These Witches Don't Burn

by Isabel Sterling

  My dad would still be alive.

  As the Hall mansion comes into view, my hands clench around the steering wheel. There will be nothing left when I’m done. I throw the car in park and lean across the seat, digging through Dad’s glove box for the matches he kept there. I clutch them tight in my fist and hurry out of the car. The earth trembles the moment my foot touches grass, the air whipping around me. Every element reaches for my power. I stow the matches in my pocket, keeping the fire close but unlit.

  I won’t let the house burn until I know for sure Veronica isn’t inside.

  As I approach, the mansion seems to grow taller, more threatening, but its size won’t keep me out. It won’t scare me away. I bound up the marble steps and rest my hands across the mahogany wood of the front door. My magic itches, presses, wants me to burn my way through the entrance, but instead of the matches in my pocket, I reach for a different element.

  The wooden door trembles beneath my fingers, then CRACKS. It pulls away from its hinges and falls forward into the foyer. I’m greeting by vaulted ceilings and silence.

  “Benton!” My voice echoes back at me, over and over. No one responds.

  Air whips through the house, searching for signs of life. Nothing. No one. A frustrated scream tears from my lips. Every window shatters, shooting glass onto the lawn. I hope it ruins his pool.

  The stairs catch my eye, those damn six-foot oil paintings mocking me. Generations of Witch Hunters line the steps. How many of us have they killed over the years? How are we just finding out about them now? At the top of the stairs, Benton’s senior portrait completes the line.

  I tap my pocket, the matches there a temptation. Once I find Veronica and make sure she’s safe, I’m going to burn this whole place to the ground, starting with Benton’s portrait.

  Hannah . . .

  Mom’s voice is at my ear, inside my head.

  Hannah, where are you?

  Gemma must have called. Told her I went after Veronica.

  Dammit, Hannah, answer—

  I tug on the air, and it swirls around me, blocking out whatever message Mom has sent. I am not giving up, not when I’m so close. I’ll figure out where Benton took Veronica, and then we’ll see how he handles his life burning down around him.

  Once I’m upstairs, it doesn’t take long to find Benton’s room. I hate it immediately. A king-sized bed sits centered against the far wall, and there’s still room for a huge desk, sofa, TV, and gaming corner, with plenty more room to move around. The far wall is a testament to his privileged life, full of trophies and medals like the ones he feigned embarrassment over the last time I was here.

  I knock the whole thing down with a burst of air—delighting in the sound of snapping metal as the trophies break—and search the rest of the room for clues, anything that will tell me where he took Veronica. Where he plans to kill her. I swallow hard at the thought, overturning his bed and spilling his shelves onto the floor.

  My magic flares as my frustration grows. Picture frames rattle against the walls until they fall, shattered glass shining like diamonds on the carpet.

  There are two doors in the bedroom, both closed. I check the first, a bathroom. The Halls definitely use a maid service because there’s no way any teenager keeps their bathroom that immaculate. The glass door of the shower shines like crystal.

  The urge to throw something against the glass, to shatter it everywhere, rises up in my chest. I hate that Benton has all this when he’s the reason my home was destroyed. When he’s the reason my father is gone and I have nothing of his to hold. Not a single keepsake. Everything he ever touched is ash.

  Magic swirls in my chest, begging me to light a match. To release the element that really knows how to rage.

  “Hannah? What are you doing here?”

  Magic and adrenaline flood my system. My hands tremble. Air swirls through the bathroom, tugging at my clothes, and I reach for the matches in my pocket.

  The click-click-click of Benton cocking a gun sends chills down my spine. He must have returned after my initial check of the house. “I really wish you wouldn’t.” He sounds almost sad. “Why couldn’t you leave it alone?”

  I turn to face the Hunter, and he’s closer than I expected, the gun just a few inches from my face. “What, like you left my family alone?” I flex my hands, drawing a pocket of denser air into my palm.

  Benton steps closer, the gun pressing flush against my forehead. “I can shoot faster than you can conjure.”

  I let the pocket of air drop away. “Where’s Veronica? What did you do to her?”

  “She’s alive, for now.” His hand shakes, but from cold or fear, I can’t tell. “I really wish you hadn’t come. I didn’t want to kill you.”

  “You had no problem killing my father.”

  “Hannah—”

  My phone rings, loud and obnoxious, and we both flinch. The gun drops. Just an inch.

  But it’s enough.

  I shove into Benton with all my weight. We fall to the floor, the phone and gun skidding in opposite directions. The house shakes beneath us, trembling as I reach for every element I can touch. Pipes burst in the bathroom. Wind separates us, pushing me near my ringing phone. I answer.

  “It’s Benton. He’s trying to—” A scream cuts off my words as Benton grabs the back of my head and pulls me upright, away from the phone. “You don’t have to do this, Benton. You don’t have to kill us.” I try to shout, but the words come out breathy and weak as he wraps a hand around my throat.

  “Yes. I do.”

  He grips the barrel of his gun, lifts it above my head, and swings.

  27

  EVERY INCH OF ME hurts when I wake. It starts with my head—Benton must have hit me—but the ache spreads all the way down to my toes. Like I’ve been thrown down a flight of stairs.

  Maybe I have been.

  My eyelids struggle open, and the light sends a fresh wave of pain through my head. When my eyes adjust to the brightness, I realize I’m surrounded by rich black leather, cramped and shoved into the tiny backseat of a two-door sports car.

  With Veronica.

  I try to call her name, but I can’t. Duct tape covers my mouth, the discomfort masked by all the other pain in my body. But though I can’t form the words, my voice hums in my throat.

  Benton glances in the rearview mirror, and there’s a glint to his eyes that I’ve never seen before. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

  The tape over my mouth muffles the fuck you, asshole, but even as I glare at Benton, panic rises, threatening to drown out all my training.

  Where is he taking us?

  What is he going to do?

  Why didn’t he just shoot us?

  At least my hands are bound in front of me. I rip off the tape, cursing at the pain. My eyes sting, but even as I taste blood on my lips, I try to focus. “Veronica? Veronica, wake up.” I reach out and feel for her breath. It’s there. Faint, but there.

  I inhale deep, trying to draw courage from the air, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

  “She’s not going to wake up.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t trust the guy trying to kill us.” I lean forward and search under the seats, looking for something—anything—that might be helpful. If I can untie my hands, I can at least get an air message to my mom.

  Benton flashes me a look I can’t read. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from the girl who broke into my house.” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea how much a door like that costs?”

  “Screw you.” I reach for my magic and I find . . . nothing. The swirl of power in my chest is there, I can feel it, but I can’t access it. Can’t try my grandmother’s advice to steal the breath from Benton’s lungs until he passes out cold.

  Benton must see the tense concentration, the panic, the worry, because he
smiles. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it? To be completely human for once.”

  “What did you do?” My head swims as he takes another sharp turn, and I slide across the leather seat, closer to Veronica. He probably gave me a concussion with the blow from the gun, but that’s not enough to block my magic. “What did you do to me?”

  “It’s an old family recipe, actually. We’re so close to getting it right.” Benton sighs, and there’s this hitch in his voice. “I tried so hard to keep you out of this, Hannah. I wanted to save you, but you wouldn’t leave it alone.”

  His words send a chill down my spine. The effect is sobering, but it doesn’t clear away the fog slowing my reactions. “What are you talking about?”

  Benton glances in the rearview again, his eyes shimmering. “The drug’s effects aren’t permanent yet, but soon we’ll be able to save you. Instead of killing you, we can make you human.”

  “We are human. We’ve always been human.” I try to sound reassuring, but I can’t hide the bitter rage swirling inside. “We’ve never done anything to you.”

  Veronica is still unconscious beside me, oblivious to the danger we’re in. I reach out and stroke the hair from her face, and my fingers glance across cool metal. I pull the bobby pin from her hair and hide it between my hands, my heart thudding loud in my ears. I don’t think I can angle it right to cut away the tape at my wrists, but if I could free my ankles, I’d have a chance to escape.

  “Your kind is a danger to society. We can’t take that risk.”

  I ignore Benton. Clearly, the other Hunters have him convinced he’s a hero, and I’m not going to waste precious seconds trying to undo whatever brainwashing they’ve done. Instead, I pull my knees into my chest, wincing as the movement pushes a wave of nausea through me.

  Focus. I swipe the sharp end of the bobby pin across the tape, but it’s too dull. There’s no way it’ll cut through fast enough. I shift the pin and angle it so the edge pokes through the layers of duct tape. I retract the metal and puncture the tape again and again and again, forming a jagged line of holes in my binding. I flinch each time the tape pops as the pin pokes through, but Benton doesn’t seem to notice.

  Shit. I suck in a breath when the next stab misses and goes through an existing hole, stabbing my leg. I wince as it breaks the skin, drawing Benton’s attention. “How did you figure out what we are?” I ask, desperate to distract him from what I’m doing.

  He taps his thumbs against the steering wheel and signals for his next turn. “We received word of a family of witches moving east, so we’ve been on high alert for signs of magic. I noticed Veronica first.” He glances in his mirror, like he can see her slumped against the window. “At the party in the woods. I thought it was weird how quickly the fire went out, so I set a trap for her at Nolan’s. I set a small fire outside the bedroom door to see what she’d do.”

  I can see it. Veronica opening the door to flames, dampening them without a second thought. Restarting them after she and Savannah were clear so Savannah wouldn’t notice what she’d done. “I should have let you die there.”

  Benton winces. “That’s how I found out you were a witch, too. But you were different from the others. You used your curse to help me. I wanted to return the favor. I wanted to wait, to save you. We just needed a little more time to perfect the cure.” He glowers at me. “But then after you attacked me at Veronica’s house, I knew you had to be stopped.”

  “Excuse me for not letting you kill my ex.” The bobby pin tumbles from my grip, but there are enough holes in the tape now. I shove my fingers through and get ready to tug. “And we aren’t sick. There’s nothing to cure.”

  Benton shakes his head and pulls off the road. As the wheels spin against gravel, I tug with all my strength. The tape gives way with a drawn-out riiiiip.

  I lean back and bring my knees to my chest, pushing Veronica out of the way with my bound hands.

  “What are you—”

  But Benton doesn’t finish his question. I kick my leg through the space between the front seats, catching him on the side of his head. I rear back to kick again, but he’s faster than I am. He blocks my attack and slams the car into park. I try again, my back pressed against the seat, but Benton swings open his door.

  The front seat folds forward, and Benton reaches inside, dragging Veronica out. They disappear from my line of sight, and I can only assume he’s laying her on the ground.

  The Hunter leans into the car to pull me out next, and I let him. I’m not going to make my final stand in the backseat of a car, flailing like a cornered cat. But once my feet hit solid ground, I bolt. I run as fast as my legs will carry me, heading back toward the road, hoping someone will drive by and spot me. Spot the murderer chasing after me.

  But I’m not fast enough.

  Benton tackles me from behind. I hit the dirt. Taste blood.

  And everything goes black.

  * * *

  • • •

  If I wasn’t concussed before, I am now. I roll over on my side and throw up, my insides spilling all over the ground. My mind is mushy, my vision full of shadows. Beside me, Veronica groans.

  She’s still alive. We’re still alive.

  A series of coughs wracks my body, and I heave. I’m dizzy and disoriented. Unsteady. I dig my fingers into the rich earth, reaching for its energy, trying to tap into its strength, its calm. Nothing. I’m still cut off from my magic. The realization clenches my insides, but I have nothing left to expel.

  How long until the drugs wear off?

  How long can we survive without our magic?

  I collapse onto my back. Beside me, Veronica’s eyelids flutter as she finally starts to stir. Her brows shoot up when her gaze finds mine. “Hannah? What’s happening? Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back, my voice hoarse.

  The hollow, dull clang of wood smashing against wood draws my attention. I turn to the sound, but my head swims. Despite the nausea, I force myself up until I’m sitting.

  Benton throws another piece of wood onto a large pile. It’s at least five feet across and nearly up to his waist.

  We need to get out of here.

  I try to stand, but my legs aren’t working. Fear slows the blood in my veins when I glance down. There will be no escaping. Not without our magic. Benton has bound our legs together, from ankle to knee. We’re as good as dead.

  “Veronica.” I keep my voice low so Benton won’t hear. “Veronica, can you feel the elements? Any of them?” The earth’s power sits untapped beneath me. So close yet untouchable.

  She closes her eyes and furrows her brow. She falls silent and still, and I wonder if she’s passed out again. But then her eyes flutter open, filled with tears. “No.” Her whole body quivers, her voice breaking as tears carve down her bloody face. “Hannah, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

  “We’ll find a way out of this. We’ll be fine.” I push down the terror. If only we had our magic, we could call for help. We could warn the coven.

  I glance over at Benton, and when I realize what he’s doing, my heart stops.

  Benton raises a pole into the sky, at the center of his pile of wood and kindling.

  He’s going to burn us at the stake.

  The Witch Hunter stands in front of his finished pyre, hands on hips, head tilted to one side. Like he’s making sure everything is even. Balanced. After a beat, he turns and faces the witches he spent the summer hunting.

  Veronica turns, following my gaze. “Benton?” Confusion rides high in her voice. “What are you doing?”

  I scoot back an inch, putting myself between my ex and our would-be killer. “He’s a Witch Hunter, Veronica. He’s the one who shot you.”

  “He shot me?” Veronica looks down at her arm like she’s finally understanding where the pain is coming from. “Why?” Veronica asks, breaking into sobs as B
enton slinks toward us. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Your kind shouldn’t exist.” Benton squeezes his eyes shut, like he can’t bear to look at us. “You especially, Veronica. You almost killed me that night at Nolan’s house, all because you’re poisoned with a power no human should have.”

  “We’re just as human as you are,” I snap. “Maybe more, since we’ve never killed anyone.” I don’t mention how strongly I still want to kill him, how much I want him to suffer for what he’s done. Instead, I search for power in the air, in the earth beneath me—anything—but they’re still outside my reach.

  Something I can’t name flashes across Benton’s face, but whatever it was, he shakes it away until his face is blank. Emotionless. “How many of you are there? A dozen? Two dozen? I know your sickness is hereditary, so your parents are like you. Veronica’s little brother, too.”

  Behind me, Veronica thrashes against her bindings. “Don’t you dare go near him. Or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Use your magic to ‘make me pay’?” Benton paces back and forth between us and the pyre. Tracking his movement makes my head swim. “Deny it all you want, but when push comes to shove, your kind are the monsters. You’re the things we humans fear in the dark.”

  “How is this any different?” I ask, struggling against the tape on my hands. “You pretended to be my friend and then you murdered my dad!”

  “That wasn’t me.” Color creeps into Benton’s face, and he won’t meet my gaze. “I took too long to do my job. The Order was asking questions, so my parents had to take matters into their own hands.”

  “What?” I can’t stop the tears now, and they blur Benton out of my sight. Somehow, the revelation finds new ways to hurt me. I can see it. His parents, full-fledged adult Hunters, stealing into my house and ambushing my dad.

  Behind me, Veronica shudders an inhale. “You don’t have to do this,” she says, her voice high and pleading. “You can let us go.”

  The Witch Hunter considers us, his eyes glimmering. “If I don’t kill you, the Order will. And then they’ll kill me for being too weak to do my job.” He lifts his shirt, revealing a patchwork of angry bruises all along his torso. “I thought you were going to catch me, Hannah, when you noticed the bruise along my jaw. I almost let the truth slip when you asked.”