The Devouring Gray(70)

Her voice was still Violet’s voice, raspy and a little sweet, but there was something off about the way she was enunciating. It was too crisp, too formal. And the way her arms were spread apart in the air…the flashes of Gray were opening up with every flicker of her fingertips.

“Justin,” said Isaac, his voice low and measured. “Use your team to get Harper and her sister out of here. I can handle this.”

“What’s happening?” said Justin. “Why is she acting like this?”

Across the clearing, Violet yawned.

“Little Hawthorne boy, charging straight into trouble,” she said. There was nothing playful in these words—just cold, calculated malice. “It was foolish, letting her out of the house on an equinox. But then, you’ve always been foolish.”

It hit him then. That this was not Violet at all. There was something else inside her. Something that wanted to get out.

“You’re…it, aren’t you?” he said hoarsely.

“It’s been so long since I had access to a living, breathing human,” said the Beast, stretching out a hand and wiggling each finger with mechanical precision. Justin could see in the beam of his flashlight that each digit was slowly losing its color, the fingernails turning from crimson to gray. “These are strong. I suppose a lifetime of piano will do that to you.”

It flicked Violet’s fingers to the side, and the Gray ripped through the forest, an opening that gaped behind her like a wide, gruesome mouth.

Justin couldn’t help it: He felt the call of the trees behind him. Felt an unmistakable desire to give himself to the Gray, let it claim him…

Which was when Isaac charged straight for it, his hands shimmering, engulfing Violet with his kaleidoscopic light as they clamped around her wrists.

The thing inside her let out a horrific snarl, arched Violet’s spine as it bucked away from the attack. But Isaac didn’t flinch. His power burned bright and steady, a beacon against the line of ridged, sunken trees that were splayed out behind Violet’s body.

Justin watched, his heart rattling in his throat, as the Gray shrank away, dissolving at the edges. The moment it winked out of existence, Violet crumpled toward the ground, unconscious.

Isaac fell with her, still gripping one wrist, the other arm reaching deftly around her before she hit the dirt. His arms shook as he lowered her the rest of the way to the ground.

Isaac was strong but not invincible. Justin could see the exhaustion setting in as he rested Violet’s head on the dirt.

And then something else flared in Isaac’s gaze—panic, his chin jutting toward something behind Justin’s shoulder.

Isaac always seemed to notice things a second before Justin did. So he turned.

The first thing he saw was May, unruffled by the hail, her pale face nearly translucent with horror. But his eyes only lingered there a second. Because standing beside her was his mother, her face a mask of cold, twisted fury.



There was a swathe of light shining in Violet’s eyes. She blinked them open and realized that she’d fallen asleep on her side, her head tilting directly toward the sunlight streaming in through her window.

But there were safety blinds on her window.

And this was not her room. No, this was a sterile white space that reminded her of a hospital, and she was lying on a cot, still wearing the clothes she’d had on the night before. She could remember that much, at least. Isaac had been in her room, and then Harper had asked them for help. There had been trees and hail and the sense that she was strong, so strong….

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said a voice from the other side of the room. “You blacked out again.”

Violet scrambled back on the cot, as if that would somehow dispel the turquoise-haired figure standing on the other side of the room. A rush of light-headedness coursed through her as she took in her sister’s ripped jeans, her paint-splattered tank top, her sardonic smile.

“You’re a concussion symptom,” she said, struggling to keep the hysteria out of her voice as Rosie moved closer. “Just a hallucination my brain made up, because it has a terrible sense of humor.”

“Are you sure?” Rosie’s shadow trailed across the floor behind her like a cape, the ends writhing and twisting. “Maybe you’re finally starting to get what you want.”

A noise rang out from behind the door, not a knock but a thump, as if something had been slammed against it. Violet realized, dimly, that there were voices emanating from the hallway outside.

“I’ll see you soon,” said Rosie, glancing from the door to Violet, who was still huddled on the cot. Her tone was almost soothing, but there was a calculated undertone to it that sent Violet’s stomach sparking with unease. “Don’t be frightened, little sis. Don’t you miss me?”

She vanished, and now Violet could hear the voices more distinctly, as if they’d been muffled before.

“Don’t,” someone was yelling. “I swear, I can explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” This voice was low and cool. “You’re staying outside.”

The door was open and shut in a single second, and then there was only Augusta Hawthorne, the silver shield on her turtleneck gleaming in the morning sunlight.

Violet could put it together now: She was in the police station. She just didn’t know why.