Gripping the delicate box harder than I should, I weave my way across the room to the energetic baby dancers. Their cheeks are flushed with an excitement that cuts through even the thickest coats of makeup. Halfway there, I catch sight of Morgan, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
Unlike all the other dancers in the room, Morgan’s hair falls in waves past her shoulders. The jeans sitting snug on her hips mold to her curves, and the plain green tee looks comfy and well worn compared to the sparkling new outfits around her. Her face is free of makeup, and it makes her look real, almost vulnerable, amid dozens of dancers who wear blush like armor. She must have moved to Salem too late in the rehearsal season to perform in the recital.
Morgan glances up and catches me staring from the center of the room. Dancers and parents brush past me, but I’m an unmovable boulder stuck in a river’s mighty current. Morgan raises one brow in a silent question. I lift my offering higher, into her line of sight.
The beginnings of a smile light her face, but then someone clears their throat. Loudly.
“All right, people.” The director of the dance studio stands in the doorway, surveying the chaos. “People!” When no one responds, she claps her hands in a quick rhythm. Dancers and helpers alike stop what they’re doing to repeat the pattern. Silence falls over the crowd. “Right then. Let’s get this show on the road. Level five, you’re up first. Level two is on deck. Parents, let’s get our tap dancers waiting in the wings. Everyone else, I want you in the audience. Move out!”
Noise swells as dancers check their reflections in mirrors one last time and hurry out of the room. I lose Morgan in the rush for the door; the box falls to my side, the contents jostling. So much for Gem’s master plan. I turn to leave.
“Is that for me?”
Morgan’s voice washes over me like the mist off a waterfall. Gentle yet inescapable.
I pause, my feet rooting to the earth. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and wish I had done something more than a messy bun this morning. “Yeah.” With a final breath to steady my nerves, I face the near-empty room. “There’s a card, too.”
“What’s in there?” She approaches cautiously, and I hold up the box for her. With gentle, sure fingers, she unties the bow and reaches for the card. “Did you make this?”
Heat burns my cheeks, but I nod. “I thought that might last longer than real flowers.”
Morgan traces a finger along the edge of the card I painted for her last night. The front is a scene of wildflowers, done in watercolors. I may have cheated slightly, using my magic to shift the colors around the paper just so. Inside, I painted the background in overlapping splotches of pink, purple, and blue and used a calligraphy set I got last year for my birthday to write in my fanciest script I’m Sorry.
“This is beautiful,” she says, her words breathy. Then she tilts her head to one side, holding the card at arm’s length. “Was the color choice intentional? It looks like the—”
“Bi pride flag?” I finish. “Yeah. The whole thing is an apology for bailing on our date, but I’m also sorry for assuming you couldn’t be out and date a guy.”
She nods and falls quiet, tracing her fingers along the edge of the card. Finally, she gives herself a small nod. “What’s in the box?”
“Remember the first night we met? You asked me to bake for you.” I lift the lid, revealing my favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies. “I figured now was as good a time as any.”
Morgan smiles wide and takes the top cookie out of the box. “You really didn’t have to go all out. A text would have been fine.” She takes a bite and her entire body shudders with delight. “Not that I’m complaining. These are delicious.”
Her approval warms me from the inside out as she finishes the cookie. “I’m glad you like them. I swear I’m not usually that flaky.”
“I get it.” Morgan takes the box from me, carefully securing the lid. “It’s okay if you’re not over your ex. I shouldn’t have rushed you into something new.”
“But I am. I swear. I’m totally over Veronica.”
“Really, Hannah. It’s okay. You don’t need to make up excuses. If you want to be friends, I understand.”
My heart sinks, falls straight to my feet, and plummets into the earth. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.” She traces the top of the pastry box instead of looking at me. “The cookies and the card are great, really, they are. But when I’m with someone, I want to land the part of girlfriend, not understudy for an ex.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it? She called you nonstop until you picked up. And when you did, you immediately ran out to be with her.” Morgan crosses her arms. “What am I supposed to think?”
That same lock of hair falls free again, and I shove it back into place. I didn’t want to bring this up, but I won’t let Veronica ruin this for me. “There was an intruder in her house.”
“What?” Morgan looks up, concern tightening her voice. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.” I interlock my fingers and flatten my hands on top of my head. “We think he was there to rob the house and didn’t realize Veronica was home. She startled him when she came out of the bathroom.”
Morgan lets out a long sigh. “Wow. I’m sorry.” She taps her fingers along the top of the box. “I feel like a terrible person.”
“You didn’t know.”
Morgan looks up and meets my eye, holding my gaze with a challenge in her own. “So, you’re really over her then? She’s not your leading lady anymore?”
A flicker of hope burns inside me. “That spot is currently wide open.”
Morgan blushes, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Second perhaps to the way she bites her lip when she tries to hide her smile. “Good to know.”
All my earlier nerves fall away. “Does that mean I get a do-over? I owe you a much better first-date experience.”
Morgan considers me. She taps her chin and stares up at the ceiling in mock consideration. “Hmm . . . I don’t really believe in do-overs.” She pauses long enough to let my heart ricochet around in my chest. Long enough for me to panic. “But you can take me out on a second date.”
I have to restrain myself from breaking out into my horribly embarrassing happy dance. “You won’t regret it. I promise.” I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I could give her a proper tour of Salem and show her all my favorite spots. “I just have one more question.”
Morgan inches closer until we’re sharing the same air, the same breath. “Ask me anything.” Her words whisper across my skin, full of promise.
A wave of uncertainty crashes over me, but I meet Morgan’s gaze and find my courage. “Can I kiss you?”
Morgan wraps her arms around my neck, the edge of the pastry box poking into my back, but I don’t even care. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She leans forward, and I pull her close, pressing my forehead to hers. The air tingles with power between us, sending shivers across my skin. I wait until I can’t handle the anticipation a second longer.
When our lips touch, everything else fades away. All the worry. All the fear. Her lips are soft and warm against mine. She tastes like berry lip balm and second chances and endless possibilities.
I never want this moment to end.
* * *
• • •
Morgan and I spend the rest of dress rehearsal in the back row of the theater. She provides commentary for the pieces, explaining the difference between contemporary and modern styles of dance and detailing the long routine of preparing pointe shoes.
I try to hold on to all the things she says, every last word, but when she kisses me again, language loses its meaning. Around hour two, I gather up the courage to hold her hand during a particularly moving piece by the modern group. Or maybe contemporary. They look
so similar, and I’ve already forgotten the difference.
As rehearsal winds down, Morgan disappears to help out backstage and in the dressing rooms. She plants a kiss on my cheek before she goes, leaving me a blushing mess in my seat.
Gemma plops down next to me a few minutes later. She’s replaced her costume with old jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt. “Morgan seems in good spirits.”
“I think it’s safe to say she forgives me. She liked the cookies.” She did, however, request a text next time something comes up, so she’s not left worrying. She said she spent almost two days trying to figure out what she had said or done to send me running away without a word.
A niggling bit of guilt still gnaws at my insides over that.
Gemma nudges me with her shoulder. “You gotta give me more than that. This was my master plan, after all.”
I lean back and stare up at the rafters of the auditorium. One of the lights flickers like it’s about to die, fading in and out like a lightning bug. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Gem.”
“Since when? I swear, I know more about your sex life than my own sometimes.”
That gets a laugh, which I hasten to cover when a parent shoots a stern look my way. “This thing with Morgan . . . It’s too new. I’m not ready to jinx it by blabbing.” I stand and stretch my limbs. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Morgan, saying her dad’s there to pick her up and we’ll talk soon. “Are you ready to go?” We’re at a recital hall in Beverly, and I promised to drive Gem home after.
Gemma reaches out a hand, and I help her to her feet. Her movements are as fluid as ever, but there’s a cautiousness to her steps. She’s clearly exhausted from rehearsal. We exit the theater together, night falling like a blanket to snuff out the light, and Gem has me walk her through every second of my apology. When I pull onto the main road, I have to flip my rearview mirror to keep the bright lights of other cars out of my eyes.
“So, what’s the plan for your second date?” Gemma reaches for the lever and leans her seat back, sighing as she stretches out her long limbs. “Will you go the dinner-and-a-movie route? Ooh, or maybe you could take her to the psychic fair coming into town next week.”
“I haven’t really decided yet,” I say, knowing there’s zero chance I’ll take Morgan to a psychic. I won’t even let Lauren read my tarot. I turn onto the Essex Bridge to take us back into Salem. “What about you and Benton? How’re your plans for a summer fling going?”
Gemma groans. “Terrible. The boy’s hot, but damn is he dense.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I mean, he’s clearly an intelligent human being, but he hasn’t picked up a single one of my hints.” Gem turns to look at me, and a shot of guilt punctures my heart. “He’s infuriating.”
“That sucks, Gemma. I’m sorry.” Behind me, someone turns on their brights, burning my eyes despite the adjusted rearview mirror. “I feel like that’s partially my fault. Apparently, Benton forgot I was gay and developed a bit of a crush on me.”
“How do you forget someone’s gay?”
“That’s a great quest—”
Someone slams into us from behind. The seat belt digs into my chest as I jolt forward. I look in the mirror, but whoever it was isn’t behind us anymore. “Are you all right?” I ask, my hands shaky on the wheel.
“Look out!”
A large SUV pulls up alongside us, the windows tinted too dark to see the driver inside. They swerve, smashing into the side of our car. We slam into the concrete-and-metal guardrail lining the bridge. Gemma’s door caves in, and she screams, a bone-chilling sound that wraps around the base of my spine. Her window implodes, and there’s a screech of tires. The SUV backs up, crossing two lanes of traffic, then jerks forward, gathering speed and slamming into us again.
They’re going to crush us. They’re going to kill us.
I reach for the bits of earth energy in the concrete barrier. I push with every ounce of my adrenaline-fueled magic.
Break. Please break.
At first there’s nothing but Gemma’s screams and the prickles of pain along my skin and the revving of the SUV’s engine in my ears.
And then finally, an explosion of dust and debris as the concrete barrier gives way. Our car rushes through the gap and plummets into the frigid water below.
16
A SHOCK OF PAIN slams against my chest as the car lands in the river. Water pours through the broken window, the cold numbing my feet, my calves, my thighs. Gemma’s screams fill my head, leaving room for only one other thought.
I don’t want to die.
Magic surges beneath my skin, and I don’t care if this sends me to the Council. I don’t care if I lose my power. I’m not ready to die. I’m not ready to lose my best friend, especially not to a Witch Hunter. I reach a hand across the front seat and press against the broken window with my magic. The water moves fast, too fast, and I can’t get a grip on its energy. Panic rises with the waves, the frigid water reaching my belly button, then my ribs.
“Hannah,” Gemma says, her screams turning into sobs. “I don’t want to die.”
“I know,” I say, pushing harder and finally, finally finding a hold in the river’s power. “Just stay calm.” I push with all my strength and the water stops rushing in through the window, rolling over the broken glass and continuing along the length of the car as we sink farther and farther beneath the surface.
Gemma leans away from the scene of my magic. “What’s happening? How—” She turns to me, eyes wide, cheeks streaked with tears and mascara. “Is that you? How are you doing that?”
“You’re hallucinating,” I lie. “From the shock.” I stare through my unbroken window, looking for a way out of this that protects my secret. I can’t raise the car out of the water. I don’t have that kind of power, and even if I did, there would be too many witnesses. The magic would be too obvious.
I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the lever under my seat, pushing my chair as far back as it will go. We’ll have to swim. Or at least make it look like we’re swimming. I should have enough strength to pull us to the surface and back to shore.
If we can get out of this sinking car.
“What are you doing?” Gemma asks, her arms trembling from cold and fear and adrenaline.
“I’m making sure we don’t drown.” I reach into the water and unbuckle her seat belt. “Can you get out through your window?”
Gem tries to pull herself up, but she cries out and falls back, squeezing her eyes shut. “It hurts. Holy fuck it hurts.”
“Where?” I reach my hands into the water, trying to feel for what might be wrong.
“My leg.” Her hands disappear under the water. For a moment, she’s silent. Then the tears start again. “It’s trapped by the door.” Sobs choke her, and she reaches for my arm. “What if it’s broken? What if I can’t dance?”
My panic rises to meet hers, and a thin stream of water breaks through my barrier. I force the worry away and throw more magic at the shattered window. I have to keep out as much of the water as I can until I have a plan. “Look at me, Gemma. Look. We’re going to get out of this. I need you to hold as still as you can, okay?”
She nods, and I close my eyes, slipping my awareness into the water that’s already past my elbows and halfway to my shoulders. The thread of magic slides along her legs, and my stomach clenches when I touch exposed bone. Jagged metal has torn through skin and muscle. I force my attention on the broken door, on the thin stream of water separating it from Gemma’s body, and then I push.
Her screams pierce the small, cramped space between us, but the water’s pressure bows the door back out, freeing her leg. The water turns pink. Then red.
“No, no, no, no.” That’s too much blood. Way too much blood. Gemma’s eyes go glassy. Her words slur as she tries to speak, and then her head lolls back against the headrest. We have to
go. We have to get back to the surface.
I can’t climb over Gem without hurting her more, so I reach for the handle and shove my shoulder into the door. The pressure of the water rushing past keeps it closed. I scream, shoving harder and pushing the water inside the car against the metal, forcing it open. The entire door rips off at the hinges, floating away on the current. Water rushes into the car, faster than before, but it doesn’t matter now. We have to go.
“Come on, Gem.” I thread my arms under hers. “Deep breath.” I inhale a lungful of air and tug us out of the car and into the current.
The water buffets us up and down, spinning us until it’s hard to tell which way is up. Only the car’s descent helps me find my bearings. I pull on my magic one more time, begging the water to carry us to the surface. Pain floods my body, screaming through bone and flesh and blood, but my magic obeys.
We burst above the waves, and I gasp for air, shivering and crying and afraid my toes are going to fall off from the cold. I pull one of Gemma’s arms over my shoulders, and her head knocks against mine.
She’s not breathing.
I swim toward the first land I see, the last of my magic pushing us swiftly toward civilization. Over the clinging scent of the water, I catch a whiff of fries and seafood as I pull Gemma onto the rocky shore. I can only hope the Hunter who pushed us off the bridge didn’t wait around to see if we survived.
“Somebody help!” I scream, pulling Gem higher onto the rocks. Blood slides down her leg, coating the wet stones. “Please!” My vision swims, and I collapse against the rocks, knocking my elbow. The pain finally dislodging the tears I’ve been holding back.
There’s a rush of movement. Strong arms lift Gemma and carry her up the incline. Hands help me to my feet and deposit me in a chair as a man lays Gemma flat on her back and listens for breath. I try to tell him she’s not breathing, that she hasn’t been, but before I can get a word in, he’s pinching her nose and blowing into her mouth.
“Hannah?” A familiar voice calls over the growing noise around me. A figure darts forward out of the growing crowd.
These Witches Don't Burn Page 17
