She didn’t remember standing, or moving, but she knew the moment she recognized the face of the person lying before her. It was a white boy in Justin’s grade—Henrik Dougan.
His face was ashen, his eyes open and staring blankly at the clouds above. She would have thought him dead if not for the way his body was twitching ever so slightly. May’s mind churned as she noted the pack of cigarettes spilled on the ground beside him. This was a popular smoking spot—but clearly, he’d been interrupted.
“Hey,” she said, bending toward him. “Are you all right?”
As if her words had awakened something inside Henrik, a shudder roared through him, starting in his neck and extending down his spine. He jerked, his limbs flailing wildly, and May saw them then: roots, writhing across the skin of his forearms, gray and slimy, wriggling like slugs as they burrowed beneath the flesh.
She recoiled, nausea rising in her throat.
“I was worried about this,” Ezra said grimly from beside her. “It’s spreading faster than I thought it would.”
“The corruption?” May rounded on him. “This is the corruption?”
He nodded, and May blanched.
She’d noticed how this disease could hurt the forest. Never had she thought of how it could hurt the people who lived in it, too—people she was supposed to be protecting.
Her stomach lurched, and she turned to her father, the last words she’d ever expected to finish this meeting with already falling from her lips.
“I have to call my mother.”
The sheriff’s station was deserted. Isaac’s spine prickled as he walked down the sterile main hallway, his footsteps muffled by the stained linoleum. Above him, the fluorescent lights hummed and buzzed, flickering slightly. A phone went off behind one of the identical metal doors, its bleating, plaintive ringtone cutting sharply through the silence. Nobody picked it up.
He knew where he was going—the clinic—but he wasn’t prepared for what was waiting behind the door. All he knew was that there had been some kind of accident. May and Violet had both contacted him about this, which meant it was clearly an emergency.
Juniper Saunders answered his knock on the clinic door, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, the skin around her dark eyes creased with worry.
“Good, you’re here,” she said. Behind her, he noticed Augusta Hawthorne. He’d thought they hated each other—or at least, that they couldn’t get along. If they were here together, something was really, truly wrong.
He pushed past her and gaped.
The smell hit him first, musky and unmistakably familiar: decay, the same thing he’d smelled during his botched ritual with Violet. The clinic was dark and claustrophobic, the only window shuttered, the fluorescents dimmed. Justin, May, Violet, and Harper sat grimly beside the far wall, staring intently at the boy lying in front of them, his forearms and thighs strapped down to the cot beneath him. Isaac crossed the room, his stomach twisting as he recognized Henrik. His classmate—one of the people he was supposed to be protecting.
Henrik’s thin T-shirt was soaked through with sweat, and his body twitched beneath the restraints in small, rhythmic shudders. The smell was nearly unbearable; Isaac pressed his sleeve against his mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to stop it. Henrik’s eyes were closed, and the veins on both his arms stood out starkly against his pale skin, gleaming iridescent in the dim light. The skin itself had gone gray around the veins and spread outward, new patterns etching ridges into his forearms and down to his wrists. They looked uncomfortably like tree bark.
Isaac had never seen the Gray do something like this before. The bodies it left behind were always dead and always twisted nearly in half. They smelled like nothing, and their eyes were bleach-white. It had been that way for as long as he could remember.
“What happened to him?” he whispered.
“May found him on patrol.” Justin’s voice was hoarse. Isaac knew that things were still strange between them, especially in light of what had happened at lunch the other day, but in that moment he didn’t really care. “Mom evacuated the station before she brought him back. She didn’t want anyone else to see this.”
“But he’s not dead,” Isaac said slowly, avoiding the word yet.
“No, he isn’t,” May said sharply. “It looks worse than it is—his vitals are pretty normal. But he seems to be in and out of consciousness.”
Isaac’s stomach churned. “Why would the Gray leave him alive?”
Something squirmed beneath the skin at Henrik’s neck, drawing Isaac’s focus. He watched, horrified, as it crawled up toward his jaw; a moment later, Henrik’s breathing changed, becoming rough and labored. A small moan escaped his parted lips. Isaac knew what it was: a root. Just like the one that had tried to burrow into his cheek.
“Where did you find him?” he asked May, even though deep down he already knew the answer.
“The clearing where the Church did their ritual,” she said.
Isaac stumbled, bile rising in his throat. Justin was at his side a moment later, steadying him.
“Here,” he said gently, handing him a water bottle. Isaac recognized it from the half-dozen cross-country meets he’d willingly gone to just to watch Justin run. He took a swig and hastily wiped his mouth. When he looked up again, Violet’s gaze was waiting for his. He saw the guilt there, the same guilt he felt.
There was no hiding from this: Henrik’s illness was their fault. Violet hadn’t wanted to do that ritual again. He should have listened to her, but he’d been reckless instead, and an innocent person was suffering as a result.
Isaac swallowed, trying to think. He had to fix this before it got worse. And he had an idea of how to do that. A painful idea, but a good one all the same.
“I think I know someone who might be able to help Henrik,” he said quietly, addressing all of them. Augusta and Juniper turned, both eyeing him with confusion. “As I’m sure most of you have realized by now, my brother’s back.”
Nobody looked particularly surprised.
“I’m aware,” Augusta said calmly. “We’ve already reached out to him about rejoining the patrol schedule, but he said it would upset you too much.”
There was an accusatory note in her voice that Isaac didn’t appreciate. Still, he soldiered on.
“His power,” he said slowly, “is uniquely suited to this situation.”
Isaac’s own powers came from an energy field he could tap into with his palms. When activated, it could disintegrate anything—including the border between Four Paths and the Gray. Gabriel also summoned an energy field, but his power helped everyone he touched instead of hurting them. His healing couldn’t work miracles, but it could accelerate a body’s natural ability to mend itself. It was possible he’d be able to give Henrik’s immune system the boost it needed to fight this disease off.
“You think he’ll come here?” Augusta asked.
He nodded, flipped his phone open to text him.
Isaac was the kind of Sullivan who broke things. Gabriel was the kind of Sullivan who fixed them, and Isaac hated it. But his pride wasn’t worth the possibility of another death on his hands.
It took less than a half hour for Gabriel to arrive. Nobody spoke much while they waited; there was nothing to say. Gabriel’s entrance, however, changed all that. From the moment he entered the clinic, the air around him felt slightly charged. Isaac watched Gabriel greet the adults and nod at the other founders. Watched him walk to the cot where Henrik lay, still twitching slightly, and survey him intently.
“Do you think you can heal him?”
Isaac didn’t even realize the words were his own until Gabriel looked up from across the cot, and suddenly they were both younger, Isaac holding out his bloodied arm, scraped from a tree branch, and asking Gabriel that same question.
Do you think you can heal me?
Gabriel’s jaw twitched. “Depends. How long has he been sick?”
“We don’t know,” Isaac said. “H
e was brought here about an hour ago, though.”
“And has it gotten worse?”
Isaac shrugged. “Nothing’s changed, so I don’t think so.”
Gabriel studied Henrik. “I haven’t used my powers in a long time,” he said. “But I can try.”
Gabriel knelt beside the cot and clasped Henrik’s hand in his. When he exhaled, long and slow, a familiar shimmer appeared around his fingers. Isaac forced down a stab of jealousy.
Henrik groaned, and Isaac’s focus moved back to him, watching with alarm as the boy’s eyes snapped open. They were flat and lifeless. His mouth opened; a tinny, hollow noise came out. As one, the room recoiled.
“He’s possessed,” Isaac murmured, horrified. Just like Violet had been.
Gabriel looked disarmed for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and his face contorted with focus. The air around the cot rippled, and then gold and green began to dance through the air around Gabriel’s hand. His neck tattoos seemed to writhe as the light danced and hummed. The light extended up the boy’s arm until it covered the entire area that had turned gray.
Henrik twitched just once, his hand jerking where it was touching Gabriel’s, and then fell perfectly still. Isaac would have worried if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. The light intensified, and a wave of heat washed across the room. Isaac squinted into it and gaped.
Henrik’s skin was changing—the gray receding, the iridescence in his veins dulling. His eyes flickered back and forth between lifeless and his familiar warm brown, his body contorting on the cot. Gabriel reached forward and pushed on the wriggling thing beneath his skin, and a moment later, a gush of oily fluid spurted out of Henrik’s arm, clouding the room with the smell of decay. Gabriel lifted his hand, and Isaac felt a stab of recognition.
He’d been right.
Clenched between his brother’s fingers, wriggling gruesomely, was a root just like the one Violet had gouged out of his cheek.
“What the fuck,” Gabriel muttered, staring at it with obvious horror.
Isaac opened his mouth to warn him—but not fast enough.
The root curled around Gabriel’s fingers, clenching, reaching. Then it burrowed beneath his skin in the blink of an eye. Gabriel jerked backward, a wordless yell of panic emitting from his throat.
Isaac didn’t think about it—he just moved, his hand darting forward and wrapping around Gabriel’s wrist. He yanked his brother around, his heart jolting at the panic blooming in Gabriel’s eyes.
“I can fix this,” he said. “But it’s going to hurt.”
Gabriel exhaled sharply through his nostrils. “Hurry, then.”
Isaac laid his brother’s hand down on the night table beside the cot, bracing his wrist with one hand. He could feel Gabriel’s panic radiating off him—although his brother was doing his best to stay calm, Isaac knew better. Around them, the rest of the room was utterly still.
Isaac breathed in and summoned his power. Light radiated from his right palm, purple and red, swirling and pulsating across his fingers. The moment his fingers touched Gabriel’s hand, his brother began to scream.
Isaac’s stomach churned as the flesh burned away, the smell of it mingling with the decay already in the air. Gabriel was in agony before him, his face bathed in the light of Isaac’s power. Isaac wondered if this was how he’d looked to Gabriel when he’d lowered the knife to his neck: Helpless. Terrified.
He had Gabriel at his mercy, he realized. He could take whatever revenge on him he wanted—he could relinquish his grasp and leave him to fight this disease on his own, or he could keep his power burning long past the point where the root was eradicated, until all that was left of his brother was a pile of ashes on the ground.
But no matter what the rest of the town thought about him, Isaac Sullivan was no monster.
He grabbed the wriggling root and crushed it in his palm, his power burning it to ashes.
“Done,” he said, stepping away, the light fading. Gabriel collapsed to his knees, staring wordlessly at the blood pooling in his palm. “You good?”
Gabriel stared up at him, shuddering. “Why did you help me?” he asked hoarsely, swaying slightly. Blood slid in rivulets down his wrist and dripped between his fingers, spotting the floor with crimson.
Isaac’s stomach clenched as he realized that gray was spreading across his brother’s outstretched palm. He’d failed. Already it had spread; already it was growing—but no.
The gray started receding, Gabriel’s flesh reverting slowly back to normal.
“It doesn’t work on us,” he breathed, locking eyes with Isaac.
Isaac frowned at him. “How do you know that?”
“I can feel it,” Gabriel said. He reached out and grabbed Henrik’s arm again. Immediately, another root burrowed beneath the outer flesh of his hand. He bit back a curse but waved Isaac away, holding out his shaking palm for the entire room to see. Harper was the first to walk forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. Violet and May were close behind.
They watched in stone-cold silence as the root wriggled uselessly beneath his flesh. A small patch of gray splotched across his palm but faded out again, as quickly as it had arrived. Soon, that root had dissolved, too.
“I don’t know if it’s because of my powers, or because I’m a founder,” Gabriel said.
But Isaac knew in his gut that it was a founder thing. When the roots had attacked him, they hadn’t hurt him like Henrik, either. For a moment, sure, he’d been plunged into that strange white hellscape. But then he’d come back.
Isaac stepped back as Juniper Saunders procured a roll of gauze and helped Gabriel bandage his palm. He’d been so determined to assuage his own guilt that he’d protected someone who didn’t actually need it. But his powers were clearly useless here.
So were Gabriel’s, though. That much was clear as his gaze returned to Henrik’s body. The oily liquid that had spurted from his arm was already congealing, and the familiar form of another root wriggled beneath his wrist. The gray engulfing his hands hadn’t changed, and his open eyes were flat and lifeless again, that strange hissing noise emitting softly from his throat.
It was the Beast in there, not Henrik. Isaac didn’t know what that kind of possession would do to a non-founder, but he was certain it wasn’t good.
“How much time does he have?” Violet asked, and Isaac realized that she was talking to Gabriel.
“It’s… strange.” Gabriel’s voice was solemn. “The disease seems to move in several stages. At first, there’s an initial assault that tries to get under the skin, literally. It infected him pretty deeply, to the point where Isaac would have to mutilate half his body to get the roots out. But when I touched him, I could sense that the spread had stopped. That’s why there’s been no change in his symptoms. The corruption’s goal, at least for now, is to keep its host alive.”
“Do you think it just wanted to possess him?” Violet asked.
“Maybe.” Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “He needs further observation by a professional before anything like that can be determined, though.”
“You’re being very technical about this,” Augusta said. “Were you pre-med?”
Gabriel looked at her, surprised. “I was, yeah. This is my gap year.”
“Then you’re the most qualified founder we have who can monitor the spread of this disease. How do you feel about heading up the clinic until we get this sorted out?”
Isaac tensed. But he’d brought Gabriel here. He’d known that would mean pulling him into the center of the action. This was an inevitable consequence.
“I’m not sure you’re giving me a choice, Ms. Hawthorne.”
“Sheriff Hawthorne,” Augusta said briskly. “And no, I’m not.”
Gabriel shrugged. “I mean… If it’ll help, I’m in.”
“All right, then.” Augusta’s voice was a dangerous kind of calm. “We need precautionary measures now. A warning to stay out of the woods at all times—a permanent
curfew except for those patrolling. This cannot be allowed to spread any further while we search for a cure.”
“What about Henrik’s family?” Justin asked.
“They’ll be briefed on the situation, of course,” Juniper said, casting Augusta a warning glance. “If you want us to work with you, you’ll need to do this without your powers. I need that promise from you.”
Augusta bristled, but nodded in acquiescence. “Fine. But none of this information leaves this room—understood?”
“Understood.” Their voices were soft but obedient, and Isaac stumbled out of the clinic, fleeing from the smell of death and from the brother he still somehow wanted to save.
CHAPTER NINE
Henrik Dougan was the first to fall ill, but two more cases were reported over the next few days—people with roots burrowing beneath their skin, turning their bodies gray and iridescent. Their minds taken over by a monster.
News broke like a tidal wave across the town, sweeping every founder into its wake. Violet knew firsthand how possession by the Beast felt, and she expected nothing but hostility from the town once word of it got around. But that wasn’t what happened. She noticed it for the first time when Alina Storey stopped her in the hallway the day after Henrik was admitted to the clinic, her voice low. Violet technically knew who the girl was—she was the mayor’s daughter—but they’d barely spoken.
“Hey,” Alina said, a little breathlessly. “Is it true that the Sullivans are putting their blood feud behind them to try and help the people getting sick?”
Violet shrugged uncomfortably. Four Paths High School was so ordinary; it felt utterly surreal to get this kind of question here. It was pretty brazen, curious where she’d been expecting fear or even hatred. “Why don’t you ask Isaac yourself?”
“As if he’d talk about it to us,” Alina said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Everybody knows all of you are super secretive.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because you’re new.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll talk,” Violet said firmly, and she headed off. But it was far from the last question she got over the next few days. Her classmates wanted to know if Harper had her powers back. If she’d really helped defeat that “insurgency group” that Violet quickly realized was how Augusta had explained away the Church. And even when her classmates gave up on her answering them, they still watched her—not with mistrust, but with something closer to excitement.
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