These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  Morgan ignores his outstretched hand and folds her arms across her chest.

  “Anyway . . .” He lifts the phone again. The light flicks on as he starts recording. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  I block the lens with my hand. “Get the hell away from us.”

  “Uh, last I checked, princess, this was my house.” A pause. “Fine, I won’t record it.” Nolan lowers the phone and shoves it in his back pocket. “You ladies want to add some testosterone to this little party?”

  “Fuck off, asshole.”

  Nolan glares at me, but before he can say anything else, someone steps between us. All I can see is his height and dark hair. “Back off, Abbott.”

  “It’s not my fault they’re so—” Something shatters in the other room, drawing Nolan’s attention. He casts a final glare at the three of us before storming away. “You better not break anything!”

  The guy turns to us. “You okay?”

  I’m relieved to see a familiar face. “Yeah. Thanks, Benton.” The heat in the crystals fades, and a sinking feeling pulls at my gut. Oh no. Panic bubbles up my chest. Did the crystals make Morgan kiss me? Shit, shit, shit.

  Morgan fidgets beside me and won’t meet my eye. “That guy, Nolan, he has this video on his phone . . .”

  Benton scowls. “I’ll take care of it.” He offers a brief smile before hurrying after Nolan.

  With the boys gone, Morgan and I find ourselves alone in the kitchen. The energy in the room has shifted, an uneasiness settling in the space between us, and I don’t know how to bridge this gap. How do you ask someone about their hobbies after your magically induced make-out session is interrupted by a future frat bro?

  Thankfully, Morgan’s braver than I am. She breaks the almost unbearable silence. “Do you think your friend will be okay?”

  “Benton?” I nod. “He’ll be fine. He actually earned his black belt a few months ago. Nolan’s the one who should worry.”

  “Good.” Her tone is harsh, and her hands clench into fists. “I hope he kicks his ass.”

  “He probably won’t have to,” I say, watching the way her anger makes her arms shake, like she’s ready to deck Nolan herself. “Though I do agree with you. He totally deserves it. He actually got punched in the face last weekend for being an ass.”

  “Really?” Morgan lights up at the idea, but then her brow furrows. “If he’s such a jerk, why did so many people come to his party?” She nods toward the living room, where a horde of teens balance cups of beer while they dance.

  I point to the hard lemonade in her hand. “The free booze?”

  “Fair point.” Morgan flushes, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink as she traces her finger along the lip of her bottle. “I’m sorry, by the way. I swear I’m not usually that forward.” She shakes her head, like she’s confused by her actions. “I’ve never kissed someone without asking first. I have no idea what came over me.”

  “It’s okay.” I try to smile, but her words are a reminder of my guilt. I never should have asked Veronica for the stones. They’ve done nothing but mess with innocent Regs. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to try to find a Blood Witch on my own. Mom was right. I’m not ready.

  Besides, there may not even be a Blood Witch in Salem. The scrying with Veronica seemed to prove there was, but I should have known better than to trust her. She probably faked the whole thing. Besides, Evan admitted to the animal sacrifice. That was a Reg ritual, just like my grandmother said.

  But what about the runes?

  “I mean, it’s really not okay, but I’m glad you’re not mad.” Morgan’s words pull me from my runaway thoughts. She fusses with the simple metal ring on her middle finger, twirling it round and round. “So . . . I realize that dipshit ruined whatever vibe we had going on, but I’d still love to get your number.”

  “My number?”

  Morgan’s cheeks flare red. “Yeah. I mean . . . Gemma said you dated girls. I thought maybe we could go out sometime.” When I don’t immediately answer, Morgan backpedals. “Or we could be friends. I’m new here and it’d be good to have friends before classes. And I—”

  “Morgan?” I say, interrupting her.

  “Yeah?”

  I can’t keep the smile off my face when she looks up from spinning her ring. She’s flustered and rambling and it’s adorable. I just hope whatever’s happening between us is still there when these damn crystals are gone. “I’d love to go out sometime.”

  Morgan hands me her phone, and I add my name and number. I want to say something witty, but my brain won’t cooperate. Instead, it plays back an endless reminder of how much I fucked up today.

  “So,” Morgan cuts in, fighting through the awkward silence a second time. “Should we go find Gemma? Or maybe someplace quiet to talk?”

  My heart sings at the possibility of spending more time with her, but I need to get rid of these crystals first. Before I can respond, power shimmers across my skin. Bright and angry.

  Morgan turns back toward the living room. “Do you smell smoke?”

  The energy in the air brightens at her suggestion. Fear rips through me, puncturing a hole in my chest.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  9

  SMOKE FILLS THE HOUSE. I can’t see the flames, but the fire’s gleeful hunger ripples across my skin. It’s somewhere above us, spreading fast along the second floor.

  “This way.” I reach for Morgan to lead her into the backyard, but she darts forward into the living room.

  “Gemma! Kate!” Morgan’s voice is full of fear as she slips around the corner and disappears into the smoke.

  I chase after Morgan, searching through the haze for her red hair and Gemma’s blonde curls. Everyone is crammed together, pushing to get out the front door. They shove each other, bodies packed tight, but the narrow door slows them down. I don’t see Gemma anywhere. Please be outside already.

  The smoke thickens, and I cough. Without thinking, my magic flares to life, reaching for the closest element. A pocket of clean air swirls up from around my feet, making it easier to breathe. Though all magic is technically forbidden around Regs, this type of reflexive magic is rarely punished.

  Above me, the fire’s energy dips low, mostly extinguished, then flares bright again, growing faster than before. I turn, confused by the drastic shift in the fire’s strength, and catch Veronica and Savannah rushing down the stairs. Fear climbs up my spine like ivy. Veronica’s gaze meets mine, only for a second, and I know what she’s done. Did Savannah see Veronica calm the flames enough for them to escape? Has Veronica exposed us to a Reg?

  Glass shatters, and the fire roars upstairs, emboldened by the magic Veronica must have used to restart the flames and cover her tracks. I search for Morgan, desperate to get out of here, and am finally rewarded with a flash of red hair.

  “Morgan! Over here!” I shout over the crowd’s panic and the growing roar of the fire. “This way.” I lead her back to the kitchen.

  Drunk partygoers rush into the backyard, but Morgan pulls me to a stop just before the door. “What about Gemma and Kate? We can’t leave them in here.”

  “I won’t, I promise. But we have to go.” I reach for Morgan’s hand. “Do you trust me?”

  Morgan pauses, but after a beat, she nods and lets me lead her into the backyard. She coughs as the fresh air hits her lungs.

  “Come on.” I race around to the front of the house, Morgan at my heels. Fire in the windows casts an eerie red-orange glow on the windshields of cars parked along the street and Nolan’s silver SUV sitting in the driveway. I search the growing crowd for Gemma’s face, and thanks to her height, I spot her near the back. “Gemma!”

  Somehow, she hears my voice over the noise and turns. Gem shoves her way through classmates to get to me, the shorter dancer from before—the one I assume is Kate—following behind
her. “Thank god, Hannah! I thought you might still be in there.”

  Gem crushes me in a hug, and then we watch as flames spread through the top floor of Nolan’s house.

  “Do you see that?” Morgan points toward the far right window on the second floor. “It looks like someone’s still in there.”

  Gemma grabs her phone. “I’m calling the fire department.”

  While Gem dials, I follow Morgan’s gaze up to the window. The curtains flutter, but that doesn’t mean someone’s inside. “I don’t see anything.”

  The second the words leave my lips, a shadow appears before the window. The figure pushes back the curtains and throws open the window.

  Morgan gasps. “Someone’s trapped!”

  Those closest to us shout and watch as one of our classmates leans out the window like he’s judging the distance to the ground.

  “Someone call nine-one-one!”

  “Don’t jump, dude!”

  “He’ll never make it!”

  Morgan’s grip tightens on my arm, hard enough that I flinch. “Isn’t that the guy who helped us?”

  Before I can look, someone behind me cries, “It’s Benton!”

  Benton glances directly at the crowd, and even from here I can see the panic. The fear. The soot and sweat covering his face. He’s running out of time. I pull from Morgan’s grip and step away from the crowd. Mom is so going to kill me. And I don’t even want to consider what Lady Ariana will do.

  “I’m going in.”

  “You’re what?!”

  “I can’t leave Benton trapped in there.” The fire’s energy spikes, driving my pulse up with it. I need to hurry or this blaze will be beyond my power to control. “Stay here.”

  “You’re going to get yourself killed!” Gemma says, ignoring the phone pressed to her ear. “Hannah, wait—”

  But I don’t. There isn’t time. I call upon my magic, nurture the thrum in my chest, and race around the side of the house, heading for the kitchen door. I gather as much clean air as I can, hold it tight around my face, and dive back inside the burning house.

  The smoke is near black now. Thick and roiling. The smell acrid and choking despite my makeshift mask. I get as low as I can and hurry through the house. The fire hasn’t made it downstairs yet, but I still have to move fast. I have to get to Benton before the flames do.

  The fire’s power, infused with Veronica’s magic, is so bright that it numbs my senses.

  I pick my way through the halls and around disarrayed furniture, trying to follow the same path back to the living room where the stairs lead to the second level. The smoke makes it hard to see, and I stumble into an overturned chair and nearly fall on my face. It would be so easy to command the air, to clear the smoke out of my way, but with dozens and dozens of Regs on the front lawn watching eagerly through the windows, I can’t risk it.

  Finally, I reach the stairs and drop to my knees, keeping low to the steps as I follow the smoke upward. The fire’s will sings against my skin. Come. Play with me. Fear prickles at the base of my spine.

  “Benton! Where are you?”

  Above me, Benton coughs. “Is someone there?” He sounds weak. Nearly breathless.

  Power surges through my veins as I reach for the heart of the fire’s power. Calm now. You’ve done enough. I try to soothe the flames climbing up the walls beside me, eating away at the striped wallpaper, but they resist my magic.

  You’ve done enough. It’s time to rest.

  In the distance, barely audible above the roar of the fire, sirens wail.

  They’re bringing water, I tell the fire, pushing my will against its hunger. Will you let them tame you?

  The fire recoils from my words. Then it pushes back and burns hotter. Its defiance growing stronger, more terrifying.

  Above me, Benton coughs again. Wheezes in a staggered breath. He feels farther away now, like he’s backed into a shrinking corner of fireless space.

  “Benton! Can you make it to the stairs?” I shake off the panic seizing my chest and hope he can hear me. “Come on! We have to get out of here.”

  After a moment of silence, his voice breaks through. Hoarse and weak. “I can’t. There’s too much fire.”

  Shit. We’re running out of time.

  I inhale most of what remains of my oxygen and let power coil in my veins. I reach for the center of the fire’s power, squashing it, dampening it, but it holds strong and pushes back against extinction. Flames bite at my legs, and though my skin will never burn, the hem of my shorts starts to smoke.

  The sirens are louder now, but not close enough. They won’t get here in time to drown the flames, not before my air is gone and I pass out. Not before Benton meets the same fate or worse, trapped in a room on the far side of the floor. I tug at the air again, searching for signs of Benton’s wheezing breath. But it’s gone.

  He’s not breathing.

  I panic and make one last attempt to grab hold of the fire’s energy, to bend it to my will, but when it resists, I let go.

  And steal all the oxygen from the room—from the whole damn house—instead.

  My lungs fill and my head clears as the fire suffocates and dies away, leaving ash and charred wood, crumbled carpet and dripping wallpaper, in its wake. As soon as the fire dies, I exhale, returning the air to its proper place. Power hums in my veins. I feel like I could do anything. Be anything.

  Sirens outside interrupt the thought. A higher, less primal fear pulses through me. I need to get out of here before someone finds me and realizes what I’ve done.

  “Benton?” I rush up the stairs and search the rooms, finding him in the last one on the right, slumped in the corner with sweat coating his face. He’s still not breathing. “Benton, come on.” I shake him, but that does little good.

  I glance behind me, making sure we’re truly alone. When I’m positive no one can see, I hover a hand over Benton’s nose and mouth, pushing magicked air into his lungs.

  Benton gasps. His eyes shoot open, and I drop my hand. “You okay?”

  He looks at me, eyes wide, and nods his head.

  “We have to go. Come on.” I help Benton to his feet and guide him down the stairs. Something crashes up ahead, and I freeze. Is it the Blood Witch? I shove the thought away. No self-respecting Blood Witch would attack an Elemental with fire. But that knowledge doesn’t soothe my fears.

  Whoever is in here must have seen the fire disappear.

  Which means I am beyond screwed.

  Before Benton can object, I set him on the bottom step and race down the wrecked hall. Movement flashes out of the corner of my eye. A shadow slips into the kitchen. A door slams. I have to know who it was, how much they saw. I pump my legs faster, flying around the corner into the kitchen.

  It’s empty.

  A string of curses spills from my lips. If they make it to the crowd of students out front, I may never figure out who they are.

  As I grab the door, a shadow falls over me. Huge and looming. I reach for my magic, ready to attack, but it’s like stretching a pulled muscle. I hiss in a pained breath and tense as the shadow grabs me by the upper arm and drags me out of the house.

  “Is anyone else in there?”

  I look up and find a fireman attached to my arm, and I let out a relieved sigh. “Benton. He’s still inside. On the bottom step.” I force out the words, but the rest of my brain curses myself again. I shouldn’t have put out the flames completely. How will the fire department explain that?

  The man beside me repeats Benton’s location into his radio and shoves me toward the front of the house. He deposits me in the back of an ambulance. “Stay here.”

  I’m fine. But I can’t very well tell him that. The paramedics shove an oxygen mask on my face and shine a light in my eyes. They take my blood pressure and search my exposed limbs for burns. When they’re convinc
ed I’m okay, they wrap a blanket around my shoulders and take the mask away.

  “Miss Walsh,” a deep voice says. “Why am I not surprised?”

  I look up. A man in a smart gray suit steps into view. “Detective Archer? What are you doing here?”

  He ignores me and turns to the EMTs instead. “Is she all right?”

  The paramedics nod. “Seems fine, sir,” the taller one says.

  “Good.” Something flashes in the light of the ambulance. Cold metal encases my wrist. Clicks tight. “If you don’t mind, Miss Walsh, I need you to step out of the truck.” He helps me out of the ambulance and tugs my arms behind my back. The coldness encircles my other wrist.

  And then my brain registers what’s happening.

  Those are handcuffs.

  Detective Archer puts a hand on my shoulder and leads me away from the ambulance. “Miss Walsh, you’re coming with me.”

  “What?” I ask, heart hammering, mind racing. “Why?”

  Detective Archer guides me forward. “Arson.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The crowd stares in silent judgment as Detective Archer leads me to his car in handcuffs. Flashing lights illuminate classmates whose expressions range from shocked disbelief to devastated rage. Nolan stands with his friends, leaning against his SUV. A murderous look shadows his face when he notices my arms cuffed behind my back.

  I search the crowd for Gemma. For Morgan or even Evan. Anyone who will see me and know this fire was not my doing. Instead, I only find Veronica at the front of the crowd, standing beside Savannah and a few of their friends from cheerleading. Veronica’s eyes are wide, and her lips shape into an apology, but she doesn’t try to help.

  If she had checked to make sure there weren’t any Regs upstairs before she used her magic to calm the flames, if she hadn’t tried to cover her tracks by restarting the fire, none of this would have happened. Benton’s lungs wouldn’t be filled with smoke. I wouldn’t be in handcuffs. She had better hope Savannah didn’t notice anything strange.