The Deck of Omens (The Devouring Gray #2) - Christine Lynn Herman Page 0,34

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