The Deck of Omens (The Devouring Gray #2) - Christine Lynn Herman Page 0,24
I assume that, should we become your allies, you will join us in our quest to preserve our power by restoring the tree?—and we, of course, would be willing to forgive such an indiscretion if you prove your dedication to assisting us.”
“You can’t trust them,” Juniper said, her eyes narrowing.
Augusta stared at her. “This is a civil affair, June.”
“I am being civil, August.”
Harper did not know what to say to either of them. All she knew was that she didn’t want to let Four Paths twist her the way it had so clearly twisted both of them. It had turned her own father into a monster, turned her friends’ parents bitter and angry.
She wanted to believe it wasn’t too late for her, but she worried it already was. She’d attacked the Hawthornes. She’d estranged herself from her family. And now here she sat at a crossroads, unable to find her own voice even as the others around her grew louder and more agitated.
“Mother.” Justin’s tone was pointed. “You promised to stay calm.”
Augusta shot her son a glare. “Don’t push me.”
“You’re not listening to me either, Mom,” Violet said quietly, from the other side of the table. “We’re trying to prevent a war here, not start one.”
“We have always been at war with one another, Violet.” Juniper looked deeply sad as she stared Augusta down. “Our powers aren’t meant to be shared.”
Violet groaned. “You’re all missing the point.”
“And what point is that?” Augusta asked. “That you sheltered a fugitive?”
Violet didn’t miss a beat. “That you lied to our entire town?”
“Enough!”
The voice came from somewhere deep inside her?—the same place her powers surged from, the same place that had helped her wake up before dawn each morning to practice swordplay, the same place that had allowed her to spend four days in the Gray and survive.
It stopped the rest of them midsentence, turned all eyes to her. Harper pushed back her chair and stood up, her heart thumping in her chest.
She knew now what she wanted: the same thing she’d wanted before she’d gotten her powers back. Before her dad had ensnared her in his reckless plot. Before Justin Hawthorne had wormed his way back into her life.
She wanted to get out of this town and never look back.
But it was not as simple as running away. Her siblings?—Seth and Mitzi, Brett and Nora, her baby brother Olly?—all of them deserved to grow up somewhere safe. So she would have to make it that way, a town that would never hurt her family the way it had hurt her. If she left Four Paths with no loose ends, it would never have any reason to pull her back.
“I choose both of you,” Harper said calmly. “And I also choose neither of you. Sheriff Hawthorne, I want your training. You took my memories and sent me into the Gray because you knew I was powerful. So teach me how to use that power, but know that I’ll only use it for the town?—not for you. And Juniper, if you’ll have me, I’d like to keep staying here for now and train with you as well. You both have things to teach me, and you both have reasons to use me?—which means I might as well use you back. I want to help keep this town safe. I want to fix the hawthorn tree. But I’m not fighting for either of you?—I’m fighting for myself.”
The two women looked at each other, both still frowning. But Harper didn’t care about them. She cared about the small nod Violet shot her across the table. And she cared about the smile stealing across Justin’s face, like a secret he knew he shouldn’t be telling.
“I think,” Justin said, trying and failing to contain his grin, “Harper makes an excellent point.”
“I agree,” Violet said primly.
Juniper’s lips twitched. “I suppose it is your choice.”
Augusta’s mouth was a hard-edged line, but when Justin nudged her with his elbow, she spoke. “Fine.”
And Harper felt victory course through her as Justin herded his mother away from the table and toward the Saunders manor’s front door.
Ezra Bishop hadn’t changed at all in the seven years since May had seen him last. He had the same graying blond hair, curling gently where it met his ears. The same dusting of stubble on his cheeks. The same lupine, sharply angled face, which was now turned toward her, assessing her like a puzzle he’d been trying to solve from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.