These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  Gemma.

  And then it all comes rushing back.

  My chest burns and my eyes fill and I’m doubled over and I can’t breathe.

  Dad’s gone.

  “Hannah?” Gemma’s bed creaks and the air mattress dips with her weight. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head and grip her hand. “No.” The word carves up my throat and scrapes over my tongue.

  Gemma wraps her arms around me and holds me while I break into a million pieces. She shivers as my magic steals all warmth from the room, but I can’t feel the cold. I can’t see anything beyond the endless loop of my mother’s broken expression.

  Puffs of white air tell me Gemma’s speaking. Saying she’s sorry and that it’ll all be okay. But I don’t hear the words. The doctor’s voice drowns out everything else. We did everything we could.

  Everything we could.

  Everything.

  None of it seems real. Yet it’s the only thing that’s real.

  I don’t know how much time passes there on the air mattress—days, weeks, years—but eventually, I let Gemma drag me downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. Her parents try to talk to me, but I can’t even look at them. I want my mom. My grandma. But they’re both with Detective Archer, making sure they stop the Hunter, making sure I’m not next.

  Gemma’s parents leave for work, and I force myself to keep moving. I shower, the water masking my tears, but then I’m left standing in Gem’s room with a towel and no clothes. Because my house is gone, too. I have nothing. I am nothing.

  Mrs. Goodwin washed last night’s outfit, but I don’t want to wear it. The blood may be invisible, but it’s there. Dripping off every thread.

  Dad’s gone.

  I can’t do this. I can’t wear the same clothes I wore when he left us. “Gemma.” My voice comes out rough and crackly from disuse. “I can’t.”

  “Okay,” she says, as if anything will ever be okay again. “I’ll find something else. We’ll get you dressed.” She digs through her closet and comes up with a handful of items I’ve forgotten here over the past couple years.

  I settle into an old pair of my jeans and the I’m so gay I can’t even think straight T-shirt Veronica got me for Christmas, the one Gemma saved the day we purged my room down to a single box of keepsakes. The same keepsakes I burned last week.

  Not that it matters. Everything is gone now.

  Gem deposits me on the couch and brings me a mug of hot cocoa. I’m only halfway through the cup when Morgan comes over. She and Gemma speak in hushed tones and then settle on either side of me. They steal glances at me like I’m about to fall apart, burst at the seams, and maybe they’re not wrong. Maybe I am about to lose it.

  Something buzzes in my pocket. I pull out my phone, but it won’t stop shaking. There’s text after text after text of I’m so sorry and I heard about your dad and I’m thinking of you.

  “Please take this.” I shove the phone away, and Gemma grabs it up. “I can’t . . .”

  “It’s fine. I got it. I’ll let you know if anything important comes through.” She sets the phone on her other side, safely out of reach. Out of sight.

  “I know there’s nothing we can say to make this better.” Morgan reaches for my hand and squeezes tight. “But if there’s anything you need to talk about or anything we can do, we’re here for you. We’ve got your back.”

  I nod, but there’s nothing they can do to give me what I want. They can't bring back my dad. No magic is that strong.

  The room falls silent for a long time. I stare at the floor, where the carpet’s stained a little red. Wine. Blood. It makes little difference. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the gears begin to turn inside my head. They tick, tick, tick until an idea burns away the fog. “Anything?”

  Morgan nods. “Of course.”

  “Anything,” Gemma agrees.

  I exhale a shaky breath. “I want to find the Hunter.”

  I want to kill him.

  “Hannah.” Morgan pulls her hand away. I’d forgotten it was there. “Hunters are dangerous. And unbelievably hard to trace. We should let the Council handle this.”

  “They had their chance. They failed.” Energy builds inside me until my knees are bouncing and I can’t sit a second longer. I stand and pace the living room, air swirling around me. Morgan stares, something strange flickering across her face. I turn to Gemma. She wants to be part of this. She can be swayed. “Please, Gem. I need this. I need to do something.”

  Gemma looks between me and Morgan, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

  “Gemma, please.” My voice breaks, and I don’t even have to fake it.

  “Fine.” My best friend sighs. “I’m in. But if we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right.”

  “Of course.” Whatever it takes to get her to agree. I’m going to stop this Hunter. Make him wish he never set foot in Salem. “Morgan?”

  “You’re sure about this?” Morgan waits for my answer, and I only nod. My blood is boiling, my magic itching under my skin. “Well, I’m certainly not letting you do it alone. Count me in.”

  Gemma looks between us. “So where do we start? Hannah said the Hunters were supposed to be wiped out. How are they back?”

  I see the masked Hunter in my head. Hear the stories Lady Ariana told. My magic burns like acid, desperate for a way out. The house trembles as the earth beneath us shakes.

  “Maybe you should sit down.” Morgan reaches for me, but I back away. I can’t stop moving. If I stop, I’ll break. I’ll shatter like glass.

  Eventually, Morgan sighs and looks at Gem. “I’m not entirely sure. We thought the Council took out the last group of Hunters back in—what? The sixties? They must have gone underground. I don’t know what brought them back out of hiding, but something obviously has.”

  Gemma shifts and grabs a pillow, shoving it under her broken leg. “So, what? They’re out there tracking down witches? How many people have they killed?” Her words pierce my armor, and I suck in a breath. “Sorry, Han.”

  I nod, but tears prickle at my eyes. I push down, down, down on the feeling. Bury it deep. My arms shake. The pictures on the walls rattle.

  “Hannah, you have to stop.” Morgan’s up a second later, blocking my path. She places her hands on my face, leans her forehead to mine. “You have to breathe.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then let me help you.” She slips off her ring and reaches for the small pin. “Can I?” There’s a pulse of fear at her suggestion, but I trust her. When I nod, she pricks my finger and gently wipes the blood away.

  A numbing sensation washes through me, and I manage my first deep breath since the fire, tears slipping down my face.

  “We don’t have to do this,” she whispers, her power humming through my veins. “We don’t have to talk about him.”

  I don’t know which him she’s referring to, but my heart rate slows. A shuddering breath fills my lungs. The house stops shaking.

  Somehow, I find my voice. “I need this. We have to stop him.” I have to stop him. I let Morgan bring me back to the couch, and the cushions swallow me up. Once my friends help me find the Hunter, I’ll take him down myself. I won’t put anyone else in his crosshairs.

  “How do we identify the Hunter?” Gemma asks.

  “That’s the tricky part. It’s basically impossible to tell.” Morgan rubs the back of her neck with one hand. “Hannah already knows this, but I accidentally dated one.”

  “What?” Gemma asks, her voice pitched high with shock.

  Morgan nods. “Hunters are hard to find but not impossible. The biggest giveaway is how they insinuate themselves into the witch’s life. They have to make sure their target is a witch before they . . . do what they do.”

  Before they kill. That’s what she won’t say. I hate this. Hate the Hunters. Hate the questions tha
t fill my brain to bursting. How close did Morgan come to dying? How did she manage to escape when my dad couldn’t? Why him and not her?

  “Wait, so your ex tried to kill you?” Gemma asks.

  “Yeah. I had a rough junior year.” She clasps her hands together and won’t look at either of us. “Riley was the sweetest guy at first. When his parents went out of town one weekend, we decided to cook dinner together instead of going out. I slipped and sliced my finger.”

  She holds up her thumb, but it looks perfect. Unblemished. “I tried to play it off, but he noticed the cut. And then noticed how quickly it disappeared. If he were a normal Reg, it might have been fine. But Hunters spend their entire lives training to spot witches. He knew what I was the second he saw my healed thumb. It was . . . not good.”

  “Damn, that really sucks,” Gemma says. “Do you think Riley followed you to Salem?”

  “That’s what I thought, but Detective Archer called my parents last night. Riley isn’t here.” Morgan pulls her knees to her chest. “My family has the worst luck, picking two towns with Hunters in them.”

  A bitterness coats my tongue. Her dad isn’t the one lying in a morgue. Mine is. But before I can say anything, before I can utter something I’ll regret, a different voice worms its way inside my head.

  Help!

  Veronica.

  Hannah, please. Hurry!

  Panic destroys whatever was left of the calm Morgan magicked over me. This time, the advanced air magic shouts loud in my head, Veronica’s message coming in crystal clear. He’s here!

  I’m off the couch a second later, searching my pockets for my phone. I spot it by Gemma and lunge for it, dialing her number by memory. It rings and rings and then picks up. Static greets me on the other end. Followed by a crash and something shattering.

  “Veronica! What’s happening? Where are you?” Worry slithers up my throat. Not again. Not again.

  A door slams. “He’s back, Han. The Hunter. He’s back.”

  “Where are you?” My power surges. The ground rumbles. “Veronica!”

  Veronica shouts. In the distance, there’s another scream, high and terrified. “I’m home. He’s got a—”

  Gunfire rings out.

  And the line goes dead.

  25

  “I HAVE TO GO.”

  “What happened?” Gemma asks at the same time Morgan says, “I’m going with you.”

  “Absolutely not.” I can’t lose anyone else. I rush out of the living room and throw on my shoes. “Call the police and ask for Detective Archer. Tell him the Hunter’s at Veronica’s house. Gemma, call my mom. I’m going after him.”

  “You’re what?” Morgan chases after me and blocks my path to the door. “You can’t go after a Hunter alone. It’s not safe!”

  “Get out of my way.” Power ripples across my skin. “Now.”

  Morgan holds her ground. “Take me with you. I can help.”

  “Move.” I grab hold of the air’s energy. The wind picks up, pulling at Morgan’s hair. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Hannah . . .”

  She doesn’t get a chance to finish. I tug on the air’s current, pushing Morgan away from the door and shoving her into the living room. I’m through the door a second later, slamming it closed behind me. Outside, the earth hums beneath my feet. I turn and urge the bushes to grow around the door handle, blocking them inside.

  And then I’m gone. My heart lurches as I jump inside Dad’s car, but I force the emotions away and slam the key into the ignition. I race to Veronica’s house, trying to send air messages as I go. Veronica doesn’t respond, and worries scream through my head on an endless loop.

  Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead.

  As Veronica’s house comes into view, I’m surprised to find it smoke-free. The house looks empty. Untouched. I don’t hear any sirens in the distance, but I’m sure Morgan has them on their way.

  Guilt tries to rise up, tries to drown me in panic, but I push it down. I push everything down until there’s only vengeance. Only power.

  I park and leap from my car. Lady Ariana must have pulled the protection detail from Veronica’s house now that her binding tattoo has worn off. I don’t see anyone I know parked on the street.

  Worry flames the embers of my magic, and it hurts too much to keep it locked beneath my skin. So I let it out, let my power tug at the air and shake the earth as I race up the steps. All my worst fears have already come to pass. Why should I care about the rules?

  The front door is unlocked, and I slip inside. Every sense is on high alert, yet there’s nothing but echoes in the house. Echoes of power. Echoes of fear. The air reacts around me, dancing with my hair, swirling around my skin. If the Hunter is here, I’m ready.

  I check the first floor. Each room is vacant but clearly disturbed. Chairs knocked onto the ground. Picture frames shattered, glass sparkling on the carpet. Dirty footprints that lead upstairs.

  Air swirls tighter, curling into my hands, ready to attack the Hunter if he leaps out of one of the bedrooms. My feet lead me to Veronica’s room, pulled by the gravity of all the time I’ve spent inside, of all the memories.

  There’s a bullet hole in her doorframe. The door itself is smashed inward, hanging on broken hinges.

  I force my magic away when I see what’s inside.

  “Savannah.” I rush into the room, sidestepping a pool of blood that I refuse to look at. She’s tied to Veronica’s desk chair, a gag in her mouth. “Are you okay?”

  Her reply is muffled, and tears stream down her face. I reach for the gag first, untying one of Veronica’s scarves. She gasps when her mouth is clear. “He took her. He took Veronica.”

  “Was she alive?” I reach for the knots tying Savannah to the chair. “Who did this to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Savannah winces when her broken arm, still in its cast, is freed. “He shot her. In the arm I think. She was still conscious after, but then he hit her with the butt of the gun. I didn’t see his face.”

  Sirens wail in the distance. “It’s going to be okay, Savannah. The police are on their way.” I kneel before her and work at the ropes holding her legs. “Do you remember anything else? Did you hear a voice? See hair color? Anything?”

  She shakes her head. “He was wearing all black. A mask and gloves and everything.”

  “There must be something. Even if it’s small.” Come on, come on. Before the police get here. I grip her arms, squeezing tight. “Anything else? Please, try to remember.”

  Savannah shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You have to save her. We’re supposed to go to college together in the fall. And I . . .”

  “You what?” I snap, losing patience when she trails off.

  “I’m in love with her.” A sob catches in her throat. “I’ve been in love with her since we were freshmen. You have to get her back. Please.”

  “Then help me. There has to be something else.” I kneel in front of her. “Give me something, Savannah. Veronica’s life depends on it.”

  That, at least, gets Savannah to nod. To close her eyes. While she thinks, I pace the room, stealing glances out the window. Police cars race down the street toward us. We’re running out of time.

  “Wait. There is something.”

  Finally. “What?”

  “He must be in college. He had a fraternity tattoo.” Savannah traces one finger across the inside of her right wrist. “When he picked up Veronica, his sleeve lifted enough to show it.”

  “What was it? What did it look like?” I sneak a look out the window. The first car screeches to a halt across the street. “Can you describe it?”

  Savannah nods. “It was a triangle. It looked like a delta.”

  My heart stops cold. “What?”

  “Delta, the Greek letter.”

  It
can’t be. “Are you sure?” A memory surfaces, and it turns my stomach. It’s delta. The symbol for change. It’s the only thing in life you can really count on.

  Savannah glares at me, looking more like her usual self. Or, at least, the only side of her I ever had a chance to know. With her feelings for Veronica, I probably only saw the harshest parts of her personality, not the real girl underneath. “Of course I’m sure. My mom was a Delta Sigma Theta. I’d recognize that symbol anywhere.”

  I’m out the door a second later.

  “Where are you going?” she calls, but I’m already halfway down the stairs. “Hannah!”

  I pause at the sliding glass door, boarded up from the last time I was here. “He’s not in a fraternity. It was Benton Hall.”

  “Benton? Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to save her.”

  26

  BENTON’S THE WITCH HUNTER.

  I speed through town, a single certainty pulsing through my veins.

  Benton Hall killed my father.

  Through the haze, I hear my phone ringing on and on. I don’t bother checking the screen to see who it is. I won’t let anyone talk me out of this.

  It’s time for Benton to burn.

  Somewhere in the back on my mind, all the pieces fit together. Benton befriending me in art class, joking and laughing and creating all year. Then it’s summer and he’s asking me out, keeping me close.

  He’s the one who attacked Veronica. He’s the one who ran me off the road and broke Gemma’s leg. The one who destroyed my home. Tried to destroy Nolan’s—

  I slam my foot on the brake as I reach the turn and fly around the corner.

  Benton’s the one who set the fire at Nolan’s house. He must have gotten trapped on the second floor when Veronica added her power to the flames. I can’t believe I played detective with him while he plotted to kill my family. I should have left him to die at Nolan’s house. If I had, none of this would have happened.