I am so done with this.
Veronica has hurt me too many times. She doesn’t get to be part of my life anymore. I want a total annihilation of her presence. Wind whips around me as I head for the door, left unlocked in my parents’ haste to get to me last night. Leaves rattle in the trees above me. The earth rumbles. The whole world trembles in the presence of my rage. But my magic cries out for more. Cries out for fire.
My fingers tingle with need. All it’ll take is a spark, the tiniest ignition, and I can burn away every memory of the girl who broke my heart. I’m inside a second later, the door slamming shut behind me from a gust of wind. I know the punishment from Mom will be swift on my heels, but I can’t stop. I race up the stairs and burst into my room. The air around me grows aggressive, tearing at my clothes, ripping at my room. The stack of sketches flies off my desk and sticks against the far wall. Picture frames shake against their hooks.
But it’s not enough.
I tear into the closet. Dig through the discarded shirts on the floor and grab the shoe box where Gemma hid all my Veronica keepsakes. I dump the box on the floor in the middle of my room and pick through trinkets from a year of dating. Movie ticket stubs. Strips of photo booth pictures taken at the mall. Notes passed discreetly at coven meetings. It’s all going to burn.
Back at my closet, I search underneath my small altar to the Sister Goddesses, tossing aside used candles and heavy crystals until I find the half-used book of matches. I return to the pile of memories, pluck a single match from its root, and strike.
The power is instant, rippling across my skin, sending shivers of desire across my flesh. I separate the fire and hold it in my hands. The heat grows, looking for something to consume.
I pick up the first picture in the pile. Our last trip to the mall before Veronica made her move and kissed me. Just days before I knew I was anything other than straight. I let the flame lick across the back of the photo, and then I push, burning a hole that consumes Veronica’s smug face.
The front of the photo bubbles up and spits an acrid smoke into the air. The smell almost makes me gag. I grab the small garbage can from beside my desk and drag it to the middle of the room, letting the bits of charred photograph drop into the metal can instead of my floor. The fire jumps and dances, destroying every last bit of the picture then licking across my palm, like a dog looking for a second treat.
Every picture burns to ash. Every letter. Everything she ever touched. I’d burn the memories right out of my brain if I could. What else? There must be something else. I turn and scan the room. There! The stupid self-portrait I used to love. She can’t call me broken after this.
I lunge for the frame, careful to keep the flames from catching on my wall.
“Hannah?” Mom slips into my room, a horrified look on her face. “Honey, don’t destroy that.” She eases the frame from my hand, and with a wave of her palm, extinguishes every bit of fire in the room.
Anger still burns inside, and I want to snatch the picture back. I want to tear it into a thousand pieces. But I don’t. I can’t afford to make this worse.
Mom surprises me. Instead of the reprimand I’m expecting, she sets the picture gently against my desk and sits on my bed. She pats the spot beside her. “Talk to me, Hannah. What happened?”
Cautious, I sit beside my mom, still half-worried a binding ring is in my future. “I found Veronica—” My words die in my throat, choked by a surge of emotion that comes out of nowhere. I burst into tears and bury my face in my hands.
Mom rubs little circles on my back, the way she used to when I wasn’t feeling well as a kid. She waits patiently, letting me cry snotty tears into her shoulder. I try to explain, but through the hiccupping sobs I don’t get out much more than: “Found her . . . sleeping . . . with Savannah . . .”
Somehow, Mom manages to understand. “I’m so sorry, baby. It’s hard when the people we loved move on without us.”
I swipe the tears away with soot-covered hands, and I’m sure I have smudges all over my face from burning Veronica’s pictures. “It’s not just that. Veronica gave me so much shit for going on a date with this girl, Morgan. That’s the reason she left the night she was supposed to stay here. She acted so upset, but the whole time she was having sex with Savannah anyway!”
Mom cringes, and I wonder if it’s sympathy or simply the sheer awkwardness that is listening to your daughter talk about her ex-girlfriend’s sex life. She pulls away and considers me. “Wait. What date? Who’s Morgan?”
Ugh. This whole being terrible at lying thing is getting really old. “It was nothing, Mom. She’s in Gemma’s dance class.”
“And she’s a Reg?” Mom asks, even though she knows the answer. “Is this the girl from that party?”
“Mom,” I groan. “You’re supposed to be helping me feel better, not giving me the third degree about the girl I have a crush on.”
“Right. We can talk about that later,” she says, which isn’t ideal but at least gives me time to come up with a good story about why I lied about the extra shift at the Cauldron. “How can I help? Does ice cream still heal all Veronica-shaped wounds?”
Warmth fills my chest. “It certainly won’t hurt.”
* * *
• • •
I’m on lockdown for three days. My parents keep me home from work, and there’s always someone in the house with me. Mom or Dad. My grandmother or another coven adult. Between the protection detail on Veronica’s house and the extra company at mine, the coven is stretched thin.
At least my parents replace my lost phone, giving me some contact to the outside world. The first text I get is from Veronica, though, and seeing her number pop up makes me want to throw the new phone against the wall. I almost do, until I also get a text from Morgan. Gemma must have told her about the accident, and Morgan offers to come over and keep me company.
I decline, more than a little reluctantly, blaming the constant surveillance from my parents. We spend the days apart live-texting each other as we binge-watch cooking shows from our separate houses, salivating over the culinary masterpieces. Morgan asks to watch my baking skills in action, which gives me an idea for the date I’m planning—the one we’ll go on as soon as I get out of this damn house.
Finally, on the fourth day after the accident, my parents lift quarantine. We’re only going to Lady Ariana’s house, but it’s better than nothing. Our usual Tuesday lesson has been canceled, replaced by a full-coven meeting. Mom’s hopeful there will be updates about the Hunter, but Dad isn’t so sure. More than anything, he’s glad Lady Ariana has agreed to let Detective Archer teach us some Council-approved self-defense.
Trees whiz by my window, the sun still bright in the sky. I hate the winter months, when the sun disappears before we’ve eaten dinner. I’m not sure how I feel about seeing Detective Archer again. I worry he’ll take one look at me and know about the other texts I’ve been avoiding the past few days.
Texts from Gemma, counting down the seconds until she gets out of the hospital, until she can ask questions I’m not allowed to answer. I’ve been simultaneously strategizing for this conversation and convincing myself it’ll never happen, but I’m running out of time. She could be released any day now.
Mom pulls the car into Lady Ariana’s driveway, parking behind Sarah and Rachel’s black hatchback. Veronica’s car is parked along the street, on the other side of the driveway. I suppress a groan. She’s the last person I want to see right now. I’ve glanced at her texts the past few days, but since not one of them contained an apology or any concern about my well-being, I’ve ignored them.
“Hannah? Is everything okay?” Dad pokes his head back in the car. I hadn’t realized he and Mom already got out. “We don’t want to be late.”
“I’m fine. I’m coming.” I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out. My body is still achy, though the worst of the soreness is finally gone.
<
br /> My family rounds the corner to the backyard, and the scene is more familiar than the hushed gathering in the early hours of last week. Around the safety of the coven, the children have removed their binding charms. They chase each other across the wide expanse of the yard, laughing and throwing balls of water—held together by their fledgling magic—like Reg children might toss water balloons. Veronica’s brother, Gabe, is back from his grandparents’ house, and he’s currently trying to use his earth magic to trip his cousin Sullivan.
Veronica, for now, is nowhere to be seen.
At the altar, I let my parents stop first, and they add their power to the trio of candles that represent the Sister Goddesses. When I’m alone, I do the same, my fingers lingering over the center flame. The Middle Sister’s flame.
I wish you were still here. A deep longing swells up inside me, so suddenly it nearly knocks me off balance. What must it be like, to pray to a god you believe can hear you, a god who could answer your prayers if only you tried hard enough?
Because of the Blood Witches, we’ve never had that option.
After the Eldest Sister created Caster Witches and the Middle Sister made Elementals, the youngest of the Three Sister Goddesses grew jealous. Unable to create witches of her own, she stole into the Mother Goddess’s garden and pricked her finger on a rose, sacrificing her own magic to create the Blood Witches.
The Youngest Sister’s crimes should have cost her immortality, but the Mother Goddess took pity on her, the favorite of her daughters. Instead, she banished the Sister Goddesses, forbidding them from interfering with the affairs of Earth’s mortals ever again.
“Can I talk to you?”
Veronica’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts, and I flinch. “No.” I stalk away from the altar, losing what little calm the short ritual had provided. Instead, my head is full of images I want to carve out of my mind. No one should have to see their ex with someone else, not like that. Not when all you wanted was someone to tell you everything would be okay.
“Hannah, please.” Veronica chases after me, but I’m saved from responding when Lady Ariana sends a pulse of energy through the earth.
The children stop playing, and we all gather at the center of the yard. I spot Detective Archer, standing a few inches taller than anyone else, wearing his usual suit and tie. He waits a few paces behind Lady Ariana, showing her deference before the coven.
“Agent Archer and I have talked at great length about what you will learn tonight. It will be a difficult lesson, one that goes against the very nature of our magic. Unfortunately, we feel it is a necessary one.” Lady Ariana glances behind her, and Detective Archer steps forward. “Agent, you wanted to say a few words before we begin?”
The detective nods, but he shifts on his feet and doesn’t seem to meet anyone’s gaze. “Yes, thank you.” He clears his throat. Once. Twice. The usual comfort, the confidence I’m accustomed to seeing from this man, has all but vanished. “My assistant and I are working diligently to find this Hunter. We haven’t been able to pinpoint their location yet, so it’s vital that you each know what to do if you run into one.”
To my left, Ellen Watson raises a hand but doesn’t wait for permission to speak. “Do you at least know who it is?”
“We’re investigating a few leads, yes.”
Ellen shifts her weight and glances down the line of assembled witches. “So, you don’t know then. It could be anyone in town.”
A flush of color rises on the detective’s face, though his expression remains stern. “We have strong reason to believe that a Hunter we faced a few months back has made his way to Salem.”
“But how do you—” Ellen tries again.
“That’s Council business, I’m afraid. I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters.” Detective Archer clears his throat and turns his attention away from Ellen. “As for protection, your best bet against a Hunter is to fly under the radar. If they don’t see your magic in action, they’ll have no idea you’re part of the Clans.”
It’s a little late for that.
Instinctively, I glance down the line at Veronica. That particular ship has already sailed for both of us, though I’m still not sure how the Hunter first learned of her. The magic she used at the bonfire was subtle. Who could have noticed?
“I know magic can be a little more . . .” Archer pauses, searching for the right word. “Instinctual for Elementals. Historically, the smallest bits of your magic have been acceptable in public. That will no longer be the case. A single slip can put an entire family in danger. The Hunters know our gifts are hereditary.”
At that, a murmur goes through the assembled witches. Parents clutch their youngest children close. A sick feeling coils in my stomach, heavy with dread. I don’t know why I never considered it, not once in all the times I’ve stressed about the Hunter knowing about me. He knows about my parents, too.
“As such,” Archer continues, “your high priestess has agreed to temporarily extend the age through which a binding charm is required. Until the Hunter is caught, all witches under seventeen will wear the ring.”
The Nevins twins, who turned sixteen back in April, try to protest, but their parents hush them before they get out more than a single indignant sound. Detective Archer continues his advice, all of which is completely useless to my family. We’re already known to the Hunter. We’re already a target.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t bother looking. It’s probably Gemma, with an updated countdown on when I’ll have to break another of Detective Archer’s rules. With a Hunter threat this immediate, a threat I never thought I’d face in my lifetime, it’s more dangerous than ever for a Reg to know the truth. But I can’t risk Gemma’s life. I can’t give her to the Council.
Detective Archer turns the meeting over to Lady Ariana, and though I didn’t think it was possible, the night gets even worse. The magic she and Archer want us to wield goes against everything Elemental magic is supposed to be.
Instead of working along the natural currents of energy, they want us stealing air from lungs and finding threads of water energy inside blood in order to freeze it. The magic is supposed to be near invisible to onlookers, and the pain it causes will give us a chance to run for help, but it feels too close to Blood Magic for comfort. We’re paired up to practice the techniques on vials of blood and old-fashioned fireplace bellows, but I don’t have the stomach for it. For any of this.
Especially after we’re paired off by age, which matches me with Veronica.
I gingerly accept a small vial of blood from Lady Ariana and follow Veronica to the side of the yard. She sets the fireplace bellows on the ground and turns to me. “Whenever you’re ready. My binding tattoo hasn’t worn off yet.”
My phone buzzes against my leg again, and this time, with the adults busy elsewhere, I pull it out. “I’m not freezing blood. That’s disgusting.” I set the vial beside the bellows and wipe my fingers against my jeans, even though my skin only touched the glass. “Besides, it’s too late for us. The Hunter already knows who we are. There’s no point trying to be subtle. This magic is a waste of time.” Not to mention the stuff of nightmares.
Veronica rolls her eyes at me. “The subtlety isn’t for the Hunters. It’s to make sure we have a defense if we’re attacked in front of Regs. The last thing we need is further exposure.”
Heat burns my cheeks, but I’m not about to admit she’s right. Instead, I check my phone and find two messages waiting for me. One is from Gemma, no surprise there, but the other is from Cal. He must have gotten my number from Lauren. Maybe he needs to swap a shift.
“Oh, so your phone is working then.” Veronica’s voice is sharp, edged like a knife.
I glance up before I can read Cal’s message. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been ignoring my texts since Saturday. Savannah is freaking out.”
“
Forgive me for not giving a shit about your new girlfriend,” I snap. “I’ve been a little busy. You know, recovering from nearly drowning.”
Veronica sighs, and it’s like all the fight in her deflates. Her entire posture shifts, but I don’t trust the change. She’s played this card before. “I’m sorry, Han. I never meant for you to see us, but Savannah isn’t out yet. You can’t say anything. She won’t even talk to any of our other friends. She’s convinced her parents are going to find out.”
“And what? You thought I’d tell them?” Anger boils up inside me, and I don’t care if the entire coven overhears us. “I would never do that, and fuck you for thinking I would.” A few heads turn our way, but I don’t back down. “And it’s nice to know you’re capable of saying sorry. Even if it’s only when you want something from me.”
“Hannah—”
“Did it even occur to you that Savannah might be one of the Witch Hunters?” I ask. The shock on Veronica’s face, the quick denial that rises to her lips, stokes the embers of my rage. “She knows where you live. She’s been cozying up to you ever since the bonfire, and Lady Ariana said the Hunters would try to get close to us. I bet she saw you dampen the fire at Nolan’s party. I bet that’s when you screwed over the entire coven. All because you think you’re too damn good for the rules.”
Veronica doesn’t say anything. She purses her lips and lets tears slip down her cheeks, but I won’t be swayed by her hurt. She brought this on us. It’s her fault I almost died. Her fault Gemma knows about what we can do. Her fault everything is falling apart around me.
I turn away and check my phone again. The text from Gemma is exactly what I expected, an announcement that she’s leaving the hospital and demanding I come over to explain. Guilt twists in my stomach. It may be Veronica’s fault this conversation has to happen, but I’m about to break coven rules, too. I text my best friend back, promising to come over as soon as my family thing is over.
These Witches Don't Burn Page 19
