Mom shakes her head. “We haven’t decided yet. We’re going to call Veronica’s parents in the morning and make sure they’re aware of her part in this.” Mom nods to the crystals on our counter. “But I don’t think involving your grandmother will be necessary. We’re perfectly capable of dealing with your transgressions ourselves.”
“But what about the scrying? Veronica and I—”
“You and Veronica are children messing with magic you don’t fully understand.” Mom reaches for her wine again and drains half the glass. “Scrying is more complicated than it seems. You saw what you wanted to.”
“But—”
“Enough.” Dad glances at the clock and sighs. “It’s late, Han. You should get to bed.”
“That’s it? Just ‘go to bed’?” Wasn’t there supposed to be more yelling? More lecturing?
“Well, you’re grounded until you’re thirty, and your mother and I are going to discuss whether you’ll be required to wear a binding charm, but that’s enough for tonight.” Dad points to the stairs, dismissing me.
I leave the kitchen, my palms sweaty with the thought of wearing a binding charm after four years without it, but Mom’s voice calls after me. “And if you pull this crap again, you’re quitting your job, selling your car, and living here until you’re thirty.”
* * *
• • •
There are a million texts waiting for me when I make it to my room. I ignore all of them except two. First, I text Benton to ask if he’s okay. His answer is swift, assuring me he’s alive and well, with promises to talk soon. Then I toss Gemma a quick I’m alive, grounded but alive text before I head for the shower. It’s the longest yet least effective shower of my life.
My hair still smells like smoke the next morning, which is perhaps fitting given the way my phone is blowing up. Texts from Veronica I ignore. Notifications from trolls shouting about my new life of crime. Death threats from faceless users—probably Nolan and his friends—which is all sorts of fun. A few assholes even post blurry photos of Detective Archer shoving me into his sedan.
I remove the tags, but there’s nothing I can do to take the pictures down. I hate that this crap will be archived somewhere when I’m trying to get into colleges this winter. I’m honestly relieved when my parents remember to take my internet access away.
Unfortunately, that sense of relief is short-lived. It dies when my parents hand me the binding ring I wore before my initiation at thirteen, with an added anti-tampering spell that’ll make removal painful and impossible to hide. My magic protests, pressing against my skin so hard my hands shake as I slip the ring over my index finger. And then there’s nothing. Just this hollow feeling in my chest where the constant thrum of magic used to be.
The only thing that manages to distract from the effects of the binding charm is the series of missed messages from Morgan.
I know they’re from her for two reasons. One, the area code of the unsaved number is not from Massachusetts. And two, the messages are full of worry. Please hurry. The roof looks ready to collapse. Then all-caps panic asking if I’m okay and promising to send in help.
After that, nothing. Crickets. I assume she saw Detective Archer drag me to his car in handcuffs. My face burns at the thought. I’m sure that killed whatever interest she might have had in me.
If that interest was even real.
I wish I hadn’t been wearing the rose quartz when Morgan kissed me. That makes everything so damn confusing. As if kissing a near-stranger wasn’t already unusual for me.
By Sunday night I can’t take it anymore. I have to know whether I’ve ruined my chance to get to know her. I swallow down my nerves and text her back.
HW: Hey, sorry. I’m alive and well. It’s been a hectic weekend.
Every second after I hit send feels like an eternity. It shouldn’t matter if she responds. I only met her once. She doesn’t owe me anything, especially given how everything went down.
Yet I can’t deny the way my heart dances when the three bouncing dots finally appear.
MH: Hey! Happy to hear the cops didn’t lock you up for good. How’s freedom taste?
These Witches Don't Burn Page 11
