These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  “Thanks.” I loop my arm through hers, leading her to the center of the yard where the rest of the families have gathered. I’ve often felt like Mrs. Blaise was more grandmotherly than, well, my grandma, and her presence beside me is like being wrapped in the softest blanket.

  That feeling dies when I see the look on Lady Ariana’s face.

  A ripple goes through the earth, a silent call to order. The families form a semicircle around our high priestess. Our assembly is smaller than usual, some of the families with young children electing to send a single parent as representative. Twelve of the thirteen families who live in Salem are present. The last—the Leskos—flew to Colorado three days ago to visit distant cousins.

  The coven is silent as death as we wait for Lady Ariana to speak.

  Our high priestess turns once, meeting the gaze of each witch in attendance. I swear I see a subtle shift in her features when she looks at me, but it’s gone before I can name the emotion there.

  “I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened yesterday.” No one speaks to confirm, but the air warms with our agreement. “Given the circumstances, I had no choice but to contact the Council.”

  Beside me, Mr. Blaise drops his coffee, his hands quivering. Still, no one says anything. The ground trembles with our unease until Lady Ariana shifts her stance, stealing away control of the earth and forcing it to still.

  “The attacks against our coven are not the work of a Blood Witch.” At that, she looks to me, and I feel both relieved and diminished. “The Council believes there is a Witch Hunter in town.”

  Whispered conversation erupts around me. Mrs. Blaise stumbles and grips my shoulder for balance. I hold tight to her elbow, keeping her steady, and glance left to search for Veronica. Her gaze finds mine. Fear drains the color from her face.

  “That’s not possible.” My dad’s voice finally cuts through the growing discord in the coven. “The Council destroyed the Hunters. There hasn’t been a confirmed sighting in over fifty years.”

  Lady Ariana shakes her head, and with that simple motion, she seems to age a decade. “The Councilwoman I spoke with was quite sure. Their agents have taken out two Hunters in the last six months alone.” She sighs, her blue eyes almost gray in the pale light of morning. “They went after a third, but he slipped away before they could catch him.”

  On the other side of the circle, Rachel places a protective hand over her stomach. “What do we do?”

  “Does the Council think the third Hunter found his way here? Do we have permission to stop him?” Ellen Watson, a girl a few years older than Veronica, squeezes her hands into fists. The wind picks up around her, tossing her long, light brown hair over her shoulders.

  Lady Ariana holds up her hands, and the coven quiets. “The Council already has a pair of agents in the area. I’m meeting with them today to coordinate our search.” She drops her hands and glances momentarily to the heavens. When she returns her gaze to us, she’s all business. “For now, we take precautions. Keep an eye out for anyone new in your lives. Hunters are known to get close to their targets. They won’t strike until they have irrefutable proof of our power, so you must be vigilant about following coven rules. No one can be allowed to see your magic, no matter how subtle.”

  At that, I glance at Veronica. She must know her carelessness caused this. And with a sickening sense of dread, I realize I’m in danger, too. The Hunter at her house saw my face. He saw me using the height of my power. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out who I am.

  If he hasn’t already. The realization hits me like a blow. If he’s the one who threw the brick through my window, then he already knew. He said I’d be next.

  Lady Ariana’s steady voice draws me back from the brink of panic. “. . . since the Hunter has already targeted Veronica at her home. We’ll start a protection detail immediately and watch her until the Hunter is stopped. Tuesday’s lesson will be mandatory for the entire coven. We’ll review defensive techniques.”

  Conversation continues around me, but I can’t follow the volley back and forth as a dozen families compare schedules and figure out how to protect my currently powerless ex from a Witch Hunter. My mind stumbles on that reality, tripping over the meaning.

  How did the Hunters manage to hide for fifty years? Why are they back? And more importantly, who are they?

  A hand at my elbow makes me jump, but it’s only Veronica. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is a mess, but I let her lead me away from the adults talking around us—talking about us—like we aren’t even here.

  “How did he figure out that I’m an Elemental?” she asks, her voice low. She glances back toward Lady Ariana, but our high priestess is too busy to pay any attention to our whispered conversation.

  I search my memory for a clue, for a turning point, but it’s not as if Veronica’s been the picture of perfect coven etiquette. Ever since New York, she’s been quick to use her magic in public. “Maybe he saw you at the bonfire?”

  Veronica shakes her head. “I was subtle. There’s no way anyone noticed.”

  “He must have noticed something, Veronica. Why else would he attack you?”

  “But I haven’t been hanging out with anyone new to town.” Veronica runs a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling. “What if it’s not the same Hunter that got away? What if it’s someone we know? Someone from school.”

  I shiver at the thought of sharing the halls year after year with a Witch Hunter. Of them watching us, waiting for us to screw up and reveal ourselves. Everyone I’ve ever known, every interaction I’ve had, feels suspect.

  Nolan could have started the fire at his house as a trap for Elementals.

  Savannah could be cozying up to Veronica to catch a glimpse of her power.

  Lauren could have started her magic shop to keep an eye on anyone who showed an interest in witchcraft. What better way to infiltrate than by masquerading as an ally?

  Even Gemma—

  No. That’s where I draw the line. I would know if Gemma was a Witch Hunter.

  Beside me, Veronica shifts uncomfortably. “I hate to bring this up, but what if it was your date? She’s the only new person in town, Han.”

  Anger flares hot in my veins. “I already told you, it wasn’t Morgan. She was with me when you called, and she’s not a guy. Besides, she’s not the only new person in town.” But even the new people I do know—Cal and Detective Archer—have never spent time with Veronica. How would they know to target her?

  “I’m not saying it’s definitely her, but you have to be careful. She could have an accomplice.” Veronica turns and looks out at the rest of our coven. “We can’t trust anyone. Until this Hunter is caught, every Reg is a suspect.”

  14

  WHEN WE GET HOME, my parents start the stress cycle of Who can take the day off to watch the kid? After I protest, multiple times, about being labeled a “kid,” I finally convince my parents that I’ll be fine. Dad heads into work to prepare for court, and Mom leaves for her classes after making me promise a million times to be careful.

  Once I’m alone, though, my bravado fades. The Witch Hunters are back, and not back in a general, out-there-in-the-world sense, but here. In Salem.

  I spend the morning in a cocoon of blankets, hiding from the reality of it all. I write and delete at least twenty texts to Veronica. It hurts that she’s not messaging me. That she’s not reaching out. A few months ago, this kind of news would have sent me rushing into her arms. Though I don’t regret our breakup, I do miss having someone to lean on.

  Instead, I’m alone, which is the last thing I want to be right now.

  The sun climbs in the sky, and it’s a scorching day. My weather app is promising a full day of sun and an unseasonable high of eighty-five when a text comes through.

  BH: My parents are out of town. Care to collect on that pool day I owe you?

 
A smile creeps across my face, and I crawl out of my blanket cocoon. My fingers fly across the keys. This is exactly what I need. A distraction from the danger lurking around every corner. Yet before I hit send on my text, I pause. A day alone with Benton, with nothing to buffer this new weirdness between us, doesn’t sound much better than hiding at home alone.

  I exit the text and place a call instead.

  She answers on the first ring. “Hey, Han!”

  “You free today?” I ask, getting right to the point. “Benton invited me over. We’re going swimming.”

  Gemma squeals, which I take as a yes. “Are you kidding? Benton in a swimsuit? Sign me up.”

  “He’s a person, you know,” I say, a teasing note in my voice, “not just a set of six-pack abs.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Pick me up in an hour,” she says. I send Benton a thumbs-up emoji, change into my bathing suit, throw shorts and a tee over top, and head out the door after shooting my parents a quick text, complete with It’ll probably be safer to be around Regs while you’re at work! since Mom doesn’t like changing plans last minute.

  Almost exactly an hour after my call to Gem, I pull into Benton’s driveway. Gemma lets out an appreciative sigh when his house comes into view. The place is so massive the word house doesn’t do it justice. Mansion or estate might be a better fit. There’s even a cursive metal sign that reads HALL over the tastefully furnished wraparound porch.

  “Every time I see this house, it looks bigger.” Gem sticks her head out her open window to take in the sheer size of the place. “He’s so down to earth, you’d never guess his family was this loaded.”

  We park and climb out of the car. “The only thing about him that screams money is his car,” I agree, and bound up the marble steps. The front door is hand-carved mahogany, complete with an ornate brass knocker. I don’t use it though, reaching for the doorbell instead. Deep chimes resonate throughout the house.

  There’s a series of metal clicks, and then the door swings open. Benton stands on the other side, clad in navy blue swim trunks and a white tank top. The smile painted on his face falters, just a bit, when he spots Gem.

  “I invited Gemma to join us,” I say, aiming for a blend of confidence and apology that won’t offend him or hurt her. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course. The more the merrier. Come in.” Benton recovers quickly and holds open the door, leading us inside.

  The house feels like a museum, with art covering all the walls, but there’s something homey about it. Despite the Hall family only moving to Salem three years ago, it feels like they’ve been in this place for generations. A series of six-foot oil paintings of middle-aged adults hangs along the staircase. At the top is an enlarged copy of Benton’s senior portrait.

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs, running my fingers along the beautifully carved railing. The few times Benton has hosted parties, we haven’t been allowed in the main house. He keeps us sequestered to the pool house out back, which comes complete with two bathrooms and a fully stocked kitchen. “What, no oil painting for you? Is this your family line?”

  Benton clears his throat, and when I turn to look at him, his face is tinged with pink. “Yup, five generations. I won’t sit for the oil painting until the family decides I’ve made a ‘significant mark on the world.’” He puts air quotes around that last phrase.

  “Well, then. No pressure or anything,” I tease, yet I can’t help but wonder what kind of expectations his parents put on him. I think they’re both surgeons, something medical anyway. The last I heard, Benton was going to study bio in Boston, but I remember all the times he talked about majoring in graphic design and marketing. Did he decide to go the premed route, or did his parents force him?

  I’m about to ask when Gemma calls from the other room. “What’s all this?”

  We follow her voice into the hallway, where dozens of trophies are displayed behind a glass case. The pink in Benton’s cheeks turns a deep scarlet. “My mom insists on putting them here. They’re from martial arts tournaments. I have another one coming up soon.”

  “Can you show us some moves?” Gem twirls a curl around her finger, easing into full-on flirt mode. I guess that crush from freshman year never completely died.

  “You want to spar?” Benton asks, dubious, raising a single brow at Gem. She parts her lips to respond, but before she can, he scoops her up and drapes her over one shoulder. Her startled laugh fills the room.

  I follow them through the house and out back. The sun is bright, stealing my view of my friends for a moment. I shield my eyes, and sweat prickles immediately along my back. It won’t take long for it to slick down my spine.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Gemma shrieks as Benton nears the pool. “My phone!”

  Benton sets Gem on her feet. He backs away and strips off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby lounge chair. I have to hide a laugh when Gemma freezes, her gaze tracking each of Benton’s now-shirtless movements.

  He gives her a curious look, completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on her. “Did you want to put your phone someplace safe?”

  “Right.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge the image of him and sets her phone on a table. I join her, dropping my bag there and pulling out my sketchbook. “Do you think he noticed?” she whispers to me.

  “Noticed what? You staring? Definitely. Does he realize what that means?” I glance back at Benton, who flashes me a smile and dives into the pool. He surfaces and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “He seems pretty clueless on that front.”

  Gem slips the sundress over her head and plops it on the table over her phone. “Damn. I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

  I laugh, but for her sake and mine, I hope he catches on. They’d be cute together. Plus, if Benton gets involved with Gemma, maybe he’ll stop being so weird around me. I slip out of my shorts and tank and settle into a lounge chair with my sketchbook and pencil.

  “Not coming in, Hannah?” Benton asks, resting his forearms on the edge of the pool.

  “I will. After the sun fries me to a crisp.” I glance at him, noticing the soft pull at his brow. The sparkle of water in his hair. “Actually, could you stay right there? Don’t move.” I flip to a fresh page, past the now-irrelevant drawings from the scrying I did with Veronica, and sketch furiously, trying to capture the look in his eyes before it disappears.

  Gemma dives in and swims up to Benton’s side, laying her arms next to his. She traces her fingers along the edges of the triangle tattoo at his wrist, whispering something in his ear. He smiles, glances at me, and then whispers something back to Gem, making her laugh. Luckily, I’ve already finished his expression, so the new conspiratorial glint in his eye doesn’t ruin my sketch. Gem pokes Benton in the shoulder, and he climbs out of the pool, dripping all over the patio.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done.” I shield my sketch from his dripping limbs as he comes to stand over me. “You’re blocking my sun.”

  “Yeah?” He’s trying to keep a serious expression, but his lips keep curving up. “What are you going to do about it?”

  I start to respond, but a second set of wet hands grabs my sketchbook and yanks it from my grip. Benton lifts me out of the chair like I’m made of air and tosses me in the pool.

  My shrieks are cut off by the splash as I go under, and the warm water welcomes my presence. Magic flares to life inside me, the water’s essence cradling around me, more reassuring than even the blanket fort this morning. In here, I feel safe. Worries of the Hunter melt away. I wish I could stay under for hours, leaving the stress of the past few weeks on dry land.

  A hand finds mine and tugs. I open my eyes, the chlorine stinging, and see Gemma. I shoot out of the water and wipe my hair from my face.

  “Oh, thank god,” Gemma says, wrapping me in a hug while our legs kick to keep us afloat. “Why didn’t you come up? I thought you hit your head and
were going to drown.”

  “I’m fine, Gem. I know how to swim.” I roll my eyes at her. “Serves you right for tossing me in though.” I splash her and swim away, careful to actually swim and not use my magic to move through the crystal-clear water.

  The three of us stay in the pool until our limbs ache, our fingers prune, and our stomachs growl. Benton orders pizza and extra spicy wings, and we stretch out on the couches in the pool house, swapping stories. After checking with me for the all clear, Benton tells Gem about our investigation into the fire at Nolan’s house and the brick that flew through my window.

  At first, she’s upset we didn’t include her from the start, but soon she’s coming up with motives for every one of our classmates. While Gem spins an elaborate conspiracy theory that has the entire soccer team out to overthrow their captain, Benton makes a trip into his house to grab his yearbook.

  “I’ve been working on the note,” he says when he returns, dropping the YOU’RE NEXT message on the table between us. It’s full of creases, like Benton has folded and unfolded it hundreds of times in the last couple days. “I couldn’t find any fingerprints, so I’ve been trying to match the handwriting to someone from my yearbook.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Gemma gets up from her spot beside me and sits next to Benton on the loveseat. She watches as he flips through to tabbed pages in his yearbook. “Do you have any solid leads?”

  “A couple, though none of them are perfect.” He flips to the first of a few tabs. “The handwriting looks a little like Veronica’s,” he says, shooting me an apologetic look, “though I’m guessing we still don’t think she’s the culprit?”

  I shake my head. “Definitely not.” Besides, she has plenty of ways to hurt me without throwing a brick through my window.

  “Okay, moving on.” Benton flips to the next tab. “Cameron and Taylor both have similar writing, here.” He points to a hastily scrawled Have a great summer! on the left page and a It was so great knowing you!!! ♥ on the right.