The Deck of Omens (The Devouring Gray #2) - Christine Lynn Herman Page 0,14

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.

She had come here to use that power.

She wanted her own life again, one that wasn’t spent hiding inside the Saunders manor. Justin could help her do that. She just had to play this right.

“You hurt me,” she said evenly. “I’m not pretending you didn’t. And I’m not promising forgiveness. But I know that what I did to your family’s tree wasn’t fair. I want to find a way to work all of this out without anybody else getting hurt.”

“Perfect.” The voice did not belong to Justin. It was smooth and crisp, each syllable carefully enunciated. “You’re willing to cooperate, then.”

May Hawthorne stepped out from the forest behind her