“Well?” he said, a little more sharply than he intended. He was still thinking about Gabriel. But he hadn’t wanted to wait—with the Hawthornes, he’d learned, it was best to move quickly. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I need your help.” May launched into the story of the diseased tree she’d seen and its potential link to the Gray. “We need to get rid of this problem before the rest of the town finds out about it.”
But as May continued to speak, Isaac’s own voice rang through his head, broken and hoarse, the words he’d said to Justin just a few weeks ago. I’ll do whatever you want because your happiness trumps my misery.
It had been incredibly difficult for him to confess his feelings to Justin when he knew they were unrequited. But that was the only way Isaac could think of to cut himself off.
For too long, Isaac had thought it better—safer—to follow the Hawthornes instead of carve out his own path. He knew now that it was a toxic pattern, one that he was trying hard to break. But it wasn’t proving easy.
All Isaac had done by answering May’s text so quickly was give in to temptation. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of handling his own problems. The instinct to push them aside for the Hawthornes was too strong to ignore.
But Isaac had his own plans now. His research with Violet. His troubles with Gabriel. All of them belonged to him, and they were his story. He would not abandon them just to protect another family—a family that had always asked for far too much.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’m not doing damage control for you. Not this time.”
May gaped at him. “What? But, Isaac, this could be incredibly dangerous.”
“Then your family will handle it,” he said roughly. “That’s your job, right?”
It felt good to say no. To walk away and push open the doors to the mausoleum, to squint in the afternoon sunlight as he walked across the town square toward his home. It felt like freedom.
CHAPTER FOUR
Harper’s first breath of fresh, clean forest air was a revelation. She’d been cooped up for so long in the musty interior of the Saunders manor, she’d almost forgotten what the outside world felt like. A knot in her chest loosened as the spires of the house disappeared behind the trees, orange leaves drifting from the latticework of branches above her head.
She was as ready for this as she was ever going to be. She’d chosen her outfit carefully: comfortable boots, a denim jacket with the left sleeve tied under her residual limb, and a midi-length skirt. Her sword was tucked in a scabbard at her waist. Plus, her eyeliner was perfect. All of it felt like armor.
And none of it mattered the moment she stepped onto the track behind Four Paths High School.
The asphalt below her feet was coated in dead leaves that had yet to be swept away. School was out for the day and cross-country didn’t have practice that day, but Justin Hawthorne had stuck around anyway.
Mostly, kids used the rusty bleachers beside the track for the space under them—to gossip or hook up or smoke. Today, though, Justin sat alone, a half-drunk water bottle beside him. Strands of blond hair clung to his forehead; his posture was hunched and frustrated. It had taken them a few days to arrange this meeting; Justin was being watched now, and so was she. This was the only time they’d both been able to manage.
Harper saw him notice her, his eyes widening with something a bit like fear and a bit like hope. There was no point in saying hello. They were far beyond pleasantries.
“I know what you did to me,” she said, the words ringing out across the field. Again, she thought of his betrayal the night she’d lost her powers, grabbed that rage in her mind and held it as tightly as she could. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I never wanted you to forget.” He stood up, closed most of the distance between them in a few long strides. They stood at the exact spot where the forest met the track, roots bubbling beneath the asphalt. “But I hope you know that as soon as I could, Harper, I found a way for you to remember. I hope that counts for something.”
“I—what?” Harper said, frowning at him. “It was Violet. Violet gave me my memories back.”
Justin’s face fell. “I assumed… When you asked to meet, I thought that meant you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“It was me.” Justin’s voice trembled, but his face was utterly resolute. Bile rose in Harper’s throat.
Justin was a very good liar, but she didn’t think he was lying. Not this time.
She’d never once considered Justin was the one behind this, because her memories of him were damning. Memories where he ruined her life. There was no way he’d want her to have those back; no sense in him making it possible. Harper thought about his behavior over the past few weeks. His guilt, the way he’d apologized for hurting her all those years ago. She’d thought it was all an act, a way to hurt her more than he already had.
The Hawthornes had tried to keep her in the dark because they had been frightened of what she could do. Made her a prisoner in her own mind for three years, taken advantage of her inability to see the truth in order to spread their lies. But if Justin was telling the truth, then he had turned on his own family—the one thing she’d never truly believed he could do—to help her.
“You should’ve told me,” she whispered. The world was wobbly and new, as if it had been reborn around her. She felt guilty, and then felt furious that Justin had managed to make her feel guilty at all. He had saved her and damned her; he had hurt her and healed her. Harper felt the collective weight of those things all at once, an onslaught of emotion that made her want to weep from sheer frustration. It wasn’t fair that all her best and worst moments should come from the same person.
“I know.” Justin kicked at the asphalt with the toe of his sneaker. “I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to help you sooner. I’m sorry I listened to Augusta so much. I’m sorry you had to spend years alone, believing you were powerless. You deserved better.”
Harper was suddenly, dangerously close to tears. “Thank you.”
“I know you’ll never forgive me,” Justin continued. “And I know you have no reason to believe I’m not still hiding things from you.”
But Harper did believe him. Because she could remember that night now. What had really happened. She’d been terrified when Augusta Hawthorne had attacked her, and she’d lashed out, not understanding her powers. Justin had acted to protect his mother. And she hadn’t forgiven him, that much was true, but she understood why he’d pushed her into the lake, into the Gray. He hadn’t known how badly it would hurt her. He hadn’t known what she would have done to his mother.
Harper didn’t know what she would have done, either. She knew now what it was like to feel Augusta’s flesh begin to harden beneath her grasp, to see the fear rising in the sheriff’s eyes. It had been terrifying. But it had felt necessary, too. People like Augusta Hawthorne did not listen to reason—they only yielded to fear.
And Augusta Hawthorne had been afraid of her, a fourteen-year-old girl. She still was. Harper wondered what scared Augusta more: the fact that she was more powerful than her, or the fact that, despite all she’d done to keep him away, her son wouldn’t leave Harper alone. The thought sent a thrill running through her chest. All Harper had wanted for the past three years was to be powerful, and now she was.