TEN
CONSEQUENCES CAME MORE QUICKLY than Harper was expecting. A few hours after Violet had left her, Harper’s phone buzzed in her skirt pocket.
She already knew on some level what would be waiting for her before she saw the screen.
It’s me. Where are you? We need to talk—in person.
At first she was frightened. But that fear was quickly chased away by anger. So she ignored Justin’s text for the rest of the night, contemplating her best course of action.
Only now was he paying her attention. Now that she was useful again. Now that she mattered.
She’d waited three years for him to reach out to her. He could wait a few hours for her to text him back.
When Harper woke up the next morning to start her training, she had made her decision. She and Justin Hawthorne did need to talk. But they would do it on her turf, on her terms, because for the first time in years, she finally had the upper hand.
After school, she told him. At the lake’s edge. Don’t bother me before that.
It felt good to tell him what to do. It felt better when he actually listened to her.
Yet when Justin’s tall, agile form came into view at the edge of the water, Harper realized that all her mental preparation hadn’t stopped her from wanting to throw up. Or turn invisible. Or melt.
Of course, she did none of these things.
Instead she rested her hand on the dormant German shepherd guardian beside her, for strength, and waited for him to come to her.
Harper had chosen the statue garden outside her father’s workshop for a reason. She felt safer surrounded by the crumbling stone remnants of her ancestors’ power: a reminder that the Carlisles mattered, too.
Besides, she knew the guardians tended to make people uneasy. And she wanted Justin Hawthorne on edge.
But as he drew closer, he didn’t look rattled at all. Just tall and tan and annoyingly at home, even though he was in the middle of Carlisle territory.
Even though Harper had done her very best to look decidedly unwelcoming.
“I see you’ve convinced Violet that she needs your help more than she needs ours,” Justin said, pausing between a half-crumbled raccoon and a crouching stone cougar, fangs bared. “I guess we deserve it.”
Harper willed the cougar to come to life and sink its teeth into Justin’s throat. Unfortunately, nothing happened.
There was the slightest twinge of hurt in his voice. He was incredibly gifted at pretending to be wounded.
“Yes, you do.” Harper was proud of how sharply the words came out. “Talk to her if you have questions. It was her call, not mine.”
“Violet’s new here. She doesn’t understand how things work.” Justin tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt. Harper’s gaze, heedless of her attempts to keep it elsewhere, lingered on the part of his shoulder where fabric met skin.
“I know,” she said, yanking her gaze up until it met his. “That’s why I warned her about you.”
Justin stepped forward. The branches behind him framed his head like a twisted crown. “You don’t know what’s at stake here, Harper.”
Her name in his mouth was a knife in her gut. And Harper was sick of letting him wound her. “I didn’t tell Violet not to trust you. I just told her the truth. It’s not my fault what you did doesn’t line up with how you want everyone to see you.”
Justin fiddled with the medallion tied around his wrist, which shone crimson in the late afternoon sunlight. “I know that I’m not who Four Paths thinks I am. I can never be that person. But I never wanted to ignore you. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
Justin was the perfect picture of guilt. Too perfect. The longer Harper looked at him, the less she believed it. And the more she wanted to rip the lie away from the corner of his downturned mouth.
Three years ago, after a week of the Hawthornes ignoring her, she’d shown up at their house. No one came when she rang the doorbell, not even when she saw Justin’s face peering down from his bedroom window. She’d made eye contact with him for a moment—and then he’d pulled the curtains shut.
Harper had stumbled home in a haze of painkillers and tears, faced with the crippling knowledge that from then on, she could count on no one but herself.
That hurt welled up all over again as she watched Justin’s head droop forward.
“Really?” she said. “Because you’ve seemed just fine these last three years.”
“I’m trying to apologize—”
“No, you’re not.” Harper’s voice had started to shake. She had listened to this for long enough. “Stop pretending to be sorry. You’re only here because I took away something you wanted. But guess what? I couldn’t do anything about it when you cut me out of your life. And you can’t do anything about it if Violet doesn’t want your help. You made your choice. Now she’s making hers. Respect it.”
Harper wanted him to protest. She was ready to argue. She would win—hell, she’d already won.
But instead, Justin’s face slackened. His expression was devoid of false guilt now. It was devoid of everything. “You’re right,” he said numbly. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Harper swallowed her disappointment, sliding a hand down the dog’s back. For a second something fluttered beneath her fingertips, a strange tingling that shot from her hand into the back of her skull. But the sensation was gone before she could take another breath. “You’re not going to tell me to change Violet’s mind?”
“What’s the point?” said Justin, shaking his head. “You would never do it. But, Harper, if you’re going to help her, you can’t let the sheriff know what you’re doing. We were keeping it a secret.”
This, Harper hadn’t been expecting.
Rebellion didn’t come naturally to Justin and May. Back when they’d all been friends, Augusta had run her children’s lives with the ferocity of a coach, the strictness of a headmistress, and the tyranny of a dictator.
For them to defy her… that took a spine Harper hadn’t believed either Hawthorne child possessed.
“If your mother isn’t letting you help Violet, why do you want to?”
This time, Harper knew in her gut that Justin was telling the truth. “Because I think our town’s future depends on it,” he said. “And because I’m tired of listening to my mother when she tells me to do things that will only lead to people getting hurt. It’s why I stopped talking to you, you know—because of her.”
And with that, Justin walked away, his wiry frame disappearing into the sinking sun.
Harper curled her fingers around the stone dog’s ear, a rush of frustration coursing through her.
She’d had the conversation with him she’d daydreamed about for years. Told Justin what he’d done to her. And yet, somehow, he’d managed to make her feel guilty now that it was over.
They had been children when he’d left her all alone. Maybe that really had been Augusta Hawthorne’s fault.
But it had still hurt her. And surely he had still known that it would hurt her.
Besides, Harper had done what her father asked. She had befriended Violet Saunders.
It was time to reap her reward.
* * *
The first few entries in Stephen Saunders’s journal were boring. Violet was disappointed by her uncle’s annoying teenage thoughts, which ranged from all the hot girls at school who would totally notice him after he did his ritual to talking about music and TV shows that she had never heard of and didn’t care about. The one interesting part was whenever he talked about the piano.
But as his birthday approached, things became a bit more compelling.
April 4, 1984
Tonight Dad gave us this lecture at dinner about Saunders family responsibility. Grandma fell asleep at the table, and Daria left to “go check on the casserole” and didn’t come back, but of course I had to stay. At the end of it, he fixed Juniper and me with this big stare.
Agatha made this cawing noise from her stand behind the table and flapped her wings. I swear, she was looking straight at me. Companions are creepy like that, like they know what their owners are thinking.
“Remember,” Dad said. “The safety of Four Paths rests in your hands.”
June says that Dad just lectures us a lot because he’s mad that his brother became mayor, not him, but telling Dad that seems like a good way to get lectured until I die of boredom, so I won’t.
My sisters did their rituals years ago. Daria sees people’s deaths when she touches them. She won’t tell anyone, though, so I don’t really see how it actually helps. I mean, it’s not like anybody has died since she got her power, so we don’t even know if she’s right. But sometimes she gets this look. Like she wants to throw up. She’s never really had friends, but now she avoids everyone, even us.
I’m not sure if I would want to know what she knows.
No one will tell me what June can do. But I eavesdropped on Dad and Uncle Hiram talking about her once, going on about how “testing her powers” was going to be hard.
I guess she’s something else. Something special. Figures—she’s always been Dad’s favorite.
Violet flipped to the next page. The entries got less carefree the closer Stephen came to his birthday. His original bravado was starting to falter, and in its place was more information about the town, gossip about the other families, and hints about his upcoming ritual.
“Do you think he’ll talk about his ritual?” said Isaac.
Violet frowned at Stephen’s splotchy handwriting. “I hope so.”
April 9, 1984
I turn sixteen in two days.
Daria won’t even look at me, but June is worse—she keeps trying to hang out. This is the most I’ve seen her since she started spending all her time with Augusta Hawthorne. Augusta’s bod is bodacious, but she’s scary. Not even the biggest guys at school will talk to her.
“Okay, that’s gross,” said Isaac. “She’s the sheriff. Also Justin’s mom.”
Violet’s nose wrinkled with abject disgust. “I’m pretty sure I could live the rest of my life without ever seeing or hearing the word bod again.”
I’ve been practicing piano more and more to avoid everyone, but it isn’t working. So I walked through the woods for hours after school today, just to get out of the house. Maya Sullivan found me somehow—I guess I accidentally crossed into her family’s part of the forest. Dad hates it when we go into Sullivan territory.
Isaac stiffened. Violet paused. “Your mother?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on her. “Go on.”
But as Violet gazed down at the next few sentences, she hesitated. “It’s not exactly flattering. To you or the Hawthornes.”
Isaac shrugged with carefully manufactured nonchalance. “I know what people say about my family.”
So Violet continued.
He says their ritual is unnatural, their powers are wrong. June says it’s just his old prejudices bubbling up—the Sullivans and the Hawthornes have always been allies, just like us and the Carlisles. So Dad associates them with one another.
He never misses an opportunity to tell us that the Hawthorne family wants what we have.
The mayor. The best house. The strongest powers.
Violet spared a glance toward Isaac’s face, but it hadn’t moved.
She wondered if that was still true. She didn’t know.
Anyway, I don’t care what Dad says. I like Maya. She gave me a scone she’d swiped from home and told me not to worry about my birthday.
“Your family wouldn’t let you do it if they didn’t think you were ready,” she said.
“What if I don’t think I’m ready?” I asked.
Maya has this way of smiling that makes her look like she’s about to laugh or cry, she just can’t decide which. I couldn’t look at it, so I just stared down at the scone.
“No one ever does,” she told me, the scars on her shoulders tensing as she leaned back and stared up at the trees. “But we get through it.”
I hope she’s right.
April 12, 1984
I can’t believe I was so nervous about my ritual! I’m not allowed to share the details here, because even though this journal is well hidden, Dad would disown me if he knew I’d written it down. Let’s just say that it was sort of awesome.
I’m going on my first-ever patrol tonight! I don’t know if I’m like him or Daria or June yet, but I feel stronger. I can’t wait to find out what I can do.
“Are you kidding me?” Violet resisted the urge to fling the book across the room. There were no details about the ritual at all. How obnoxious. “I was so close…”
“You should keep reading,” said Isaac softly.
So Violet sighed and flipped to the next page.
It was dated a few months later.
She could tell within a few sentences that things were changing. Stephen sounded older. He sounded tired.
September 5, 1984
It’s been a long summer. The Gray usually quiets down after the spring equinox, but this year it’s been stronger than usual. It seems like every few days, the border in our territory acts up, and Dad and Uncle Hiram go into the forest. Now I’m expected to go with them.
I know what I am now. I raise the dead, like they do. But I don’t have a companion. Dad says not to rush it—it took him a month to find Agatha, who’d been hit by a car.
Easy for him to say. Companions are supposed to be a focal point for our power. Like flexing a muscle, working with them makes us grow stronger.
Except I can’t get stronger. And it’s all starting to get to me—Dad’s disappointment, the way the Gray tugs at my mind when I watch it unfurl at the edge of town.
I’ve started sleepwalking; at least, I think that’s what it is. I’ve woken up in the woods twice now.
Maybe that’s why things have gotten so mixed up in my mind.
I’ve known since I was little that we’d bound ourselves to the Beast so we could lock it away. But sometimes, late at night, I feel something creeping up in the back of my mind. A strange sense that what we’re doing is wrong.
Violet knew how that felt. Waking up in strange places, feeling strange things in the back of your skull.
“He was blacking out,” she said hoarsely.
Isaac leaned toward her, a single dark curl falling across his forehead. Violet felt a strange urge to brush it away. “Didn’t you say that was happening to you?”
She nodded, cleared her throat. Tried not to remember that, in less than a year from this entry, Stephen Saunders would be dead. “It happened again. Since we talked.”
“It can’t be a coincidence that he mentions it here.”
“I agree,” said Violet solemnly. “Let’s see what else he has to say.”
September 19, 1984
I feel it all the time now. Like there’s something that lives inside my brain, peering into my thoughts. Sometimes I feel emotions that I know aren’t mine—I’ll be sitting in the kitchen and be struck with this intense, burning rage. I don’t understand where it’s coming from. All I know is that it’s worse when I’m using my power, but Dad won’t let me stop.
The woods are getting more dangerous. Last month, two men leaving the bar were lured into the Gray. We only found one of their bodies. It was awful—bloated, with bone-white eyes. I haven’t been sleeping well since Dad forced me to look at it.
Uncle Hiram wants to take us kids out of the equinox patrol, but Sheriff Hawthorne insists that Four Paths needs all the help it can get.
September 22, 1984
The founding families weren’t meant to run this town. I see that now.
Violet turned the page, her heart thudding in her throat, but the rest of the journal was missing. Every remaining page had been torn out, leaving behind nothing but bits of yellow loose-leaf residue in its wake.