The Devouring Gray(62)
“Oh, shut it, Sullivan.”
Isaac grinned, but it was a bit ragged around the edges. Justin could tell he was worried about how the crowd would react to him.
Truth be told, he was worried, too. He wasn’t sure the Founders’ Pageant was the smartest thing to do today, but it would look weirder if the founders didn’t have it at all.
“Welcome, everyone!” called out Mayor Storey from the steps of the town hall, a microphone in his hand. His dark-skinned face was creased into a careful smile. After the Sullivans left town, Augusta had quietly dissuaded all potential founder candidates from running for mayor as a show of support for the rest of the town. Mayor Storey was a popular choice—a former principal of Four Paths High School and a well-respected member of the community. “Thank you so much for coming to this year’s Founders’ Day festival.”
A halfhearted round of cheering greeted the mayor’s announcement. Justin watched the crowd, noting uncomfortably that there was a neutral, unimpressed face for every smiling one.
A few deputies were strewn around the edge of the crowd, while Augusta herself stood at the foot of the town hall stairs, watching everyone carefully. So his mother hadn’t just been talking about the town’s changing morale to prove a point, then—she’d noticed it, too.
“As you know,” Mayor Storey continued, undaunted by the lukewarm reception, “Four Paths’ founding families have a special relationship with our town. For the last century and a half, they have dedicated themselves to keeping this town safe, healthy, and prosperous. We are honored to have all of you here today to watch this year’s Founders’ Pageant. Now, please join me in a round of applause for this year’s volunteers!”
Across the circle, Justin’s mother gave him a look, and he remembered with a start that he was supposed to go first.
He walked across the circle, kneeling on the southernmost line slicing through the founders’ symbol and placing his crown on the seal. In past years, this had felt like a victory lap—winking at girls and waving to the crowd as he walked out.
But this year, the applause was polite, nothing more.
He watched Mitzi Carlisle saunter out in a crown of red-brown stone that had been set across her auburn hair. She smiled at him as she knelt on the eastern line and placed her crown on the seal.
He faked a smile back.
Violet was next, a thicket of twisted ivory spires rising from her jet-black hair. Her mouth twitched with annoyance as she knelt on the northern line. She’d texted him that morning asking if she really had to do the pageant. Justin was impressed she’d actually shown up.
Isaac was last.
Justin held his breath as he strode out into the circle.
And just as he’d feared, the applause from the audience faded from polite claps to dead silence.
Justin didn’t know what he would’ve done, but he was proud of the way Isaac’s face didn’t change. He just kept walking, slow and steady, his footsteps ringing out across the silent courtyard, and he dropped to his knees on the western line of the founders’ symbol.
He removed his steel crown and, with a flourish, set it on the seal.
Justin could see his friend’s hands trembling. And he saw in that moment that this was hurting Isaac more than he’d told anyone, being put on display like this, being publicly humiliated.
A single round of applause rang out across the courtyard. Isaac’s head jerked toward Justin—but it wasn’t him who was applauding.
It was Violet. She was still kneeling on the seal, clapping her hands together, the look on her face daring the crowd to protest.
A moment later, Justin joined her, and then the mayor was clapping, and so was May, and his mother, and at least half the crowd standing around the square. Isaac looked around at all of them, visibly stunned.
Justin was weak with relief as Mayor Storey reached for his microphone again. He caught his mother’s eyes across the circle—she was furious.
“Thank you, all,” the mayor said hastily. “As you know, in 1847, a group seeking a new life in upstate New York decided to end their pilgrimage here. On this day, we celebrate the leaders of that group—Thomas Carlisle, Lydia Saunders, Richard Sullivan, and Hetty Hawthorne.
“Today, their descendants strive to keep this town healthy and safe, and to help it grow in the same way their ancestors did. These representatives of each family are a symbol of Four Paths’ legacy and its enduring future. The crowns they have laid at their ancestors’ feet symbolize their dedication to serving the town.”
Justin heard a murmur sweep through the crowd. On his left, Cal Gonzales leaned over to whisper something to Suzette Langham, annoyance apparent on both of their faces.
“The Founders’ Pageant is complete,” Mayor Storey said, his dark brown hand clutching the microphone perhaps a bit too tightly. “Now go enjoy your day.”
As Justin stood up, it struck him how fake all of this was. All his lies clustered within him, the secrets that were his and the ones that weren’t, and suddenly he wanted to scream the truth at all of them, to tell them that he was just like the rest of the town. That he couldn’t protect them.
As the crowd dispersed, Justin’s eyes fell on the field beside the square. Some of the children had missed the ceremony, instead choosing to play on the stretch of grass in front of the town mausoleum. There were even a few kids squabbling over a bucket of play swords, whacking at one another with cheap wooden blades. He recognized two of them, one much taller than the other, laughing as they played at a sword fight.