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. “He 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.