I remember that day at work, how he defended me against Nolan. I hate how grateful I felt in that moment. If only I knew then what I know now, I could have stopped him. I could have saved Dad.
“When my parents found out you’d been at our house, they gave me an ultimatum. If I ever wanted to make it as a Hunter, I needed to kill my first witch within the week. I tried to do my job on the bridge, but I didn’t see Gemma until the car was already going over the edge.” He drops his shirt, covering the bruises. “We aren’t supposed to hurt humans. The Order doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”
“We could protect you,” Veronica says, and I try to stop her. I want Benton dead, not protected by the Clans, but I can’t get my voice to work. She tries again. “If you let us go, we could protect you. I swear—”
“No one can stop the Order,” Benton snaps. “And even if you could, it doesn’t change what you are. Your abilities are an abomination.” Benton bends and leans his face close to mine. “I wanted to save you. I tried to kill Veronica first to buy you more time. I could have cured your whole family if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“Fuck you.” I spit in his face and kick up with my bound legs. My shoes catch Benton in his already injured stomach, and it takes him a moment to find his breath. I scoot back, but I only make it an inch or two before he recovers.
He picks me up by my shirt, tearing the collar, and drags me away from Veronica. I struggle with every ounce of strength I have left, digging my heels into the ground, making it as hard as possible to pull me to the pyre.
The Hunter doesn’t care. He throws me over his shoulder and carries me the rest of the way. I try to kick him, but the angle is all wrong, and I can hardly keep my eyes open.
Splinters stab at my shins, my calves, my arms as Benton throws me against the woodpile. He grabs the tape and ties me to the stake.
“Please, Benton,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t do this.”
He ignores me. When he’s finished, he drags Veronica over. She puts up even less of a fight. Only her voice rails against him, all the strength gone from her body.
When Veronica is taped to the stake behind me, our backs flush, Benton jumps down from the pyre. He steps back to examine his handiwork and picks up a red plastic can I didn’t notice before. He uncaps the top. The smell hits me a moment before the liquid covers the wood beneath my feet and splashes against my legs.
Gasoline.
“Benton, please. Don’t do this.” Veronica’s words come out choked, slurred by her tears. “You can’t kill us like this. You can’t. You have the gun. Just end it.”
But the Hunter shakes his head. “We will no longer hide our work behind accidents.” Benton sloshes the gasoline onto our legs, and I can see it. Hunters orchestrating car crashes and house fires all across the country. Taking out Clan witches without raising suspicion for fifty years. “Your deaths will be a message.”
When Benton moves out of sight, soaking the rest of the wood with gasoline, Veronica’s hand finds mine. “I’m sorry,” she says. “For everything.” She grips my hand so hard it hurts. “And I’m sorry that you saw me with Savannah. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. We just sorta . . . happened.”
I try to tell her it’s okay, that I want her and Savannah to make it work, that I’m falling for Morgan, but I can’t get the words past my lips. Everything hurts. I can barely breathe through the tears and sharp smell of gasoline. I manage to squeeze her hand, but even that’s a struggle.
“Hannah . . .” She tries again. “I don’t want to die like this.”
Dad’s voice is in my ears, reminding me I’m not a hero. That I should have left Benton in the house for someone else to save. But then Veronica’s hand tightens in mine. “We’re not going to die. Not like this,” I tell her, tugging at my tape, reaching for the elements. Pushing against whatever Benton has done to me. “It’s not over. Not yet.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Benton drops the empty can and pulls a blowtorch from the messenger bag on the ground. He lights it and finally meets my gaze. “It’s very much over.”
Then Benton Hall steps forward and sets the world on fire.
28
I’M GOING TO DIE.
Fire licks at my feet, looking for a way in, but I don’t burn. Not yet. I’m not sure how this drug works, but it must not erase our magic completely. We can't control it, but it's still there, buried somewhere inside. Not that there's much comfort in that.
The smoke is thick and toxic, choking off my lungs. Flames lick along the path of gasoline and consume the wood beneath my feet. The smoke grows denser and more toxic with every breath. Panic clears my cloudy mind, but I can’t find clean air, can’t call it to me.
Behind me, Veronica coughs and chokes. Her grip on my hand goes slack. Loosens. Drops.
“Veronica!” I can barely hear myself over the roaring fire licking at my legs. My skin may not burn, but the tape that binds me melts and my jeans catch fire. The fabric crumbles to ash around my legs. “Veronica, hold on.” My voice dies in a fit of coughing. Shadows crowd out my vision as my brain is starved of air.
Benton stands before us, but his expression is hidden in shadow. I try to yell at him, to curse him, to beg him to stop, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs to form the words. Soon, he’s barely visible through the smoke and the red-orange flames blotting out my vision. But I don’t want Benton to be the last thing I see before I die. He can’t be.
I close my eyes and imagine the future I’ll never see.
Mom is there, inside my head, grieving but never alone—surrounded always by the rest of the coven. Lady Ariana moves the families out of Salem, keeping everyone safe. Gemma goes with them, an honorary Elemental, under our protection for the rest of her life. Even though I know it’s impossible, I allow myself the dream.
Veronica shows up next. I reach for her hand, but I can’t feel anything besides the heat pressing, pressing, pressing against my skin, waiting for an opening, a way around the Elemental protection no drug can wipe away. Only death.
Shadows drag me down, and the person inside my head next is Morgan.
Her laugh. Her red hair shining in the sunlight. The way the corners of her lips crinkle when she’s trying not to smile. The moment she realized I was an Elemental and used her Blood Magic to help my dad.
Dad . . .
I hope he’s waiting for me on the other side. Hope he’s there with a laugh and a shrug and an embrace that crushes away the pain. We can watch over Mom. Make sure she’s all right. Make sure . . .
An explosion rocks the pyre beneath me. There’s a ringing in my ears. Light flashes, glowing red on the other side of my closed eyelids, and then I’m drowning. The fire below me hissing and screaming its own death.
Shouts cut over the noise, and then I’m ice. Shivering and cold. Hands grip me. Wind whips in my face, and I can feel the ground rising up to meet me. But the collision never comes.
And then the hands are back. On my face. My neck. My wrists. The pressure hurts. I want it to stop. I just want to sleep and let the afterworld take me. I want my dad.
Pressure slams into my chest. I cry out and gulp in a huge rush of clean air.
I cough, the movement shaking my whole body. Somewhere in the back of my rattled, oxygen-deprived head I realize the tape is gone. My limbs are free. My skin survived unburned.
More voices join the one beside my ear, but I can’t hang on to their words, can’t separate the jumble of vowels and consonants and sounds beyond the high-pitched wail of distant sirens.
Until, suddenly, I can.
“Open your eyes,” a woman’s voice commands. Her hands on my shoulders. Another gust of air rushes into my lungs. “Hannah. Open your eyes.”
She sounds so insistent, like she’s not used to being ignored. But I’m so tired. So bone-weary and exhausted. Why won’t she leave
me alone? I want to sleep until death comes to find me.
The ground rumbles like it’s displeased with me. The shaking jumbles my mushy brain, and I hear myself groan. “Hurts . . . Stop . . .” My tongue is heavy and thick, but the words come out.
The voice above me sighs, the only clue she’s relieved. “The police will be here soon. You must deny any knowledge of the boy’s motives.”
The boy’s what? And then I place the cold, concise voice above me. “Grandma?” I force my eyelids open, but even that hurts. Smoke stings my eyes, but I turn my head, searching. “Veronica? Is she—”
“She’s fine. You both are.” Lady Ariana, my grandmother, looks at me with more warmth than I thought she was capable of feeling, let alone showing. “You stubborn, foolish girl.” I must be imagining things, because I think she sounded proud.
Veronica’s shape comes into view. She’s lying on the ground a few feet away, her shoes burned and falling apart. But the steady rise and fall of her chest, combined with Lady Ariana’s assurances, lets me hope she’s really okay.
“How did you find us?” I glance up at my grandmother. She snaps her fingers, creating a fire all her own, and tosses it toward Benton’s pyre, reigniting the blaze. Speaking of Benton. “Where is he?”
“Agent Archer is handling the Hunter.” She practically spits the word and gestures to my other side. “He got your message and tracked the boy.”
I turn and find Detective Archer leaning over Benton. My coworker, Cal, stands behind him with a vial of green liquid in his hands, whispering something I can’t hear. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. “What’s Cal doing here?”
“He’s the agent’s assistant. He’s putting the finishing touches on a binding spell.” A murderous expression flashes through my grandmother’s eyes as she stares at Benton’s still form. “The Hunter won’t be able to share his knowledge of the Clans, no matter how hard he tries.”
Archer pours the glowing green liquid down Benton’s throat. The Hunter coughs, sputtering awake. He tries to break out of Archer’s grip, but Archer flips Benton onto his stomach and secures the handcuffs as a horde of police officers swarms through the trees.
“Over here!” he calls. “Read his rights and take this scum back to the precinct.”
Officers descend upon Benton, and he almost seems relieved as he’s dragged away.
Detective Archer rushes to my side, Cal on his heels. “I need medics! We’ve got two down. Smoke inhalation. Possible burns.”
The medics race toward us, two flat boards between them. Someone shoves an oxygen mask on my face, and it’s the most glorious thing in the world.
Detective Archer kneels beside me and brushes something off my face. “Don’t worry, Hannah,” he says. “We got him. You’re safe.” Beside him, Cal offers an encouraging smile.
And then they’re gone, the paramedics shooing them away. I flinch when they stick a needle in my arm and maneuver me onto the stretcher.
This time, as my mind fades to unconsciousness, I am not afraid.
29
I DRIFT IN AND out of consciousness. Each time I wake, I’m somewhere new. The ambulance. The emergency room. Someplace with white walls and florescent lights. With mask-covered faces and concerned eyes.
The next time I wake, I’m alone.
Machines beep all around me, a steady rhythm that’s probably my heart. Which doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t you be able to tell it’s broken just from listening?
The machine keeps on beeping, ignoring my concerns. I glance down at the bed beneath me. It’s comfortable enough, I guess, but it isn’t mine. It squeaks when I move. The sheets are scratchy, irritating against my tender skin.
I want to go home.
Tears spring to my eyes when I remember I can’t go home. My home is gone. Burned to ash. If Benton had his way, I’d be ash now, too. How long has it been? Why am I still here?
“Honey? Are you awake?” A warm voice washes over me. Beside my bed, a figure stands and her worried face comes into focus.
“Mom?” My voice cracks, and I collapse into tears. I try to apologize, to explain why I had to go, but everything is a mush of half-formed words and wracking sobs that close my throat.
Mom listens to every strangled apology. She strokes my hair out of my face, brushes away tears, holds my hand. When I’m finished, a single tear escapes the confines of her lashes. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay.” She squeezes my hand tight in hers, careful to avoid the IV needles that push fluids into my veins. “But please, don’t ever do that again.”
I nod, but the movement sends my head swimming. I wish Dad were here. He’d stand behind Mom, his hand on her shoulder, nodding his agreement. Yet there’d be this glimmer in his eye, telling me that he was proud of my rescue efforts, despite the risks. But I don’t say that to Mom. I don’t know how much more of this she can take. Don’t know if I could say the words even if I tried.
The fight with Benton may be over, but I sure as hell didn’t win.
* * *
• • •
The next few hours pass in a blur of doctors and nurses and white coats. People check my vitals, shine lights in my eyes, and mess with the IV fluids. I spot Gemma and Morgan outside my door, but Mom shoos them away so I can rest.
But I don’t want rest.
I want answers.
No one will tell me what’s going on. Mom won’t entertain any questions about Benton or the other Hunters in his cell. My grandmother visits, briefly, to remind me I’m only allowed to speak with Agent Archer about what happened. Veronica’s parents pop in on their way back to Veronica’s room to thank me for saving their daughter.
No one mentions my dad. No one mentions the boy in jail. At least, not where I can hear them.
Dad’s colleagues are somewhere in the hospital. Police officers. Lawyers. The secretary he’s had since I was a baby. Mom won’t let them near me, but she passes on their well wishes.
At least the doctors speak directly to me instead of going through my mom. They tell me I’m lucky, that my lungs look great—all things considered.
That’s what they say. All things considered. They tell me it’s a miracle I didn’t suffer tremendous burns. That I’m lucky. Blessed even. I need a new T-shirt: Someone tried to kill me, and all I got was this stupid concussion. But the real injuries won’t show up on their scans.
I think they know that.
A knock at the door has Mom putting down her magazine. She raises a brow when Detective Archer walks in, carrying a small bag in one hand. “I thought we agreed: no interviews until tomorrow. She deserves a good night’s sleep before reliving this nightmare.”
Detective Archer stops beside my bed. “I’m sorry, Marie. I tried to put it off, but the chief insists. Your husband was an important man. The DA is pushing for a quick trial.”
At the mention of my dad, Mom loses the little color she had left in her cheeks. She nods and settles back into her chair.
“I actually need a private word with Hannah, if that’s all right.” The detective casts a glance my way as he says my name, but he doesn’t meet my eye. “Please.”
Mom presses her lips into a thin line, but she nods. “Of course, Detective.” She glances at me before she goes. “Can I grab you anything from the cafeteria?”
I shake my head. Food reminds me of Dad, which reminds me he’s gone, which sends me spiraling into despair, and I don't have time for that right now. When the door closes behind Mom, I stare at the detective. I haven’t forgotten his failures. He may have saved my life, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.
Detective Archer clears his throat and takes a seat in Mom’s chair. “How much have you heard?” he asks, which seems like an odd place to start.
“Not much.”
Archer runs his hands through his hair. “Mr. Hall has been processed and question
ed. We’ll know more tomorrow, but the DA is confident she can get the judge to deny bail. He’s going to be in jail a very long time.”
A long time isn’t forever, but I’ll deal with that later. “His parents?”
“They aren’t in Salem. Records show they flew to Florida two days ago, right after the fire. We believe they’re hunting down a family of Blood Witches near Bradenton. We’ll stop them.” Detective Archer finally meets my gaze. “I’m really sorry I didn’t take them out sooner.”
“You should be.” My throat closes, and I force a cough to dislodge the emotion there. “What’s that?”
Detective Archer lifts the bag like he forgot it was there. Color brightens his cheeks. “Lauren asked me to bring this for you. She tried to visit, but your mom sent her away. Cal sends his well wishes, too.” He hands me the bag.
“When were you planning to tell me about Cal? How long has he worked for you?” I remember Cal acting grossed out when I suggested he might find the detective attractive. His reaction makes so much more sense now.
“Mr. Morrissey joined the Council when he turned eighteen. We were paired up when I moved to Salem last month.” Archer leans his forearms on his knees. “Cal’s a big part of how we made it to you fast enough. Without his help, I wouldn’t have finished the tracking spell in time.”
“Can you thank him for me? I don’t think I’ll be at work for a while.” When Archer nods, I shift in my hospital bed and turn my attention back to the gift Lauren sent. My hands shake as I peel away the tape. Inside, nestled among light blue tissue paper, is a small stone on a silver necklace. And a note. “Did you read this?” Is it safe? Can I read this without losing myself? Does she say his name?
These Witches Don't Burn Page 27
