The Devouring Gray(75)

“Something’s wrong with Violet,” she said.

Justin didn’t even try to look surprised.

“I know,” he said. “My mother got to her.”

“Got to her? What do you mean?”

“That’s what my mother does,” said Justin. “Takes people’s memories away when she thinks they’re too dangerous. They can’t access their powers anymore, because they don’t remember that they have them.”

Perhaps the news should’ve shocked Harper, but it immediately made sense. Of course the Hawthornes had leverage they weren’t sharing.

More secrets. More lies.

Tears built in Harper’s throat again as the full implications of this surged through her. Violet couldn’t remember her. Which meant the girl she’d known, the girl who’d actually cared about her, was gone.

“Her memories?” she said. “Can she ever get them back?”

Justin’s voice was thick and raspy when he said, “I don’t think so.”

Violet had really mattered to him, if he’d truly fought with Augusta over this, if he’d really left home.

“I guess…” Justin continued. “I’m here to tell you that I think something bad is coming for us. My family probably deserves it. But the rest of this town doesn’t. So stay out of the woods, okay?”

And suddenly, Harper saw a path forward.

For years, she’d seen her life as a certain kind of story. The tale of a girl who’d wanted nothing more than love and power and family. The test of valor she’d failed. The wicked, villainous Hawthornes who’d sentenced her to a lonely, miserable existence, using their charm to cover the ugliness beneath.

Her father had offered her an easy ending to that story. One that made them both heroes.

But as Harper looked at Justin Hawthorne, she knew in her gut that none of it was true.

She thought about heroes, and villains, and legends, and monsters. And decided that whoever told the story was more powerful than all of them.

Harper would never let someone else tell her story again.

Maybe Violet couldn’t remember what had been done to her. But Harper still wanted to save her.

“I’m not sure your family are the only ones in this town who are up to no good,” she said slowly, hardly able to believe the words were coming out of her mouth. “Justin…there’s something I have to tell you.”





Violet stared down at the piano keys below her outstretched hands and sighed. All day, she had felt off. She’d thought practicing would snap her back into focus, but dread bloomed in her stomach each time her hands touched the keys. Something about the instrument just felt wrong.

It didn’t help that Orpheus was pacing behind her, mewling piteously, the noise ringing through the house like a revving motor. Violet was pretty sure the cat missed his owner. But Aunt Daria was gone now.

Orpheus mewled again, and another noise rose behind her now, the steady, careful thrum of footsteps.

Violet turned around, confused. Her mother wasn’t home.

But it wasn’t Juniper. Instead, there was a tall blond girl with sleek, straight hair and unnervingly symmetrical features standing in the center of the music room.

There was something hard at the edges of her pleasant smile, something gaunt and hollow in her cheeks, that sent unease stirring in Violet’s chest. She was looking at her the way Harper had that morning—like they shared a secret, even though Violet had never met her.

A name surfaced within her, although she wasn’t sure how she knew it.

“You’re May, aren’t you?” she said. The girl nodded. “What are you doing here?”

May shrugged, her shoulders draped in a flowy, cream-colored top. “You invited me. I knocked first. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.” She gestured toward the piano. “You’re very good.”

“Not as good as I used to be.” Violet frowned. “I don’t remember inviting you over.”

Although there was a lot she couldn’t remember. Her life after Rosie had descended into a blurred fog, and things only got murkier when she struggled to recall her first few weeks in Four Paths.

Thankfully, May looked utterly unfazed by her disorientation. “We’re doing a local-history project together,” she said, pulling out a wooden box from her shoulder bag. “You told me to come over after school. So we could finish our research?”

Violet did have a hazy recollection of doing research on the town. Of a room with dented metal filing cabinets, with portraits on the walls. It seemed like it had been important.

“Of course,” said Violet. “Right. We’re researching, uh…”

“These, actually.” May opened the box and withdrew an oversize deck of cards. “The Deck of Omens. They’re local folklore. A tarot variant created in this town.” Her lips quirked up into that hard-edged smile again. “I’m here to read your cards. For the project. What is with you today?”

Again, Violet felt a rush of unease. “I don’t know. Just having an off day, I guess.”

“Well, we can always do this later this week, if you don’t feel up to it.”

But May was already here, and Violet couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. “It’s fine,” she said. “Let’s just get this over with.”