These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  My ex seems less convinced. “You think Evan’s a witch? And how exactly are we supposed to prove that ridiculous theory?” She slips her purse over one shoulder. “We can’t cut him and see if his skin magically heals. If he’s a Reg, that’s both super weird and possibly criminal.”

  “I don’t know, Veronica. But we have to do something.”

  The room falls silent between us, broken only by the buzz of my phone.

  GG: Hannah!!! The girls at dance are dragging me to a party tonight. Come keep me company. Please please please!

  Gears loosen and turn in my head. We’ll have to break just a few more rules, but if we can catch the Blood Witch, it’ll be worth whatever punishment my grandmother has in store for us. Who knows, she might even be grateful enough to reverse the one she’s already levied.

  I turn to Veronica, the final pieces clicking into place. “I have a plan.”

  8

  MUSIC SHAKES THE FLOOR of Nolan’s front porch as Gemma and I step up to the house. Students spill into the yard, balancing cans of shitty beer with plates of salty snacks while clusters of recent grads tip back Solo cups inside the foyer. Gem and I break through the wall of sound and officially enter the party.

  I adjust my shorts and brush imaginary lint from the too-tight tank top Gemma talked me into wearing. Her mom gave us a weird look when she walked past the open bedroom door and caught Gem giving me a once-over to approve the outfit. Gemma didn’t notice—she never notices—but I’m going to have to avoid her parents for at least a week now.

  A quick glance around the party helps me refocus, and I shake the memory of Mrs. Goodwin’s discomfort away. I need to find Veronica and borrow her mom’s crystals. Veronica will amplify the stones’ vibrations, making it impossible for anyone we see to resist our questions. If there’s a Blood Witch at this party, we’ll find them.

  Gemma loops her arm through mine and leads me into the packed living room. I scan the crowd but don’t see Veronica anywhere. She’d better show.

  “Asshat at three o’clock,” Gemma yells over the music, and gestures with her head.

  About time. I turn to look, but it’s not Veronica. It’s Nolan. He’s standing in front of the fireplace with a can of PBR in one hand, holding court over the soccer team while keeping an eye on the rest of the guests.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Gemma asks as we make our way to the kitchen for drinks. “Dance until we can’t see straight?”

  “I never see straight,” I say, and Gem rolls her eyes at my pun. I’m about to remind her that I don’t dance when two girls half stumble, half glide in from the backyard, their arms around each other’s shoulders as they approach the table.

  “Gemma!” The shorter girl brightens when she sees Gem, and I realize where I’ve seen her before: the dance studio. She looks different without her hair pulled into a high bun. Younger. More carefree. I don’t recognize her red-haired friend, but her perfect posture and the slight turnout to her steps shout dancer.

  The redhead’s pale face blushes a soft pink, accentuating the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “Hey, Gemma. Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Hannah. The super talented best friend I told you about.” Gem raises her brows suggestively, and I’m afraid to know what she told this girl about me. “Hannah, this is Morgan Hughes. She just moved to Salem.”

  Morgan grins at me, her gaze sweeping across my tight shirt, down to the shorts that hang low on my hips, and then back up again. Gemma introduces the other dancer, but her name doesn’t register in any meaningful way. I’m too distracted. Morgan steps forward, all grace, curves, and long lines.

  She holds out her slender hand and waits for me to take it. I slip my hand in hers, and I’m certain my face is redder than her hair.

  “Nice to meet you,” she says as I hastily drop her hand.

  “You too,” I say, my skin tingling where it touched hers. “Will you be at Salem High in the fall?”

  “Yeah.” Morgan runs a finger along the rim of her empty cup. “Nice of my parents to move me in time for my senior year, huh?”

  “Promotion at work?” I guess.

  “Something like that.” Morgan fusses with her hair; her crystal-blue eyes never leave my face. “At least I have dance this summer to meet people before school starts. My first day shouldn’t be too terrible.” She glances away, and the beginning of a smile pulls at her lips. “Especially if you’re there.”

  I freeze. Is she . . . No, she can’t be. Gemma would have told me if there was a queer girl in her dance class. But Morgan glances back at me, smiling. Is she actually . . .

  Flirting.

  With me?

  Oh god. What do I do?

  I shoot Gemma a panicked look.

  Thankfully, she notices and gives me a quick nod. “Come on, girls. Let’s dance.” She drags Morgan and the shorter dancer toward the living room with her.

  Morgan turns as they near the doorway, spinning with a ballerina’s grace. “Hannah, want to come with?” Her voice is light and full of promise, her vowels slightly Midwestern. Something about it turns my insides to mush.

  I shake my head, but I can’t keep the smile off my face. “You three go ahead. I’ll meet you in a bit.” When they’re gone, I press a cold water bottle to my face.

  Someone slow claps behind me. “Well, that was embarrassing.” I turn and find Veronica leaning against the back wall, wearing a short dress with a plunging neckline and kitten heels. “A stunning reminder of why you’ll be single forever.”

  “Grow up.” I cross the room to my ex, hoping my face isn’t as red as it feels. How does she always manage to make me feel so underdressed? “Do you have them?”

  Veronica pushes off from the wall and balances a hand on her hip. “Could you sound more like a junkie? I’m not your dealer.”

  “You know what I mean.” I pull her toward the corner of the room, out of the flow of people. With the heels, I have to tilt my head up to meet her gaze. “Did you get the crystals from your mom?”

  Something flashes in Veronica’s eyes. “Who was that?”

  “Why? Jealous?”

  “Of her? Please.” Veronica examines her nails, freshly manicured after last weekend’s incident in the woods. “I’m not jealous of some skinny ginger.”

  She says ginger like it’s a bad thing; I happen to have a special place in my heart for redheads. But I don’t tell Veronica that. I still need her help. “Do you have the crystals or not?”

  Veronica reaches into her small clutch and pulls out a silver chain with two stones dangling from the end. “There’s chrysocolla for honest communication,” she says as she undoes the clasp on the necklace. “And rose quartz to make you irresistible.” Veronica reaches to put the necklace on for me, but I step back.

  “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank you.” I grab the thin chain and clasp it around my neck. “And rose quartz won’t make me ‘irresistible.’ It’ll just encourage people to open up to me. Promote trust and empathy.” I grip the stones; their power pulses slow and deep. “Did you already activate them?”

  “Yeah. They’re good to go.” Veronica cracks open a beer and takes a long drink. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I say, weighing the crystals against my palm. I hope this works.

  “Whatever. I still think this is a terrible idea.” She takes another sip of her beer. “I saw Evan out back by the fire pit. Go chase your Blood Witch. I’m going to find Savannah.”

  “Are you going to question her? Do you have enough crystals?”

  Veronica glares at me. “Savannah is not a witch. And even if she were, I wouldn’t need magical help to convince her to share her secrets. People actually like talking to me.”

  Her words sting, but she’s swallowed up by the crowd before I can unstick the witty retort at the ba
ck of my throat. I choke it down and slip outside. As I near the small fire, everyone seems hyperaware of my presence. They greet me with wide smiles, stepping into my path to say hello. It slows me down, but at least I know the crystals are working.

  I manage to extract myself from the growing crowd as Evan walks past. “Evan, wait!” I hurry after him, one hand gripping the crystals, willing their power to reach for his retreating form. “I need to talk to you.”

  Either the rose quartz is working or Evan isn’t the angsty goth kid he wants everyone to think he is, because he stops. Turns. Gives me an exhausted look. “What do you want, Hannah?”

  The crystals grow warm in my touch. People wave to me as they pass, which makes Evan jumpy. I’m on edge, too. It’s possible Evan’s a Blood Witch, and if he is, he could hurt me. Faster than I could conjure a defense. But unless he calms down, this interrogation won’t go anywhere. “Do you mind if we go someplace quieter?”

  Evan looks suspicious, but he lets me lead him to the edge of Nolan’s property. Here, at least, we shouldn’t be interrupted.

  “Well, what is it?” he asks when I don’t speak right away. “Here to harass me about my purchases again?”

  “I wasn’t,” I say, clutching at the stones around my neck, hoping the rose quartz will loosen his tongue. “But since you bring it up, let’s talk curses. I know you’re the one who killed that raccoon at the bonfire.”

  “I didn’t—” he starts, but his words die in his throat as the chrysocolla burns hot in my hand, choking away the lie. He tries to deny it again, but the sounds stick in his throat. Finally, he gives in. “How did you know?”

  “In truth, I didn’t know. I had a solid hunch though,” I say without thinking. Oh no. I drop the stones, horrified. They aren’t supposed to pull out my truth. It isn’t supposed to work this way. How did they—

  Veronica. Of course. I bet she messed up the spell on purpose. For a brief, sickening moment, I wonder if she faked the scrying today, too, like she did with her question about my feelings. Was the whole thing an elaborate ruse to humiliate me?

  But she seemed so scared when the water confirmed there’s a Blood Witch in Salem . . .

  “Why did you cast the curse? What were you trying to do?” I ask, steering the conversation back on track. Imperfections aside, the crystals are drawing out the truth, and that’s something I could sorely use.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Evan pushes past me, his strength knocking me back a step. My mind races, searching for signs of his magic. Was that the strength of a Blood Witch? Or simply a guy with more height and weight than I have?

  “You have to tell me.” I reach for his wrist, holding him back. I focus all my attention on the warm thrum of the rose quartz in my other hand, willing him to trust me.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m scared!” The words tumble out, and the truth of them rings in the air around us, puncturing whatever bravado kept Evan so tense. “I’ve been so scared since that night, and if I knew what happened, if I knew what your plan was, maybe I could sleep better at night.”

  “Hannah.” Evan’s voice dips low, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I never meant for anyone to see it. I wasn’t trying to scare you. Or hurt Savannah.”

  “Then what were you doing?” I ask.

  Evan glances over his shoulder, but between the music and the distance to the nearest partygoer, there’s no danger of someone overhearing. “It’s about my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  Evan blows out his breath in a big rush. “You have to understand, my dad is not a good person. He’s cruel and controlling. I’ve spent half my life terrified of him. My mom has, too. He was never violent, not physically, but nothing we ever did was good enough for him.”

  “Shit, Evan. I’m sorry,” I say, and though this isn’t the time or the place, though it feels incredibly selfish, I’m suddenly extremely grateful for my dad. For his kindness and his unending support. “What were you trying to do? Get him to leave you alone?”

  “He already left. Took off a few months ago with the office manager from his law firm.” Evan makes a disgusted sound. “She’s barely older than I am. She has no idea what kind of monster my dad is. He took everything. All my parents’ savings. My mom can’t keep up with the payments on our house.”

  “I am so sorry.” I apologize again, because I don’t know what else to say. This isn’t the kind of conversation I was expecting. “But then . . . What’s with all the spells? Are you trying to curse your dad?”

  Evan scowls, and his voice goes harsh. “I’m not asking for anything he doesn’t already deserve.”

  The chrysocolla burns hot against my chest. He thinks he’s telling the truth, but he’s not. He’s doing too much. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but the kind of magic you’re using—”

  “I know,” he says, cutting me off. “I know it’s dangerous. I know my mom would never approve, but he deserves it, Hannah. He really does.” Evan’s pain crashes into me, channeled through the crystals at my neck, and it’s so heavy. Years of hurt all bubbling up to the surface.

  “But what about the runes?” I ask. “What were you trying to do with those?”

  “Runes?” His voice is pitched with confusion. “I’ve only done that one ritual in the woods.” Evan runs a hand through his hair, his face crumpling. “I just want my family to be okay. I didn’t know what else to do.” His breath hitches in his throat.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out. Evan steps forward and lets me wrap him in a hug. His arms come around my back, pulling me close. He shudders, and I realize he’s crying. How long has he been holding all this in?

  I’m not sure what else to say. Guilt gnaws on my ribs, twisting my insides. I shouldn’t have forced Evan’s truth to the surface with magic, but I don’t know how to apologize without outing my Clan. I want to tell him everything will be okay, but the chrysocolla won’t let the lie past my lips. I never should have asked Veronica for these crystals, even if it has answered one question.

  Evan is not a Blood Witch.

  * * *

  • • •

  After Evan’s confession, I head back to the house feeling like a judgmental asshole. When Evan came to the shop before the bonfire, I should have guessed something big was going on. He was never one to rock the goth look in school. And people often turn to Wicca—or any religion for that matter—when the rest of their life is falling to shit.

  I glance over my shoulder and find Evan leaning against the fence. A smile quirks up one side of his lips, and he raises his hand. I wave back, but even from here I can see the sadness that deepens the lines in his forehead, can see the way he’s lost in thoughts he’d rather not have.

  Guilt latches around my ribs and tugs, trying to yank me back to the fence. I can’t believe I suspected Evan of being a Blood Witch. Can’t believe I used magic against a Reg. Veronica was right. This whole thing was a bad idea.

  “Oh, hey. It’s Hannah, right?” Morgan greets me when I make it back into the kitchen. She grabs the last hard lemonade. “Want anything?”

  I shake my head. “I’m driving tonight.” I stay firmly on my side of the table and steal glances at the ballerina before me. She’s about my height, maybe an inch taller. Her red hair cascades past her shoulders, glimmering in the bright kitchen lights. Though I know it’s pointless, I look for clues—anything to help me determine whether she was flirting earlier or simply being nice.

  Morgan opens the lemonade and tosses the cap in the overflowing metal bucket on the table. “I feel like I already know you. Gemma talks about you all the time.”

  “Yeah?” Funny, she never mentioned you.

  “Sure. Gem thinks you’re hilarious. She also said you make the most amazing desserts. I’d love to try them sometime.” Morgan comes around to my side of the table. She rests a finger on my necklac
e; the stones pulse with heat as she nears, matching my quickening heartbeat. “This is beautiful.”

  Flirting, she is definitely flirting. Or maybe not. Shit. I don’t know. Be cool, Hannah, be cool. “Thank you,” I whisper, barely able to push the words past my lips.

  Morgan steps closer, well within my personal bubble. The heat of her body so close to mine presses against my skin. “Are you dating anyone?”

  I can’t speak. Her fingers linger on my neck, her touch the only thing my mind seems to grasp. Finally, I shake my head. “No, but I—”

  She doesn’t wait for me to finish. Morgan leans forward and presses her lips to mine. Her hand cups my face, fingers weaving through my hair.

  It takes me a second to realize what’s happening, but when I do? My heart dances in my chest, and I return the kiss, sinking into her warmth.

  The stones at my throat pulse with heat, thrum with the very rightness of this moment. Morgan’s lips are soft against mine, her hands warm at the back of my neck. Everything about this kiss is tender and soft and full of promise. Morgan tastes sweet from the lemonade, and my heart pounds in time with the heavy bass pumping through the house.

  “All right! Now it’s a party!”

  Morgan and I flinch apart. Nolan stands in the entryway, his phone aimed at us.

  “Aww, come on. I only caught, like, two seconds.” He stabs at his phone and the light turns off.

  “You were recording us?” I see red, and I’m ready to throttle him. “Delete it.”

  Nolan ignores me and watches his phone. “Not likely. This shit is hot.”

  I could kill him. I could actually kill him, the fucking perv. “Delete the video, Nolan, or so help me—”

  “Relax, Hannah. Geez.” He glances to my right. “Who’s your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.” He steps forward and offers his hand to Morgan. “I’m Nolan. Soccer captain. Class president. Single.” He grins. “Welcome to my party.”