These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  I glance up. Lauren. With Detective Archer on her heels.

  Fear forces energy into my limbs. I shoot out of my chair, backing away. “It was you.” My mind races to keep up. They’re the Hunters. Both of them. They have to be. Why else would they be here, lying in wait to see if their plan worked? To see if they managed to kill me.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong?” Lauren reaches for me, but I pull away.

  I turn to run, but my wet shoes squeak against the ground. They slip. I fall.

  The last thing I remember is Lauren and Archer standing above me.

  17

  WHEN I WAKE, MY head feels stuffed with clouds and every inch of me hurts so much I’m afraid to move. Mom sits in a chair beside me, a book propped open on her lap. Machines beep in time with my heart. I glance down. Someone removed my clothes and put me in one of those flimsy hospital gowns. An IV needle is attached to the back of my hand, a second one in the crook of my arm.

  “Hannah?” Mom sets her book on the little nightstand between us and comes to sit at the edge of my bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and try to focus my muddled brain. I wiggle my toes and force myself to sit upright in the bed. My muscles strain, stiff with overuse, but I think I’m still in one piece. “Okay, I guess. What happened? What day is it?” Bright sunlight filters in through the curtains.

  A crease of worry appears on Mom’s forehead. “You were in a car accident last night. Don’t you remember?”

  Memories burst forth, Mom’s words like dynamite in a dam. I took Gemma to rehearsal so I could apologize to Morgan. Heat rushes to my face. We stole kisses at the back of the theater. But then there’s the bright headlights and the giant SUV. The crunch of metal and the freezing cold water spilling through Gemma’s window.

  Gemma.

  The machines around me race in time with my frantic heart. “Is she okay? What happened to her?”

  “Gemma will be all right.” Mom brushes my hair from my face and rests a hand on my shoulder. “She’s resting. She was in surgery most of the night for her leg.”

  Her screams fill my head. Her fear. The blood staining the water as we sank. Tears pool in my eyes until my mom is a blur of color. “It was the Hunter,” I whisper, my words coming out shaky and raw. “He ran us off the road. They did. The detective and Lauren. I saw them.”

  “Your boss?”

  “She was there, Mom. Her and the detective. They found us at that restaurant. It has to be them.” They must have doubled back after they shoved us over the bridge to make sure their job was complete.

  Mom shakes her head. “Lauren’s the one who called to let us know what happened. She and the detective were on a date. They were ordering dinner when your car went over the bridge.” She shudders, and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “It wasn’t them.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not them, Hannah. We will find the Hunter, I promise. Your father is at the police station right now, making sure we get answers and keeping the coven off their radar.” She kisses my forehead and stands up from the bed. “There is something I need to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gemma,” Mom says, her eyes searching mine. “Does she know?”

  The stupid heart rate monitor marks the fear quickening my pulse. No one can know what Gemma saw, what I had to do in front of her. “She doesn’t know anything. She lost consciousness when we hit the water.”

  Mom lets out a deep sigh. “Good. Okay. That’s one less problem to worry about.”

  Guilt digs its jagged talons into my chest, working between my ribs. She was hurt because of me. And if anyone finds out what she knows, it’ll only get worse. Instinctively, I reach for my phone so I can text her, only to remember that it’s with my car, at the bottom of the river. “Can I see her?”

  “Sure.” Mom calls for a doctor to get me examined and approved for discharge. I’m told to get plenty of rest. My parents brought fresh clothes with them to the hospital, and I’m beyond grateful to slip into clean yoga pants and an extra-soft T-shirt.

  Before we can leave for Gemma’s room, there’s a sharp knock on my door. Mom opens it, and Detective Archer steps through. He’s wearing a slim-fitted black suit today, a far cry from the casual jeans and polo he was wearing last night with Lauren.

  I reach for my mom’s hand, pulling her close. “I don’t want to speak with him.”

  “Hannah, we talked about this,” she whispers. “It wasn’t the detective.”

  “How do you know? He could have an accomplice.”

  Mom sighs and looks to Detective Archer. He nods. “Go ahead, Marie. You can tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” I step away from my mother. “Why does he know your name?”

  “Hannah, Detective Archer is an agent with the Council.” Mom’s words rattle around in my brain like rocks spun in a can. “Your grandmother met with him and his assistant last night.”

  “But he’s . . .” My words wander off, and I piece together every interaction I’ve had with the detective since he arrived at the bonfire in the woods. His interest in signs of witchcraft. His interrogation after the fire at Nolan’s house. Was he searching for proof of an out-of-control Elemental? Was he investigating me? “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry for the deception, Miss Walsh.” Detective Archer—who’s really Agent Archer—takes out the little notebook from his inside pocket. “What can you tell me about the accident last night?”

  I shake my head, trying to place Archer’s Clan. He’s not an Elemental. I would have noticed his power right away. The Council always has at least one Blood Witch among their ranks, sometimes two. Could that be him? Did he draw those runes to flush out the Hunters? Does Blood Magic even work that way?

  Detective Archer looks up from his notebook. “I’m a Caster.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t—”

  “You were. Now please, Miss Walsh, last night?” He taps his pen on his notebook.

  Annoyance flares inside me, but I force it down. This man is an agent for the Council. One wrong step and he could recommend that the Elders take my magic. So I tell my story, making sure to emphasize that Gemma saw nothing. That she’s completely innocent in all this, a victim the same as me. More even, since she was hurt because of my affiliation with the Clans, something she knows nothing about.

  What I don’t say, despite it being heavy in my mind, is that this is his fault.

  The Council is supposed to protect us from Witch Hunters. Where was Archer when that SUV ran me off the road? Where was he when a Hunter attacked Veronica in her home? Was he too busy making heart eyes at my boss to do his job?

  “Can I see Gemma now?” I ask, directing the question at my mom. I’m anxious to see her, to see if she remembers what happened, and my stomach is growling. I don’t know how many meals I’ve missed. Two at least, maybe three.

  Detective Archer nods, like the question was meant for him. “Of course. I have to question her anyway.”

  “Can I have a few minutes alone with her?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as guilty as I feel. “She’s my best friend.”

  He looks to Mom, who nods. “You can have five minutes, but then I will need to question her and see what she remembers about the crash.” Though he doesn’t specify, I know exactly what kind of memory he’s searching for.

  I follow the detective through the hospital, trying my best to keep my face neutral. Despite the soreness in my body and the onslaught of worries in my head, I keep pace with the Council’s agent. He stops when we round a corner and gestures down the hall. “She’s in room 408. I’ll wait here. Five minutes, Miss Walsh.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my words high and squeaky. Nervous sweat coats my palms as I inch down the hallway. Through the open door, I spot Gemma’s parents, and my fear grows toxic. Mrs. Goodwin looks like she could
be Gem’s older sister. They share the same face, if separated by three decades of experience and stress. She sits on the edge of Gemma’s bed, much like my mom did with me. Gemma’s leg is wrapped in a bright-pink cast and suspended above the bed by cloth slings.

  My heart lurches in my chest. She’s alive. Mom said she was fine, but seeing her awake and sitting up with her parents sends tears rushing to my eyes.

  Mr. Goodwin stands beside the bed. Where Mrs. Goodwin is grace and poise, her husband is solid and earthy. He’s a burly man, clad in flannel and the thick hipster glasses he’s had since forever. Well before hipster was a thing. He runs a hand over his beard, a nervous gesture I’ve seen before. He glances to the hallway.

  And spots me.

  His gaze goes hard, and I knock on the open doorframe. “Hey.” The rest of my words dry up. How am I going to explain this to her parents? They’ve spent the last year afraid I would turn their daughter into a lesbian. Instead, the witch in me has landed her in the hospital.

  “Hannah!” Gemma reaches for me, her eyes spilling over with tears. “You’re okay. No one would tell me anything.”

  I step forward to embrace my best friend, but Mrs. Goodwin blocks my path. “I thought I told the nurses we didn’t want any visitors.”

  “Mom,” Gemma snaps, but the blow has already landed. I fall back a step, bracing an arm on the door.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll go.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Gemma says at the same time her mom says, “Good.”

  Gem glares at her mother. “Hannah saved my life last night. You can’t just throw her out of my room. I’d be dead right now without her.”

  “I’m your mother,” Mrs. Goodwin replies, voice so stern it makes me want to disappear. “I have every right to send away the girl who put you in danger in the first place.”

  “Oh my god, Mom. Stop it. I told you, someone hit us. It wasn’t Hannah’s fault.”

  “She’s a bad influence on you. Always has been. I told you to stay away from her.”

  “That’s bullshit, Mom, and you know it.”

  “Language, Gemma,” Mrs. Goodwin snaps. She stands from the bed and rests her hands on her hips. “This is exactly the kind of thing I don’t want you picking up from her.”

  “Are you sure?” Gemma’s voice is deceptively sweet. “Or are you worried I’ll catch her gayness?” The whole room goes dead. Silent. Frozen. “You used to love Hannah,” Gemma continues, her voice soft. “And things have been weird since she came out. I went along with your new rules, because I thought you needed time to adjust. But you’re not adjusting. You’re getting worse.”

  “Gemma . . .” Mrs. Goodwin says, but she doesn’t seem to have any direction for her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Mom, but you need to get over yourself. Hannah’s my best friend. I love her like a sister, and I’m not letting you push her away. Especially not right after she saved my life.”

  A strange feeling warms my chest. Relief, I think. I didn’t realize Gemma noticed all the ways her parents have treated me differently over the past year. I didn’t know how much I needed her to stand up for me like this.

  But the relief doesn’t last. Despite what she thinks, I am the reason she’s hurt. My magic is the reason her leg is suspended in the air and her face is pale and mottled with bruises.

  Mr. Goodwin reaches for his wife’s arm. “Let’s give the girls a moment alone.” He steers her out of the room, and she lets him.

  As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Gemma’s piercing gaze turns on me. “What the hell happened last night?” she snaps, her tone still sharp from her fight with her mother.

  “I wish I knew.” I sit on the edge of her bed and reach for her hand. “My dad thinks it might have been a drunk driver.”

  “Bullshit.” Gemma hurls the word at me like a weapon. “That wreck was intentional. And then you . . .” She struggles to continue, and a sick feeling squirms in my stomach. “How did you do that?” Her tone tells me she remembers. Everything.

  Which means I am so fucked.

  Someone knocks on the door. Panicked, I blurt out, “Don’t say anything. To anyone. We’ll talk soon.”

  “But—”

  “How are you feeling, Miss Goodwin?” Detective Archer steps into the room armed with his notebook. “Ready to give your statement?”

  Gem stares at me. For a moment, I worry she’ll spill everything, but then she sighs and gives me a shallow nod. “Sure thing, Detective. Hannah, let’s talk later.” The look in her eye leaves no room to disagree.

  “Of course. As soon as you’re out of the hospital.” I thrust a thumb toward the door. “My mom’s ready to take me home.”

  I don’t wait for either of them to dismiss me. I hurry out the door, my heart threatening to burst from my body and flop onto the hospital floor.

  * * *

  • • •

  Worry picks at my brain as we drive home.

  I keep reaching for my phone to see if Gemma has texted yet, demanding answers to questions she shouldn’t know to ask, only to remember that both of our phones met a watery end. Then I stress about Detective Archer and what he knows about my transgressions this summer. If he’s guessed the things Gemma saw me do.

  And then there’s Morgan. I wonder if she messaged me. If she’s at home, cursing my name for ghosting her right after I apologized for the first time I ran out. It’s like the entire universe is conspiring to keep us apart. First, the Hunter interrupts our date by attacking Veronica, and then he runs me and Gem off the road moments after I apologize. At least I’ll be able to message and explain my silence once I get to my computer.

  Dealing with Gemma’s questions will be a whole lot harder.

  Mom turns left, and we near Veronica’s neighborhood. A thought tingles at the back of my mind. I certainly don’t trust her enough to mention what Gemma saw me do, but Veronica is the only other person who’s faced the Hunter head on. She’ll at least understand the worry picking at my mind.

  “Can we stop by Veronica’s house?”

  “I thought you wanted to get lunch? It’s after one,” Mom says without taking her eyes off the road.

  My stomach growls at the mention of food, but that can wait. “Please? I need to talk to someone about last night. Someone who’s not my parents.” I add that second part when it looks like Mom might object.

  The turn for Veronica’s street is four blocks ahead. Then three. Two. Mom sighs and makes the turn. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Han? The last time you girls were in the same room, Veronica stormed out of our house.”

  “I doubt she’ll try to make out with me this time. I smell like dead fish.”

  Mom crinkles her nose. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but yeah. You do.” She laughs, and it’s the first time she’s even smiled since I woke up in the hospital. She pulls into Veronica’s driveway and waves to Sarah Gillow, who’s serving her shift of protection detail. Mom waits in the car as I climb out.

  I nod to Sarah and hike up the three steps to Veronica’s front door, my wobbly legs protesting each stair. I knock, but no one answers.

  “Veronica?” I knock again and check the door. It’s unlocked, so I ease it open. “Veronica?” The familiar house is silent and protests my intrusion. The air is charged with an energy I can’t place.

  The main floor is empty: kitchen, dining room, and living room. Even the laundry room is vacant, though I doubt Veronica ever sets foot in there. I find myself back in the front of the house with only the second floor left to search. The unusual energy grows stronger by the stairs. Worry creeps over my skin. “Veronica?”

  Upstairs, the first two bedroom doors are open and empty. Veronica’s parents are likely at work, and her little brother is still with their grandparents. I pause before Veronica’s room. The door is only open a crack, just e
nough for the sounds of heavy breathing to reach the hallway where I stand.

  My head fills with images of Veronica lying on the floor, bleeding out from the Hunter’s second attempt on her life.

  Veronica’s voice comes through the door, broken and needy, pulling me from my thoughts. Her words lost to a gasp.

  I slam open the door. It bangs against the wall, the noise too loud, too sharp in the otherwise silent house.

  The scene before me doesn’t compute.

  Veronica gasps and reaches for the sheet, pulling it up to cover her naked body.

  Hers . . .

  And Savannah’s.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Veronica snaps at me as she adjusts her covers, her already flushed face burning scarlet.

  I stand there, staring like an absolute creep but unable to look away. To even blink.

  Savannah’s eyes fill with tears as she covers herself with the discarded blanket. “You can’t tell anyone. Please. Promise you won’t say anything.”

  Her panic shakes the numbness from my body, and I finally turn away, closing the door behind me. A deep hurt rises up from my core as I stumble down the familiar stairs, and I want to scrape the sight of them together out of my mind, burn the image away with acid.

  How could she? After giving me so much shit about a simple first date.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong? Is Veronica hurt?” Mom asks the second I slide into the front seat. “Why are you crying?”

  I wipe the moisture from my cheeks. I didn’t realize I was.

  18

  I REFUSE TO SPEAK to Mom on the ride home. Tears coat my eyes, turning our sleepy neighborhood streets into a smear of color, like paints dripping down a canvas.

  Our driveway is still empty—Dad isn’t home yet and my car will never return. Mom swings into her usual spot and shifts into park. The car jostles as it settles to a stop, and the movement breaks the dam on my eyes. Something snaps deep inside and tears spill over. I reach for the latch and practically fall out of the car as the sobs catch in my chest. Mom calls after me, but I don’t stop.