit back a curse.

“My boys won’t leave,” she said. “I tried to warn them, but they said he had to answer for what he did.”

“Your boys should’ve listened to you,” he said, hoping desperately that they still had all their limbs, turning back to give the crowd a reassuring smile.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone,” added May. “But I promise, this will all be fine.”

Justin didn’t understand how it was possible to be simultaneously proud of May, relieved she’d known what to say, and jealous that he hadn’t.

But he was.

The only power Justin had left in this town was charm and respect. And now May had shown that she could use those tools, too.

This was his chance to prove he still mattered.

“I’m going in,” he said, ignoring his instincts to run as he pushed open the darkened doorway and stepped into the restaurant.

The cozy booths and dim lighting that Justin knew so well were gone. In their place was a dim, cavernous space, littered with yellow foam lining and overturned chairs. Two figures stood beneath the blacked-out neon sign, and in front of them was Isaac, his back pressed against the wall, his limbs folded inward like a crumpled piece of paper.



The rituals were not designed to be easy. Justin had always known that the price of a hawthorn tree that did not bow would likely be his life.

But Richard Sullivan had taken a different path to power. The town loved to whisper about the Sullivans’ large, messy family history, marred by disappearances and accidents. Yet Justin had paid the stories no mind until three years ago, when he’d jolted awake in the middle of the night with the taste of blood in his throat and the unshakable feeling that Isaac was in trouble.

He’d followed his gut through the forest.

What he found left him forever changed.



“Isaac?” Justin’s sneakers crunched across broken plates as he stepped gingerly toward the back of the room. “Are you okay?”

Isaac didn’t move.

“Hey!” said one of the figures hovering beside him. “Get up!”

“Yeah, get the fuck up!” said the other one, but there was no real strength behind the boys’ words. They were a pair of scavengers, nipping at a wounded tiger.

“Guys,” said Justin, his voice low and steady. He had to get Isaac out of here before Augusta showed up. Before she took care of him, the way she’d taken care of Harper, or the way she’d take care of Violet if she learned what the girl could really do. “You should leave.”

“Oh, great, the fucking cavalry’s here,” said the one on the right, crossing his arms. The light filtering in through the window glinted off his bald head, and Justin recognized Pete. “Prince Charming, running in to save the day.”

“Except you’re too late,” added Theo as he flexed his biceps. The brothers looked nearly identical, but where Pete chose to keep his head shaved, glowing white and ghostly in the half-light coming in through the window, Theo let his dull brown hair grow long enough to tie back in a greasy ponytail. “He ruined our restaurant. Now he’s gotta pay.”

“Listen,” said Justin, trying to adopt their slouching mannerisms, their deep drawl. “You sure it’s even worth it? He’s just sitting there.”

“He made Ma cry,” said Pete, scowling. “Nobody makes Ma cry.”

“Damn straight!” bellowed Theo. “We give him a job and this is how he repays us? You can’t just treat this town like trash because you’re founders. You don’t get to walk all over us anymore.”

“You know the founders are here to protect you,” said Justin, trying to keep his voice even.

“Really?” said Theo. “Well, look what your boy here did. Maybe it’s you we need protection from.”

“Maybe it’s time to defend ourselves,” said Pete, lumbering forward and kicking Isaac lightly in the side of the leg. Justin tensed, but Isaac stayed still.

“Stop,” Justin said.

They didn’t listen.

Now they were braver. Justin called out another protest as Theo moved in. “You little. Piece. Of. Shit.” Each word was punctuated by another kick, each one a little heavier than the last. Each time, Justin’s anger boiled a little higher, but Isaac’s body remained as limp as a rag doll.



When Justin had found Isaac in the woods that night, he’d been unconscious, his hands and feet shackled to the earth. He’d stepped across charred bits of bone and ash and knelt down beside Isaac, sobs catching in his throat. Soot-streaked blood pooled in the hollows of Isaac’s neck, and Justin thought he was too late, that he was already gone. But when he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Isaac stirred.