The Devouring Gray(6)

Although Augusta Hawthorne had been talking to both of them, her eyes had stayed fixed on Justin throughout the conversation. He thought about the thin wooden card lying between him and May, the entwined fingers of flesh and bone, the smell of mushrooms rotting beneath the hawthorn tree.

So yes, he’d been distracted. But it had been his mistake to show it to Coach Lowell.

Justin had no powers, but he had a knack for putting people at ease. He mirrored Coach Lowell’s slouchy posture, the arm that swung idly at his side.

“It won’t happen again.” Justin gave each word conviction, let them ring across the track.

Coach Lowell relaxed almost immediately. He trusted Justin, or at least, he trusted the Hawthornes.

“I know it won’t.” He clapped Justin on the shoulder, gave him an easy smile. “Just want to make sure you’re ready for Long Lake. Scouts will be there—and even local schools give scholarships.”

Scouts. College scouts.

Justin nodded weakly, pretending that his thumping heart, his uneven breaths, were just a side effect of track practice. The rest of the team wove around him as they walked toward the locker rooms, talking animatedly among themselves about the start of cross-country season.

He knew all of them, of course, from school and parties and practice. But it didn’t matter that he and Cal had been racing each other since they were kids, or that he’d dated Seo-Jin Park and Britta Morey and Marissa Czechowicz. There was an acute distance between them. When Justin was younger, he’d relished the way they treated him. Their exaggerated laughter at his jokes, the stares, all were part of the respect his family commanded. It was a mark of how much good they’d done.

But since the first body had been found that year, the stares had turned from friendly to expectant. The Gray claimed a new victim every few years in Four Paths, usually around the equinox, but never this many in such a short period of time. And Justin was slowly realizing there were consequences to being one of the people Four Paths looked to at the first sign of trouble.

Especially when there was nothing he could do about it. His mother had kept his lack of powers a secret for almost a year, but it wouldn’t last forever. The truth would come out eventually, and when it did, the town’s respect would turn to disgust.

Which was why his mother had cornered him after dinner a few weeks ago and handed him a packet full of athletic scholarship applications.

At first, Justin hadn’t understood what she was proposing. Only one branch of a founding family could inherit powers at a time, so when the founder children who’d completed their rituals graduated from high school, they didn’t leave. Especially now, with the town on edge, with the remaining founders dwindling. Online courses and community college were a small price to pay for keeping the town safe.

But the Hawthornes weren’t just any founder family. They were the ones in charge. His mother had explained that day that Four Paths had to see them as the perfect leaders. And Justin’s lack of powers could ruin their reputation.

Augusta Hawthorne had told him to leave Four Paths before the town could learn the truth. She would pay his college tuition to a state school—if he promised to never come back.

He hadn’t decided whether or not he would listen.

Maybe the future May had seen would let him stay.

Maybe he was just deluding himself.

Justin usually went home after practice, but he’d agreed to take a dishwashing shift at the Diner. Augusta Hawthorne’s position as the sheriff meant Justin didn’t strictly need to work. But Four Paths noticed when he did, and he had done his best to build a reputation as the founding family member who was committed to serving people, not just protecting them.

The sun sank toward the trees as he pulled into the deserted lot behind the Diner. He slung his staff apron over his shoulder and left the truck behind, waving hello to the pair of cops chain-smoking outside the restaurant.

“Your mother have you on patrol tonight?” Officer Anders asked him.

Justin shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

“Ah. Keep an eye out. Three this year is too many—we don’t want four.” The officer’s free hand closed lovingly over the holster at his waist, as if that would protect him. The forest rose behind the Diner, oak trees dwarfing the building beneath them.

A gun would do you no good if you slipped into the Gray, but half his mother’s staff carried them anyway. They were security blankets for people without founder blood, just like the stone pendants around their necks and the sentinels above their doorways.

“I’ll be careful,” Justin said, although he could’ve done his patrol routes drunk and naked if he wanted to. Augusta Hawthorne hadn’t let him near any real danger since he’d failed his ritual. Nowadays, he only patrolled to keep up appearances.

Justin’s medallion dug into his wrist—a disc of crimson glass, a symbol that was supposed to signify that, since he’d come into his powers, he didn’t need the protection of the stone pendants the rest of the town wore. His medallion was a lie, but he wore it for Officer Anders, for everyone else who believed he was still a real founder. Justin said good-bye and walked into the Diner, fighting back shame.

Everything in the restaurant always looked like it was about to break. A barely functional jukebox sagged against the wall, piping out a faint, warped recording of a Beach Boys song. Bits of yellow foam oozed from the plushy blue booths, flickering in the sickly glow of the fluorescent light. Justin ran a hand across one of the tables as he passed, tables that would never look clean no matter how many times someone wiped them down.