These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  She nods. “I do. But—”

  “Please, Morgan. You have to try.” I reach for her hands, threading my fingers through hers. “We can’t let him die.”

  Morgan steals glances at my dad. “It might not work,” she whispers, though her blue eyes sparkle as her magic stirs to life.

  “Could you make it worse?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what’s the harm in trying?” I ask, not bothering to hide the tears that carve down my face. “I’m not asking for a miracle.”

  Morgan considers me for a long moment. She whispers something under her breath, but then she nods and approaches the bed. “It might not work,” she says again, as if I didn’t hear the first time.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t want to scare her off from what she’s about to do. Morgan slips the simple metal band from around her middle finger and pulls a thin pin from a groove along the ring’s inner edge. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, and when I nod, she pricks my father’s forearm.

  A single bead of red rises to the surface. Morgan swipes her finger across the blood and wipes it along her palm. After a moment, the blood soaks through her skin like it was never there at all, and Morgan places her hands in the space around Dad’s head.

  Her hands tremble, and a crease forms along her brow. The room fills with static as my father’s energy reacts to her magic. Morgan flinches, cursing under her breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t turn, doesn’t open her eyes. If anything, that crease in her brow furrows deeper. “Blood clot,” she whispers through gritted teeth.

  “Can you get it out? Or dissolve it? Or whatever it is doctors do?”

  “I think so. Just . . . don’t move.”

  I hold my breath and cross my fingers that no doctors or nurses or best friends come to the door. I’ve watched enough medical shows to know a blood clot is not a good thing.

  Several tense seconds later, Morgan pulls her hands away and stumbles back. I reach out to catch her, but she rights herself before we touch.

  “Are you okay? Will he wake up now?”

  Morgan stumbles for the chair and collapses into it. “I don’t know. He’s still in really bad shape, but I’ve done all I know how to do.” She glances up at me, breathing hard. “Now do you believe we’re not all evil?”

  “I really am sorry about that.” I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. “You were right, I never should have suspected a Blood Witch, especially when there’s a Witch Hunter in town.”

  At that, Morgan’s eyes grow wide. “There’s a Hunter? Here?” A quiver runs through her voice, a thread of fear that verges on panic. “Not again.”

  “Again?”

  Morgan nods. “Maybe you were right. Maybe this is all my fault.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My ex, Riley, the guy back in Minnesota . . .” Morgan rubs her hands across her impossibly pale face. “He’s a Hunter. He must have followed me here.”

  “You dated a Hunter?” I push my shock aside, focusing on what this news means for my coven. We finally know who’s behind all this. We finally have the upper hand. “Why is he after you?”

  Morgan looks at me like the answer is obvious. “Why else? Because I’m a Blood Witch. They hate us the most.”

  Behind me, someone gasps.

  Gemma stands in the doorway, leaning on her crutches.

  “What. The hell. Is a Blood Witch?”

  23

  “WELL?” GEMMA SWINGS INTO the room and closes the door behind her. She glances at my father’s still form and lowers her voice to a fierce whisper. “Someone better start talking.”

  Morgan sneaks a look at me. “Is Gemma . . .”

  I shake my head. “No, she’s a—”

  “So help me, Han, if you use that word again.” Gemma collapses into an empty chair across from Morgan and sets her crutches on the floor. “I take it Morgan knows about what you are?”

  “She figured it out, Gem. I swear I didn’t tell her.”

  “Wait.” Morgan holds up her hands. “You told Gemma? That’s forbidden.”

  “Uh, hello? I’m right here.” Gemma glares at us. “Stop dancing around the words. Just say it. Hannah’s an Elemental.”

  Morgan eyes widen, and she looks like she might pass out.

  Gemma lets out a smug, wordless sound. “Now, will someone please tell me what the hell a Blood Witch is? Because it sounds terrifying.”

  Morgan grimaces. “Why does everyone think we’re so creepy?”

  I shrug. “Blood grosses people out.”

  “Hannah,” Gem warns.

  “Right. Sorry.” I can’t believe I’m doing this. Again. “There are actually three Clans of witches. In addition to the Elementals and Casters I already told you about, there are also Blood Witches.” I look to Morgan, and she nods for me to continue. “Morgan’s one of them.”

  “Great,” Gemma mumbles. “Another witch. So glad I’m your token Muggle friend.”

  “Gemma.”

  “It’s fine. Forget it.” She turns to Morgan. “So, what can you do?”

  Morgan fidgets with her hands. “It’s so weird telling this to a Reg. How does she even know about you?”

  Gemma makes a face, but I focus on Morgan’s question. “It happened when the Hunter ran us off the road. I had to use my magic to get us out of the sinking car.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” Morgan looks to Gem and fusses with the ring on her finger, the one with the hidden pin. “Basically, my magic gives me better control over my body. Faster healing. Increased endurance and strength. That kind of stuff.”

  “Oh. That’s not nearly as gross as I assumed.” But then it’s like something gels in her head. “Did you say healing?”

  Morgan casts me a worried look, but she nods.

  “That’s perfect!” Gemma points to her cast-covered leg. “You can fix this. And help Hannah’s dad.” She adds that second part almost like she forgot he was in the room with us.

  “I tried to help him, but I wasn’t able to do much.” Morgan twines her fingers together and won’t look at either of us. “Healing others is a lot harder than our natural self-recovery.”

  “Oh.” Gem shifts in her seat, her gaze lingering on my dad. There’s a worry in her eyes that stabs at my heart. I have to look away when she turns her focus on me. “What about the third group, the Caster Witches? What do they do again?”

  “They’re more like your typical stereotype of a witch. Casters make potions and cast spells. That sort of thing.” I smirk at Morgan. “They tend to be very buddy-buddy with Wiccans and other pagans.”

  Gemma’s eyes grow wide. “Wait, so is Wiccan magic real, too?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s not anywhere near like what the Clans can do, but it’s real.” I think of Evan, of what happened to his father after he attempted magic he didn’t fully understand. I really hope Lauren has him on a better path.

  “Wow.” Gemma taps her fingers on the arms of the chair. “That is so cool.”

  Morgan fidgets in her seat and pulls out her phone. “I can’t believe Riley found us. I have to warn my parents.”

  “I need to update mine, too.” I reach for my phone to text my mom. “Is it okay if I tell them? About you being . . .”

  “A Blood Witch?” Morgan finishes for me, and heat flames my cheeks. I need to stop treating her Clan like it’s a curse. She nods. “Of course.”

  “Hannah.” Dad’s voice is weak, but it cuts through the room, silencing Morgan. I turn as his eyes flutter open. “Hannah, is that you?”

  “I’m here. I’m right here.” I rush to his bed and reach for his hand, careful not to pull out the IV lines attached there. “It’s going to be okay.” I glance at Morgan and hope she can see the gratitude in my
eyes.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s coming, Dad. She’ll be here soon.”

  His eyes go wide. “The Hunter. He . . .” Dad’s lips keep moving, but no sound comes out. His hand goes limp. His eyes roll back in his head. The alarms go off, screaming, piercing, shattering the calm of the room as Dad begins to shake.

  Doctors flood in, pushing us out, dragging us away. The door slams in my face.

  “Dad!” I bang on the window, but Morgan pulls me back. “Let me go! We have to get in there.”

  “Let the doctors work. They’ll help him.”

  Gemma follows us down the hall. “Do you want me to call your mom again?”

  Before I tell her that yes, yes I do want my mom, the elevator opens. Mom steps out, her phone pressed to her ear. “I don’t care what he says. I want to speak with him. Tonight.” She looks up and catches sight of us. Her phone drops from her hand and clatters against the floor. “What happened?”

  “Dad, he . . . he . . .” I dissolve into tears, and Mom crushes me in a hug, smothering me in her familiar scent of chalk and honey.

  “Mrs. Walsh?” An unfamiliar voice speaks behind me.

  Mom shifts but doesn’t let go. “Yes?”

  “We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago. We thought your husband was doing well, but we’ve hit some unforeseen complications.” The doctor, a tall white woman with curly black hair pulled into a bun, clears her throat. “We’re taking him into surgery.”

  “What happened?” Mom’s grip around me loosens and falls away. She sways on her feet, but I reach for her hand. We anchor each other. Two lost ships in a storm. “Where is he?”

  The doctor closes the file she’s holding. “We’re taking him to the OR now. I can show you to our private waiting room.”

  Mom nods and picks up her phone. She glances to Gemma and Morgan. “I appreciate you girls staying with Hannah, but I think we need some family time now.” Mom gives me a look that says our family is about to include those bound by magic, not just by blood.

  “I’ll call as soon as I know anything,” I promise.

  Gemma crushes the air out of my lungs when she hugs me. “Call me if you need a place to sleep tonight.”

  Morgan offers a small smile. “If you need anything, anything at all—”

  “I know how to find you.”

  With that, my best friend and my . . . and Morgan leave. Mom and I follow the doctor to the private waiting room, and when we’re alone, I tell her about Morgan. She’s shocked at first, jumping to some of the same conclusions I did, but when I explain that her ex is a Hunter, Mom texts a frantic update to Lady Ariana. After that, neither of us speaks for a long time. There’s nothing more to say. Mom doesn’t need to tell me the same fears that are running through my head are also in hers. Each worry is meticulously etched across her face.

  So, we wait.

  And hope the doctors are good at their jobs.

  * * *

  • • •

  Mom and I flinch whenever someone passes the doorway to our private waiting room, our personal circle of misery. The hospital staff walk by without so much as a glance inside, without the barest acknowledgment of the fear that breeds in our hearts like a festering wound.

  As the hours tick past, I come up with a plan. Once Dad is out of surgery, Morgan’s parents can heal him fully, and then this Hunter is mine. Well, ours, anyway.

  The room around me is filled with Elementals, with family bonded by magic and tragedy and fear. A family both born and chosen. My people. My community. My everything.

  The Hunter picked the wrong coven—the wrong family—to mess with.

  By the time my grandmother arrives, everyone is already here. Ellen Watson sits beside Rachel and Sarah Gillow while their parents speak in hushed tones. Mr. and Mrs. Blaise sit to my right, pushing food and drinks on me every few minutes. Veronica and her brother are here with their parents, but I don’t have the emotional energy to even acknowledge her.

  Lady Ariana stands at the center of the little room, and I’ve never seen her look more tired. Dark circles sit below her eyes, making her face look gaunt and almost hollow. Beneath her cracking composure is the same fear in my veins, fear for the loved one still in surgery.

  “Is he coming?” Mom stands, her knees popping as they straighten for the first time in hours.

  “Agent Archer is parking the car. He’ll be up shortly.” She looks past Mom and settles her unusually soft gaze on me. “I’m sorry, Hannah. You were right about our coven being in danger. I should have believed you from the moment I saw the sacrifice in the woods.”

  Her warmth is uncomfortable, especially since she was right. The sacrifice was a Reg dabbling in dangerous magic, just like she said, but I nod anyway. Even that small motion closes my throat and threatens tears. Lady Ariana shouldn’t fracture like this. She’s supposed to be the one who gives us strength.

  “Has the agent—” Mom pauses when footsteps echo in the hall. She waits for the pair of nurses to pass before continuing. “Has he finished the tracking spell?”

  “Almost. They’re crafting two spells—it seems his assistant isn’t entirely convinced this Riley fellow is in Salem—but still it shouldn’t be more than a day.” Lady Ariana smooths a thin hand across her white hair, but she can’t disguise the way her fingers shake. “He will explain everything when he arrives, after he speaks with the team that took down the last Hunter.”

  This time, I do find my voice. “How many Hunters are there?”

  “Nationally?” Lady Ariana shakes her head. “The Council isn’t entirely sure.”

  I use the chair’s arms to shove myself to my feet. “And what about locally? How many Hunters are in Salem? In Massachusetts?” When Lady Ariana doesn’t respond, the room spins. What have we gotten ourselves into?

  “Relax, Hannah.” Mom grips my arm, her breath coming out white before her, and I finally notice the thrum of magic beneath my skin. My worry has latched on to the air, sucking out all the heat.

  “Relax? How am I supposed to relax?” But even as I say the words, the air warms. I glance over at Lady Ariana, at the power in her stance, and know she’s reclaimed ownership of the elements.

  Footsteps cut through the silence, the click of dress shoes against tile floor. We stare at the doorway, waiting for the latest doctor to move out of earshot.

  But the tall man doesn’t pass our door. Instead, Detective Archer walks in, his little notebook in hand. “Miss Walsh.” He nods in my direction.

  “You.” I storm over to Detective Archer, hands clenched into fists. Magic rising in my chest. “You were supposed to protect us. How could you let this happen?”

  “Hannah!” Mom’s horrified voice slows my rage. But only for a second.

  “No, Mom. I’m sorry, but no. This man,” I say, pointing at the detective, “wasted time following me across Salem instead of doing his job, and now Dad’s . . . He’s . . .” I can’t even finish the thought.

  “Hannah.” This time, it’s Lady Ariana who speaks my name, and it holds a power Mom’s voice doesn’t. The air around me grows thick. Heavy. It weighs on my limbs until I can’t move.

  The detective has the decency to put away his stupid notebook. “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster, Hannah, and I’m so sorry about your home and your father, but I will stop this Hunter. My assistant is working on the tracking spells as we speak. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “We’re out of time, Detective. How many of us have to lose our homes before you stop this? If this isn’t Riley, what other suspects do you have?”

  I pause, and when he doesn’t immediately respond, my anger flares. “Here, I have plenty. I’ve already given you Nolan Abbott—grade-A asshole and the right build to be Veronica’s attacker. And then there’s Savannah Clarke, the girl you first questioned me about. She threatened me at
the Cauldron this week. Have you looked into either of them yet, or were you too busy sucking face with my boss to do your job?”

  “Hannah,” Mom snaps.

  Detective Archer holds up a hand. “It’s okay, Marie. Your daughter has every right to be upset.”

  No shit.

  “I know I haven’t earned it, but I need you to trust me.” He steps forward, closing the space between us, bending forward until our eyes are level. “I did look into Nolan. So far, everything points to him being a Reg. He’ll get community service for breaking your window, and if he’s involved with the Hunters, I’ll handle him. I promise.”

  A woman clears her throat before I can respond. “Excuse me? I’m looking for the Walsh family.”

  The detective steps aside, and I catch my first glimpse of the doctor in our doorway. She’s the one from the waiting room, Dr. Perez. She looks disheveled now. Exhausted. Younger than I remember.

  Mom takes a tentative step forward. “How is he?”

  Dr. Perez grips the file in front of her like a shield. “We did everything we could.”

  We did everything . . . The room quivers around me. Detective Archer grabs my arm, and I realize I’m the one who’s shaking. “No.” I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t happening. It’s not real. “No. He’s in recovery. He’s fine.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Dr. Perez approaches my mother and presses a small metal band into the palm of her hand. “I thought you might want this.”

  Mom uncurls her fingers and crumples when she sees what’s inside, a sob catching in her throat. I catch a flash of gold before she clutches it to her chest, and my universe shatters when I realize what it is.

  Dad’s wedding ring.

  My knees hit the ground. My lungs won’t inflate. I can’t breathe.

  There’s movement around me. Voices. Then shoes walking away. The flutter of a white jacket. Hands on my back. My shoulders. My arms. Tugging. Pulling. Pressing. I suffocate inside someone’s hug.

  And the world ceases to exist.

  24

  I WAKE IN A bed that isn’t mine. My chest is tight, my eyes itchy and dry, but I have no memory of how I got here. The ground shifts beneath me as I turn. An air mattress. On the bed beside me I catch a glimpse of blonde hair and the edge of a pink cast.